Thomas Sniegoski - In the House of the Wicked

“Dog?” Spooky asked. “Dog here?”

“He’s right inside there,” Remy said, pointing to the house. “And I know for a fact he doesn’t care for cats.”

“You better come out of there, Spooky,” Ashley coaxed. “Doone don’t sound very nice.”

“Hey, Ashley?” Remy asked. The little girl looked at him. “Would you get me Spooky’s box?”

“Sure, Remy.” She turned toward the street.

“Be careful of cars,” Remy cautioned.

She stopped and looked both ways before darting across the street.

“Okay, then,” Remy said, turning back to Spooky. “Ashley is going to get your box, and that’s where you’re going to go. All right?”

“Doone dog,” the cat whined nervously. “Where?”

“Doone is inside the house,” Remy explained. “If you get back into your box and let Ashley take you inside the new house, you two will never even make eye contact. Do we have a deal?”

Remy looked away to see Ashley on the other side with the cardboard pet carrier. He checked for traffic and then motioned her across once the coast was clear.

“Here’s her box,” Ashley said, handing it to him.

“Thanks.” He took the box and opened the cover, then placed it just outside the wrought-iron fence, between two of the posts.

“C’mon, Spooky,” Remy urged the cat. “Let’s shake that tail.”

“No shake tail,” the cat snarled, her tail whipping angrily from side to side.

“All right, then,” Remy said, as he stood up. “Maybe Doone can get you to move.” He looked at the stairs and the door above, as if expecting the dog to emerge at any moment.

Spooky bounded out of the grass, through the wrought-iron bars, and jumped into her cardboard carrier.

“Yay!” Ashley shrieked, doing the cutest dance while clapping her chubby hands.

“Good job, Spooky,” Remy said. He reached out to close the lid on the carrier, and Spooky’s paw shot out, raking bloody tracks across the back of Remy’s hand.

“Scared,” she hissed, letting him know that there was nothing to cheer about as far as she was concerned.

Remy nearly dropped the carrier, but managed to balance it on his knee as he finally got the lid closed.

“Did she get ya?” Ashley asked as Remy set the carrier down on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, but that’s all right.” The gashes stung like crazy, but he could feel his flesh already beginning to heal. “It’s not too bad.”

Ashley pulled his hand down so she could see the wounds.

“Your mother should wash that up and put a Band-Aid on it,” she said. “Don’t want it to get defected.”

Remy chuckled. “I’ll get right on that.” Then he reached down and picked up the carrier, handing it to Ashley. “You should probably get Spooky in the new house so she can get used to it and not be afraid anymore.”

“Okay,” Ashley said, moving toward the street. “C’mon, Spooky. You don’t have to be afraid; there isn’t any ghosts inside. Remy said he checked.”

She crossed the street and headed up the walkway toward the brownstone, passing her father, who was still pacing and on the phone. He reached out and patted her head as she went by and started up the stairs, hauling the cat carrier.

Halfway up the steps, Ashley stopped and turned, her gaze searching. “See ya tomorrow, Remy,” she called out, waving with her free hand before continuing on into her new home.

Ashley’s father waved at him also, mouthing the words thank you as he continued with his call.

Remy retrieved his bag of groceries and walked around the corner to Pinckney Street and the brownstone he shared with his wife. He was certain she’d be wondering where he had been all this time.

And he would tell her about the little girl who now lived in their neighborhood, who had troubles with her cat.

A little girl named Ashley.

Remy was at Piazza, writing a note for Linda, when she showed up for her lunch shift.

“Hey, you,” she said, warming him with her smile and then a kiss on the lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried to call but couldn’t reach you,” Remy said. “I was leaving you a note.”

“Phone died,” she told him. “I forgot to charge it. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got to take off for a bit,” he replied, watching the expression on her face change-partially annoyance and maybe a little sadness. “Ashley might be missing, and I’m going to poke around, see what I can do to help.”

“Oh, my God.” Linda moved closer, taking his hands and looking deeply into his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, not really telling the truth. Remy felt like a caged animal, eager to get out…eager to hunt. “But I need to get up there, flip over some rocks to see for myself.”

Linda hadn’t met Ashley, the right time not having presented itself, especially with Ash getting ready to leave for school. Although she certainly knew how important the girl was to Remy.

“This isn’t like her, is it?” she asked.

“No, not at all.”

“Anything I can do?”

He held up the note he had been writing. “I was wondering if you could look after…”

“Besides Marlowe,” she said. “That’s a given. I’ll zip over after lunch and take him for a walk; then I’ll pick him up once I’m done here for the night.”

Remy reached into his pocket and removed a key, placing it in the palm of her hand. “Just in case you don’t feel like driving him back to your place.”

She stared at the key for a moment, and then closed her fingers around it. “Hopefully you put all your valuables away,” she said, trying to lighten the mood just a little.

“My stamp collection is locked up tight,” Remy confirmed.

They smiled at each other then, but the intensity of the situation was too great, and he felt the oppressive weight of what he still had to do pushing down on him, his entire focus on finding that little girl who’d had problems with Spooky the cat just yesterday, it seemed.

“Go on. Get out of here,” Linda prodded, as if reading his thoughts.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Remy said.

“Long enough to find her.”

And Linda released her grip on his hands, letting him go to work.

Remy opened his wings in the backyard of the building where Ashley and a friend from high school had rented an apartment. He wanted to be certain that no one was home before going in and poking around.

He glanced toward the driveway and saw that the space reserved for the first-floor tenants was empty. All clear. He closed his eyes, summoned his wings again, and took himself into the apartment.

The familiar smell of put-together furniture permeated the air as he unfurled his wings in the living room. He had taken Ashley to IKEA, just south of Boston in Stoughton, to get bookcases for her apartment, and had helped her put them together the day she’d moved up here.

His eyes scanned the room, looking for anything unusual. The area still had that unfinished look to it, with boxes stacked up against the wall.

Remy walked into the kitchen. A dirty frying pan filled with soapy water rested on one of the stove burners. The tiny kitchen table held several opened boxes of sugary cereals. He already knew about Ashley’s obsession with Apple Jacks, and gathered from the boxes of Honey Smacks and Cap’n Crunch that her roommate had similar tastes.

He drifted down the short, dark hallway toward the bedrooms. Ashley’s was the first on the right. The door was partially closed and Remy reached out, pushing it open with a creak. The shades were drawn, but there was enough natural light shining through that he could see perfectly well. He was surprised to find Ashley’s bed made and the room tidy, having been privy to a few of her mother’s rants about what a slob she was. Maybe she was turning over a new leaf now that she was out on her own.