Chapter 1
Chapter One
"…hereby sentence Theodore Gavin to six months community service." The gavel thumped to confirm the ruling and I couldn’t help but pop out of my seat in the courtroom.
"Six months of community service? You must be kidding.
He killed my cat." I'd promised myself I wouldn't lose control.
I knew this verdict might happen because the lawyer prosecuting the case had warned me the sentencing might be light because the little fucker being charged had money.
But there was light, and then there was this farce. Fluffykins deserved justice!
"Ms. Klondike. Control yourself."
"Why should I?” I snapped. “Apparently, people can murder and get off with a slap on the wrist."
The judge, a woman like me, offered no hint of softening as she said, "Mr. Gavin has shown remorse for his actions."
"Remorse?" The word burst bitterly from my lips. "He's sitting there right now smirking. He's going to walk out of here and go home to his cushy condo. Order in some dinner. Watch television. But my cat… my sweet baby…" My voice broke. "He's in the ground. Rotting because of him."
"Mr. Gavin didn’t realize the animal had an owner.”
“He took him from my balcony.”
“According to you,” the judge pointed out because silly me didn’t have the kidnapping on video.
“Even if Fluffykins somehow managed to wedge his fat ass through the bars and go for a wander, that doesn’t give him the right to kill my cat!” I exclaimed incredulously.
“Ms. Klondike, perhaps rather than blaming others you should look closer to home, after all, you’re the one who put the animal in question outside."
The rebuke hit me like a slap, and I sank back into my seat. I stifled tears as the bastard who stole and murdered my Fluffykins when I went inside to pee received a joke of a sentence.
It wasn't fair. Two cats in the last year both taken from me by pieces of shit. Worthless wastes of space. First, my precious Rosita, who went into the vet for a tooth cleaning but ended up not waking up from the anesthesia because the bloody tech administering the drugs came in too hungover to do their job properly. The free cremation didn’t come close to appeasing my outrage.
Then my Fluffykins, who loved to go outside to birdwatch, abducted by an asshole who’d walked by my place on the first floor and thought hey, I’m just going to take this cat that obviously belongs to someone and kill it.
Would jail time have assuaged my grief? No, but it would have helped. Instead, I’d ended up with a piece of shit judge who went light because this rich asshole showed fake remorse. Such bullshit. How much had she been paid?
I knew Theodore Gavin had money. That money almost saw him not getting charged at all.
The cops I’d reported the crime to didn't want to get involved and only did so because I kept insisting—shrilly, with snot and tears running.
I forced them to hold Gavin accountable.
With the evidence the prosecution provided, and the unavoidable guilty plea because the idiot had posted a picture with my dead cat, Gavin should have gone to jail.
Such bullshit.
I left the courtroom via a side door unwilling to deal with the press. Bad enough I was already getting tagged on social media as the Crazy Cat Lady trying to ruin a promising young man’s life.
I wish I’d ruined it, but I'd failed. Just like I failed to protect my babies. My life, one never-ending clusterfuck of disappointments. What had I achieved? Here I was in my late forties and working a boring, dead-end desk job. I lived in a shitty apartment since I couldn’t seem to save the down payment for a house.
My car was getting ready to croak—and I couldn’t afford to fix it when it did.
To add the icing to my already crappy existence, I’d hit my forties and been slammed by perimenopause.
Hot flashes. Mood swings. Plus, weight gain on top of the extra pounds I already carried around which completely tanked my dating life.
Some women turned into hot cougars as they aged, but I was more like a warthog: chunky, with thinning hair and jowly cheeks.
Yeah, my life was pitiful—and my sisters reminded me every chance they got.
As I sat behind the wheel of my car, I thought about hitting the gas and slamming into the brick wall at the far end of the parking lot. Then remembered I had airbags, which, with my luck, would be the only thing still working right in my shitbox.
I didn’t remember the drive home or even parking.
The tears hit when I walked into my apartment and saw the cat tree by the window that used to hold my babies and the nearby food dishes still filled to the brim with stale kibble.
The crumpled piece of paper that Fluffykins loved to bat around at three am that, even months later, I didn’t have the heart to toss.
Everywhere I looked a memory crushed and I couldn’t help but be sad. I headed outside to my balcony and cursed the fact I’d not taken a higher-up apartment when offered. At the time, I’d not wanted the hassle of moving. That decision cost me the life of my best friend.
Grief overwhelmed and I leaned on the railing and breathed deep, trying to stifle the sobs welling within.
“Going to jump off your balcony and end your pathetic life?” a familiar voice mocked.
I lifted my head to see Theodore Gavin smirking at me.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped.
“Sam thing I was doing when I took your cat for a ride, Skylar.” He said my name in a mocking tone. ‘Visiting a friend.”
“Buying drugs, you mean,” I spat. Rich kids didn’t live or hang out in my low-income building. They only showed up for one thing.
“I’d say the judge’s ruling is cause to celebrate.”
“That court hearing was a joke,” I snapped.
“It was,” Gavin agreed. “And a waste of my time. We both knew I was never going to jail.” The smug smirk made my fist itch.
“How much did it cost your daddy?” I spat unable to hide my hatred.
“Less than expected.” The fucker had the nerve to grin.
“One day, you’re going to get what’s coming to you.” I prayed for that with every inch of my being.
“Doubtful. Money fixes everything. Something a broke-ass loser like you wouldn’t know.” Gavin laughed as he strode off, entering the apartment building, going to buy his drugs so he could party.
The unfairness of it burned. It made my anger boil.
It led to me returning to my car, sitting in it and watching the Porsche in the visitor parking area.
When the fucktard drove off, I trailed him, even as I didn’t know what it would accomplish.
If I rammed his car, I’d wreck mine, probably get arrested, and lose my license, while he’d just buy a new one.
Gavin parked in a paid lot and jaywalked across the street to a club, something posh enough to have a lineup of people dressed to the nines. No surprise, the fucktard got waved through.
I couldn’t have said how long I sat parked outside the club, keeping an eye on the Porsche, wishing I had a crowbar.
In the movies, someone wronged would have been smashing all the windows and scratching up the paint.
Alas, not only did I not have anything sturdy enough to break stuff, but there were too many witnesses.
So, why did I sit in my cold car—which I couldn’t afford to run continuously because of the price of gas. What did I hope to accomplish? I didn’t know other than it beat being depressed at home.
Hours passed and my muscles cramped but my patience paid off. Around two in the morning, Gavin emerged, one arm looped around a young woman wearing a skirt so short she left nothing to the imagination. They staggered across the street to his car.
Without thought or plan, I spilled out of my car and pointed. “You don’t want to go home with this douchebag,” I shouted. “He’s a murderer.”
The young woman glanced at me and her rouged mouth pursed. “What?”
“Don’t listen to that old bag. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Gavin scoffed.
“He murdered my cat,” I stated.
“I did you a favor. The thing was old and decrepit.”
“And you made sure his final hours were painful,” I cried. Fluffykins had made it to twenty years of age and should have had a peaceful passing in my arms when the time came.
The young woman extricated herself from Gavin’s grip. “I think I should leave.”
“Don’t go, baby,” he called out.
“Run and don’t look back,” was my advice, leading to Gavin glaring at me.
“Jesus Christ. What’s your fucking problem?”
“You,” I spat.
“You’re fucking nuts. Just get another cat.”
“So you can kill it, too?” My voice broke.
“God, you’re pathetic.” He turned his back on me and opened his car door.
After all he’d done, he dared to ignore me.
Had the nerve to Insult me.
Planned to drive off and pretend he wasn’t the world’s biggest douchebag.
No. I wasn’t done venting yet. I stood in front of his Porsche, blocking his path.
“Get the fuck out of my way.” He yelled sticking his head out the window.
“No.”
“Let me guess, you want an apology,” he mocked.
“No.” I couldn’t have said what I wanted other than I didn’t feel it was fair he got to be happy and partying.
“Out my way.” He gunned his car.
I planted my hands on my hips. “You killed my cat!”
“Why don’t you join that fleabag then, since you miss it so much?” It was the last thing I heard before the car lurched forward and slammed into me, tossing me into the air.
I spun at least once, maybe twice. Something cracked when I landed on my head.
My face smooshed against the pavement, and I gasped in pain—the only thing I could do since I’d lost all feeling in my limbs.
Probably not a bad thing, because it didn’t hurt when Gavin ran over me.
Then backed up, and rolled over me again, cracking even more bones, before taking off.
Guess this was how I died. Broken and alone in a parking lot. Could have been worse. I could have been that spinster who died alone at home and wasn’t discovered for weeks—her corpse partially eaten by her cats.
“That was foolish,” a slick voice stated. “Humans rarely fare well against motor vehicles.”
“No shit,” I muttered.
“What would possess you to confront someone like him?”
“That asshole killed my cat.” I still couldn’t see the person who spoke to me and, quite frankly, couldn’t believe they were berating me for being dumb while I lay there dying.
“A heinous crime, but again, not sure what you were trying to accomplish here.”
“I was hoping I’d suddenly turn into John Wick.”
“You want revenge.”
“Wanted,” I corrected. “Guess the best I can hope for now is he gets charged with manslaughter when I die, and that when he gets to prison his cocky attitude earns him daily beatings.”
“What if instead of expiring you got another opportunity to make him pay for what he did?”
My chuckle sounded wet and tasted coppery. “Unlike a cat, I think I’m out of lives.”
“You didn’t answer the question. Would you like a second chance?”
Without even thinking I blurted, “Yes. And next time, I’d be smarter and confront him with a gun.”
“I doubt you’ll need a weapon,” the cryptic reply before the stranger touched me, and by touch, I mean he bit my neck.
Hard.
Turned out my body wasn’t so numb after all.
The intense pain knocked me out.