Inside Erin’s
fridge is a Tupperware container half full of gasoline-polystyrene gel, mixed
for her animal rescue operations, but transferrable to other situations. She
tears off a hunk, plops it into a bread bag, and packs it, along with some
matches, in her shoulder bag.
As she scuttles through the alleyways past midnight, all is quiet except for the odd scrape of feet on gravel. Other miscreants out on nefarious errands, no doubt. She approaches his place from the back, nestles the glob of gel against his garage, then, crouching into the fence for wind break, strikes and tosses matches until one catches fuel to set the structure ablaze.
As she scuttles through the alleyways past midnight, all is quiet except for the odd scrape of feet on gravel. Other miscreants out on nefarious errands, no doubt. She approaches his place from the back, nestles the glob of gel against his garage, then, crouching into the fence for wind break, strikes and tosses matches until one catches fuel to set the structure ablaze.
Fire is an
immediate pay-off. Back home she curls, toasty, into a bed of cats.
Two nights
later, bolstered and impatient, she decides to take a leap, cautious increments
be damned.
Utensils in
hand, she wears the familiar path to his back gate where no dog is his best
friend. Just a chain link, a popped basement window, and she’s in. Street
lights outline stairs, a door leading into a dingy livingroom, its heavy
curtains drawn. What’s he hiding? As if she didn’t know. She passes through the
bedroom doorway, starting to feel him out in a frenzy, feral claws digging
earth for bone. And when they finally connect, she is lost and found. Is it fever that wets her hands?
When the
cops arrive (alerted by who?), they have to drag her, kicking-feet-first out of
a closet she doesn’t remember crawling into. Enraged, Erin spits in the face of
the nearest one.
“I’m diseased and
now you are too.”
The older
cop leverages behind her, pulling her wrists together and forcing on cuffs as
the now-diseased cop puts her legs in a choke hold. In this way they haul her
out, body thrashing against the immanent fact of being reeled in.
Having neutralized
her in the squad car, rookie goes back in. She waits as no bodies are brought
out and no yellow tape is applied. There must be a forensics crew that does
this. She doesn’t really know how it works, not being a fan of cop shows.
“What a
mess," rookie says, getting back into the car. Then, in a lower voice:
“Hey, do you think she was telling the truth . . . about being sick? Should I
get myself checked out?”
“Guess you
better. We’ll get her a work-up too when we get to the hospital.”
Hospital?
posted by Aleks
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