Harrison sits quietly on the living room sofa; his bed for the past four years. He watches his daughter as she is crouched on all fours. The little girl is mimicking the cat, which is only two feet from her face. The cat hisses and growls while its back is arched and its hackles are raised. The little girl stares down the devil cat. She knows no fear.
"HEEEEE" the little girl bares her teeth, hissing back. She lunges forward.
The vicious feline has had a life much like the little girl herself. It has received no love or affection. Life in the Kringe household has taken its toll on the weak mind of the cat.
Harrison has named the cat Tabby, in part because of the type of cat she is, but mostly because he didn't feel like thinking of anything more creative.
The cat bats with its sharp claws, snagging the girl's skin. She quickly retracts her bloody hand, and licks her wound. She has become accustomed to the bitter flavor. She has grown to like the taste of her own blood, it excites her.
This is the usual outcome of playtime with Tabby. The pain is familiar but the little girl is used to it now. Both her hands and arms are badly scarred. She thinks the scars make her pretty...at least, that's what the man has told her.
Harrison scolds her from across the room. "You need to be faster. You'll never catch Tabby like that."
Harrison makes kissing noises and calls for Tabby. The cat is reluctant but she is curious so she approaches cautiously. Harrison lures the cat closer, "Here kitty kitty...here Tabby."
Tabby risks getting closer while all her senses are actively at work scanning the man for hints of danger. Harrison pats his thigh softly and Tabby inches even closer. The little girl is studying every move Harrison makes. Harrison holds his hand out so the cat can smell it. 'Sniff-sniff', it seems safe.
Suddenly, with cat-like speed, Harrison grabs Tabby by the scruff and picks her up. He looks to his daughter, "You must earn the animals trust. Wait patiently for the right moment, and then attack." The four year old nods to the man, she understands.
Tabby is frozen with fear, her claws protracted and ready. A low growl vibrates within the cat's throat. Harrison continues to teach his daughter, holding Tabby tightly. "Humans are no different than animals. In order to effectively incapacitate your enemy, you must get within reach. To do so, you need their trust."
Harrison throws Tabby to the floor, and the cat bolts down the hallway into a room. He snaps at the little girl, "Now go get her!"
She stands, turns, and begins her hunt. Harrison sits back, smiling at his handy work. He is happy with her development so far. At just four years old, she is able to follow his directions without any trouble at all.
Having been trained and taught since birth, the little girl is very knowledgeable of the anatomy of humans, as well as animals. She knows the names and locations of nearly every bone, muscle, and organ. She also knows that when the neck is broken, paralysis or spinal shock may occur and leave the victim at her mercy, if not dead.
The little girl returns from down the hallway, dragging the lifeless body of Tabby by the tail. She picks the cat carcass up and drops it on the coffee table like a sacrificial offering. The cats head sits at an unusual angle; Tabby's neck is obviously broken.
The girl looks to Harrison, "Tabby's dead." She has an emotionless look on her face. Tabby's murder seems to have no effect on her.
Harrison looks and sees the wonderful sight. He stands, smiling. How proud he is of his little girl. Finally, her first kill. Harrison has been wanting to teach her how to handle a knife for some time now. This is the perfect opportunity to do so.
Harrison sits with the girl at the dining table. The dead cat is belly up. All four of the limbs have been pulled away from the body and nailed down. Harrison is teaching her how to handle a knife. He shows her how to hold a scalpel. Harrison holds her hand steady as they make the first cut together. A long incision the length of the cat is made. From neck to anus they slice through fur and skin. Grabbing the flaps of the cats flesh, Harrison pulls the skin apart, revealing the innards. The little girl has seen all of these organs in books and flash cards, but to see the real thing in the flesh is a special treat. The blood puddles around the corpse, soaking into the fur so much that it's hard to tell what color the cat had been. The little girl has seen blood before, but never this much.
Harrison can see she is a bit hesitant. Harrison dips his finger into the cat's blood and holds it up. "See. It's just blood." He touches her nose, leaving a bloody finger print behind. Harrison smiles at her as she begins to explore, rubbing her hands through the blood. It's still warm and slippery to her touch. Digging with both hands in to the cavity of the cat's abdomen, she juggles and squeezes the slimy intestines between her fingers, making squishing noises.
Harrison encourages her, "That's it...there's nothing to be afraid of."
She cups her hands together and scoops blood up, letting it trickle through her fingers.
"Good." Harrison is pleased. "Do you like that?"
She nods in approval, "Tabby's pretty now."
Harrison chuckles, "Yes, Tabby is pretty now." He indicates her blood covered hands, "Just like you."
She holds her hands palms out, showing them to Harrison. He smiles and she smiles back. This is the first time Harrison can remember her smiling at him.
Harrison decides it's time. "What would you like to be called? Any name you want."
She stares at him for a moment, thinking to herself. The only name she knows comes to mind. "Tabby."
Harrison looks at her, "No, not Tabby...how about, Abby? It rhymes. Do you like that name? Abby?"
She nods, "Abby...I like Abby." She would prefer Tabby, but she is scared to disagree with him.
Harrison locks the decision. "Abby it is! Now clean up this mess and get to your room. I'm going out to get you another animal...how about a dog this time?"
Missing Pets
Detective's Brandy Page and Ronald Travis are at the station, working at Ron's desk. Their case load has been full as of late. There has been dozens of reports of missing pets. Mostly cats and dogs have come up missing. A local farm owner has reported several of his livestock stolen. Three goats, four chickens, and a pig have all vanished over the past few months.
All of the animals that have gone missing are within a 3 mile radius of North Point. The detectives are fairly certain that whoever is behind it must live locally. One thing is for sure, the people responsible have been careful not to leave any traces of evidence behind. Police are taught to look for patterns. The animal abductor doesn't seem to have one.
Brandy reads over the numerous reports. "They're all so random...it doesn't make sense."
Ron gives his two cents, "There isn't always a pattern. Sometimes random is the pattern. It's probably some satanic cult sacrificing animals for their rituals or something."
Brandy laughs. "Sick freaks."
Ron laughs too. "Shit Page, I got a dog. I'm puttin a GPS tracker in his damn collar!"
Brandy looks at him, her eyebrows raise.
Ron's serious. "Don't think I won't."
"Travis, you're a genius."
"What?"
"Tracking devices in dog collars... we'll put a few dogs out there as bait, and maybe we'll catch these guys."
Ron's is worried about his own pet. "What? My dog? Hell no! Not Samson!"
"No not Samson...some strays. We'll get them from the pound."
Ron is relieved that his dog isn't being volunteered as a decoy. "Okay, but we'll need the Chief's approval first."
"Oh Jesus Christ Travis...what happened to the bad ass I met four years ago?"
Ron takes offense to Brandy's comment. "He's still sittin right here!"
Brandy works to get a rise out of Ron. "Please. The only thing I see sitting there is a by the book, don't break the rules, Dudley fuckin do right...You haven't been the same since you got shot."
Ron yells, "Hey! Now you're startin to piss me off!"
"Good! Cause the Ronald Travis I know wouldn't be sitting there like a little bitch, worried about getting permission for anything! The Ronald Travis I remember didn't ask the Chief for shit. He did what he wanted when he wanted...What was it you always used to say about asking permission?"
"It's better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission...but..."
"But nothin Travis..."
"But we're detectives now, I mean, it's just..."
"What? It's just what? You think because we're detectives we need to be more professional?"
"Yeah...I guess. Ever since I m-,...we, made detective, I just feel like the Chief expects more from us, and I don't want to let him, or you, or anybody else down...I've been waiting a long time for this Page, and I don't want to screw it up."
"Well think about this Travis...Was it your new found professionalism that got you to detective? Or was it the shoot first, ask questions later, bad ass cop that got you here? You need to decide who you want to be!" Brandy grabs her jacket and starts for the door.
Ron sits and ponders the question that Brandy has not so delicately laid before him. In his heart and mind, he knows she is right. He knows he has changed and he has, until this very moment, been in denial about the whole thing. Before being shot, Ron felt he had been pressing his luck for a long time. After getting shot, he decided life was too precious to take risks.
Brandy's final thought sinks deeper into the abyss of Ron's mind. He doesn't like the cop he's become, but fear has a strong hold on him. Near death experiences have a tendency to do that to a person.
Suddenly, Ron perks up, a thought has animated him. He slams his hand down on his desk.
Outside the station, Brandy Page leans against the building smoking a cigarette. She usually only smokes when she is stressed. Her and Ron's altercation has nudged her one step closer to emphysema. Not really though. With the small amount in which she does smoke, Brandy would die of old age before cigarette smoke caused any major problems for her.
Ron exits the building, walking right past Brandy. He doesn't see her. Brandy grabs his attention, "Three minutes."
Ron stops and turns, "What?"
Brandy flicks her butt away, exhaling the remaining smoke from her lungs. "It took you three minutes to make a decision. So, what'd you decide?"
Ron stands facing Brandy, his hands on his hips, he sighs. "I decided that it's time I stopped lying to you and myself. You're absolutely right about me, Page...I didn't get promoted to detective for being a nice guy or a good cop. I got promoted to detective for bein a name takin, rule breakin, don't call me bacon, bad ass son of a bitch...cop!"
Brandy smiles, "You sure about that partner?"
"You damn skippy."
"What changed your mind?"
"I remembered something you once said to me, about life being too short."
Brandy knows exactly what he is referring to, she chuckles. "Life's too short. Sometimes, you just gotta say..."
In unison, they finish the saying, "Fuck it!"
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