It had been easy.
The bulkhead to the basement was unlocked. I crept down the dark, leaf-slicked steps and groped around the entryway, finding one of the snow shovels that lined the wall. I used the edge of the plastic shovel to slip the paving stone off the stray, then pushed the shovel under the inert body. I could see no damage on the matted head; I was terrified that the cat was not dead, just knocked unconscious, and would spring up any moment, come at me hissing and full of vengeance. But when I lifted the cat it flopped like a dead thing, and I was suddenly struck with a bad smell, a trail of defecation that had sprayed from the cat when it died. I had expected blood but hadn’t expected shit. The smell sickened me, but I was happy I’d killed that disgusting cat.
He was not as heavy as I thought he would be, his stiffened fur giving the impression that he had been larger than he was, but he was heavy enough. I managed to carry the cat about ten feet away, to the edge of the woods, and dropped the body on top of some rotted leaves. I spent another five minutes digging up debris and tossing it on top of him till he was covered. It was good enough. My parents never went in the woods anyway.
Climbing back into bed, shivering from the cold, I didn’t think I would fall asleep again, but I did, easily.
I checked on the corpse of that stray for the next few days. It lay there, undisturbed, buzzing with flies, till one morning it was simply gone. I guessed it must have been dragged away by a coyote or a fox.
Bess resumed her cat’s life, coming and going from the house, and sometimes, when she brushed against my ankles, or purred in my lap, I imagined she was thanking me for what I had done. She had her kingdom back, and all was right with the world.
After what happened with Chet the night of the party, I immediately thought about the incident with the stray cat. It gave me ideas about how I would kill him and get away with it. It seemed crucial that the body never be found. And if that was the case, then I needed to find some things out about Chet.
After the party Chet seemed to disappear for a little while, not coming out of the apartment, and not visiting the house. I did see him one night. He was on the lawn, looking up at my bedroom window. I’d just turned the light off to go to bed, and that’s when I saw him there, swaying a little, like a tree in a breeze. He’d been watching me. I’d left the window cracked and the shade slightly up so that some air got into the room. I felt stupid and afraid, and tears pricked at my eyes, but I told myself that Chet would not make me cry again. I now knew for sure that he was simply biding his time, waiting for a good opportunity to rape and murder me. I did consider telling my mother about what had happened but I thought she’d be on Chet’s side, that she’d wonder why I was making such a big deal about it. And my father was still away with Rose, the poet, and the way that my mother sometimes talked about it late at night, it sounded as though he wasn’t coming back. I asked her once, while she was making a giant batch of hummus in the kitchen.
“Has Daddy called?”
“Your daddy has not called,” she said, spacing the words out for maximum effect. “Your daddy, last I heard, has made a fool of himself in New York, so I expect we’ll see him back here soon enough. You’re not worried, darling, are you?”
“No. I was just wondering. What about Chet? Did he leave?”
“Chet? No, he’s still here. Why’d you ask about him?”
“I just hadn’t seen him. I thought that maybe he’d moved out of the apartment and I could go up there again.” I loved the small apartment above my mother’s studio, with its whitewashed walls and huge windows. There was an old red beanbag chair that had once been in our house and been moved to the apartment. It had a small rip along its vinyl bottom and was slowly losing its little pellets of filling, but I missed it. When the apartment was empty I’d bring books over there to read.
“You can still go up there. Chet won’t bite.”
“Does he have a car?”
“Does he have a car? God, I don’t think so. I don’t even think he has a place to live right now, besides with us.”
“How’d he get here if he doesn’t have a car?”
She laughed, then licked hummus off a finger. “My bourgeois daughter. Darling, not everyone has a car. He took a train from the city. Why are you asking so many questions about Chet? Don’t you like him?”
“No, he’s gross.”