Alley Cat

Screams are a process. They don’t just happen on their own.

It starts with the diaphragm. When the diaphragm contracts, air gets sucked into the lungs until they inflate like balloons. After that, all the biological shit occurs. Oxygen and carbon dioxide get filtered. One enters the bloodstream while the body rejects the other. Diaphragm expands, projecting air up the trachea, up through the vocal cords, sending sound waves out of the mouth and voila! A scream has been produced. A shrill, ear-bleeding, scream.

I scream with such a force that it echoes throughout the entire morgue. Every slick metal wall reflects with my sound, bouncing it back and forth like some messed up game of gothic tennis. My eyes peel open, and I sit up on a cold metal table. Breathing frantically, I squint at my surroundings hoping to focus my fuzzy vision. When the shadowy outlines solidify, I’m met with another pair of frightened eyes. A coroner stands before me with their jaw hung open. Nothing but silence pours out from her mouth as she tightens her grip on her scalpel.

The sharp instrument points blade-side down two inches above my fleshy abdomen.

I stumble off the metal table, procuring another silent scream from the coroner. The white sheet which had been tucked below my chin falls off as I crawl on the floor on all fours.

I shouldn’t be alive. It’s not possible. I can’t be alive.

I unfold my hands and examine my palms. My left hand has a wound that has scabbed over. Flickers of memories flash through my mind, causing me to re-experience Daphne stabbing me in the hand again with her stiletto heel. The memories pour over me, refreshing my mind in an instant. I remember everything. The fire, the smoke, the tears. I slowly rise to my feet, knees buckling at first. I hold onto the metal table for support as I rise.

The smell of fresh urine infiltrates my nose. I trace the odor to the dark patch between the coroner’s pants and realize that she’s soiled herself out of sheer fear. She trembles so hard that her jaw slams on itself, causing her to stutter. I almost feel bad for her. Almost. Your girl’s just risen from the dead. She’s too emotionally drained to spare any sympathy.

“Scrubs,” I say. It’s such a peculiar first thing to say. My voice is bereft of warmth. My coldness causes the coroner to shiver. “I want your scrubs.”

I stand perfectly still as the coroner sobs while stripping herself of her clothing before handing them to me. When it comes to her pants, I decline. Even an undead girl like me has standards.

“Keep the pants.”

I pull the top of her scrubs over my head and leave for the exit. The moment I push the door open, a sudden burst of sunlight sears my eyes. I recoil from the pain and bow my head down to avert my gaze. The sun bathes me, warming my cold body. My joints loosen. I can move my body with smooth motions and wiggle my toes. I become less like a living corpse and more like a functioning person.

I am alive.

I breathe in fresh air and see the clear sky in all its cerulean blue. The hum of New York City traffic sounds just like I remembered it, and the streets are just as crowded with people as they should. An airplane flies over my head, roaring as it leaves lines of white steam in the sky. There’s a huge electronic billboard flashing ad after ad in the distance. The yellow Mcdonalds logo stands proudly in the vast horizon. Rainbow neon lights flicker above a nearby bodega, alerting every gazer of a last minute sale.

I’m home.

I wander around the city for hours on end. As time passes, more and more sensations come back to me. I remember what it feels to be hungry. I celebrate when my throat dries up as I thirst. A familiar breeze blows my hair into a wavy explosion and runs feathery strokes across my skin. My senses overwhelm me, constantly reminding me that I’m alive.

I think about sitting down on a bench when I hear someone call my name. Of all things, it is my name that is most murky. It sounds like a forgotten song or an old relic lost in the ruins of time. Despite my initial hesitation, I turn towards the unknown caller and spot an older woman making her way towards me. Her thin lips turn upward to form a grim smile and the crow’s feet near her eyes lift to match.

“Helene Singh.”

She says my name again. There’s formality in her tone, and it confuses me. I think about walking away when the woman invites me to sit down.

I sit. She examines me with scrutinizing eyes. She’s watchful but not afraid. She stares at me for what seems like an eternity before speaking again.

“Do you remember me?” The slow and tentative style of speech reminds me of how a person would react in the face of danger. She’s treating me like I’m a bomb set to detonate.

“I’m Jessie.” She says as she puts her hand over her heart. “Jessie.” She repeats her name again.

“Jessie.” Her name leaves a strange taste in my mouth. It’s the bitter taste of remorse. I think I’ve wronged her, but the details are murky just like my name.

“I brought you some clothes.” Jessie bends down to grab a bag of clothes under the bench. She hands the bag to me gingerly. Her eyes ignite with a hopeful beam when I accept the bag. I think it’s a peace offering.

I slip on a pair of denim shorts. It clashes with the scrubs I’m wearing, so I change into the t-shirt Jessie gave me. I appear somewhat normal when I’m done, as normal as an undead girl would look.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Jessie asks.

I stroke the scrubs in my hand. I think I can still smell the coroner’s fear. The emotion is woven in between the seams of the scrubs, trapped within the fabric.

“I died.”

Jessie nods.

“You promised me that I would die.” My voice strangles itself in the end, bringing a pained look to Jessie’s aged face.

“I did.” Jessie looks out across the street. We watch as a bus pulls up to a stop on the other side. A hoard of people push each other to pile inside the vehicle, filling out every empty space they find. Loaded and heavy, the bus screeches as it shuts its doors only to drive off in a cloud of smoke to who knows where.

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“There was no sudden change of heart.” Jessie replies. “The deal was that you would die and give Daphne half your soul.”

I blink back at her. “I’m clearly not dead.”

My bluntness comes off as humorous and it makes Jessie laugh. It’s a short laugh but a laugh nonetheless. I can hear loneliness lying underneath. It’s an old song I’m tired of hearing.

“The spell only requires temporary death. You had so much soul to give than you still retained enough to live. You’ll be fine.”

“Then why did you lie?”

Jessie’s gaze meets mine. I search her expression for something I can recognize. I see no bitterness or malice written on her. Only fatigue. She is a tired old woman just like me. We’ve both lost our children. We’ve both suffered from an abundance of pain. And now, we are only waiting for the end...whenever that may be.

“I lied to see if you would really do it. I’ve encountered cats like you.” Jessie scoffs, shaking her head, a habit of a hardened cynic. “They tend to be quite selfish. Convinced of their extraordinary power and their temporary invincibility, they live to please themselves. But you? You were willing to throw your last life away to do something right. I didn’t know what to make of you. I didn’t know whether to make you a hero or a reckless fool. But when you left, I realized that you were neither of those things. You’re a very strange person, Helene.”

We sit shoulder by shoulder, inching closer to each other. In our most intimate moment, we brush fingers. It’s the closest thing to a truce. We lean back against the bus bench and look up at the sky. We become lost in its infinite blue.

“What happened to her?” I ask.

“You mean Daphne?” Jessie says with a low chuckle. “She’s locked up in a mental facility and struggling to cope with her new humanity.” The corner of Jessie’s smile lifts to reveal a sense of sick satisfaction. Jessie finally got what she wanted. She gave Daphne a punishment worse that nobody but Daphne herself could inflict.

Guilt. It’s a form of self-torture that has existed since the beginning of time.

“And Aeternum?” I say with an exhaustive sigh.

“Shut down and overrun with lawsuits. Antonio’s gone into hiding.”

“And Luka? My stomach performs a somersault within me at the thought of him.

A shadow overcasts Jessie’s disposition, darkening her mood and mine. “He’s the reason why I found you. He’s the reason why I couldn’t let you die. Helene, you left one Russo free. I’m afraid that you can’t rest yet.”

“I–I don’t understand.” I drop from the sky back to New York City with its black gum-dotted pavements and its electric powered circuits that run 24/7. I land hard and shatter my temporary state of peace.

“Luka’s a threat.” Jessie says with a blunt edge to her voice. It cuts sharp and burrows underneath a layer of my skin. “He killed his father. And with his sister out of the way, he’s become the alpha of his pack. I’m afraid that he might do something rash.”

“I thought you guys were friends…” I eye Jessie with caution. She speaks slowly as if trying not to scare me off.

“We are. But it’s different now that he’s alpha. His wolf tendencies are taking over. He will not be the same Luka you knew.”

It’s not like I knew him that well anyway. A bitter voice bites back in my head. It’s followed by Luka’s rumbling chuckle.

I’m a walking, talking, living contradiction…

A stabbing pain shortens my breath as I long for him. I know that I shouldn’t. He confuses me too much. I don’t like that I have to try so hard to separate his authenticity from his deceit.

I want to believe that Luka was the same boy who handed out free pads and clothes to a random girl in need. I know that he has a habit of leaning in with nervous anticipation when I sample his food. He likes watching people eat. He acts like he’s a chef of his own kitchen and has an annoying habit of proving me wrong. He’s shown me countless sides of himself, all contradictory, all unexpected. He’s a little bit psycho, a dormant bomb. He’s a sleeping killer with a love for humanity. There’s too much of him to be falsified.

He could not fake his fear of the dark or his hypocrisy. When he accused me of holding back, he was keeping secrets as well. His secrets were the exact reason why I got involved in such a mess. As much as I love him, I can’t deny his part in the disaster: his enablement of his family’s evil, his complicitness to his father’s ploys...When he tried to teach me sympathy and the necessity of understanding others, he ultimately betrayed his word when he killed his father. Luka Russo is as guilty as his sister. He is as bloodstained as his father. He is a Russo through and through.

“So what do you expect me to do? Kill him?” I say, swallowing my woes. There’s so much of them that they leave my throat sore long after they’re gone.

“Is that what you want to do?” Jessie lifts her wiry brow up.

I shake my head.

“Then I suggest you do what women have been doing for their lovers since the beginning of time. Keep him in line.”

A stupid smile spreads across my face faster than wildfire. It’s so contagious that it spreads, blazing across Daphne’s mouth and smile lines.

“Okay.” I choke on my words, too overwhelmed by my joy. I get ready to dash when Jessie holds me back.

“And Helene? Before you go...” Jessie pulls something out of her pocket. It’s a round compact mirror. She hands it to me and I take it immediately.

“What’s this for?”

“Have a happy human life.”

Before I can even begin to ask her what she means, she gets up and walks away. I lose her when she makes a turn around a lamplight, disappearing into a crowd of New Yorkers.

The compact mirror withdraws my attention from the mystery of Jessie’s disappearance. Its sleek outer shell is silver all over, shimmer white flecks under sunlight. I open the compact and gaze into the small mirror in my hand. What I see takes me aback and I rub my eyes with the back of my fist when I doubt the reflection staring back at me.

Earthy brown eyes, framed by a thick row of lashes, blink furiously to greet me. The dark pupil sitting in the middle retreats into itself out of the shock of it all. The mirror flies out of my hand, cracking into webs upon crashing against concrete. With the mirror gone, I can’t do a double take (not that I need to). Only a single glance is enough to confirm the obvious conclusion.

I’m human again.