Was it the light peeping through the boarded windows or the chirrup of the telephone that wakened her? Cally reached for the telephone and touched cold steel, heard something clatter onto the floor. She fumbled to answer the insistent chirruping, missed the call and allowed herself the luxury of closing her eyes and drifting back into oblivion. Cold steel? An uncurling feeling started in her stomach, the one she always felt before she went for an interview. It unwound softly at first, then launched itself through her senses like a full body assault. She came awake instantly and checked the floor beside her bed. She stared at a pair of large stainless steel scissors with a black handle. The pair she usually kept in her kitchen drawer. Why was her heart suddenly pounding an urgent rhythm?
As she swung out of bed, she rifled through her memories of the night before. Isolated images floated before her mind’s eye, teasing her with the promise of discovery but nothing stayed long enough to form a coherent memory. It was time to go. The knot in her stomach told her that. As she sat on the edge of the bed, creating her mental list of what she needed to do, she put her hands up to tie her hair in a knot. Her hands froze. Where was her hair? She scrabbled at her scalp and felt short hair, cropped so closely that her eyes went wide with the image of how she must look. Scared of what she might see, Cally ran to the bathroom. Coming up short in front of the mirror, she paled. Her hair was bright red! She gingerly touched her scalp, watching her reflection as she did so. Frowning, she shook her head trying to clear the foggy feeling. She turned the cold water on in the basin, watched brown water gurgle from the tap, stooped to splash it on her face.
She dried her face on a threadbare towel and thought about last night. Anna’s surprise 25th birthday party! Snapshots came to mind; she felt the swirl of her favourite mediaeval dress, the weight of the black cape tied at the neck, remembered painting her nails purple, applying white face colour to highlight the black lipstick, laughing when she opened the front door.
Back in the kitchen, Cally sipped scalding coffee but it was the cold stone tiles on her bare feet that hurried her from her reverie. A police siren wailed in the distance. She returned to the lounge room, pacing as she tried to remember the night before. Dust danced on the sun shards poking through the boards over the windows. The light blinked on her answering machine. She hadn’t checked it last night when she came home. She pressed the message button and froze as she heard her own panicked voice.
“Get out, Cally! RUN! “
Adrenalin pumped wildly through her tiny body. Her mouth dried instantly and she heard the police siren change direction. She heard the next message, a breathless female voice.
“Cally! It’s Megan….Oh God, they’re here……!”
Cally heard heavy footsteps followed by loud screaming. The high pitched terror was cut-off mid scream but her answering machine had continued its mute witness of destruction; furniture smashed loudly; glass shattered and two male voices grunted. Cally suddenly felt violently ill.
She shook her head again. Running through the house she mentally ticked off a list of items she needed: keys, purse, phone, water, medication, Napoleon and his leash and oh - !
Cally stopped short. She hadn’t heard Napoleon’s insistent scratching this morning. He hadn’t barked to be let in either. She padded to the back door and turned the skeleton key in its big black lock. The door was swollen from too many winters without paint and she had to wrench it open. It opened outward and Napoleon usually ran in before the door completed its arc. There was always a commotion as he jumped, licked and tried to wrestle her to the ground. She stepped outside into the blinding daylight. No sign of him. His water bowl was full, his food was untouched. Sirens wailed closer. Someone is in trouble, she thought absently. But where was Napoleon? Cally gagged. Napoleon grinned stupidly at her from atop a lone fence paling. His eyes bulged and dried blood painted the ground and adjacent sagging fence. Several feet away from the fence, his legs were sitting in a pile separate to his torso. Flies shrouded his body parts.
