Sickness may be catching (extended) -Kerry

The car door slammed shut in my face. I was alone but his words rang in my ears, competing with the tinnitus that usually has over-riding power in that area.

“That’s it. I’m outta here. I’m getting rid of the stupid things,” he had shouted at me.

He had spoken with such vehemence that his spittle splashed onto my cheek. I recoiled, shocked by his uncalled-for tirade, and pushed myself hard against the driver’s door in an attempt to avoid any more spit. I thought of the germs dripping down my face as I waited for his next volley of rage. I am very particular about hygiene and specially avoid contamination from body fluids. My bottle of anti-bacterial lotion was in the glove box by his knee and therefore out of my reach at this time. I would be all right as long as I didn’t lick my lips. I sat tight-lipped, wishing he would come good with his promise and just get out of the car.

But he sat there in the passenger’s seat fuming with anger. His fat, white hands were working furiously with one another, twisting, pressing against his knees, squeezing together. They reminded me of the ‘stupid things’ he had threatened to rip so violently from my care. Squirming live things, crawling over each other blindly, pressing down on each other. I had to look away. I could feel my stomach begin to turn.

“You tell anyone, you’ll be sorry. Don’t think I won’t be watching you,” he had added.

This time his voice had dropped ominously, sliding, hissing across the car seat between us. I felt dirtied by the hate in his words. They had a bitter, poisonous smell. I reacted instinctively by brushing something off my skirt, not wanting to have his poison settle on me. Nevertheless I nodded furiously, unable to open my mouth but acknowledging that I understood. He apparently took my response as acquiescence to something he had said and smiled grimly. It was a moment of comparative relaxation and I allowed myself to settle back into the seat a little. The door handle had been pressing sharply into my hip, aggravating my chronic bursitis. I needed relief from the pain.

Seeing me relax, however imperceptibly, seemed to aggravate him again. He leaned forward and brought his face up close to mine. He was sneering aggressively. I pushed back and again the door handle sent a jab of pain into my hip. I could feel his hot breath. He smelled like the drunk he was, reminding me of stale cigarettes and late-nights in the pub. I was repulsed.

“I’m taking them,” he shouted at close range.

He leaned back and undid his seatbelt. Twisting in his seat, he reached over to the back seat and picked up the basket. I heard the faint, nervous mewing. He climbed out of the car. With one last look in, he communicated the full slug of his vicious intent.

The car door slammed shut.

Immediately I pulled the antiseptic from the glove box and scrubbed my face vigorously with a tissue. My whole body was trembling violently as I turned the key in the ignition. The car shuddered, lurched forward, then stalled abruptly before I had the foresight to jam my sluggish foot on the clutch. My chin bumped against the steering wheel causing my lip to split. The vile metallic taste of blood made me cough until I was able to stuff a clean wad of tissue between my gum and lip to stem the flow.

I slumped morosely in my seat trying not to think of the sinister activities taking place outside. My tears were as much for myself, for my own helplessness, as they were for the kittens. I had only myself to blame for my life. I had been told often enough how stupid I was. I ripped a tissue out of the box and jabbed angrily at my eyes. I threw it to the floor and tore out another to blow my nose loudly.

I was wrenched from my self-indulgence by the explosive sound of shattering glass. A brick-sized rock had landed on the back seat amidst a scattering of glass shards from the rear window.

He was still out there in the darkness.

I spun round to lock the door beside me but was shocked to see him there; his hairy face looming at the window. He pulled open the door.

“I’m gonna kill two birds with one stone,” he snarled. “Them and you.”

He grabbed my arm viciously, twisting it painfully. My body reacted immediately to his actual physical contact. I clamped my teeth into his fat fingers and lashed out at him with my free arm as I tumbled out of the car. He let go of me with a yelp, giving me the space to jump to my feet and catch him off guard with a blow to the legs. He crashed to the ground. I kicked at him but he grabbed my foot and pulled me down with him. I managed to knee him in the stomach as I fell, winding him temporarily. It was enough for me to twist out of his grasp and scramble to my feet. My breath was coming in ragged gasps as I edged away. And ran.

The single light illuminating the end of the jetty was sufficient for me to make out the basket on the bank. I could hear his shuffling footsteps on the gravel behind me. I bent down and grabbed the basket, sensing its comforting weight and the movement of life inside.

I ran again, sobbing, up the bank and out on to the road, clutching my precious cargo.

I knew I would never return home.


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