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vanillaheart
Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Vanilla Heart Publishing
ISBN-10: 1591290368
Type: Fiction
Pages: 149
Copyright: 2001
When New York writer Joanna Elliott flees her abusive husband to the Texas Hill Country, she and her six- year old son Jason unwittingly become a killer's prey.
Her first memories were of struggle. The kitten struggled to keep her mouth and nose above the acrid, cold water, where she and her littermates had been tossed earlier, when the sun was beginning to rise over Cow Path Creek. .
Although her eyes were not yet open, she was soon aware that a warmth was enveloping her, blotting out the mud on her coat; it was a life-sustaining warmth and she temporarily ceased her upward climb both to gather strength and to absorb the heat deep down in her tiny body.
Around her, she heard feeble mewling; her siblings were becoming weaker by the moment. The kitten turned her head to call them, urging them to climb the slippery bank. Despite her efforts, however, the cries became more and more faint and soon she knew her brothers and sisters were No More.
Now it was her turn to mewl in sadness.
She raised her head toward the warmth radiating down on her, and became aware of another Presence.
Had the Man returned to finish her off? The Man who had snatched her in his cold, rough hands, and stuffed her into a Dark Place, and then flung her into the Cold Wet Place?
But it was not the Man. Not the same man, anyway. She heard a man speak, then another voice, a voice that was soft and tender.
“Well, aren’t you about to turn back now, go home?” the man asked.
“In a moment, Ralph. I haven’t found the wildflowers I’ve been looking for yet.”
“It’s awful muddy down there.”
“Good. Then there’ll be some great wildflowers….you know after such good rains we’ve had lately, they’ll just be sprouting all over the place….
“Oh, Ralph, come look!”
“I don’t think I need to get my feet muddy, too. You fuss at me enough, anyway.”
“Come see what I’ve found here.”
The kitten felt herself being lifted up, high and higher, more and more toward the warmness, and she squealed in delight, squirming deeply into the Woman’s soft, enveloping hands.
“Oh, Wanda. A cat?”
“It’s a kitten, Ralph. A poor little female kitten, from the looks of it. Somebody musta tossed her here into the creek, the sorry so-and-so,” she ended with a slight stamp of her foot in the muddy soil.
“And I suppose you’ll just have to take her home, won’t you?” Ralph smiled as he joined her in inspecting the kitten.
“Of course. We can’t leave her here. And we could use a good mouser, can’t we, kitty-cat?” She stroked the muddy fur and, stepping briskly from the edge of the creek bed, strode in the direction of their home; Ralph falling in pace beside her.
“And a good bath, too,” he reminded her.
The kitten was soon to learn what a “bath” was; indeed, she was to learn all manner of things as the resident mouser in her new home.
For now, however, the creature reveled in the joy of being rescued from that Cold Wet Place, and the satisfaction that she now owned not one, but two People. A Male and a Female. She would be proud of them, she knew.
But I really must have a name, she thought, as the Female Person called Wanda thrust her suddenly into a deep place filled with water….
No more water, the kitten shrieked as she spun around in her Person’s arms and leaped for safety. Both Persons pursued her, calling, “Here, kitty, kitty. Don’t be afraid. We just want to clean you up.”
But she found a niche where she could remain undetected at least for a while. Heart pounding, she crouched as low as she could get and wondered why her People were being so cruel to her? I don’t want to go back into the Water, she shivered.
Just at that moment, the Male Person’s hands enveloped her.
She squealed in protest, wiggled with all her might, but the strong hands refused to let her go.
“I found her, honey. Under the dresser. Smart little thing.”
“Oh, good. Would you bring her to the sink? We’ll get her cleaned up for good this time, if you’ll continue to hold her, okay?”
He nodded, releasing some of the pressure on the kitten, but not enough where she felt she could escape.
The detested Water flowed over her. Although this Water was warm. And both her Persons were talking to her in soothing tones. This was not the same as the first Man who threw her away…
“Well, Wanda, what do you think we ought to name our little mouser, here?”
“Don’t know yet. She’s all black, not a single mark of white anywhere on her….she could be called Raven, or Jet, or something like that.”
“Humm. Don’t know as I like any of ‘em.” He removed one hand from the kitten and placed his free hand around Wanda’s waist.
“Ralph!” the Woman cried as the kitten seized her chance to escape, splashing water and suds all over the room. “Now see what you’ve done?
“I suppose we’ll have to call her clean, now,” she sighed, hanging up her apron. “Don’t suppose she’ll willingly submit to us again for a long time.”
“Yes, it would be folly for the cat to allow us close to her for a while, alright. “
“Folly? Ralph Spencer, you are the most elegant-speaking man I’ve ever known. Who in this day would use the word ‘Folly’” she smiled.
“Well, she’s your folly, too, you know,” he replied, searching his pockets for pipe tobacco. “You had to go out looking for wildflowers, and came home with a creature instead. ‘Tis indeed, a folly.”
“Well, then, that’s her name.”
“Folly? Well, that’s a good one. Folly she is.” Ralph lit his pipe and the cat suddenly sneezed in her hiding place.
“Found you, little Folly,” her Female Person laughed gently as she raised her from behind the bureau. “Now that you’re all bathed—or mostly bathed, I should say, we’ll get you some food and water. Are you hungry?”
Folly, the kitten thought. That is what they will call me. And I shall not come when summoned.
She submitted to the thing being thrust into her small mouth, and then she smelled nourishment, like her …. Her what? The one who gave her birth and suckled her and her siblings. Folly gave one more moment of grief and sober reflection before she greedily sucked on the nipple being held by her Woman.
I am special, she thought. I have been allowed to live where my siblings have not. How do I know this? She was somewhat startled to ruminate on this subject. She knew she was a feline, opposed to being a canine, and her natural instincts had held her in good stead. But now, something new was entering her consciousness. A feeling of being aware of herself and her --- she searched for the word to describe what she was growing inside her mind – Gift. That was it. I have a Gift.
But that was as much as the kitten was allowed to learn for a very long time.
Until the time that she would be forced to employ her Gift, she would be the contented Owner of Two Persons, who never came when summoned, and as for being a “mouser,” if one rodent had appeared, Folly would have disdainfully ignored it, at least in her Persons’ presence, but at night, when her People were asleep, she would track down, torture and finally execute the rodent; her primitive instincts would not allow her to do otherwise.
Thus, the years passed, and Folly almost forgot that she was Special, and that she had been blessed with a certain Gift, as yet, unused.
Excerpt
Wilma paused as she neared the house. Wanda's house. She mopped her brow and licked her thin lips, conscious of their salty taste. So hot. So hot for so early in the summer. The scent of honeysuckle hung heavy in the still air, almost choking her with its seductive aroma.
It must have been a night like this when Wanda got herself pregnant, Wilma thought. No, not got herself pregnant. When she allowed herself to be used like an animal -- mounted and impregnated.
Wilma closed her eyes, as her breathing became shallow and thoughts came unbidden – such thoughts as she had suppressed all these years. On a night like this, Wanda must have felt warm and lush with sweat running in trickles down her breasts. She must have returned the boy’s kisses, responded to his eager hands stroking her ---
Wilma suppressed a groan, her breathing became shallow and she trembled, her knees shaking.
Wanda must have eagerly helped him as he tugged at her panties, wriggling out of them in the back seat of the car. Wilma's breasts ached as she envisioned the boy murmuring to Wanda as he penetrated her----
"Stop," Wilma whispered, but he didn't stop. He proceeded to move slowly, rhythmically, then faster, and Wilma heard a sigh (hers?) and a choking, sobbing cry of joy and then a spasm, a rush, a feeling of release, and then the feeling subsided and she opened her eyes as the boy moved off and Wanda (Wilma?) smiled –
She opened her eyes and realized with some sense of wonder that she was standing in front of brightly lighted windows, a shotgun in her hands, looking at an older Wanda, and this man, this man who was not the father of Wanda's child, but Wanda's husband, who had married her despite her past....Mr. Wanda, she decided to call him. Too bad about him.
Wilma forced herself to focus on the goal ahead of her. Her goal -- and Brother Adam's.
She had first met the traveling evangelist several years earlier, when he had come into town, set up his tent, and recruited all manner of persons to help with his mission. Wilma had been present, seated in the front row, at each of his services, and Brother Adam had soon taken to seeking her out, pointing her out to the congregation, labeling her as a “faithful Christian” and Wilma would stand, each time, and acknowledge the applause from the congregation.
When the call came for those who wished to be saved, Wilma was one of the first in line. Although she had been “saved” as a 14 year old Baptist, somehow she hadn’t felt “saved.” If she had been “saved,” she thought bitterly, God would have protected her from her father’s drunken rages, his beatings, and her mother’s tacit approval. But this energetic, mesmerizing man touched her heart, and she willingly proceeded to the baptismal chamber and was once more baptized.
And soon, when the call went out for more funds for the continuation of Brother Adam’s mission, Wilma cashed in her stocks, depriving herself of any possible pleasures, and gladly provided him a rather large sum. Brother Adam thanked her profusely, and at the time, Wilma dared suggest she might become a staff member on his crusades.
“Little Wilma, I believe the life of my crusade would be too difficult for you. We travel a great deal, meals on the road, on the run; hard, physical work is involved. And you, my dear little one, are much too fragile for such tasks. I appreciate your devotion, and your monetary gifts, but I sense that your health might break if you embarked on the kind of schedule I keep.” He smiled at her, and her knees went weak.
“Then, Brother Adam,” she said, “I must tell you something that has weighed on my mind ever since I was a young girl.”
“Go ahead, Little Wilma,” he said, although he had frowned and checked his wristwatch. He was running late already for his evening presentation.
“Please don’t judge me,” she began, “but my sister has borne a child out of wedlock, and the shame she brought on my family has plagued me for many years. And, due to her misbehavior, I suffered – an attack, Brother Adam, a vicious attack, by a band of boys who assumed that since I was Wanda Foulkes’ sister, I would be willing to be”—her voice trailed off and she began weeping quietly.
“Oh, Sister, you have been harshly treated, and with no good reason. What your sister did was wrong, a sin, and she will suffer the consequences, mark my words. You have done nothing wrong, yet shame hangs on you. I ask in Jesus name for the shame to leave your heart, and for you to be healed.”
He held his hand over her head, then lifted her to her feet. “There, now. Go in peace, little Wilma.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled, her eyes red and swollen with tears. “I believe Wanda will be punished, Brother Adam.”
“Yes, yes, that’s what will happen.” He was interrupted by the arrival of an aide, who whispered something in his ear.
“I must go now; it’s time for tonight’s service. Remember, Sister Wilma, your sister will suffer the consequences of her act.”
Wilma nodded; a plan was already forming in her mind. She would be the instrument of punishment. She would bide her time, and then she would act: swiftly and surely.
And the time was now.
When she thought of Brother Adam, Wilma's heart beat faster. He was so kind to her. And Brother Adam was the only person in the whole world who knew of Wilma's terrible secret, and he had put his arm around her and told her gently that she was not to blame. She was not like her sister. She had been viciously attacked, raped, but her sister had willingly fallen into sin.
She would proceed with her plan; afterward, she would present herself to Brother Adam and become his bride, and nobody would ever know --- about anything.
She smiled; all fear of discovery vanished as she stood beneath the white lace-curtained windows.
The room appeared to have been a porch, converted into what was called nowadays a "sunroom." Hanging baskets rimmed the windows and other plants were scattered about the room. A large watercolor depicting a sea of bluebonnets graced the north wall, while smaller pastels filled the west wall. The other two walls were hardly walls at all, but a great expanse of windows -- east and southern exposures were highly desirable and almost obligatory in this part of the country. They permitted a flow of air and sunlight during winter Northers and relief from the unrelenting heat of midafternoon summers.
The man and woman were seated in identical white wicker chairs. The man was smoking a pipe, and Wanda was stroking a small black cat, which lay curled in her lap. The man said something that Wilma couldn't hear over the television, but it didn't matter anyway.
Wanda responded with a gentle smile, and leaned over to take his hand---
Opening the screen door, Wilma stepped inside.
She shot the man first, as he rose and made a futile attempt to defend his wife. His pipe fell from his hand and tobacco scattered across the oval braided rug, his blood blending with the tobacco granules as he sprawled across the settee.
“For your sins,” she shouted. Wanda gasped, part in terror, part in recognition; her mouth flew open in a silent plea as Wilma leveled the shotgun at her and pulled the trigger.
Her eyes fixed on Wilma, Wanda crumpled slowly to the floor, the red spot on her stomach growing larger as she reached for her husband's hand and clasped it, her dying act of devotion.
At the first blast of the shotgun, Folly jumped, skittered wildly over the polished wood floor until she reached the screen door. With one push from her paws, the door swung open.
She ran until she reached the safety of the tall brush north of the house. There she crouched, heart thudding, tail twitching, gold-green eyes fixed on the house in the distance.
Somewhere in her primitive instincts, the cat sensed danger even as she processed the carnage she had escaped.
Her days spent in safety and serenity were now at an end. And now she knew what her Gift was.
There was danger in the house. Folly knew she must now rely on her own wits to survive.
One other thing the animal felt in the depths of her being: The intruder was evil, and she would keep a safe distance until she was certain it was safe to enter her house again.
And so she crouched silently in the underbrush, watching, waiting....
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