A Hard Rain: Book Two Of The Shift Trilogy

Chapter 17

Charlottesville, Virginia

Greater Monticello

January 2013

Neko Lemay never had a problem with solitude. She had chosen to build her mountaintop cabin overlooking Monticello in order to have just that. Whereas most Monticellans chose to resettle in Charlottesville proper, Neko chose to be far enough away from the prattle of human voices. She had the whole mountain to herself. And back when she had full use of her body, there was no downside to it. Unfortunately, that was the past.

In the kitchen, Neko was trying to boil some water for tea, making an effort not to wince as she squatted to pitch more wood into the cast iron stove. Her red hair was in shambles, resembling the nest of a slovenly bird. She couldn't make a decent ponytail to save her life now. Strands of hair tickled her face and she burnt a few strands when she leaned over the stove. With her right arm securely fastened to her torso, it reduced her mobility as well as her dexterity. She tried to ignore it, to pretend that the loss of the use of her right arm didn't fundamentally change her life. The kitchen had windows, but the dark oak wood walls and the canopy of trees surrounding the cabin diffused the light coming in. She used a Zippo to light the kerosene lamp to search in the cabinet for a jar of strawberry preserves. The bread was already sliced, but when she found the jar, it occurred to her that jars required two hands to open.

Still in her pajamas, Neko sat on the floor, took off her socks, clamped the jar between the arches of her feet and attempted to open it with her good arm. It was difficult at first. The jar wanted to slide away from her grip, but with a little extra pressure, her feet kept the jar still and she was able to open the preserves.

She eased herself back up using the cabinet to support her, and got a butter knife. Steam started whistling from the kettle. She scooped up the strawberry preserves with the knife, but when she tried to spread it on the bread, the slice flew across the room and onto the floor.

"Shit."

The kettle's whistle grew louder. She searched the dark kitchen for the wayward slice of bread. The whistling beseeched even louder. She grabbed the handle forgetting that the kettle's handle was not insulated from the heat. The shock of pain made her jump, dropping the kettle on the floor, the boiling water gushing out on all directions.

"Goddammit! Shit! Shit, shit!"

Whatever patience Neko had was expended in one momentous explosion of rage, pent up for weeks, vomiting out alone in her cabin where no one else would hear her. Neko let out a howl of futile rage and angst, followed by tears and a string of inventive uses for the "f" word in a fugue of untethered anguish, making use of both English and Spanish. The kettle became the focus of her ire as she grabbed the handle—with a pot holder this time—marched through the living room, and threw the offending kettle into the snow as it sizzled. But that wasn't enough. Barefoot and in her pajamas, she stormed outside and grabbed an axe. Knowing that striking a steel kettle with the sharp end was a bad idea, she twisted the axe to show the butt end and proceeded to punish the kettle for its existence.

"Fuck...you...kettle!"

Neko managed to flatten the kettle with three blows. She felt light headed and collapsed onto the snow. Her shoulders heaved as she wailed, unhindered by societal constraints. Her hot tears froze on her face as she released a month's worth of pain.