Kitten

Kitten

Haylee Jones’ hand shook as she poured three cups ofbleach into a navy blue bucket. Silently entranced, she watched as the chemical waterfall emptied into the burbling and bumpy waters below. The last drops plummeted into the bucket before she blindly grabbed the bitingly cold bag perched beside her on the bathroom counter. Sighing through her face mask, her lips making small grooves against the white material, she dumped large cubes of ice into the liquid. The sound boomed like oncoming thunder as the ice fell to the bottom of the bucket. Haylee took a few steps back to avoid a splash, her eyes glassy and vacant as she continued to stare wide-eyed at the concoction. She would kill her. If there was anything she knew underneath the raincloud infested sky, it was that truth. Her cheeks were raw and red, stained with the rivers of tears that dripped off her chinand soaked into her shirt. She grabbed her arm, scratching her skin anxiously as she waited for the bleach to cool. As she stood in the bathroom of the motel room she’d rented, she wondered if she had what it took, contemplated if she could ever follow through. She thought of her daughter, and the woman who claimed responsibility for her, both sleeping soundly in her bed across the city. She clenched her jaw. She wasn’t a killer. But she’d done the math, studied the equation, knew of only one outcome. Clouds stretched straight to the horizon, smothering the night in its gloom. When she exhaled, tears rolled down her cheeks. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She bent down to the ground and grabbed the acetone she had waiting. She poured fifteen milliliters of acetone into the bucket, watching as the liquid swirled into a milky, cloudy white.

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Leaving the bucket in the tub, she walked into the hotel’s bedroom and thrust open a window. She gasped as her heart pounded, the wind whipping her dirt-brown hair around her neck, coiling her shoulder-length strands around her skin like a noose. In the distance, thunder rumbled. She had loved thunder storms as a child, could remember the fascination she felt at the mysteries of a fork of lightning and a clap of thunder. Sitting curled up in her father’s armchair pulled up to the window, a mug of hot chocolate teetering on the windowsill as rain ran down the glass. Her family would be flickering in the candlelight as the storm progressed through the night, the only sound emanating from the old battery radio placed on the floor. But peace had gone from her life, and those nights spent bonding with her family were extinct. And so this night, like many before it, began with shrill screams, pointed fingers, and accusatory remarks. And again, it ended with Haylee packing a small backpack and traveling the eight minute drive to Holiday Inn. It was the sixth time she’d spent the night in the past year, and the fourth in just the past two and a half months. Haylee, really, get out, she could still hear her mother’s voice gnawing at her ear. Please leave, and don’t come back until you have better control of yourself. Hours passed before she willed herself to crawl into bed. Her eyes could not close as she lay in bed, listening to the shrill ring of the elevator as it ascended and descended the elevator shaft,hearing the occasional truck idle at the intersection below. She sighed and stared at the window, blinds drawn, the silhouette of the traffic light etched upon the drapes. When she closed her eyes, she could hear Kat crying. Every time she fell asleep, it was always the same desperate nightmare. 2

None of it—not even the hellish shrieks in dreams—would be unbearable if only her mother would learn. Learn what? Haylee sat up and fluffed her pillow. Learn that her time for motherhood has come and gone? Learn that Kat is my child, not her second chance to do it right? She sighed. There was an undeniable rift between the two women that Haylee could never understand. They had never been close. Even so, the arrival of Kat almost three years ago divided them even more. It’s not even a rift that divides us anymore. It’s like we’re both on different sides of the fucking Grand Canyon. She looked at the far wall, her thin arms hugging her knees to her chest as she heard the next-door neighbor’s television groan softly. In the dark, without the glare from the sun to mask the fear in her heart, she reflected on the past few years. She felt relief, almost pleasure, at the idea of dropping each worry she possessed off the Grand Canyon. Or at least her mother. Haylee sighed and nervously scratched the nape of her neck, eager for the quick pattering of her heart to slow. She just wanted the cause of her worries to vanish. She thought of her daughter, of her soft face and eyes, her thick hair, her wide grin. Despite the humidity of the June night, she shivered. *** Haylee’s white Pontiac pulled up to 17 Cherry Hill Drive at 8:15 the next morning. She stayed motionless in the driver’s seat, her mind wandering to the navy blue bucket on the floor in the backseat, the lid secured tight, hidden underneath one of Kat’s ratty rose blankets. Violet and fuchsia streaked across the Florida sky as she walked slowly up the stone pathway, passing a red tricycle and a Little Tykes convertible on the way to the front door. She stepped onto the porch as she fumbled in her bag for her house key, her long, anemic fingers finally wrapping around the silver instrument. Half a breath later, she stuffed it into the door. 3

The knob jingled and turned, a cool blast of air pressing into her skin as she squeezed inside. Her lips tightened in a straight line as the cold scrape of utensils reached her ears from the kitchen. Wearily brushing her dark hair out of her eyes and rounding her shoulders, she dropped her bag and kicked off her flip flops. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her light blue hoodie as she turned the corner into the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed at the petite blonde kneeling beside the kitchen table, holding a spoon full of oatmeal in the air. “Open wide!” the woman cooed to the two-year-old girl in the highchair, a pink and white polka-dotted bib tied around her throat. The girl obediently dropped her jaw in time for the spoon to enter her mouth. Her lips clamped shut as she swallowed, shoulder-length brown hair bouncing off her jaw as she threw her head back dramatically. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Haylee. “Mommy!” Haylee pushed out a smile through gritted teeth. “Hey, baby doll,” she said as she walked with stiff legs and square shoulders toward the table. “Mom,” she added as a distasteful afterthought. CindyJones slowly rose to her feet. “Haylee.” She brushed dust off her apron with a smirk. “You’re up early.” “There was no reason for me to come home, Mom,” she said in a strained sing-song voice as she lightly brushed Kat’s bangs out of her eyes. “You told me I was an unfit parent. So Mommy,”—she playfully rumpled Kat’s hair—“slept somewhere else last night.” “Your immaturity is amazing.” The bucket she had neglected in the car seemed to scream at her from the open kitchen window. “Kat and I are moving out.” It was an empty threat, one she’d said many times. 4

Behind her, her father walked into the kitchen with a newspaper tucked under his arm. “Hey, kitten.” He patted Haylee’s back. “Kitten!” Kat yelled, reaching for her grandfather. “I’m kitten too!” He chuckled, tickling her under the chin. “Yes you are.” He lifted her out of the high chair and onto the floor. “Craig, didn’t you hear?” Cindy balanced most of her weight on her right hip as she folded her arms tightly across her stomach. “Haylee and Kat are moving out.” Her tone reeked of sarcasm and Haylee dug her fingernails into her own palms to resist fighting back. “Kat, it’s time for your nap,” she said softly, reaching out her hand. Finally, soft fingers touched her skin. *** The red light of the computer screen flashed across her pale skin. She shimmied to the edge of her seat as she moved the curser to the internet tool, letting the mouse click in the darkness, shattering the restless sleep of the toddler with whom she shared a bed. The Google welcome screen popped up. Images of the night before seeped into her brain, small insignificant flashes of the ice tumbling into the bucket of bleach, the acetone twirling the liquid into a white, murky shade, the hours she laid in bed waiting for the mixture to solidify into powder at the bottom of the bucket, and in the morning, finally dumping out the access waste. Softly biting her lower lip, she squinted at the computer screen. Household weapons. Her heart shuddered in response to the words she’d just typed, her breath trapped in her throat. Each action she committed, each thought flashing past her mind, brought her one step closer. I don’t really want to hurt my mom, she told herself uneasily. But what other way did she

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have? She let her gaze drift over her laptop and onto the far wall. Truthfully, she didn’t know anymore. She just wanted it to stop. “It has to end,” she thought aloud. Pictures and explanations of various knives, chemicals, and everyday items appeared on the screen. Everything was a weapon. Absolutely everything. And anyone could be a killer. She furrowed her brow as she typed: Neck breaking. Her eyes scanned through the documents as her head inched closer to the screen, her fingers tightening around the mouse. Suddenly a whisper. “Mommy.” “Shhh,” Haylee soothed, her eyes still on the dark red computer screen. She quietly minimized the website. “Mommy, are you going to bed?” Haylee smiled as she inclined her head toward the girl. “Of course, baby.” She found her daughter’s hazel eyes glimmering in the dark, her bangs sweaty upon her forehead. “Give me a kiss.” She bent down and pressed her lips to her daughter’s hot cheek. “Sleep tight, kitten.” She waited for Kat’s eyes to close before she opened the website again, blood reflecting in her eyes. *** The sun rose the next day, crimson streaking against the morning sky. It poured into the Jones’ home when Cindy opened the kitchen curtains. She whistled soft tunes to herself, gently flitting around the tan-tiled floor—into the wooden pantry, the refrigerator, the stove—scooping up the necessary ingredients and tools in 6

her arms. Pancakes. “What should you and Grandma do today?” Cindy cooed, rubbing noses with Kat. Kat’s giggles were suffocated by Haylee’s loud scoff as she stalked into the room, her dark hair unkempt, her frail arms clutching a faded blue bathrobe to her body. “Katand I are going out today.” Her words left no room for question, no space to intervene. Her eyes were cold; her lips were one tight line. “We’re going to Universal today.” “You are?” Cindy folded her arms around her chest, the spatula in her right hand dripping pancake batter on the floor. “Yes.” She leaned across the doorframe, her eyes passing over her excited daughter and then to Craig, who peered wearily at the two women from over his newspaper. “It’s going to be hot today.” “I know.” “When will you be back?” “We’ll actually be staying at the Holiday Inn. At least until I can find a steady job to move somewhere else,”Haylee lied. It was much easier to lie when she let herself believe the truth. And it was only a half-lie anyway, making it a half-truth. She would be staying at the Holiday Inn. She smiled at Katand slowly knelt down to the ground. “Baby, go to your room. I’ll be right there to get you dressed.” “I can—” “—No, Mom, you can’t,” Haylee’s soft voice quivered as she stood. The sound of her daughter’s pattering footsteps disappeareddown the hall. “She’s my daughter. I’ll do it.” “Haylee,” Cindy said in exasperation, “you can’t just make decisions on a whim when you’ve got a child to think about.” 7

Her stomach contracted. “I think since she’s my baby, I’ll be making those decisions.” “Your baby!” A disbelieving squeak passed through her teeth. “You are just a baby!” “Then we’ll both have fun at the parks today,” she said monotonously, brushing hair behind her ears. “Kitten!” she called, her eyes never leaving her mother’s face. “Come out here and say goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa!” Kat limped out of her room, one shoe on her foot, the other still bare. Haylee effortlessly picked up the two-year-old. “Who knowswhen we’ll see them again?” She laughed and put her down. “On second thought Mom, you canhelp her get dressed. I’ve got so much to do. I’ll be getting the car ready.” She waited until Cindy and Kat walked deeper into the house. “Bye, Dad.” She kissed her father’s thick mass of white hair as she headed for the front hall. He murmured a goodbye, frowning at his newspaper. He didn’t see Haylee turn and glare at her mother’s retreating back, pause on her way out the door, and grab a shovel. *** Haylee checked her watch. 4:27. It was an eerie feeling—knowing danger loomed at the horizon, knowing that very danger lived inside her. Instinct told her to protect Katfrom harm, to shelter her from those intent on inflicting her pain. But there was no mother manual, no easy steps outlining protocol what to do if she was the monster. Murder pooled into her fingertips and seeped onto her breath. She scratched the nape of her neck nervously, wondering how many could see what she would soon become. She had never wanted any of this. It was her mother’s fault. And now she would pay. 8

And in a sea of a thousand energetic faces rushing onto rides, into locker rooms, and into restaurants, she felt alone. She tightened her grip on Kat’s hand, but the two-year-old was too busy staring dreamyeyed at a life-sized Cat in the Hat to notice. The wind blew past them. Would this be the last time she’d see wind brush through Kat’s hair? The last time she’d witness it graze her cheek? Kat’s hazel eyes followed a flock of seagulls as they swooped into the parking lot. Her pink lips slipped into a smile. How many last times would she live through tonight? Haylee blinked slowly, her throat running dry. How many would she miss? Her breathing accelerated. She matched her heavy footsteps to each rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes burned, her cheeks flushed. This horror had been a mere twinkle in her eye, a mere palpitation in her chest, a while ago. Now it was all she could see. All she heard, all she felt, was the steady thumping of Kat’s heart. A mother and daughter outing intended on clearing Haylee’s head just succeeded in clouding her with confusion and doubt. “Mommy,”—Katyanked at the bottom of her t-shirt—“can I have one?” She pointed at a large stuffed doll of the Cat in the Hat, the feline’s long black tail swaying casually in the breeze, his only fashion accessory the tall red and white striped hat perched on his head. Normally, she would have said no. But twenty dollars for a stuffed animal seemed like a small price to pay to see her daughter smile. She’d been warned everything was more beautiful at the end.

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Poets, philosophers, elderly family members, all insisted that life was a gift and the small things—the rustling of fall foliage, a gentle squeeze of a loved one’s hand, the soft blanket of wet sand slipping between the toes—became highlighted during those final days. What of life’s mysteries—of the Milky Way and beyond, of volcanoes and dinosaurs, of sunsets and seasons—would they be answered in the end? And what of those final hours as a mother? What answers would come then? She looked down at her daughter. The eager fingers grasping the Cat in the Hat doll, the wide smile as she held it close, the small yet hurried footsteps she made with her sandals, was priceless. It was all beautiful because she was doomed. They all were. No one more than Haylee. This bond forged as they walked out of Universal Studios was one that Cindywould never get to experience. A tightlipped smile pulled at Haylee’s lips as she eyed the long tail of the stuffed animal. She fumbled in her jeans for her car keys. “Okay,” she muttered to herself as she unlocked the doors. She opened the backseat door and Kat climbed into the car. “All strapped in?” Haylee tugged at the seatbelt that buckled Katin the car seat. “Yes, Mommy.” Haylee froze. Mommy. She stared into her daughter’s young face and saw her own eyes looking back at her. She sniffed as she grabbed the ratty rose blanketfrom the floor of the car. “Yes, baby.” Kat smiled, swinging her legs as she waited. Covering her nose and mouth with her arm, she pried open the bucketof chloroform. She pressed the old blanket inside as she held her breath and rubbed it deep into the powder. 10

She pressed the lid shut and let the bucket roll on the car’s floor. “I love you, Kat, baby,” she whispered as she firmly placed the rag over the child’s mouth and nose. Her fingers gripped Kat’s nose and chin as she struggled, whining into the rag, her arms and legs flailing. Haylee squeezed her eyes closed, tears piling behind her eyelids. After a few moments, her daughter fell limp in the car seat. Haylee softly removed the rag and placed her hand to Kat’s chest. The steady beat of her heart called back to her. Slowly grabbing the Cat in the Hat out of her daughter’s hand, she watched Kat’s closed eyes. They flitted and jumped underneath her peach-colored lids. Her lips were parted, her chin rubbing against the seatbelt. She leaned into the car, the Cat in the Hat’s black body pressed firmly to Haylee’s chest. With a shaky breath, she stretched the cat’s long tail and gingerly wrapped it around her daughter’s small neck. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Hush little baby, don’t you cry…” her voice cracked as she sang the lullaby in an attempt to stifle the horror of what had to be done. Her vision became mutilated with tears as her chest pounded, her breathing pushing out in short, hysterical gasps. Her fingers intertwined with the black tail as her mind raced frantically, searching for a way, any route to escape the tragedy of what had fallen upon her. But in every direction stood those she could not face: Her mother. Her father. Independence. Finances. A life. Her life. And it had started running away from her. The little girl sitting unconscious in her car seat had brought countless joys into the world, but with her, just as much grief. And now there was no way out. 11

She closed her eyes as she wrapped the tail around her daughter’s neck one more time and pulled. She flinched and stifled a shriek as the bones in her baby’s neck cracked and grinded. She stood in the open doorway, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to open her eyes. Finally, she looked quickly over her shoulder. No cars, no people in sight. The summer air carried the shrieks from rollercoaster-riding tourists past her ears as she unbuckled the car seat. She scooped the limp body into her arms and popped open the trunk. Pressing Kat’s face into her chest, she slowly walked to the back of the car. She buried her face in Kat’s hair as tears rushed down her cheeks. “I love you, kitten,” she whispered as she lowered the body of her daughter into her trunk. She placed the Cat in the Hat beside her, its head nuzzling against Kat’s motionless shoulder. The trunk slammed shut.

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