Chapter Two
A m o s S w a n - T h e C a t
I’ve lost sleep these past few days. Fear and something intangible clings to me, the scene of our mother dying plays in my head. Sylvia didn’t deserve to lose her and our father didn’t deserve to lose his wife.
I felt the change of air, my whiskers kept twitching and a foul smell engulfed me. It was something made of silver and it felt cold. My fur spiked on edge and my tail flicked with impatience. I wasn’t used to such an awful smell and as the time went on it grew stronger.
I scurried downstairs and met her at the kitchen door.
She looked scared but bravery never left her eyes.
It worried me so I paced around her, back arched and on edge because something evil kept hovering over us.
She stopped cooking, I could smell the butter and milk but the heat of the food was slowly vanishing.
The front door opened, not forcefully, he didn’t break in, just waltzed right in like he owned the place. I didn’t recognize him and the smell became so strong I could taste it as he spoke in a calm voice, his feet stepping ever so slowly towards us.
I hissed and stepped in front of her and all he did was laugh. He thought I was pathetic and that frightened me more.
As soon as he lunged at her, the knife glinted with death, and I leaped forward to protect her. I sunk my claws into his chest, holding on with the little strength I had. I’m getting old, but I tried.
I tried my hardest.
Next thing I know I’m flying across the room. His fist bruised my abdomen and left me to hit the floor on all fours, but still in grave pain.
I look up at Sylvia, I can see her so well even in the darkness. She hasn’t acquired much sleep recently either—she tosses and turns all night with dreams that wrack her poor mind. I feel bad for her, much greater than she will ever know.
My father is twisted into this some kind of way but I’m unsure. I remember hearing my parents argue in her studio, faint but with lots of frustration. He wished she’d leave the mystery of Windale behind her, but she fought. She never gave up, not even when she breathed her last breath.
I can still hear the whispers of that town, the dread and guilt that seeped from their voices. They were nothing but scoundrel secrets and lies that made my ears ring. She didn’t die from a failed robbery that's for sure, not with the way her body was left and a cop could see that plain as day.
I dismiss the haunting replay of her death from my head.
My gaze focused on Sylvia—the last person I would let those horrid people take from me.
Tears begin to form at the corners of her eyes, drenching the silk pillowcase beneath her head.
I lie on her stomach and knead her side in hopes of bringing her comfort but I doubt it does anything.
Tears still flow and the word mama steadily releases from her lips in a tone so broken it makes me cuddle deeper into her.
I don’t know what else to do besides be by her side. If I could erase all her troublesome burdens I would.
I’d sacrifice the world for her.