Naked, on the Edge

Crow, Cat, Cow, Child

It took almost ten minutes to catch both the beetle and the centipede, but Hannah Livick’s paper cup finally had the captives securely inside, and she walked them down to the grassy stretch behind the dumpster and let them go. Best to be out in the wild than in her apartment, where they might get stepped on or caught by one of Hannah’s cats. It was more time consuming now to keep up with her promises. With the onset of fall,more insects sought warmth inside, and she spent more time chasing them and putting them out.

But promises she had made and promises she would keep.

She went back inside and dropped down on a kitchen chair. On the table before her was an opened letter from her father. The bastard. She flipped her hand and the letter fluttered to the floor. The two stray kittens she’d rescued from the college parking lot blinked at her from the hall. Timothy jumped onto the table. Hannah kicked off her shoes and tucked her hair back behind her ears. She waited as her breathing eased and her heart slowed. She needed to let things like this go. She was thirty-two, for heaven’s sake, no teenaged flower child. She should no longer be thrown for a loop when others didn’t understand. In fact, their lack of under-standing only clarified her own. It clarified that of Karla Casey and little Allen and Joe and the other student members of Voices for the Voiceless, people who had true commitment to great causes.

“Great causes,” she said to Timothy. She gave him a kiss.

Last night had been a glorious moment for a great cause. Another round won for the animals. Hannah and her friend Karla had led Voices for the Voiceless in a midnight raid on the county animal pound. The pound was clean enough, and part of their purpose, that of placing unwanted animals for adoption, was humane enough, but Joe had said the holding cell of unclaimed animals was now full and an execution was pending. Joe Farrish, a psychology major at the college and one of Hannah’s brightest students who worked part-time at the pound, had stolen a key and he break-in was not a break-in at all but a calm open-the-door-and-help-yourself-in.

Dressed in a denim skirt and black sweatshirt that read, “A Crow is a Cat is a Cow is a Dhild", Hannah had hacked the padlock from the holding cell, then stepped back as Karla’s nine-year-old son, Allen, was allowed the first rescue.

“Go in, sweetie,” Karla said, giving the little boy an encouraging push. “Those kitties and puppies are going to be poisoned if we don’t set them free. They will cough and shake and vomit and suffer. Go get the first one out.”

Allen, in his little red “Peace Now” ball cap, had gone into the dingy cell among the condemned, cats in a cage on the right of the cell and dogs in a cage on the left. The condemned watched him with hesitant wags of tails and blinks of eyes. He pulled the pin to the cat cage and lifted out a scraggly calico. As he turned to face the other rescuers, Joe snapped a Polaroid photo.

Grinning child and living cat. The crow is the cat is the cow is the child. Bless the beasts and the children.

Equality beyond specieism.

The photo was now displayed on her refrigerator along with photos of other events in Hannah’s activist life; protests, marches, passing home-computer generated pamphlets out on the street in front of the college and the nearby grocery stores.

Commitment and courage. Promises kept.

As little Allen would say when asked if he would always look out for the weaker creatures, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Hannah stared at the photos, letting pride in what she was doing squeeze out the irritation at her father’s selfishness. It took a little while, but it worked.

Joe wore a red plaid flannel shirt, not quite grunge but amazingly attractive in its carelessness, faded jeans, and boots. He sat, as he always did, in the middle of the classroom, leg crossed casually, pen top in teeth, scribbling notes faster than Hannah spoke.

Interpretations, she assumed. His own additions to her lessons, questions, comments, insights.

As humans went, he was beautiful. Young and dark. Committed and courageous. And agonizingly sensual.

Hannah spoke today on the contrasting beliefs within the fundamentalist denominations in early twentieth century America. As was true in any class period, some students leaned forward with interest, some slumped back in boredom. Timothy, brought to class each day in his airy cat-tote, lay on a fluffy folded towel in his windowsill overlooking the campus green. Every so often he would stretch, arch his back and scoot down a bit to catch the movement of the afternoon sunlight.

Class ended with the usual assignment, Hannah’s challenge to younger minds. “Study those around you. See what we are. Observe and remember. Until tomorrow.”

And the students were gone then as quickly as water from a draining tub.

Joe sat unmoving at his desk, leg crossed, pen tapping his closed notebook. Hannah collected her books, scooted her podium over to the wall so the janitors could better clean, and took a last sip of the coffee from her earth toned “Love Your Mother” mug.

Joe did not move. Hannah patted her hair and smoothed the tight bridge of her

nose, then looked at him directly. He was smiling his beautiful smile. Her heart clenched at the beauty.

“Did you have a question?” she asked.

“I wanted to thank you for letting me be part of the rescue last weekend, Miss Livick,” Joe said. His pen continued to tap.

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Hannah said.

“Of course you could have. It’d have been a little more dramatic, but you could have.”

“It was your idea.”

“And you agreed to take me up on it.”

“So we both should be congratulated.”

“Congratulations to us. And to those we saved.”

Hannah sat on the top of a front desk and crossed her arms. There was more to come here, she just had to wait.

“We should celebrate.” Joe stopped tapping the pencil. He uncrossed his legs. “How should we celebrate our success?”

“I don’t have balloons or confetti in my desk, nor any champagne. I supposed we could shout, “Hip, hip, hooray?”

Joe shook his head. His dark hair rippled. “I was thinking more in line of a dinner. Do you have plans tonight? We could have dinner and toast our beliefs.”

Yes, I have plans, damn, she thought. But I’ll work around them. No problem.

“That would be nice. Do you want to invite some of the others?” she asked. “Susan and Thomas and Barbara helped us set those animals free.”

Joe stood up and put his notebook into his satchel.

The pen he slid through the thick hair to rest on his ear.

“I thought just us.”

“Just us. Well,” said Hannah. She looked at the window. “Timothy, come on, boy.”

The cat turned his head and blinked. He was clearly too comfortable to move.

“Timothy, it’s time to go.”

Timothy shut his eyes and rolled over, exposing his stomach to the warmth of the light.

“Jerk,” laughed Hannah. She went to the window and picked up the cat. He drooped in her grasp, a furry soft-sculpture with twitching whiskers. “Into the case with you.” Then she looked at Joe. “He’d get up under the gas pedal if I didn’t contain him. They may deserve the same rights as humans, but I don’t think they’re quite as smart.”

“Ah.”

“That was supposed to be a joke.”

“Oh. Ha.” Joe walked over to Hannah and the cat carrier, stuck a finger through the slat and scratched the cat. He brushed Hannah’s retreating hand as he did.

“So, you can make it tonight?”

“Sure. And there is a wonderful restaurant, the Garden Gourmet, out on Booker Street. What do you think?”

“Actually, I have a lot of food at my place. Would you mind eating there? It’s not a bad apartment. I’ll actually run the vacuum for you. My roommate is gone for a few days, and I don’t often have a chance to cook for someone else.”

“Oh, sure. That’s fine.”

“Seven?”

“Could we make it eight? I have to meet Karla at six and then I need some time to get ready, feed the cats, all that,” said Hannah.

“Eight’s good. You won’t change your mind, now? You won’t call and say you’ve come down with something?”

He smiled, one eyebrow going up.

“I don’t break promises.”

“I knew that. After we eat, maybe we can take Timothy to the park. So bring him.”

Hannah bit the inside of her cheek to keep the insipid grin she felt building from showing on her face.

“Sure,” she said.

Joe gave her a wink and strode from the classroom.

Hannah hugged the cat tote to her chest, held her breath, and waited until the unsummoned thumping between her thighs eased.

Karla was late getting home from work. Hannah sat in her car in front of Karla’s house, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as Timothy whined in irritation from his cat tote.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’ll be home soon. Be patient.”

On the back seat of Hannah’s Bug was a box load of Voices for the Voiceless brochures that she had run off at Kinko’s just an hour earlier. Karla was attending a state senator’s re-election campaign rally this weekend, and planned on getting a copy of the Voices mandate into every flesh-pressing palm. No doubt it would either catch the attention of the press or of security, giving Karla the brief limelight she sought.

Tonight, Karla was going to work on her presentation and make a couple conference calls with folks across the state. And Hannah had agreed to babysit Allen.

“Come on come on come one,” Hannah said.

“Damn it.”

Karla’s blue two-door pulled up behind Hannah’s car and stopped. Karla climbed from the driver’s seat, looking weary. Allen hopped from the passenger’s seat and bounced around to Hannah’s window. Hannah rolled the window down.

’Hey, sweetie!’’

’Hey, Hannah!” said the boy. “I got an A on a science test today! It was all about earthworms. Do you know an earthworm swallows dirt and then poots it

out the other side? It makes the soil rich for growing vegetables and flowers and stuff.”

“Uh, yes, I think I remember something like that,” said Hannah. She smiled at the child’s enthusiasm. Whenever she imagined herself as a mother, she envisioned her child beautiful and innocent, like Allen. Karla came up and draped her arm around Allen’s shoulder. “Hi, sorry I’m late. It’s been a day and a half, I can’t even get into it.”

’’Don’t worry about it,” said Hannah. “Do you have Allen’s things ready for tonight?”

“Yep,” said Karla. “Allen, here’s the key. Go get the overnight bag out of the front hall.”

Allen raced up the sidewalk, unlocked the front door, and disappeared inside the house.

“You’re a saint for agreeing to keep Allen,” said Karla. “It’s not that he gets underfoot, really, but sometimes I just need to be alone to keep my thoughts straight. This campaign is so important, Hannah.”

“I know. You don’t need to convince me,” said Hannah. “Come on, Allen, hurry up.”

“Give me a call if you need anything,” said Karla.

“We’ll be fine,” said Hannah.

Allen bounded out of the house and hopped into the passenger’s seat of the Bug. Karla gave him a quick kiss through the open window, then went to the house.

Hannah smiled at Allen and said, “You know, there’s a really good movie on down at the Tripoli.”

She’d given Allen a quick meal at her apartment; homemade macaroni and cheese, some carrot sticks, and orange juice. Then, at 7:20, she’d driven him to the Tripoli Theater, which had an 7:30 Disney double feature. They’d parked, and Hannah had walked Allen to the box office.

“My mom never lets me go to movies on school nights,” Allen had said in the car, his eyebrows drawn up, as though he was afraid the confession might make Hannah change her mind.

“And you can’t spend the night at friends houses on school nights, either,” Hannah had answered. “But tonight is different. It’s special.”

She’d bought the boy a ticket, had glanced around to quell the nagging sense that it might not be a good idea to send a child to a theater alone, had seen nothing in the movie-going crowd but parents and children, and so, relieved, had kissed the boy on the head, pressed ten dollars into his hand for snacks, and said, “Be watching for me at nine-thirty, sharp. Stay inside the theater but watch out the door. I’ll pull up to the curb right here in front.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t talk to strangers.”

Allen giggled. It was clear he’d heard this many times before. “I won’t, Hannah.” And he’d stood on the sidewalk, waving, until she was out of sight.

I have an hour and a half for dinner, Hannah thought as she drove back to her apartment to take one last look at herself in the mirror and to collect Timothy. An hour and a half isn’t bad. Dinner, some conversation, maybe time to work up another get-together.

She turned on the radio and hummed along, even though she didn’t know the song.

Joe’s apartment was pure college-man. Hannah walked in, holding Timothy in his tote in one hand and some daisies she’d picked up at the grocery store on the way over. Nostalgia washed over her; memories of her own shared flat when she’d been an undergraduate, a place she’d shared with buddy and fellow history major Charlotte Reeder. The furniture was salvage, the music loud and fast and current. Even the smells were familiar — spoiled food cleaned up but not completely, trash taken out just moments earlier, cigarettes and incense, sweat and air freshener, youth and vigor.

“Great place,” Hannah said, standing on the living room mat just inside the door. In his tote, Timothy whined.

Joe laughed. “Oh, well, thanks. It’s not quite what I’d call great, but I like it. It’s home. I vacuumed.”

“Thanks.”

Hannah glanced at Joe. His gaze was steady and a bit disconcerting. It made her heart kick in expectation.

“Dinner is still brewing,” said Joe. He reached for the tote and popped open the lid. Timothy’s furry face appeared at the top. “Hey, guy, how you doing in there, kitty?”

Timothy whined again and caught the edge of the tote to pull himself out.

“Is it all right if I let him roam around?” asked Hannah.

“Sure,” said Joe. “As long as we can keep an eye on him. There are a lot of little nooks and crannies that a cat could get stuck in.”

Timothy gratefully stretched when his paws hit the worn carpet, and he began to sniff the perimeter of the room. His whiskers stiffened and twitched.

“Sit, please,” Joe offered. Hannah sat on the faded plaid sofa, Joe sat beside her. “Now, do tell how you got interested in teaching. It has to be one of the hardest jobs of all.” He put his hand on the back of the sofa, near Hannah’s hair. She wished he would touch it.

“I’m from a long line of educators,” Hannah said. “My mother, who died a while back, was a high school principal. And my father….” Hannah took a deep breath. Her father. Shit on it all.

“What about him?”

“He’s an elementary school teacher. Third graders.”

“Why did you make a face when you mentioned him?”

“Ever the psychology major, aren’t you Joe?”

Joe grinned. “I suppose. So tell me.”

“Oh, let me just say that the two of us don’t exactly see eye-to-eye on a number of matters.”

“Such as?”

“Such as animal rights. In fact, I think he hates me for my views.”

Joe tilted his head. He put his foot up on the Afghan-covered trunk that served as a coffee table. “Really? Hate? That’s a pretty strong emotion toward a daughter for a mere differing of opinion.”

Hannah glanced at her watch. It was 8:02. She wished the meal was ready. Regardless, she had to be out of here by 9:20 to get to the theater on time.

“Yes, really. He had a favorite student last year, a little boy with cancer who had gone into treatment at the children’s center west town. Well, the same day the boy was admitted, there was the freeing of the animals at APD and then the bombing of the APD lab, remember?”

“Yes, I do.”

“There was no connection. I mean the hospital is on one side of town, the lab on the other. But the boy died after a month, and my father suddenly blamed the animal activists. He said it was our fault because we don’t want cancer cured. I tried to talk with him, to tell him I’d love for cancer to be cured but not at the peril of other living things. But he went on rampage. He said my mother dying was my fault because of her emphysema. My grandfather dying of heart disease was the fault of me, or at least people like me. It all fell on my head.”

“Were you in with the bombing?”

“No,” said Hannah. “I do my work in a peaceful way. I mean, what if all the animals hadn’t been released? They would have died in the bomb.”

Joe’s fingers found the top of Hannah’s head and began to stroke. For a second, Hannah couldn’t find her breath, but then she concentrated her efforts, and said, “My father writes me every so often, with all sorts of information he gets from an organization called ‘Putting People First.’ I just throw it away.”

“Good for you,” said Joe. “Want a drink?”

Hannah thought she should say yes, but doing so would take his hand from her hair.

“Well,” Hannah began.

“No?”

She looked him in the eye. “Maybe in a minute,” she said. And she knew the breathiness of her voice told him what she was thinking, what she was hoping.

And then Joe’s lips were on her own.

Her body instinctively pressed into his. And the lust was as wonderful as she’d dreamed it would be.

She might have imagined it, but sometime during the lovemaking, Joe had laughed and called her a cheetah. Indeed, she felt she was one. Her blood raced like red-hot ice, her heart hammered like a native drum. She thought she heard the sound of distant chains rattling as he pawed and clawed her, probing her pussy with his lips and fingers. He growled with delight as he mounted her then, and caught her breasts in talon-fingers.

She felt she was flying, crashing, flying.

Holy shit!

“Holy shit” Joe had cried. And then he had crumpled onto her, spent and panting. Hannah held still, then bucked in the throes of her own orgasm. Moaning, then, she curled her face into him and licked the sweat from his neck.

Finally, Joe’s face lifted from hers. His eyes were wide and bright and as cunning as a cat’s. Hannah grit her teeth to pull her soul back into her body. Never had such sensations invaded her; never had she felt so like an animal in her passion.

And then Joe stood abruptly from the sofa, his limp, damp cock dangling, and smiled. “Now, for the question,” he said.

“What question?” Hannah liked the sound of her voice. It was gritty with sex.

“A crow is a cat is a cow is a child.”

“That’s not a question,” Hannah said. She sat up slowly, and saw then that she really had heard chains. Joe had chained one ankle to the leg of the sofa. She laughed slightly, confused but still willing, and touched the chain. “You beast,” she said. “What’s this?”

He said nothing.

“Okay, what’s this for?”

He said nothing.

“All right, okay. I think we’re done. You can let me go now. Though it was wonderful, honestly.”

Joe said nothing, but his eyes narrowed, and he made a soft tsking sound.

Hannah’s sense of pleasure dried up immediately. Her smile faded. “Joe?”

He finally spoke. “I thought you’d figure with a psychology student there’d be a test before the night was over. Come on now, surely you knew.”

“Joe, enough, really. Let me go now.”

Joe said nothing.

Hannah reached beneath her and tried to straighten the crumpled skirt. She scooted to the sofa’s edge and planted the free foot on the floor. “Psychology or not, Joe, now, this is uncomfortable.” She looked at her watch. It was a few minutes after nine. “And I’m afraid I don’t have time to eat. I have to pick someone up at 9:30. Sorry.”

“Scoot closer to the chain and you’ll be all right. It won’t be so awkward. I really don’t mean the test to take very long. Promise. Though how long it takes will be up to you.”

He stared at her. There was no smile there. She stared back, whatever remnants of passion still in her freezing and crumbling in her chest like sharp fragments of ice.

“Joe,” she said, her teacher voice pulling into place.

“Hannah.”

“Joe, I have to go. Unlock this damned chain now.”

“No, Hannah. We’re not done.” He went out of the living room and brought back two jars. Inside one jar was a spider. In the other, a mouse.

“It’s a study, Hannah, now you can appreciate that. You’re of an academic family.” Joe sat on the trunk in front of her, holding the jars.

“What study?”

“A crow is a cat.”

“So?”

“So, really? I want you to choose which of these will live and which will die.”

Hannah tossed her head. She pulled against the chain on her ankle. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Which?”

“I won’t choose. Life is life.”

“Then I’ll kill them both. Hannah’s choice.”

Hannah stretched her neck. This man, this beautiful man, was insane. She would not show her fear. She would not play his game.

Her jaw chattered.

“Your hand is not mine, Joe.”

“Choose?” he asked.

“No.”

Joe unscrewed the lid on the spider jar. He tapped the arachnid onto the floor and squashed it with his foot.

Hannah turned her face away.

“Your hands aren’t mine” said Joe. “But your will is my command, like the old genie story. Therefore, what I do is your responsibility.” Joe smashed the mouse jar on the edge of the trunk, sending glass fragments into Hannah’s lap.

“Shit,” mumbled Joe. “He isn’t quite gone.” She heard his heel drive down onto the floor. Hannah’s stomach squeezed and turned over. She flipped the glass from her skirt.

Joe laughed.

“What’s your point here?” Hannah managed. “Whatever it is, it’s rather pathetic.”

“It’s a study of convictions, of promises.”

“Joe, listen to me, this is….”

“Let’s try again.”

Hannah looked up as Joe left the living room again. She could not bear to look at the floor. Joe came back with two more jars. In one was a mouse. In the other, paws folded and eyes popping, was a baby guinea pig.

“Oh, please no…”

Joe sat on the trunk. “Now,” he said. “Mouse, or guinea pig? Which one’s life is more valuable? If you can’t decide, then both lives are gone.”

“Damn it, Joe! What kind of man are you?”

“That’s irrelevant. Choose.”

“I won’t choose. I can’t choose. This is insane.”

“Hannah, come on now.”

“I believe what I believe. This is so wrong!”

“Fine.” Joe lifted both jars and at the same time, brought them down hard against the edge of the trunk. Hannah’s eyes snapped shut and her hands slapped over her ears.

“No no no, don’t do this!” she screamed. “Stop this!”

“Well, guinea pig’s gone, but damn, these mice are resilient,” said Joe. Hannah felt the thud as he stomped the mouse to death on the floor.

Hannah fought the cuff. She clawed at the sofa leg and shook it to break it. She then stood and tried to dive for Joe across the glass and dead animals, but Joe jumped back off the trunk beyond her reach. Hannah’s trapped ankle tripped her and she fell on her face onto the trunk. She shoved herself back up and onto the sofa, fragments of glass now embedded in her palms.

“I’ve got money, Joe!” she cried. “Not much but you can have it. A couple thousand dollars in savings. Just stop what you’re doing. Let me go and it’s yours.”

“I can’t stop. The test isn’t over.”

“Of course it is! You wanted to make me scream with ecstasy, and then scream with horror. You accomplished that. Write your damn paper. And let me go!”

“The test isn’t over. When it is, you may go.” He stood and left the room again. Hannah pulled at the chain, bounced the sofa, trying to loosen it. She cried, she screamed for help.

Joe returned with a large birdcage. Inside, two parakeets fluttered, working to keep themselves on the wooden perch.

“No use screaming,” he said. “We have lots of loud parties here. Nobody thinks a thing of it.”

He sat the cage on the trunk, then took an extension cord from the top of the television and held it up. On one end was the plug; the other end was a raw and frayed. He plugged it into the wall and drew the raw end over to the trunk.

“Which one, Hannah? The green parakeet or the blue? I don’t mean to sway you, but I’m partial to green.”

Hannah held her fists up. They shook madly. “You shit! You inhumane fucker!”

“And you are a good test case, I have to tell you, Hannah. You’re holding out better than I thought you would. Now, green or blue?”

“I can’t!”

“All right,” said Joe. He stuck the cord’s end into the cage. The blue bird clenched its claws and dropped to the gravel at the bottom. Hannah dropped her face and covered her eyes. She could smell the smoke, the charred scent of feathers and flesh.

“This is insane this is insane this is insane! Stop it stop it!” Hot, furious, impotent tears coursed down her cheeks.

Then she heard Joe calling, ” Timothy, come here, boy. Timothy, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

Hannah’s head jerked up. “Don’t touch him!”

Timothy trotted up to the man and wrapped around his legs. Joe laughed and lifted the cat, then found the abandoned tote by the front door. “Here you go, my friend,” Joe said. “We’ll tuck you right in here.”

“Joe, don’t do this. Listen to me, are you listening, Joe?”

Joe eased the cat inside and shut the top. He came back to the trunk. “Nice boy, nice kitty,” he said.

Hannah grappled again for the sofa leg. It came up an inch, but the chain would not slide over the sofa foot. “Goddamn you!” She yanked, yanked. The chain bit into her ankle, drawing a thin line of blood. “Goddamn you, stop, please!”

“Sit down, Hannah, this is the last test. Get a grip, Christ.” He pushed her back. She fell against the sofa cushions with a grunt.

“Now,” said Joe, standing by the trunk. ” We have one animal here, but we need a second. Where should we find another one?” He stroked his chin. “Let me think.”

“You can’t kill Timothy. Joe, are you listening? You can’t kill him!”

“I don’t know if I have any more animals,” said Joe. “You’ve killed them all so far, Hannah. Spider, mouse, guinea pig, another mouse, two birds. A spider is a mouse is a guinea pig is a bird, I suppose.”

“I haven’t killed a fucking thing!”

“Hmm.”

“Joe, listent to me! Wati! Just listen! Don’t kill Timothy!”

Joe put the tote on the floor by his foot and said, “And you killed that little boy in your father’s third grade class.”

“What? What did you say?”

“As sure as you put a bomb in the school, you killed him.” Joe’s jaw was tight. His voice hissed. “You and your bleeding heart, idiot, moronic friends.”

“Joe, you make no sense.”

Joe reached over and slapped Hannah soundly on the cheek. Her head snapped back, reeling.

“He was my little brother, Hannah. You didn’t even know his name, did you? Your murder victim. His name was Denny Parrish. The sweetest kid you could ever know. Never to grow up. You bitch.”

“How did you…? I didn’t… kill….”

“Oh, shut up and let’s get the test finished. One more and you’ll be free to go. Now, we have a cat. And,” Joe looked down at the trunk. “Yes, we have another animal right here in the trunk, I remember now.” He pushed the Afghan off to the floor. “An animal in there. You choose, Hannah. The cat in the hand, or what’s behind trunk number one.”

“I swear go God, I didn’t kill your brother.”

“Oops, forgot,” said Joe. He went to the television stand and pulled a pistol out from the single drawer. When he came back, and a smile had returned. “Now, then, which animal shall live, my dear teacher?”

I can’t let Timothy die, her mind reeled. Whatever dog or cat or groundhog in that trunk isn’t as precious as Timothy. I can’t let him shoot my cat!

“Don’t make me wait,” said Joe. “Your father told me you were always such a slow-poke.”

“My father?”

“We know each other. I visited my brother’s class occasionally. I even went on the field trip to the wildlife center with all those little kids. Your dad talked to me privately, asked if I could bring you to your senses somehow. I said I didn’t know. I was a psychology major, but not a shrink yet. I need a few more years on me for that. But that’s an aside. Now, pick, Hannah.”

“You can’t kill Timothy,” Hannah growled.

“Fine, then, this shouldn’t take long.” Joe flipped back the lid on the trunk. He raised the pistol and aimed it inside. Hannah didn’t look. It no longer mattered. She had broken her promise to herself. A crow might be a cow but a cat was of more importance to her. She wanted to vomit.

“Oh, before I do this,” said Joe. “Maybe I should just loosen this little gag here.”

There was a pause, then the sound of crying. Sobbing.

A child.

There was a child in the trunk.

“Oh, my God,” said Hannah.

“Hannah!” shrieked the child.

Allen.

“I followed you all afternoon,” said Joe. “To Karla’s, to your apartment. To the theater. Allen doesn’t talk to strangers, but we saved puppies together, didn’t we, Allen? You know me.”

“Hannah!” cried Allen.

“I met him at the theater as soon as you left. I told him we were going to surprise you, that we had a party here at my apartment for you and the other animal rescuers. He thought it was a fine idea.”

“Shoot the fucking cat!” screamed Hannah.

“Fine idea,” said Joe. He pointed the gun at the tote. Hannah turned away. Joe fired four times, and Hannah felt each one cutting through her mind, searing her brain, tearing up her sanity and spitting it out like a catnip toy.

Joe stepped to the sofa and leaned in to Hannah, his mouth on her ear. “Now, you see there is a difference, don’t you, Hannah?”

She said nothing.

“Do you?”

Hannah said nothing.

Joe shook his head and stroked her hair. “Hannah, there is a difference. Admit it.”

“Yes.”

Joe straightened, sighed, and nodded. “Thank you. Now.” He put the gun down and wiped his hands. “That’s about it. I’ll get little Allen out of this thing and you and your cat are free to go.”

Hannah opened her eyes. She saw Timothy, clearly frightened by the loud noises, cowering in his crate, pupils huge.

“You didn’t kill him!”

“Didn’t really need to. Got the answer I wanted. Besides, I like cats pretty much. A lot more than mice, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, shit… oh, my God…”

“Good psychology test, don’t you think? Too bad I won’t be able to use it as part of my deviant class research. Some research has to be kept under wraps, don’t you know? But still, it’s all informative.” He chuckled.

A crow is a cat is a cow, Hannah thought, and she began to weep.

“No, don’t,” said Joe as he put cable cutters to the chain on her ankle. “I know I lied about dinner. But believe me, it’s not worth a single tear.”

A child is a child is a child is a child.

A promise is a lie is a promise is a lie.

“I can’t cook very well.” The chain fell away. “You didn’t miss much.”