Chapter Fourteen #2
“That they’ll take good care of them and give them lots of love and treats.”
She leans forward to kiss the cat atop its head and I watch its eyes close.
Growing up we didn’t have any pets. Our neighbors had dogs and they were not exactly the nicest pups in the neighborhood. It wasn’t uncommon to see dead or half-dead, stressed small animals and we all knew where they came from.
Pumpkin’s tail curls around my ankle as he paws the cuff of my jeans, biting at it like it’s a toy, and I don’t have the heart to push him off. Not right now.
I watch as she kisses their head with rapid fire kisses.
“Can’t say I blame you,” I grunt. “I’d probably do the same. If I had pets, I mean.”
I don’t think I would, though. I think if I did have pets, I wouldn’t go anywhere they couldn’t go with me, but what do I know.
I swallow my sadness and let out a breath. “How can I help?”
She smiles kindly.
“Well, for starters, if you know anyone looking for a cat, that would be helpful.” She lets out a soft chuckle, but I can’t find it in me to laugh.
“I’m just not sure these flyers are doing much, and I’m not very good with the computer, you know,” she says with a frown.
I look at her computer—an old ass Gateway from the late 90s that collects dust in the corner—and sigh.
I meant what I said when I offered to help, and it’s not that I don’t want to or don’t have the time. It just feels extra cruel for some reason. Like I’m being chosen to train my replacement. But what kind of friend or neighbor would I be if I didn’t help her out when I know she needs it?
“I can ask around,” I say, already spinning the wheels in my brain of who the hell I could even reach out to about this.
I guess there’s Carter. He volunteers at that animal shelter; maybe he might know someone looking for a cat.
Or at the very least, maybe his shelter could take them if we can’t find anyone else.
It’s not ideal, but it’s a decent back up plan.
Sure I could take them to any shelter, but I at least have heard Carter talk about the staff there, and if he goes, I can at least vouch that the rest of the staff are probably decent people.
I mean, you’d have to be, to spend your free time with animals that have been lost, left, or come from bad situations.
It takes a certain kind of person to give their time and their heart to causes like that.
“Thank you,” she says as I finish my coffee and get up.
I nod in response, clearing my throat if only because I’m starting to get anxious. I don’t make it a habit of coming in here, or visiting anyone, really.
I don’t do well in other people’s homes. Never have. Too many unfamiliar things, unfamiliar smells. Not to mention, most people don’t clean their houses as well as they should, and messy houses make my skin crawl.
That’s how you get bugs, and bugs are fucking disgusting.
My head starts to pound and my vision blurs, and then I feel the sweat form on my brow.
Oh no.
I close my eyes tight, trying to fight the memory that tries to dislodge itself.
But it’s no use.
I watch the spider, its spindly legs moving faster than I would have imagined a spider could move.
I’m hot, but then again, I’m always hot when we visit Daddy’s friend, Eddy, because he ain’t got no air because his house is old.
The kind of old that has those bar things that make heat.
Mama says they’s called a ray-dee–titor or something.
I can’t say it because I get stuck on the t’s.
Eddy sits next to us, his blonde hair slicked back. His gold chain glints in the sun and he offers me a drink.
I look at it; at the streams of water on the outside. It must be cold, and I’m really thirsty. But Mama said never to take drinks from people if I don’t know what’s in them.
“Go on, son,” Daddy says gruffly, and I want to argue with him. “It ain’t gonna bite ya.”
Eddy gives me a soft smile, and reluctantly, I take the glass from his hand.
“Thank you,” I say quietly and he nods.
“Heat’s a bitch this time of year.”
Daddy sips his drink, which smells strong. His glass is full of amber liquid. He sets it down, lights his cigarette as Eddy takes his seat.
“Some dickhead knocked on my door yesterday, asking ‘bout that girl.”
I glance at the movie playing on Eddy’s TV. It’s a little fuzzy because Daddy says out here in the mountains you don’t need TV.
Batman flies across the screen, his dark cape swooshing, and I sip my water. It tastes good. Cold.
“What girl?” Daddy asks.
“The feisty one,” Eddy says with a grunt. “Veronica.”
“I told you not to worry about her, Ed. I’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t look like you’re doing a very good job, if I got the fucking cops at my door.”
“I said I’m handling it.” Daddy growls his wolfy growl. “Maybe if you kept your fucking dick in your pants, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Don’t act like you haven’t done the same, Cyd.”
My father scoffs as he drinks his drink. I watch Two-Face and Batman fight, and Batman falls to the ground.
“You were supposed to kill her, Ed. Not knock the bitch up.”
“Oh, so you’re the only one allowed to spread your seed, is that it?”
Something about their words feels strange. Familiar, but…
My eyes feel heavy and I’m tired.
I hear a smack, a curse. Two-Face has Batman by the neck, and he looks like he’s going to kill him.
“Fucking handle it, Cyd. Or I will.”
I blink, my eyesight blurring as the pain subsides.
“You alright, darling? You getting one of those migraines again?”
I blink again, shaking my head, remembering where I am.
Mrs. Burnside’s place.
Pumpkin jumps into my lap. He starts pawing at me, kneading my shirt and I try to make sense of what I just saw.
Eddy.
Dad’s friend’s name was Eddy. He lived on a farm.
And apparently, he knew Veronica.
At least, I think he did…
Panic swells and I need to get out of here so I can breathe. Process whatever the fuck is happening, whatever these random memory-dream fragments are.
“I should go, but, uh… thanks for the coffee.”
She smiles at me as she walks me to the door, and Pumpkin cries when we get to it.
“Of course.”
“I’ll make some posts. About the cats, I mean. I can help screen the applicants. Send the ones I think will be good fits your way.”
She gives me a kind smile. “Thank you, Kane. That’s a huge help.”
I nod as I move to open the door, but she stops me with her words.
“You could come visit, you know.”
I turn to look at her, unsure how to answer her. Part of me feels like she’s just being polite, but…
There’s also a part of me that is tempted to say yes.
“It’d be nice to see a familiar face from time to time, you know.”
There’s a sweetness, a warmth in her voice that makes me feel guilty and ashamed, because I don’t know if I can do such a thing. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know how. I mean, I know how, but…
“Maybe,” I say. It’s the best I can do.
I scratch Pumpkin’s ears and tell him to be a good kitty before I make my way back over to my place.
After I’ve completed my workout, showered, and dressed in clean clothes, I shoot off a text to Carter to ask about the shelter, and if he knows anyone who might be interested in adopting a cat or kitten.
I go through my emails, respond to my clients.
Make myself something to eat. It’s what I’ve done for the last two years.
But for some reason, today, it’s harder to focus than usual.
Because I can’t stop thinking about Eddy.
Or that weird memory of him and my dad, out on his… farm?
Who was Veronica and how did they know her? Why was my dad supposed to kill her? I have more questions than answers, and though I wish I could tell someone, I know I can’t, because I’m not even sure what there is to tell.
Everything feels so fractured and confusing. Not to mention it feels like the constant people in my life—as limited as they may be—are moving on to better things, and probably wouldn’t understand even if I did try to talk to them about all of this.
Carter has Nash.
Mrs. Burnside is moving in with her son, which is where she should be. I tell myself Eddy is a common enough name, it’s probably just my own anxiety and paranoia drawing parallels. My traumatized brain trying to reach for something to make it fit.
And then there’s Pumpkin. The little heathen.
He’s still a baby, and while everyone loves kittens and I’m sure he’d go in an instant at the shelter, the thought of putting him there makes me want to throw up.
He has a hard enough time as it is and struggles to get along with the other cats because he’s scrappy and rambunctious.
He had a rough start in life, and though he struggles, he’s loved and safe, and…
Taking that away feels cruel beyond all comparison. Even if it is for the purpose of finding him someone who will give him all the love and attention he deserves.
Why do I care? He’s not my fucking cat.
I don’t even like cats!
I shove the thought aside as best I can and try to focus on menial tasks.
Emails. A few client sessions for my regulars who are off today.
I put my attention into my orders, my commands, and doing what comes naturally for me.
By the end of both sessions, my subs thank me for helping them, like they always do, but…
It feels empty. Why is that?
I spend the rest of the day combing through message boards and making posts about rehoming Mrs. Burnside’s seven cats, and just as I am about to put my phone down, I get a notification.
A text.
My heart swells more than it should when I see the name on the screen.
Ryder: Hey
It’s one word. Three fucking letters, but I can’t explain the relief that overcomes me when I read it.
I text him back immediately.
Kane: Hey. What’s up?
The little dots appear and reappear a few times before a text comes through.
Ryder: This place is deader than a graveyard today.
I chuckle as he sends me a skull and crossbones emoji.
Ryder: I think I might actually die of boredom.
Kane: So now you need me to keep you awake?
Ryder: Maybe. What do you count to stay awake?