Caterpillar, a Paranormal Romance With a Touch of Horror (4 page)

Like a crazed teenager at Christmas, I ripped the box open, cutting my finger in the process.  I stuck it in my mouth and used the other hand to remove the contents.  Another, smaller box lay inside—a jewelry box—along with a letter.  Of course I opened the jewelry box first. 

Sparkling against the white velvet interior of the box was an amulet, a quarter-sized rectangular ruby dangling from a delicate gold chain.  I picked it up to examine it more closely.  The perimeter of the stone was cut into six wide, flat facets, each with something etched onto its surface and each reflecting light in a brilliant, sparkling display.  The six joined at the center in one large diamond-shaped facet. 

Impulsively, I fastened the chain around my neck and examined my reflection in the mirror.  The stone just reached my breasts, nestling between them.  The rich red shone against my lightly tanned skin. 

Turning back to the bed, I perched on one corner and reached for the letter.  It was written in a neat, feminine yet very nondescript hand.

Cat,

I know you have questions—about me and about what’s happened to you.  I promise you’ll get answers.  Be patient.  Your twenty-fourth birthday is more significant than you can imagine.  Don’t be afraid; your destiny awaits.  Wear the amulet.  Go to Freedom Baptist Church on Atkins Street.  Find Pastor Mike.  Light a candle for me.  My address is 411 Commerce Street, Apt 1104. 

Aunt Jillian

Don’t be afraid.  What the heck was that supposed to mean?  Afraid of what?  The cryptic note unleashed a downpour of unease and uncertainty from my little dark cloud.  Unfortunately, I had promised my delinquent brother that I would meet him for breakfast so destiny would have to put her display of shock and awe on hold.  I’d have to further investigate later.

By the time I’d dressed and made my way to the diner, my appetite had faded, a fact Carter no doubt appreciated since he was paying.  I ordered cereal and a cup of coffee.

I was force-feeding myself Frosted Flakes when Carter finally struck up conversation, and not the pleasant kind. 

“I hocked Dad’s pocket watch to buy some blow.  I’ve been feeling really guilty about it and I had to fess up.  I know it was wrong and I plan to buy it back.  I wanted you to know.”

“Well, that just killed what was left of my appetite,” I said, tossing my spoon into the half full bowl of soggy flakes.

“Hey, does that make me a cereal killer?”

“Hardy-har-har, Carter.  Don’t try to be cute after you drop a bomb like that.  How could you pawn Dad’s pocket watch?  You know how much he loved that thing.”  I managed to blink back the tears that suddenly stung my eyes, but my chin was trembling and there was nothing I could do about that.  “Are you still using?”

“No.  I’m clean.”  Carter looked down at his plate, poking at the yolk of an egg idly with his fork.  “I’m sorry, Cat.  I’m an idiot.  I know that, but I’m going to get it back.  I
promise
,” he vowed, looking up at me, his hazel eyes aglow with determination.  “I told you I want to straighten up, get my life back on track.  That’s another reason I want to give it a shot with Mistee.”

“Carter, look.  I’m sure you mean what you say
right now
, but why don’t you wait until you actually make some progress before dragging a nice girl like Mistee into your nightmare, okay?”  Carter’s expression told me my words had cut deeply and it hurt me to say them, but it needed to be said.  They call it tough love for a reason:  it’s tough on
everybody
.

I really wanted to believe he was ready to change, but experience had made me gun-shy when it came to Carter.  His bitterness and resentment toward God for “taking” Mom and Dad, as he put it, had permeated and nearly destroyed his life on multiple occasions.  For years, I’d tried everything:  being supportive, being mean; giving up, buckling down; being the mature older sister, being the fun-loving friend.  Nothing worked.  So at that point, all I could do was control the collateral damage and try to ensure he didn’t ruin any lives other than his own.

“Just talk to her, Cat.  Please.”

Against my better judgment, I agreed.  “Alright.”

We finished our breakfast in strained silence.  My heart broke for Carter—for his weakness, for his pain, for his loneliness, for his selfishness.  The difference between us was that he still had hope that he could change.  I did not. 

Chapter Four

After my disturbing breakfast, I spent the rest of the morning in the office.  At lunch, I left and walked the short distance down the street to Priss.  The sky was clear and the temperature was moderate, the perfect day for being outdoors. 

When I reached the boutique, I pushed through the door.  A little bell overhead jingled delicately, its dainty notes as glamorous as the shop itself.

A very attractive woman with atrocious red hair sashayed across the shop toward me, a pretentious smile firmly in place on her brick-red lips.  “May I help you?”  Her cool tone suggested that, the way I was dressed, she doubted
she
could help
me,
as I must
surely
have stumbled into the wrong store. 

“Actually, I need a gown for a formal event.  A “Key to the City” ceremony and after-party.  Tonight.  I’d prefer something in black.”  Her eyes lit up at my mention of such an illustrious occasion.  She introduced herself as Jeanine and was all smiles,
genuine
smiles, after that.

She presented several beautiful gowns, three of which I let her carry to the dressing room for me to try on.  When I had zipped the first one, I walked out to the viewing platform.  I turned this way and that, checking for bulges, assessing my butt. 

“That necklace is breathtaking.  Will you be wearing it to the party?”  Jeanine caught me as I was heading back to the fitting room.

“Uh, I hadn’t really thought about it.  I forgot I was still wearing it actually.”

“If you aren’t firm about black, I have a fabulous gown that would be lovely with that piece,” she said. 

I did a half nod–half shrug of agreement.  “Alright.”  I made my way back to the dressing room and changed into the dress when she brought it. 

Floor-length, strapless and skin tight, the clingy red material of the dress was overlaid with a filmy, shimmering layer of ruby gauze that gathered along the midline, puckering delicately under the breasts.  It hugged and accentuated my curves in all the right places.  It made me feel like Cinderella.  I knew I had to have it.

I was experimenting with my hairstyle when the attendant appeared behind me.  Her smile spoke volumes. 

“Did you want to look at accessories?”  She knew which dress I was taking home.

A half hour later, I emerged from Priss laden with bags.  I refused to think about the luxuries I’d probably have to forego because of my splurge, little things like food and water.  That gown constituted the bulk of my wardrobe budget.  I hoped it showered well because I’d probably never take it off.

Back in my SUV, I grabbed a burger and fries from my favorite McStandby and decided to visit my grandmother on the way home.  I thought again about Aunt Jillian and whether Mamaw knew she was alive.  I decided it was probably in everyone’s best interest to talk to Aunt Jillian before unloading bombs on anyone else.

Fifteen minutes later, I was munching on the last of my fries as I drove down her tree lined street, only a few over from my own Laurel Street.  I pulled to a stop in front of her little white house with its winter-empty window boxes and welcoming front porch. 

Climbing the few steps quickly, I opened the screen door and knocked hard on the thick wooden one behind it.  I heard a far-away “come in” so I twisted the knob.  It was unlocked.

“Mamaw, you’ve gotta stop bein’ so trustin’,” I scolded as gently and as lovingly as I could. 

I found her in the kitchen.  Eliza Huntley, my paternal grandmother, stood at the sink slicing a mountain of apples. 

Mamaw had had children late in life, right before the death of her first husband, but at eighty-five, she was still pretty spry.  Her short hair was combed back from her forehead in fluffy silver waves.  Her stooped frame was covered in a purple and white checked dress that zipped up the front.  It was topped with a yellow and green striped apron she had tied around her thickened waist.  She had on purple socks and tan orthopedic shoes. 
She was positively eye-popping.

“Oh, Punkin’, you worry too much.  Who’d wanna hurt an old woman like me?” she asked as she turned to look at me, presenting me with her cheek for some “sugar”.  I obliged, bending to press my lips to her soft, warm cheek with its cascade of paper thin wrinkles.  “Have you heard from Suzie-Q?”

I couldn’t help but smile at her persistence in calling Carter “Suzie-Q”.  Although I had always found it hilarious, Carter had never warmed to his feminine nickname.  I doubt anyone remembered who started it or why, but Mamaw was very attached to the moniker, refusing to let it die.

“Actually, I had breakfast with him this morning.”

“How is he?  He’s in trouble, ain’t he?”  Exasperation and disapproval rang in her tone.

“You’re the one that knows everything that goes on in this town.  Why’re you asking me?”

“Now you know I won’t hear of no tales about you or Suzie-Q.”  The more likely reason she didn’t know was that no one had the nerve to say
anything
bad about me or Carter to Mamaw Huntley.  That’d be like poking a mama grizzly bear—not smart.

“Surprisingly, he says he’s clean and trying to get his life straightened out.  Wants me to fix him up with a nice girl.”

“Well, glory be,” she exclaimed happily, looking over her shoulder at me.  I watched as wrinkles moved and shifted to accommodate the lift of her thin lips in a beatific smile that revealed a row of straight, slightly-stained false teeth.

“Now don’t get too excited, Mamaw.  You know how he is,” I cautioned.

“I know.  It’s all those tramps he gets tangled up with.  If he’d think outside his pants for once I believe he’d be alright.”

“Mamaw!”  Who knows why I was shocked.  Mamaw had spent years surprising me with her bald statements and keen observations.  She’d raised me and Carter in a very strict Christian environment, which had gone a long way toward sealing my fate as a virgin, but she’d never lacked the ability to tell it like it was.  She still flexed that muscle often.

“Please tell me you hain’t let that handsome lawyer talk his way into your business, Punkin’.”

“No, Mamaw.  Not that my ‘business’ is any of
your
business.”

“I just want what’s best for you, Punkin’.  You know that.”

“Want some help?”  My efforts to change the subject were well received, especially since they came with an offer of assistance. 

For two hours, I helped Mamaw can apples for fried apple pies and listened to the scoop on everyone in the town above the age of seven.  When the kitchen was clean and jars were cooling on the table, I said my goodbyes and headed for the door.  I had nearly escaped without an uncomfortable return to sexual topics when Mamaw called out from the kitchen.  “Have fun tonight.  Leave your underpants on.” 

Back at my house, packages strewn across the bed, I drew another hot bath and sank happily into the scented bubbles.  I scrubbed and shaved everything from the neck down, emerging from the water smooth and rosy.

I rolled my hair in big hot rollers and put my makeup on, taking extra care to cover my scar as best I could.  I massaged shimmering scented lotion into every inch of my skin then sprayed a quick burst of perfume at my throat, nape and behind my knees.  I put on lacy red panties and a matching strapless bra. 

As I stood in front of the mirror, getting ready to step into my dress, I wondered what Detective Tegan would think of my reflection. 

“Where did that come from?”  I asked the thin air.  I was equal parts surprised and aggravated that he’d popped into my head, to say nothing for the disturbing clarity with which I could remember his clear blue eyes.  Shaking my head, I pushed aside thoughts of him and focused on completing the task at hand.