The three boys stepped into the dilapidated building where the animals had once been confined, their footsteps echoing in the dusty silence. They were accompanied by two police officers, their uniforms a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. My eyes followed them as they moved deeper into the wreckage, my gaze fixed, like an anchor, on their every action.
Despite the bitterness that boiled within me, I knew that I could not, would not, forgive them for what they had done.
I could feel the rage pulsing through every fibre of my being, my fur bristling with the intensity of it. Every instinct screamed at me, a deep-rooted, primal fury clawing to break free. But it wasn't just the act of locking me up—no, it was the sheer, senseless cruelty that had led them to take lives.
That was what this was. Cold, calculated murder.
To murder your fellow beings for no reason, to end a life without even a flicker of remorse—there could be no excuse for that. They had crossed a line, a line drawn in the very essence of what it means to be human. To murder is to forfeit the civil, compassionate, loving parts of oneself. It is to lose your very soul.
As the boys moved further inside, I could feel my claws digging into the cage that I was still trapped within, the metal grating against my already worn and bruised paws. The desperation in my scratching, the fury in my every movement, was visceral. Blood began to trickle from the tips of my claws, but still, I couldn't stop. I couldn't not react to them.
"It really does stink in here, doesn't it?" The male officer's voice cut through the thick, acrid air, his words barely registering as he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"My god," the female officer gasped in turn, her voice trembling as she surveyed the scene before her—the decaying corpses, the piles of faeces, and the sickening remnants of violence that lingered like a shadow.
I turned my attention back to the boys. The one with the scarred face—Miles, I'd overheard—stopped in his tracks and turned to face the female officer. His eyes, wide and innocent, fixed on her as he asked a question that seemed out of place in such a grim setting.
"Do you believe in God?" he asked, his tone sincere, his voice laced with something almost… uncomfortably earnest.
It was a simple question, but with a depth that could unravel the mind if one thought too deeply. The female officer seemed taken aback, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she struggled to respond.
"I don't… overly," she said finally, her voice faint.
Miles clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and dismissive.
"Whatever you believe in doesn't matter," he said coldly. "Using the Lord's name in vain? That's villainous."
The blonde-haired boy, his face a mask of righteous fury, chimed in eagerly, his voice rising with every word.
"The Church—" he began, his tone dripping with sanctimony, "the Church takes in orphans, heals souls. And you? You disgraceful regurgitation of the devil. You think it's okay to belittle the Church? To belittle the teachings of God?"
The third boy, the one with the plain face, stepped in as well, his voice rising in mock horror.
"To dare associate the Lord's name with this unholy situation? You must be a devil worshipper."
And then, as if orchestrated by some twisted play, they all turned in unison, extending their arms and pointing accusingly at the female officer, their faces contorted in judgment.
"Devil worshipper," they chanted, their voices low at first, but quickly rising, gaining momentum.
"Devil worshipper. Devil worshipper. Devil worshipper."
The female officer's face drained of color, her pupils dilating in a panic that gripped her throat. She stammered, her words drowned by the insistent chant of the boys. Her gaze darted to the male officer, desperate for help, but her voice faltered under the weight of the accusation.
"Enough." The male officer's voice cut through the chaos, a sharp command that stilled the boys' chant in an instant.
He turned to Chloe, the female officer, with a sigh. "Chloe, please. Refrain from slandering the Lord."
Chloe nodded weakly, her head drooping in shame, the tension in her shoulders evident as she tried to regain her composure.
The boys chuckled amongst themselves, their laughter dark and mocking, until the male officer shot them a look—a look that stilled their amusement for a moment. The plain-faced boy broke the silence, his voice suddenly adopting an air of revelation.
"Wait, I know these people," he said, his eyes widening as if struck by an epiphany. "They go to my school."
He paused, savoring the moment as he delivered his punchline. "They used to go to my school," he added, just barely managing to hide his grin.
"That over there is Tom, I believe," he continued, gesturing toward a lifeless body. "And those over there? Harley and Harry. I can't believe this could happen to them. Wait… you don't think they imprisoned and tortured the animals, do you?"
The blonde-haired boy joined in, his tone exaggerated, dripping with mock shock.
"No, that can't be. I know them," he insisted, as if convinced by his own words. "They're good students. Forthright. Righteous."
He placed a hand to his chest, tears welling in his eyes as if the tragic loss of these 'friends' was too much to bear.
Miles stepped over to his friends, placing a hand on their shoulders as if comforting them. But his words were far from reassuring.
"Even the most seemingly pure soul can harbor darkness within," Miles said, his voice low and heavy with false wisdom. "We only know Harley, Harry, and Tom at school. Who knows what they're really like outside of school? Who knows the masks they wear? The depth of their misdeeds?"
The female officer, struggling to defend the victims, spoke up, her voice trembling.
"Wait, we don't know if these children are guilty or not…"
The blonde-haired boy's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing in faux enlightenment as he pondered the situation with exaggerated seriousness.
"Wait, now that I think about it…" he began, pausing for effect. "It does make sense. There are more cages than animals here. And based on the content in each cage, it's safe to assume that these animals were released, or maybe escaped. These vile creatures—these incarnates of the devil—who I once thought were my friends, they probably died in the act of their cruelty."
He turned to the police officers, the words flowing from him like a well-rehearsed monologue. "Would it not be safe to assume that, while they were torturing these animals, an accident occurred? That the animals were released in their panic? And that, in turn, they regressed to their primal instincts, seeking to eliminate the threat that was harming them?"
The male officer glanced at his colleague, his expression serious. "He could be right," he muttered, his voice carrying an uncomfortable weight.
Chloe looked at him, wide-eyed, and swallowed hard. "Regardless, we'll be looking into this," she said solemnly, though the uncertainty in her voice was evident.
A brief, uneasy silence settled over the group as the officers began their search for evidence. Yet, the place was so far gone, so destroyed, that even the most seasoned investigators struggled to find anything concrete.
"Excuse me, I need to call my parents," Miles said suddenly, breaking the stillness with an air of casualness that felt out of place.
The officers barely acknowledged him, absorbed in their own tasks, but nodded, giving him permission with little more than a passing glance.
With deliberate slowness, Miles exited the building, pulling his phone from his pocket. His fingers moved deftly, scrolling through social media platforms and school records until he found what he was looking for: a number.
Ring, ring, ring.
Someone picked up on the other end.
"Hi, this is Samantha Pickett speaking," the voice answered, a tone of concern already present.
Miles smiled, adopting the perfect blend of friendly and professional. "Hi, this is Miles Flemming."
"Miles Flemming? As in, one of the prefects at Solonacht Academy?"
Miles paused, surprised that she knew who he was, but quickly masked his reaction. "Yes, that's me. I'm calling about your son, Tom. Don't tell anyone, but I've got some information you need to hear."
The line crackled with tension as the woman's voice quivered. "The police?"
"Yes, Mrs. Pickett. The police. And I'm afraid it's about Tom," Miles continued, his voice calm yet steady. "Your son is suspected of torturing and illegally holding animals."
"No. That can't be," she gasped, the disbelief clear in her voice.
"I'm afraid it's true," Miles said, his tone sympathetic but unwavering. "And I'm sorry to say that you're also suspected of being involved."
"What??!!" The shock in her voice was deafening.
"And it seems that during one of his... sessions... the animals rebelled. They killed your son."
The line went deathly quiet. Samantha could barely find the words to respond, her shock turning to disbelief.
"Remember, don't tell anyone I told you this," Miles continued, his voice taking on a softer, almost regretful tone. "I'm doing this out of respect for Tom, because we were once friends. I don't believe in what he did, but I want to help."
There was a long pause on the other end, then a faint whisper of a reply. "I won't tell anyone. Thank you."
"Goodbye, Mrs. Pickett," Miles said, the words sounding strangely hollow as he ended the call.
He slid the phone back into his pocket and re-entered the building.
"How was your chat with your parents, Miles?" the male officer asked, his voice casual.
Miles pasted a friendly smile on his face, as if nothing had just transpired.
"You know how worried they can get," he said, feigning a sigh of deep concern. "It hurts my heart to hear them in such a state."
The officers exchanged a glance, then made their way out, their focus now shifting to a more urgent matter. They promised the boys they would continue investigating, assuring them that more officers would be arriving shortly.
"Just stay here," the male officer added. "Don't be offended if we ask more questions. It's part of the process."
And then, just like that, I was alone again, left in the same rotting ruins they had helped create. The minutes stretched out like hours, time slipping away in a desolate, suffocating silence.
I remained in my cage, unable to do anything but watch, helpless in my prison. It was all I had now. Powerless to torment, to cause suffering, to escape. Perhaps that was my fate now: a silent witness.
Maybe I was nothing.