The Hilstead Experiment: 1986 (Rough Draft)

3: The Cat (New Chapter)

*Please point out any mistakes you might find while reading. Fresh eyes see everything I've missed. :0)

1

Unbeknownst to the girls, an orange tabby cat appears on the windowsill in Kariss's room and watches them intently from behind the lace curtains. Its fiery golden eyes never leave the pair as they undress.

In his human form, Gideon would love to watch these two go at it but it's different not being involved. To his surprise the sight of them together in this intimate way almost disgusts him. His fur prickles; puffing out at his agitation and the feline part of him threatens to completely take him over.

He flicks his tail at the sound their heavy moans filtering down from the hallway and suppresses a feral hiss. The low grumble builds deep within his throat, fighting him at every turn. When he can't stop the primal noise any longer his ears flatten, his back arches, and the animal consumes him.

He hisses and imagines the sound erupting from his throat like a mighty lion but it's more like the mewing of a scrawny runt.

Something sharp jabs his side and the sudden pain makes him jump into the air. Upon landing, he loses his balance, claws desperately at the pealing windowsill and tumbles to the rocky ground below. But like every good cat, he lands on his feet and glares at his surroundings, trying to find the perpetrator. He spots her almost immediately, peaking out from behind a tree in her front yard. Her eyes stare back at him, unblinking.

She's a mass of black hair and brown skin, dressed in the normal compound attire. The black cargo pants were crudely cut into a pair of uneven shorts and is paired with a worn out dingy white top that's three sizes too big for her petite frame.

"Go home, Gideon." She steps out from behind the tree and for someone who is only ten years old she has a defined confidence in her stance and it angers him.

Gideon hisses at her in response. His ears flatten against his skull as he slowly sinks to the ground and settles back on his hind legs. He flicks his tail back and forth in an agitated upbeat tempo and glairs at her from across the gravel road, thinking of all the different ways he can make her suffer.

He takes a hesitant step forward, thinking he'll claw her good and hard across the cheek but stops short when he spots the stone clutched between her long fingers. A smile pulls at the corner off her mouth as she twirls it in her hand.

She's bluffing. He thinks and her brown eyes narrow when he still doesn't move.

The breeze returns, bringing with it that same sickly sweet smell only this time it's stronger. It ruffles her wild black curls that shine under the glaring afternoon sun. A colorful bird bursts from the treetops above them and soars high into the sky, cawing loudly as it goes.

The girl pays it no mind and simply tosses the stone up into the air, catching it in one smooth grab on its way back down as if she's daring him to come at her.

Without warning, she cocks her arm back and releases the second stone. It sails through the air, crosses the narrow gravel road separating them and hits the ground a few feet from where he stands. The stone crashes into the side of the house with a hollow thump and ricochets off, nearly hitting him in the process.

She scrambles to the ground, franticly collecting more ammo in her small hands but he darts out of her line of fire before she can take aim. He runs for the mouth of the nearest ally and disappears quickly around the corner.

"Tu ferais mieux de courur!" She calls after him in her native Haitian tongue.

Stupid, nigger bitch. The words burn in his mind as he reaches the end of the ally way.

He slows his pace when he reaches the next row of cookie cuter bungalows. The only thing distinguishing each as unique are the letters and numbers sprawled in thick black strokes across the front doors. Other than that minuscule detail they are identical wooden structures that resembles 1950's architecture.

Each one is a nauseating pale yellow with white trim but after years of baking under the hot tropical sun and little to no upkeep they've begun to peel, looking painfully old. Bushes line the front walls and portions of the back of each house to add a little color to the dull grayness of the gravel they sit on. A tree grows in the middle of the 'front lawn', which again, is nothing more than more loose gravel.

The lucky few who live in the ones lining the edges of the compound get to enjoy the greenery the island has to offer. Other than that there isn't anything resembling a tropical island here.

Gideon remembers seeing pictures of the compound when it first became active. There were trees, grass, as well as wild life roaming around. The area looked as though an upper class white neighborhood in the middle of suburbia dropped from the heavens and landed in a tropical paradise. But none of that is around now. What remains is a dead shell of what it once was, nothing more, nothing less.

It's quite sad actually. Gideon grunts low in his throat and keeps walking.

Limping, he searches for the safety of a shadowy bush as the pain in his side intensifies. It's taken him weeks to conserve all his energy for a change of this stature.

He's been in cat form now for two days. That's one and a half days longer than normal and he sure as fuck doesn't want that little bitch to ruin it for him. He stops before entering the bush because movement catches his attention.

Something small, the size of a tennis ball maybe, and yellow falls from one of the trees on his left. He forgets about his aching side and jogs over toward the area to investigate.

There, nestled in some dried leaves, lays a baby bird, with fine yellow feathers that glint in the sunlight. Its little beak opens and cries out for a mother that isn't around.

Baby bird, baby bird, what shall I do with you now that you've flow the coup? He licks his whiskers. If he can't hurt the girl this would have to do, for now at least. He'll deal with the little nigger bitch later.

He glares as his prey while it struggles helplessly in the leaves below him and slowly raises a claw tipped paw, savoring this moment. The bird is knocked to the side in one swipe and rolls a few feet away and cries out.

It frantically beats its tiny wings and is unable to open its disgusting little eyes in its final moments of life.

Gideon bats it again and again, each time harder than the last, and think of the little rock thrower. Soon the cries die down and the baby bird stops moving but is far from dead. Its leg had snapped at some point and he can see the limb twitch every now and then and he grows tired of playing with his food.

In the end, he pounces on its little, now dirty and broken, body and sinks his teeth into it. He shakes his head roughly back and forth until he hears the satisfying crunch of bones snapping between his jaws then releases it. The body plops to the ground with a light rustle of leaves and it's over.

He doesn't bother eating it, even though the feline part of him wants to. Instead he leaves its crumpled and torn body where it lands and heads toward the bush to take a nap. After all that's what cats do, right?

Words: 1,377

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