THE CAT MURDERER

Chapter Six - Too Much to Lose

I furrowed my brow. "What's going on?"

"Skipper was killed last night."

Shock ran through Lynne and me as if someone had electrocuted us. That was the sad and inevitable news we received that proved it was not over yet. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed.

"I found 'im in my backyard this mornin'. Totally skint and dead as a doornail."

"Hal...I'm so sorry," Lynne said. I felt sick to my stomach.

"Eh...I'll be alright. Ol' Skippy was gettin' up there in years. I'm sure he's in a better place now. We had some good times together."

"Is there anything we can do?" I inquired sympathetically.

"Well, I buried 'im this mornin'. You kids can go look around if you want, see if you spot anythin' suspicious."

"Leave it to us, Hal." After that shocking news, I was more determined than ever to get the bastard who did it. But it would be harder than we thought. We didn't have anything but a hunch to go by, and very little evidence.

We made our way back to Cherry Grove and then all the way down a winding road to Hal's house on the edge of Tomahawk Lake. His fishing boat was moored at the wooden dock behind his small brick house, and an old car that he was refurbishing was sitting under the tin roof of the garage shed.

Lynne parked in his gravel driveway and we walked around the house into his backyard. The only things back there were the garage, the toolshed, and a fence at the edge of the woods. He had a small vegetable garden and some well-kept shrubbery next to the back porch. 

The first thing Lynne inspected was the fence. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary," she told me.

"Keep looking," I called as I shifted through the shrubbery. "There's gotta be something," I growled in frustration. "I can't believe this! Who could possibly have it against Hal?!" I cried out, exasperated.

Lynne squatted down at the base of the fence. "Maybe Will wanted to make sure he kept quiet. Look at this."

I walked over and knelt in the grass next to her, and saw what she was looking at. It was a burnt-out blunt lying on the ground. We looked at each other in realization; we had pretty much caught our culprit red-handed.

I got home around 7 o'clock that night, so I was late for dinner. When I walked in, my parents were waiting for me. 

"Hey, what are you doing home so late?" Mom asked, but she didn't sound mad.

"Your food's getting cold! Come sit down and eat with us."

I sat down cautiously. They were giving me a weird feeling by how inviting they were being.

"So where have you been, son? We feel like we haven't seen much of you lately."

"Oh...I was with Hal. His cat was killed last night." I mumbled, so exhausted that my tongue stumbled over my words.

"Oh, that's terrible!" Mom exclaimed.

"What happened?"

"Same thing that's been happening to all the neighborhood cats." My tone had an edge to it.

Mom sighed and Dad demanded, "You're not still on that, are you?"

I didn't respond and my parents gave each other a look. 

"Honey," Mom said as gently as she could, a shrill ring still in her voice. "I thought we agreed that you weren't going to stay involved with any of this. You need to focus on school."

"I am focused on school, and I never agreed to anything."

"I just don't know what to do with you, Elliot!" Mom asserted. "You're skulking around at night, you're getting beat up..." Her voice trailed off.

"You're going to get yourself in trouble if you keep on, son," Dad stated, his forehead knitting together in worry.

Anger began to well up in my chest. "Hal is my friend!" I seethed. "He deserves justice, and so does Mrs. Gresky!"

"Elliot, this isn't like you!" my mom cried in desperation. "You don't go sneaking around and getting into fights--"

I abruptly stood up and spat, "Then maybe you just don't know me!" I had knocked my chair back, and it clattered to the floor in the silence that followed. My parents stared in shock.

Tears welled up in my mother's eyes. "Elliot..."

I turned away, feeling anguish and guilt that I didn't deserve to feel. "No. You don't get to do that, Mom. You don't get to make me feel wrong for being who I am again. It took you four years just to get to know the real me, but it's like you still don't get it!"

"Elliot, sit down." my father commanded.

"Don't treat me like a little girl, because I'm not!" I shouted. "And apparently, you both still think that I am!" I stormed out of the dining room, ignoring my father calling after me.

I made my way down the street, taking long and quick strides, not knowing where I was going. The acidic anger boiling through my stomach was the thing that was driving me forward. It was dark, but I didn't care.

A white, bony hand shot out of the darkness and grasped onto my arm, the long, jagged, and dirty fingernails digging into my skin so hard I thought it drew blood. I cried out and yanked my arm away, whipping around to face my oppressor.

"YOU THERE, BOY!" the man shouted, baring his crooked orange teeth. He had long, stringy hair so dirty that I couldn't tell what color it was, and I couldn't tell whether there was grime or unkempt stubble on his face. His oily skin was a sickly pale and covered with a sheen of grease and sweat. I recognized him as Phil Berkowitz, the neighbor that lived in the old house down the block. When Lynne and I were little, riding our bikes around the neighborhood, we used to dare each other to get close to his house. We also nicknamed him "Creepybutt," which we as 7-year-olds watching An Extremely Goofy Movie on a VCR thought was hilarious.

Phil was pointing a dirty, crooked finger in my face. He was wearing a dull silver ring in the shape of a skull. His breath stank of hard liquor and he stumbled as he walked. He was hammered, and I had no idea how dangerous he could be. "Who the hell are you?!" I shouted, trying to play dumb so he'd go away. My heart was beating in my throat and I was fighting the urge to run away, which I probably should've done.

His eye was twitching. "Stay away from my yard, boy!" he rasped. "Stay out of my way or you'll be in big trouble, boy!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I stuttered. "I'm just taking a walk, leave me alone!" I resisted the urge to call him, "You old drunkard!" because I didn't want to get decked.

Phil began to skulk back to his house. "You've been warned, boy..." he growled.

A shudder went down my spine as I turned around and walked in the opposite direction, glancing behind me every now and then to make sure that he was gone.