Catherine

Chapter I.

"Hey, Catherine, the boss wants to see you." Erin Walker peered over the cubicle handing me a folder.

"Really!? Now?" I sighed dramatically.

"He says it's urgent." She replied and I rolled my eyes at her.

"That's what he always says..." I mumbled, slowly getting up from my desk. It hadn't been easy getting this job. I lied my ass off during the interview. Luckily Ron Cumberdale, or as I like to call him 'the idiot that lives through daddy's money' had never checked my references. He thought that nothing would ever happen to his little hierarchy. I walked around to Ron's office and couldn't help but feel the paranoia that everyone was staring at me. I felt rage start to boil in my stomach, but I calmed myself. There was no way anyone cared enough to stare at me for any extension of time. Besides, I had a crushing headache and all this anger wouldn't do it any favors.

I reached his office and knocked twice before entering. Ron Cumberdale's office was strange. Not the pleasant strange you see going into a friend's house for the first time, but the eerie kind that makes every fiber of your being scream 'run!'

The walls wore the skins of death. Animals free of their bones hung lifelessly upon the grey walls, frozen since the moment they were killed. Everything from rabbits, fish big and small, deer, foxes, hawks, even a dog (I assumed it was his) were propped up on every possible surface. A large fish tank sat in the corner. An algae forest grew, making the glass opaque. Those poor fish Ron had been so ecstatic about the first few days were dead now, turning the air into a noxious rotten fish scent that would surely stick to my clothing long after this visit. He made everything I had done look mundane. "Sir?" I called into the room.

The desk chair that was faced towards the back wall turned dramatically towards me in a majestic motion. "Ah. Yes. Miss Williams. Please sit" He motioned to a chair and I tried desperately to hide my smile. This was so like him. He was always going for this debonair personality that he could never hope to pull off. Ron was an overweight, balding man with huge glasses, large bushy eyebrows, crooked teeth, chapped lips, and sickly little slits for eyes. Now that I recall, he actually had an uncanny resemblance to a toad mixed with a disgruntled owl. 

Both chairs in the room were terribly misshapen, but when offered a seat I found myself leaning towards the least miserable of the two which happened to be a plushy bright green. It seemed like an island in the ocean of decay. Mr. Cumberdale took the adjacent bleach stained red one. For a moment the colors switched and the red was replaced with piercing white which was now stained red. I blinked away the vision as Ron spoke. "Miss Williams- Can I call you Catherine?" He looked at me for approval and I nodded. Like I really had a choice? "Catherine, do you know what this company strives for?"

Knowing the routine I shook my head. Even by chance I was right, he would still repeat it. "This company strives for creativity, integrity, loyalty, and most important..." He paused for dramatic effect, "Honesty." He looked at me pointedly. "Do you know what happens when one of those virtues is endangered?"

Now, this speech was different than the rest. He had my full attention. I shook my head once more. "We eliminate the threat of course! Don't you agree Cathy?" The shortening of my name didn't go unnoticed, not by a mile, but I nodded all the same.

"Oh. Cathy this is fantastic news then!" Ron said bringing out a file with my name on it. All at once I knew what this was about. It was about my falsified information in my interview. I stayed quiet though. There was always a what-if. What if he didn't know? I kept my mouth shut and plastered an interested but calm expression on my face. Obviously, this meeting wasn't going as Ron had planned. His face twisted angrily into a snarl. He ripped open my file and read aloud the contents, "Catherine Williams. Blood Type: Unknown. Parents: Unknown. Physical Appearance: Hair: Blonde, Eyes: Brown. Age: Unknown. D.O.B.: Unknown," He sighed, "Cathy, this is unacceptable. I can't have people working here with little to nothing documented about them... in official documents of all things! Is this even your real name?"

I didn't look at him. I slowly stood up and made my way to the door but was quickly grabbed around the wrist by Ron. "Let me go!" I yelled. Surely that would be enough for him to release me, but... no. He kept his grip. "Who are you? Why are there no records? Are you hiding from someone? Please. If that's the case, let me help!" He was too loud. My head pounded like a heartbeat. Over and over again pain welled up in my skull and Ron's pleas were soon lost.

I grabbed behind me grasping his shirt, and pushed as hard as I could. He stumbled and tripped over the leg of the green chair. I tried. I really did, but he did this. I tried to get away, but this was his fate. This was his fault! This thought pushed me through any uncertainty I might have felt before. He was sprawled out on the floor and his elbow was bleeding. The blood made me angrier. I grabbed the horse-shaped desk lamp positioned ever so slightly towards me, as if welcoming me, and crashed it heavily over his head producing a large crack and a final thud. I don't remember much of what happened when Ron Cumberdale died, but what I do remember was the laughter. Whether it was my own... I could not tell. I only felt the need for silence. Death was mercy for this miserable man. If he had been alive long enough to say so, he would have thanked me! "You deserve this!" I smiled down at the scene manically, "You are the reason for this! Not me! It would have come anyway! It was really a favor... if you think about it. Now you owe me!"

I didn't bother with the body. They wouldn't find any fingerprints. I had worn gloves on my hands for as long as I have participated in unsavory endeavors. Still, I had this little voice in my mind asking me why I couldn't just tell the truth. I squashed it firmly. After all of the people I killed, that little voice was still there pestering me. Why? I couldn't tell you. It was a waste of space in my already crowded mind. 

I checked my watch. It had been five minutes. I could always scream for help and claim that he had died in my arms, which on all accounts was technically correct. Well... more at my hands than in my arms, but I digress. I live for little technicalities anyways.

 There was something I needed to do first. I grabbed my favorite pen from his desk and stabbed it through his neck creating a fountain of blood. I took off my gloves and placed them in my right hand coat pocket. Then, I put my left hand under the flow and when I thought I had enough blood, I rose to my feet. I took out the handkerchief inside Ron's pocket and rubbed the blood all over it until it wore an even coat of gore. Another minute or two passed by and the blood was dry enough to pocket the handkerchief. I stepped into the hall and made an immediate turn for the restroom.

In the bathroom, I held my hands under the stream of freezing water. It was mesmerizing watching the scarlet color flow delicately down the drain while listening to the roaring faucet. Soon the water ran clear, but I kept my ring underneath the stream. Blood from every person I had ever killed was absorbed by this opal gem. I hoped that was how the stone got its colors. It wasn't my fault that everyone who made me angry was killed. They should all know better! This was not my fault. Not my fault... not my fault... not my fault... not my fault... not my fault... I repeated until my charred heart's guilt was silenced. I turned to the mirror and pawed through my hair trying to make it look as normal as possible. It's weird to think that when I was younger and I killed someone for the first time all I wanted to do was to stand out. To be someone daring and someone everyone loved. Now... I would kill for some peace and quiet.