No one was sorry to see him die, except me. Chuck Culverwell worked the late shift at a Denny's. His days were spent consuming alcohol, watching bad reality TV, and molesting his six-year-old daughter, Janice. That was why he had to die.
Janice and her little brother Charlie had been in foster care for the past three months but Child Protective Services had closed their investigation. The molestation couldn't be proven and they were about to send the kids back to Chuck. I had seen the terror in Janice's eyes after she was told. She shook harder than a Chihuahua in the winter and I couldn't get the echo of her wails out of my head. I had to do something.
Now I stood over Chuck's inert body in one of the sketchiest alleys in the city. A mugging gone wrong, the cops would think. I'd covered my tracks well. I didn't like killing, but I would do anything to protect those kids. The system so frequently left my hands tied as a social worker—sometimes going outside the law was the only way. Now Janice was safe. I had no connection to this family so no one would ever guess the bookish, 5'4" woman who spent her free time volunteering in animal shelters was capable of murder. I wasn't sorry for what I'd done, only that I'd had to do it in the first place. A tragic waste of life. Chuck had brought this on himself through his own bad choices but it was a waste nonetheless. Life is precious. Until it isn't.
I pulled my hood tighter around my face and leapt onto the nearest fire escape. Traveling over rooftops was safer than walking away from such a scene. Run, jump, roll, repeat. Was anything more exhilarating than soaring through the air several stories above the ground? I grinned wildly to myself, thanking Cindy for her parkour obsession when we were teenagers. She was training to be the next American Ninja Warrior before—No. I couldn't think about that right now. Not when a lack of concentration could turn me into a human pancake. Run, jump, roll, repeat. How many times had I done this? It was down to a system now. Instinctual. But that didn't mean I should allow myself to get distracted.
Finally, my building. I eased open the window, cringing when it squeaked. Where was some WD-40 when you needed it? I might have to start keeping a can out on the fire escape. I slunk into the kitchen and started making myself a late night snack. Nothing like homicide to inflame the appetite.
The hall light flicked on and I suppressed a shudder. Busted. "Hey, Faye."
My roommate's arms were crossed over her chest and she scowled impressively for someone wearing a matching Hello Kitty pajama set.
"What are you doing up at, what time is it?" She glanced at the microwave clock. The neon green numbers betrayed me. "Uh, three thirty in the morning, making mac and cheese?"
"I'm on my period," I said automatically. "You know how I get."
Faye sighed and the fierce expression melted off her face. "You're insanely lucky I was already awake."
I smiled, finally relaxing, and addressed her as I stirred the pasta. "Let me guess, bingeing that new season of Unnatural?"
"What else would I be doing at three thirty in the morning? I heard a noise and got a little freaked," she confessed sheepishly. "Maybe watching a show about monsters in the middle of the night wasn't the best idea."
I stopped stirring momentarily to mock punch her arm. "I've told you a million times that it just makes you jumpy but you never listen."
Faye shrugged and rolled her shoulders. "Ugh, I'm so stiff. I was lying in the same position for the last three episodes because Abby decided to use me as a pillow." Abby was our—okay, okay my cat. One of five. I'm a total sucker for pitiful meows.
"You know you love her." I scooped some of my bounty into a bowl. "Want some?"
"Why not," Faye threw her hands up in exasperation. "Two insomniacs eating mac and cheese. No better way to spend a wild Sunday night."
This was why I loved Faye. I'd been reluctant to live with anyone, but affording my own apartment in this city on a state employee's salary? Laughable. She'd answered my Craigslist ad with a combination of sarcasm and comic book references. How could I resist? We'd been best friends ever since.
"What else have you been up to this fine morning?" Faye asked between mouthfuls of mac and cheese. "I haven't seen you since before eight."
I tilted my head towards the couch, where a nest of blankets and pillows housed two more cats and a small stack of Jane Austen novels. It wasn't a complete lie. I had been there all night aside from my hour and a half long excursion to save Janice Culverwell. I had watched Faye's door. She had just started the season finale, meaning she wouldn't leave her room until at least episode two of the next season.
"I got up to use the bathroom and Daisy and Micah stole my seat so I figured it was snack time."
Faye nodded empathetically, cheeks bulging with food. She swallowed. "Your cats run this house."
"Better they rule the roost than spend the rest of their lives in cages," I said crisply. I was sensitive about my small herd of cats. They didn't deserve to be punished simply for existing. Neither did the Janice Culverwells of the world.
Faye tried to placate me. "Alright, no need to get testy. I know how much you love those furballs. They've grown on me too."
Especially Fizzy. The first few days home the calico had trailed my curvy auburn-haired roommate everywhere she went, purring all the while. Faye had been annoyed at first but soon crumbled under the seductive power of big eyes and loud purrs. Her acceptance of Fizzy had ultimately led to accepting the rest of the brood.
"I know. I'll clean this up in the morning, okay? I'm beat. Get back to your marathoning. Who needs sleep, right?" I winked at her. Faye was still in grad school. She needed to be up in less than four hours, but I'd never met anyone who functioned so well without sleep. Two cups of coffee and you'd never know she was up all night.
I tossed my hoodie and yoga pants into the laundry basket. I needed to do that tomorrow; get rid of the evidence—just in case. Yawning, I glanced over my teeth with a toothbrush and crawled into bed. Angel, a Siamese, was already curled up at the end of the bed. I crawled in, somehow managing not to disturb her, and instantly fell asleep.