The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller (19 page)

“I’m worried about her, Sheriff. I hope those vandals didn’t hurt her or something.”

Oh Jesus, that’s all I need.
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Most vandals are punks. They only do their thing when nobody’s around to see them.” He hastened to change the subject. “You might try calling social services at the state capitol building. An old lady like that must be on some kind of government aid. They would most likely know of a change in residency. Meanwhile I’ll head out there and take a look around. If I find anything I’ll keep you informed.”
I’d better get out there and clean up any evidence. God knows what that moron and his pals might have left behind.

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

“My pleasure. Can I drop you home on my way? It’s colder than a witch’s ti—eh… tomb out there.”

“No thank you. The cold air will do me good.” 

As Felicia stepped outside a blast of wintry air blew through her like a load of frozen buckshot. She huddled in the doorway, imagining Granny stuck in the body of a raven, freezing her geriatric feathers off on some windblown tree branch.
And poor Elmo… curled up in a winter den, hibernating. Nothing but muddy walls to keep him warm.

Damn it! It’s all my fault. How could I be so stupid? So selfish? 
The icy air blasted her again. She stepped from the shelter of the doorway and started the brisk walk home. Despite the meager hope the visit to the Sheriff’s office had sparked, she was racked with guilt and kept turning the situation over and over in her head.

Well at least I learned a valuable lesson.
Never put off anything important. Not even for a minute. You never know what tomorrow will bring.
Pulling her faux leopard coat tighter she quickened her step.

Arctic cold front be damned. I will hunt tonight. And hunt again tomorrow. And not stop hunting until Wally and his crew are in their graves.

169

Sparrow couldn’t suppress an involuntary shiver. He knew it wasn’t just the cold, although it was the coldest night of the year to date. No, something else was causing his flesh to quiver and his bones to twitch as if they’d slipped a joint somewhere in his spine.

His whole body shook as he reached the side of the garage and dropped the bag of trash into a can. Slamming the lid down he turned and ran back to the house. Only when the door was shut behind him did he start to feel safe again.

“What’s eating you, ya little shit?” his father snapped, with his typical drunken mocking slur. Old man Jeffers was always ready to belittle his offspring, as if they didn’t deserve a nurturing home. “You look like you seen the boogeyman.”

“Nothin’. It’s damned cold out there,” answered Sparrow, as if that explained the haunted look on his face. It had been weeks since he’d had a good night’s sleep and it showed in the deep dark circles under his eyes. His nightmares started the day Oogie had his eyeballs ripped from their sockets. Dreams of snakes and big black scorpions and rabid frothy-mouthed predators stalking him in the woods.

“I’d’a swore you shit your panties the way you come runnin’ in here,” the old man wheezed, his mouth drawn up in the tight grin he always sported when he was more than half sauced.

Sparrow turned away and retreated upstairs to his room.
The old prick’s spoiling for a fight. Well I ain’t gonna be his punching bag tonight, no sirree.

Latching the hook on his bedroom door he flicked off the overhead and settled down at his grubby computer to surf for free porn online. Digging around his desk drawer he found the skinny butt of an angel dust joint, and fired it up.

He bounced through page after page of triple X thumbnails from one tube site to the next.
Shit. When are they gonna post some new porn up here?
Seen that. Done that. Damn, that skanky bitch looks like forty miles of bad road.

He finally hit the torrents hoping to uncover a fresh treasure, wondering if he might have finally exhausted the worldwide stock of free fap videos. He’d downloaded more than a terabyte of smut in the last year alone. Beastie stuff from Brazil and Europe. Rape vids from Italy. Incest from Russia. And America was no slouch when it came to homegrown sleaze. He’d seen countless dirty whores puking gobs of slimy sputum after having their throats reamed by monster black dicks. Gagging. Getting slapped. Taking brutal donkey punches. All the sick things that fed his sorry soul.

A menacing tangle of shadows flickered through the window, backlit by the pallid moon. Sparrow looked at the crooked tentacles sweeping back and forth across the floor as if trying to grab at his feet.

Damn, I shouldn’t have finished that last hit of dust.

There was no way he could ignore the shadows now. Nor the creepy feeling that they inspired, like they were part of something demonic watching him through the window. He knew.it was just an illusion, but his angel dust addled brain wouldn’t let go of the paranoia.

He rose quietly and crept towards the window. As he drew close, a cloud passed in front of the moon. The sudden darkening evoked an ominous feeling in Sparrow’s impressionable altered consciousness. The vaguely unholy feeling he normally felt under the influence of dust gave way to a feeling of utter impending doom.

He leaned up close to the window and gazed through the dirty glass. Mottled patterns of grime on the unwashed panes filtered the gloomy vista beyond. It took a conscious effort to shift his druggy gaze past the filmy haze to get a good look outside.

The moon was still shaded by clouds and he could barely make out the shapes of the branches on the sycamore outside his window. But the same eerie feeling he’d felt when he took the trash out earlier fell over him again.

Something that didn’t belong was out there. Separated from him only by a flimsy layer of glass and the half-rotted frame of the window.

Then he saw it. Two gleaming golden-green eyes staring at him from high in the tree.

His heart skipped a beat.

What the fuck is that? A possum?

The eyes disappeared for a moment. Then appeared again, floating in the darkness like two disembodied orbs.

The clouds blocking the moon finally passed. Pale light filtered through the branches of the tree, and Sparrow saw a faint shape taking form, framing the glowing eyes.

There in the tree just a few yards away was a big cat staring right at him. It was too dim to make out clearly, but the shape of the head was unmistakable.

Sparrow’s whole body tensed. A flood of emotions swept over him. Memories of his recent nightmares. The ill-fated fortunes of his friends.

As the moonlight grew stronger the shape of the cat grew clearer. At first he thought it was a bobcat, but then he saw the long thick curve of its tail, dangling from the branch like a slow-moving pendulum.

A cougar. A fucking cougar!

The realization triggered an even deeper response from his body. An involuntary spasm clenched his stomach from his groin to his solar plexus. He knew he was looking at death. His own death staring back at him.

The cat seemed to sense his recognition. Perhaps it smelled his fear, seeping through the windowpanes like a noxious gas. Sparrow could barely make out its face in its dimly lit perch, but he had the eerie sensation that it was grinning at him.

Gloating.

The cougar emitted a growl. A primal, throaty threat that accomplished what it was designed by Mother Nature to do—Sparrow’s knees buckled and he nearly collapsed in fear.

If he hadn’t known there was twelve feet of thin air and a window physically separating them, he would have melted on the spot and allowed himself to be taken. Instead he gambled that the meager obstacles would at least give the beast pause to delay its attack.

He rallied his last ounce of courage and threw himself towards the bedroom door. Clammy flopsweat soaked his torso as he stumbled across the room and fumbled with the loose-hanging doorknob. His sweaty fingers slipped over the rickety metal knob, but he squeezed it desperately hard and managed to yank the door open.

A second later he was clomping wildly down the stairs, taking them three at a time.

“Cougar!” he shouted, his voice cracking with hysteria.

“What the hell?” His father woke from a drunken doze on the couch, startled by the sudden commotion.

“Cougar! There’s a cougar outside in the tree!”

“Cougar?!” His father seemed intrigued by the news but was too drunk and weary to rise from the sofa. Instead he just coughed up some phlegm and settled back on the worn out cushions, fighting the temptation to finish off the twelve pack he’d started an hour earlier.

Sparrow’s sister Pauline stepped in from the kitchen holding a half-scrubbed pan. Soapsuds and grease spots dotted the bulging apron covering her pregnant belly.

“What the hell is all the racket in here?”

“There’s a big ole cougar out there in the tree! It must be the one that got Oogie!”

Flushed with adrenalin and emboldened by the presence of other people, Sparrow headed for the front door.

“Well don’t go out there, fool,” his sister admonished.

“Fuck it.” Sparrow grabbed the loaded shotgun that stood ready near the front door and pumped the lever, chambering a shell. “I’m gonna kill me a mountain lion.”

“You’re gonna get your head chewed off is what you’re gonna get!” his sister argued.

Sparrow ignored her warning. Throwing open the door he charged outside, confident that his granddaddy’s five shot Winchester gave him more than a fighting chance against any stupid animal.

As he leaped off the porch and raced toward the lofty tree his head was filled with fanciful imaginings. He pictured himself being lauded as a hero.
Avenger of his ill-fated pals. Savior of Greenville. The man who finally vanquished the monstrous cat that had terrorized the community.
For decades they’d be singing his praises.

The moonlight was slipping behind another bank of clouds as he reached the massive tree. Luckily his sister had already hurried upstairs and switched on some lights and the upper branches were adequately illuminated.

The big cat was gone.

In an instant the courage drained from Sparrow’s body. He lowered the barrel of the shotgun and scanned the property, hoping only that he’d spot the killer cat before it got a bead on him.

A strong wind stirred the branches overhead. Dry leaves blew across the lawn. Sparrow flinched as they skittered across his path, and tightened his sweaty finger on the trigger. The angel dust intensified every little movement and sound. The fear in his gut was overwhelming.

He scanned the unlit edges of the property. A wall of evergreen bushes and barren shrubs rippled gently in the breeze. Behind them stood the tall dark woods.
The cat could be hiding anywhere.

He heard a sound behind him and turned quickly. Something was rustling the hedges in front of the porch.

There’s definitely something there. Or is it only the wind?

He trained the shotgun on the spot and calculated the distance he had to cross to get safely back to the house. He’d had his fill of the hunt and just wanted to get back inside.

Treading cautiously, conscious of every withered blade of grass crunching under his feet, he edged slowly towards the porch. While each step brought him closer to safety, it didn’t alleviate his fear. Instead his anxiety grew with every step, as he gazed at the woods surrounding the property, and realized that the cat could be anywhere out there… lurking… waiting… biding its time.

He would never look at those woods the same way again. Something about the cougar’s icy stare told him this was personal.

***

Felicia ambled leisurely through the woods. She was in no hurry to get home, or even to get out of the forest. She was quite comfortable in her cougar skin, enjoying her status as queen of the wilderness.

Nothing in the woods could harm her now. No hunters would be out in such bitter cold darkness. None that she couldn’t outsmart or outrun, in any case. They’d have to be bundled up in stifling clothes or else too stupid to be dressed warmly. And there were no local predators large enough to challenge a full-grown cougar. At least none that were common to the area.

She hadn’t totally accomplished her mission that night. She had intended to finish off Sparrow, but smelling his primal fear through his bedroom window gave her an unexpected rush of satisfaction. She had no doubt at the time that she could easily leap the meager distance and crash through his bedroom window. Twelve feet was nothing to a nearly full grown mountain lion.

He’d been right there for the taking. She might have sustained a few cuts crashing through the window but nothing compared to the havoc she would have reaped upon his sorry ass. But she put off the kill in favor of simply enjoying the smell of his terror.

She scrambled down the tree when he took off running, and lingered in the front yard long enough to hear the distinctive sound of the shotgun being cocked. Then she vanished like a phantom in the night.

There was no pressing need to risk her life. She could bide her time. Toy with her intended victims.
Torture them with fear.