Catharsis (Book 1)

by D. Andrew Campbell

  At the very least, it will give me an idea of how long I can go before the hunger gets intolerable. It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s the best one I have for now.

  Adjusting myself against the wall, I scratch Lazzy's fuzzy (and adorably fluffy...for a scruffy mutt) neck and settle in for the day. The dusty windows have continued to shield my eyes, but the warm sun is relaxing as it travels across my legs: an invisible electric blanket set on low slowly being drug across the lower half of my body.

  Sleep doesn't come to me as I close my eyes, but neither does a need to get up. And right now that is all I can ask for.

  Rain begins to speckle the windows, and I listen to a storm as it slowly moves past the warehouse.

  After a few hours of pleasantness, Lazzy shifts his body and curls up into a ball next to me instead of using me as a pillow. It's only a slight change in our cuddle arrangement, but it's enough to shift my thinking away from where it had been (Happy memories of being a kid and not being a lonely little girl in a large abandoned warehouse.) and towards where it needs to be (I can't just sit here all day regardless of how much of an escape it is.).

  "Water!"

  The thought hits me, and I sit up quickly. Lazarus will be thirsty soon. The food settled him and put him to sleep, but the loss of blood (Not going to think about how he lost the blood, just that he did lose the blood.) is going to dehydrate him. He'll wake up soon, and once he does he'll need liquid. But I don't have any. And even if I did, I don’t have a bowl to put it in.

  Time for an adventure, I think and smile to myself. It may not be a life-changing mission I'm about to set out on, but at least it will keep my mind occupied for a while. That's a victory I'm willing to accept right now.

  Scooting away from the warmth of my canine companion, I stand up and shake out the small kinks in my body (The kinks seem to be more mental, than physical, though. My body should be tight and cramped from sitting scrunched against a wall for hours, but as soon as I stand up I feel limber and ready to move. This is a side effect I could get used to!) and begin my search for both water and a container for it.

  The first floor reveals little that I hadn't uncovered already. I do manage to locate a large but ratty push broom in a small closet (Most likely a "broom closet". Makes sense, right?), and I drag it over to my closet so I can make use of it later.

  Gaining access to the second floor of my new abode proves challenging once I've decided that simply leaping up to grab the rusted and dangling rungs of the broken ladder leading to the walkway around the edges might tap into energy reserves I'd rather leave alone for now. Another twenty minutes of door opening reveals a back stairway that is cluttered with debris (Seriously. Who throws an entire four foot long metal office desk down a stairway? The physics of it is quite impressive. It looks heavy.), but nothing that some creative (but energy-free) climbing can't traverse.

  The upper floors don't give me much, but I do find what I'm ultimately looking for: cups. Two, old gas station Big Gulp cups, to be precise. They're dusty, but their lids have kept them relatively clean on the inside. Not clean enough for me to want to drink from them, but clean enough to offer to a dog that's been getting its liquid from sewer grates and street puddles.

  With containers in hand, I progress to stage two of my mission: finding some actual water to put in the cups.

  Giving up on finding any water inside the warehouse, I move back downstairs so I can try the back yard of the property.

  Once outside, the wondrous smells of the late afternoon (How long did I spend searching that building? That impressively devoured the last few hours.) surround me, and I inhale deeply. It's amazing! So many scents rush across my brain that I can't slow my own processing down fast enough to discern which is which. I can smell rain and wetness. Grass. Dirt. Mud. Exhaust fumes from vehicles going by on the road on the other side of the building. Far off I can even smell people. Not a lot of people, but some.

  Cocking my head to one side, I focus on my ears in an attempt to see if I can locate in which direction they might be. Maybe if they're close enough...

  "Ahhh!" I scream and clap my hands over my ears before I can figure out anything more. "What am I doing?"

  I was starting to tap into my new abilities without even thinking about it. And I was doing it in attempt to find people. And I wanted to find those people so that I could..

  "Nope," I tell myself. "We are so not going to finish that thought."

  Back to the mission at hand. But finding water out here isn't going to be easy. Well, finding clean water that is. The recent rain has left a few soggy mud puddles around, but it isn't something I would want to willingly give Lazzy to drink. That just seems mean.

  When I had first stepped outside and noticed the aromas, one of them had been fresh water. I distinctly remember that being one of the first things I smelled. All I have to do is breathe deeply and follow the scent. It'd be easy to do.

  But what if I get a whiff of the people? And worse yet, what if I notice they are nearby? Near enough for me to jog to? Near enough for me to get to? That's simply not a risk I'm willing to take right now. Best to just search for the water the old-fashioned way.

  Luckily it turns out to be easier than I had hoped as a large overturned barrel is not far from the back door of the warehouse. The collected rain in the bottom of it is rather rust- and uck-free, and I fill both cups to the brim with the clear water.

  Ignoring the temptation to inhale deeply as I cross the property, I scurry into the building and away from any tantalizing distractions that might lure me back. As I approach Lazzy, he lifts his head and blinks adorable brown eyes at me.

  "Hey boy," I say as I approach him, "are you thirsty yet?"

  I set one of the water cups on the ground in front of him and smile as he gustily laps it up.

  "I guess you are," I continue. "Can't say that I blame you."

  After finishing most of the water in the cup, he licks his lips and lays down again apparently content with his hydration.

  It's not quite dark enough for me to want to go outside and brave the light for a stroll around the property and neighborhood, but I need to find something to occupy my time. Exhaustion and tiredness haven't really been words in my vocabulary for several days now, so laying down and taking a nap seems pointless. Tapping into my energy reserves to explore the building is more of a risk than I wish to take, so that retires that option, too.

  Looking around the floor of the warehouse gives me an idea, and I jump on it.

  "This place might not be my house," I say out loud. "But that doesn't mean I can't fake it."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Over two hours go by as I distract myself with sweeping, cleaning and organizing the warehouse floor. A few times I seem to disturb Lazzy enough to make him raise his head and sneeze at me (Stupid dust!) or just stare and watch me with those brown reflective pools of his eyes. He doesn't seem bothered by my actions, and I don't sense any hostility (Just a mild curiosity tinged with slight annoyance, but I can handle that.) emanating from him.

  My original goal had just been to sweep out my closet and get it as clean as possible, but that just didn't take long enough. My inability to get tired (As far as I can tell so far, at least.) has definitely been one of the better parts of whatever I'm going through. If my constant high energy level is tapping into my hunger, it hasn't been noticeable, and I’ll consider that a win.

  Once my closet was swept out and wiped down (I tapped into the water puddle supply outside and used some old towels and clothing I found strewn around the lower levels. It being a warehouse has paid off a little bit.), I expanded my reach to the surrounding floor outside the little closet. From there, I just kept sweeping and picking up (All the old smashed furniture and random debris I've put into a deserted back room I found.) until I had covered almost half the warehouse floor.

  Stopping to look back over how much area I’ve covered since starting, I'm amazed.

  "Wouldn't my mom be proud
of me now," I say. "Little Suzie Homemaker has not only cleaned her room (Given my "room" was just a closet, but it's still the thought that counts, right?) but also taken care of most of the downstairs."

  And then my heart stops. Lazzy's gone. The spot next to my closet door where he's been laying for most of the day is empty. No dog.

  Instinctively (How can this be instinctive already? What's happening to me?) I flare my nostrils and breathe deeply. "Where's your scent, buster?" I mutter as I pull air in through my nose as quickly as possible.

  The rich scent of canine tickles my brain and tells me he hasn't left. It's too strong for him to be far. He must still be in the building.

  Spinning slowly in place, I allow my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the gray evening light that permeates the building (How did it get so dark in here without me noticing? How caught up was I in my cleaning?). Having cleaned the place, there aren't many objects to disturb my view so it's a quick search. Lazzy isn't far away from me, sitting against one of the support pillars in the middle of the room. He's just watching me. Sitting up. Alert. And very attentive.

  "Hey boy," I call out. "You scared me. You doing better now?" He doesn't react to my voice; only tilts his head slightly and continues to stare at me. I hope this is a good thing, and not an ominous one.

  Squatting down to make myself shorter (That's less intimidating to animals, right? Or is that just something humans do and tell ourselves?), I pat my leg. "Come 'ere boy. Come on over to me."

  He doesn't move. He stares at me and tilts his head to the other side, but he doesn't approach.

  Hmmm. Reaching out my senses I try to get an idea of his mood. Is he scared or curious or hurt or - and I don't want to think of this as a possibility - aggressive? I don't want to use too much of my energy for this, but I use enough to know I'm not registering any negative or aggressive emotions (Do animals have emotions? This is still such a weird path I'm traveling down.). I take that as a good sign.

  "How about I come to you?" I say in a low soothing voice and begin to duck walk my way towards him. "Do you remember me from before? Are you and me still copacetic? Still good? Still buddies?" I just want to keep my voice going and be as friendly as possible. "Thanks for your help earlier. Well, even if you hadn't meant to help me. I still appreciate it. I tried to return the favor. You liked the food and water, right?"

  I sound like an idiot in my own head, but my constant low voice seems to be helping as I get nearer to him. I don't really care what I'm saying as long as he's listening to me and not running.

  Three feet away from him with my hand outstretched in as non-threatening a way as I can manage, he suddenly drops from his alert sitting position down to his belly and eyes me from the ground.

  That stops my advance for a moment.

  "Lazzy?"

  He answers me by immediately rolling onto his back and wiggling his paws into the air. "Yark!" The noise he makes is sudden and unexpected (And odd-sounding for a dog, but I'm not one to judge right now.), but the happiness rolling off of him in distinct waves can’t be ignored. He's excited to see me. We're good.

  Plopping myself down next to him, I rub his belly and watch him squirm back and forth in sheer delight. The fear about my new-found friend being scared of me melts away in the brightness of this unadulterated love.

  The next half hour is spent rubbing belly (me), licking hands (him) and rolling around on the ground (Both of us. What? It's a clean floor now.). It's nice to have someone to be with even if that someone isn't human. I'll take what I can get right now.

  After our bonding is over, we walk back over to the closet, so I can feed him for the evening. His appetite and strength have both returned with a vengeance, and I'm amazed how quickly he has recovered from yesterday’s blood loss. It's apparent he still isn't at full strength (He lays down whenever waiting on me instead of standing patiently, and the weariness I sense in him certainly exists even if it isn't stopping him.), but he's stronger than I would have given him credit for.

  He eats three handfuls of food and another full cup of water before finally giving into the exhaustion I know he's been ignoring so that he could be with me.

  "Brave little fella," I tell him. "Who knows how long you went without food before you found me. Well, don't worry. We'll get you back up and running around just as soon as possible. Trust me."

  Looking up at me from the furry donut he’s twisted his body into, he snuffles loudly.

  "That wasn't much of an answer," I continue. "But I'm assuming that was your way of saying 'yeah, well, we'll see'."

  "Stay here and stay as comfortable as you can. I'm going to go out and see if I can find a way to get us some pillows and blankets and maybe some food that is fresher than that nasty dinosaur chow I found. I'll be back."

  With that thought, I jog over to the back door and slip out into the night. I have a goal now. I have a mission. And I have the best of intentions.

  And as every old wife knows, good intentions never lead to trouble.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Once out on the street, I try not to let the excitement of my adventure overwhelm my thinking. "Being outside and in the public can be dangerous," I remind myself. "I was out and about last night and nearly got tangled up with law enforcement. I'll need to be smarter."

  Unfortunately as I stroll down the street towards what I suspect might be civilization, heeding those thoughts are easier said than done. Part of my brain understands that being around people right now is dangerous, but at the same time I'm lonely. Aside from that loneliness, there is a deep desire within me to be around humans. I'm drawn to them. Or at least I'm drawn to the idea of them. I really want to see another person and not have to crouch in fear or worry about them being scared of me. I want to interact. I want to talk. I want to be a part of society.

  But is it safe? Safe for me? Safe for them? Just...safe in general?

  My mind ponders those questions (And the ramifications of what will happen if I'm not careful about them.) as my feet pound the pavement and carry me further away from my warehouse. I'm not concerned about a specific direction; I'm just letting my feet carry me as I enjoy the night air and the thought of maybe “accidentally” bumping into someone makes me smile. I haven't said "hello" to another person since when? That morning at the bus stop, maybe?

  After over a half hour of meandering around empty streets throughout the abandoned section of the city that I call my home, I realize I'm approaching an island of lights. The occasional street lights I've been passing have become more frequent and in front of me now is a dilapidated strip mall with a handful of shops still showing life. On a scale of one to scary, this place would have definitely kept me in the car with the doors locked at one time. But now I'm not so worried. Now I'd much rather have a chance of running into a person (Any person really. Even a scary person is better than the "no person" I've been dealing with. Lazzy's great, and he'll keep me from going insane, but I still can't have a conversation with him.) than worry about whether that person will try to rob or murder me. And if they did try? Well, that's a thought that just makes me smile.

  Standing several hundred yards away from the strip mall in the relative darkness of a side street, I watch the front entrance to see how busy the place is at this time of evening. It is only the middle of the week (Somehow my brain has kept perfect track of both what day of the week it is – Thursday - and the time - 9pm. I have no idea how I know this, but I do. Just part of how my brain works now, I guess.), so it still appears to be relatively deserted. Before I continue, I squat down with my back against the light pole (Out of instinct I've chosen a light that is either burnt out or busted. Either way its painful donut of white halogen isn't pelting me right now.) and slowly consider what I'm about to do.

  After everything I've gone through, I'm about to cross this street and enter a public building with living people in it and attempt to do what? Purchase supplies for a prison-cell sized closet in an empty warehouse in an abandoned s
ection of the city so that I can make my pet stray dog more comfortable? This is where I am right now? This is what I want to do?

  "Yup. It is," I tell myself. "I need to prove to myself that this is something that I can do. I either walk into this small store and buy supplies like a normal human, or I give up the charade of pretending that I will ever fit in."

  At the same time, though, there's no point being stupid about all of this. My father always told me that 'caution was the better part of valor' or something to that effect. When I questioned him on what it meant, he told me to 'not rush stupidly into things. Think before acting.' It's been good advice, and it's advice I plan to follow now.

  Keeping an eye on the store's entrance for activity, I run down my biggest worries about what might happen. It's a pretty short list. First and foremost is my hunger taking over, and I end up attacking an innocent person. My desperation for interpersonal contact may be unharnessing the restraints of my caution, but hurting somebody is beyond what I can accept.

  With that in mind, I breathe deeply and try to get a grip on my hunger. I can feel it resting like a furry kitten in the pit of my body. It's warm and comforting (in a disturbing but reassuring way) and quiet, but I know if I wake it up it will be a holy terror (Hmmm...how ironic. Somehow I don't think anything about my situation has anything to do with God or holiness.) that will leave nothing but destruction and shredded drapes (Come on, that's a nice metaphor!) in its wake. But for now it is settled and its previously insistent pressure is non-existent. Apparently my plan to not use my abilities has paid off. Not trying to stress myself has allowed that part of me to lay dormant. Small victory.

  So if my hunger isn't an issue, then what else is holding me back?

  "Poopsicle!" I mutter with the realization that I never even thought to bring money. Patting my pockets, I quickly search for my wallet and the small collection of bills I could use for tonight's venture. After several frantic moments of digging through various pockets, I uncover it. Opening it up, I see my remaining few bills and my debit card my parents have insisted I have so that I could learn responsibility.