Chapter Six: Meet Cat or when your response is disproportionate to your problem

TW: Suicide. Meet Cat in the worse way possible, a family dinner. Just kidding, this scene gets dark, skip it if you can't handle it. In other news, the police reach out to the team.

Cat joined her parents for dinner like she did every night. Her conventional housewife mother baked a potpie while her conservative breadwinning father kicked off his shoes and relaxed with a beer. She didn’t mind how stereotypical they were, though she wished they applied the same courtesy to her.

              “How was your day, honey?” Her mother asked as she cut into the pie.

              Cat mimicked her whitened, perfect smile. Pulling her chair closer to the round table, she came up with an answer, “It was good. I had a math test that I probably did well on and literature club is planning on doing a reading.”

              It was like a game of two truths and a lie, except all of them were essentially lies. She was terrible at math. Trigonometry was out of her league by miles, and she wished it was the last math class she had to take. Knowing her parents, she’d end up in calculus next year. Not that she’d complain to them.

              Her mother placed a plate of steaming pie before her. “Oh, what are you going to read?”

              She anticipated the question yet hadn’t given it much thought. “I think we all have to agree on the same book, so it’ll probably be something exciting to read aloud.”

              Picking up her fork, Cat pressed her pie flat. She mixed it into an inedible-looking mush. Maybe it would look like she ate more if it wasn’t a concrete shape that could be measured. Piercing a few peas with a fork, she put them in her mouth. It burned. 

              “You know, I think it would be fun to read poetry.”

              Cat nodded. Poetry would be if they could find the right author, one who tailored their works for spoken form. That shouldn’t be too hard. Then it would matter who their orator would be. Her mother seemed to pick up on that unspoken thought. “Does everyone get to read, or will it be a particular person?”

              She contemplated lying. Even if she said yes, everyone will read, her parents wouldn’t come to the reading. It’d be boring to ninety-five percent of the student population as well. Honestly, why was the club even doing it? It was going to be an embarrassing waste of time.

              “I think it’ll be whoever wants to.”

              Stirring her food, she took another tiny bite. It tasted unappetizing as if her lack of hunger was affecting her taste buds. Looking away from her plate, she noticed her mother’s sharp gaze. Brown eyes weren’t supposed to be scary, and yet her mother’s felt reminiscent of a hunting hawk. “It’s alright if you don’t want to read, honey. We know you don’t like public speaking.”

              The “We” in her reassuring comment dragged her father into the conversation. Up until that point, he was invested in his pie and brew. His eyes flicked up from his plate eventually settling on Cat with a smile. “You’re doing great, Cat. Don’t worry about it.”

              She wasn’t doing great. And she couldn’t not worry. It felt like she was holding her life together with a thread. One that frayed with faux kindness and inevitable failure. She wasn’t sure how many strands remained.

              Putting on a smile, she told him, “I won’t.”

              He chuckled at her sass, perfectly crafted to appeal to him. He returned to his food while Cat turned to her mother. “May I be excused?”

              She pointedly looked at her half-eaten plate, making Cat feel worse for not eating a lot. “Why don’t you eat some more first?”

              “I don’t like potpie, mom,” Cat lied.

              “Since when?”

              Cat struggled not to roll her eyes as she stood up. “I don’t know. I must’ve grown out of it… I don’t like the gravy of it, I guess.”

              “That’s a shame. I’ll make a note of it.”

              She was a shame. For not being in the mood to eat. For not being good at math. For being too “shy” to do a reading. For lying. For putting up a happy front. Everything she did was a shame. She was the worst.

              Scrapping her plate into the trash, she tried to take a deep breath. She was being overdramatic, she decided as she put her plate in the sink. Heading for the stairs, she heard her mother calling after her, “Your hair is looking greasy, dear. Maybe take a shower.”

              Greasy because she was gross. “Okay!” She hollered back at the top of the stairs.

              Cat prepared a bath, mostly because she liked the opportunity to lay down for an hour in the warm water. She locked the bathroom door before slipping off her clothes. Steam plumed from the tub as she stuck a hand in the water, enjoying how it stung. Standing, she moved shampoo bottles from the edge of the tub to the sink.

              Leaning on the sink, she glanced in the mirror to see her pale skin and purple bags under her dull eyes. She rubbed them and turned to the bath. She shut off the water before carefully stepping in. It seared her cold limbs. Wincing, she settled down.

              She reached for her stupid, pink razor. She turned it over in her hands, contemplating. It’d hurt for a few minutes tops, then she’d lose consciousness. At least, that’s what she hoped. The water would help. So would her cowardice. Can’t leave until you do it. Can’t escape unless you try. Sure, it’ll hurt, but what hurts more?

              Maybe she should have written a note. Her parents would blame themselves no matter what she wrote. It was only her fault though. Her decision. A stupid one, just like the rest.

              Cat exhaled slowly, solidifying her resolve. She slid the razor across her skin.

              Gasping, she dropped the razor. There was an odd pressure. Clutching her forearm, she watched blood drip into the bath. It throbbed painfully. She thrust it in the water. “Oh, s**t f**k,” She hissed as it stung.

              She saw the red diffuse through the tub. Shutting her eyes, she rested her head against the wall. Maybe this would be enough. She felt faint already. She waited a few minutes before opening her eyes. She looked down. The bath was red, but transparent. She raised her injured arm out of the water, feeling its weight.

              There was only a faint scar. It was white while the rest of her skin was dyed pink. She whispered, “What?”

              After a pause, she dug the razor out of the tub. She pressed her thumb against the blade. Ignoring the sting from her exposed nerves, Cat watched as blood seeped out of the cut. It quickly dried, and the scab flaked off, revealing healed skin.

              She blinked. It had to be powers, right? And, of course hers had be something as useless as healing. She couldn’t wait to see how this would ruin her life as crazy as she thought that was. It certainly made life inescapable. She sighed before pulling the plug to let the water drain.    

+++++

“Hello Catherine,” Paul said, looking at her file. “Do you know why you’re here?”

The file told him nothing about her; she was a regular student that got relatively good grades and never got in trouble. Paul glanced up at the small teen covered up by an oversized flannel. Cat sat with her arms crossed, glaring at Paul. “No, Mr. Rosa,” She answered. “Why am I here?”

Paul was uncertain where to begin. This felt like his first serious case with a multitude of potential outcomes, some of them deadly. Addressing concerns could push her further away, make her feel defensive, or show that other people care about her. He reluctantly made the choice to present that first. “Another student is concerned about you,” He said gently. “They think you might kill yourself.”

She scoffed, causing Paul to tense. “I’m fine,” She replied, standing up suddenly. “I’m not going to die anytime soon.”

She left the room as the school bell rang. Paul rushed after her, assuring Arturo that he could handle her with a hand wave. The bell must have been for lunch because students were rushing out of the buildings to get to their cars. Paul watched Cat run to a crosswalk, stepping out without looking.

A car struck her. She fell hard, clutching her abdomen. Paul ran over. He knelt beside her, his hands hesitantly hovering over her. He could tell by the way her shirt laid that some of her ribs were crushed. “Oh no, oh no,” He muttered panicky. “There’s nothing I can do.”

She grabbed his arm tightly. She coughed with her mouth shut tightly. She opened her mouth, revealing blood-covered teeth. Her voice was garbled as she said, “It’ll be okay… Just wait.”

Paul tried to stay calm, breathing through his nose. The car that had hit her stalled as the driver got out to see if she was okay. Paul removed her clinging hand and held it between his, the grip getting progressively weaker. She stopped breathing. Paul watched carefully as her chest seemed to inflate. She gasped and coughed.

She squeezed his hand. “Can I move you?” He asked quietly, feeling people pressing in around him to see what the deal was.

Grimacing, she nodded. He slipped his arms under her legs and back, and lifted her up. He was surprised how light she was, easily hurrying her to the office. Scrunching her eyebrows, she rested her head on his shoulder. Someone held the door open for him and he walked to his office.

She patted his shoulder, telling him to put her down. He set her down before opening his office door. She stepped into his office and he quickly shut the door behind them. “Are you okay?”

Patting her abdomen, she checked her body for sustained injuries. She found a wet spot on the shirt underneath the red flannel. She turned away from Paul to look under it. There was a white scar spanning across her abdomen and blood soaking the shirt. She clicked her tongue.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Paul said with some doubt, walked past her to sit down. “Let’s talk about this.”

Cat sighed, leaning onto the back of a chair. “Your power,” He started, making his fingers a temple. “Is amazing. Being able to heal that injury is mind-boggling… Have you thought about exploring your power?”

She laughed sarcastically, replying, “Explore me dying in various ways?”

Paul pursed his lips, recalling exactly why she came in. “Hmm, no, not that exactly,” He said before trying a new tactic. “Would you like to use your powers for good?”

“What do you know about good?” Cat asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Paul rolled his eyes, temporarily forgetting that not everyone knew his vigilante alter ego. He summoned a vine to wave at her. “I’m Ink, you know, the hero,” He answered somewhat shortly.

He was disappointed to see that Cat had no reaction. She gestured for him to continue talking with a stoic face. “Well, I want you to join my team,” He said, dropping the sass. “I think that you can find support in the group.”

It was Cat’s turn to roll her eyes. “Sure, why not?”

“Great,” Paul said with a smile. “The team has someone you would probably like.”

Cat scoffed, but Paul didn’t let her doubts get him down. “I think we should keep meeting,” He continued. “So, people think that we are addressing your issues… I mean if you want to share anything, I’m happy to listen.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. They lapsed into silence. Cat smiled as if she thought of something clever. “Sure, I’ll come sit with you,” Cat commented condescendingly. “You must be lonely sitting here for hours on end with few visitors.”

Paul smirked, trying not to show how upset he was that she knew the truth.

+++++

“Welcome back, Kristen,” Dr. Horns greeted.

Kris scratched her arm with a mitt, the old scabs bothering her. “Hey, doc, how are you?”

“I’m doing great,” He answered stiffly. “You on the other hand…”

He trailed off so Kris could tell him something, she assumed. She let the silence be, refusing to play his game. Horns sighed. “You got into an altercation with another patient.”

She sat up, instantly feeling the need to defend herself against the accusation. “He started it,” She replied quickly. “I don’t understand why prisoners are being kept here with people that have mental health issues.”

“Well, they also have mental health disorders,” Horns explained calmly.

“Just because a person can catch fire doesn’t mean that they are obsessed with it,” She retorted. “How do you treat pyromania anyways?”

Horns shook his head, avoiding answering. “You are being antagonistic for the sake of it. It’s not healthy for your psyche.”

Kris crossed her arms, unwilling to drop the bitter attitude. “I don’t care much for my psyche. I would just like to speak my mind.”

Horns’ eyes narrowed. Kris knew he didn’t like where this was going. “Have you been eating?” He asked suddenly.

“What?” Kris responded, taken aback. “Yeah, I think so.”

Horns hummed with his lips slightly pursed. Kris thought about it more; she certainly ate at every meal. The nurses made sure she knew when meals were, so she wouldn’t miss them. “I think we should increase the dose of your medicine and make sure someone observes you eat at meal times… Furthermore, I think we’ll keep you out of the social rooms.”

Kris clenched her hands, feeling a pain in her chest as her frustration rose. “What? Why?”

“Your aggression bothers other patients,” He said, deliberately looking down at her fists. “When you calm down, you can rejoin your friends.”

“Fine.”

Kris opened her hands and carefully placed them on her lap. Trying to appear calm, she smiled at Horns. “Do you want to discuss your feelings?” He asked, looking like he didn’t believe the façade for a second.

“I have been distracted from my guilt, to be honest, by how strange this place is.”

“That’s good,” He commented absently, writing something down. “How are the medications?”

Kris resisted the urge to scowl, answering, “It makes me groggy. I sleep more.”

“That can be a good thing,” Horns commented, though he lacked any reassuring tone. “REM sleep can help process trauma.”

“Okay.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope.”

Horns sighed and set down his pen. “Kristen, we have been talking for a few weeks now, and I feel like I know so little about you. To be a good psychologist to you, I think we need to start up a repertoire.”

Kris wanted to call him out on his bullshit, but ignored it. She crossed her legs, thinking of something to discuss. Horns patiently allowed the silent contemplation. “Fine,” She said. “When I was in high school, I would starve myself.”

Horns nodded for her to continue, his pen faintly tapping on the pad of paper. “I’ve thought about it a lot and I know why I did it. In turn, I know why I don’t do it anymore,” Kris pressed on. “It was about control… I had no say over my life. I took the classes my parents wanted me to, I did the extracurriculars my parents wanted me to… I had no agency in my life, so I found a way to exert control. I challenged myself to not eat because by resisting it, I felt like I had power and control. By resisting it, I felt like I could do anything. That I could be a better person.”

 “Of course, it didn’t always work out. I would binge eat at night and feel guilty that I couldn’t manage one simple task. I went from happily thinking I could do great things to thinking I deserved not having control in my life. I rode that rollercoaster for months.”

“How did you stop?”

Kris smiled wryly. “I don’t know. I think I came to the conclusion that it was dumb and stopped.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t remember when or why I stopped,” Kris answered with a shrug. “I just know that I wouldn’t be dumb enough to do it again.”

Horns wrote for a while. When he finished, he looked up at her. “I think what you said about control is certainly true… It does a world of good to admit these thoughts you have to others.”

Kris touched her hair with a mitt, admitting, “I have a hard time sharing because I believe it’s sharing a burden and why would I want to burden someone with my thoughts?”

Horns nodded sympathetically. “It’s not a burden. You have to resist that mindset like everything else.”

+++++

“Is what you said true?” Alicia asked, her voice betraying how anxious she felt.

“Yeah.”

Pagel and Alicia were walking to the morgue when Pagel admitted that he got a live pig for their surgery practice. He opened the door to reveal a large sow, snuffing around the freezer. “Jeez,” Alicia said. “I don’t know if we’re ready for this. What if we kill it?”

“Then we have a pig body to get rid of… I don’t think we can eat it if we give it anesthetics…”

“Rutherford!” Alicia exclaimed, punching his arm. “That’s inappropriate!”

“It’s a pig, calm down,” Pagel said, rubbing his arm. “If you aren’t calm, it surely won’t survive the surgery.”

Alicia glared at him for a minute before looking at the pig. She breathed slowly to calm down and shook the nerves out of her hands. “Okay,” She said. “But on one condition.”

Pagel nodded, already willing to agree to any condition. “I decide whenever we stop.”

“Alright,” Pagel agreed. “Now, let’s get her up on the table.”

Pagel coolly approached the pig. He gestured for Alicia to follow his lead. Quickly taking a knee, Pagel swooped his arms under the pig. With Alicia’s help, they picked up the sow and carried her over to an examiner’s table. The pig was surprisingly docile as if it was used to being carried around. “Great,” Pagel muttered. “Now, I have gotten some sevoflurane for our little lady, so we just need to put a gas mask on her.”

Alicia held the pig still as Pagel got the gas tank. “Are we going to use sevoflurane on Kris?”

Pagel placed the face piece over the pig’s snout. “No,” He answered. “We can use an intravenous injection for her. I just thought it would be hard to put a needle in a pig.”

Alicia laughed strenuously, thinking it made sense. The pig lost consciousness in seconds. Pagel grabbed her legs and rolled her onto her back. He adjusted her as Alicia suited up for surgery. She washed her hands and forearms before putting on long gloves.

She returned to see the pig held steady by straps with her face mask firmly in place. A blue cloth was draped over its front with a square cutout below the ribcage. An intense white light hit the surgical area from a lamp that Pagel set up. “I’ll clean up while you make the first cut,” Pagel said, smiling to reassure her. “Just repeat what we did last time.”

Alicia nodded, silencing the doubts bubbling in her mind. She picked up a scalpel. Steadying it along the pig’s center line, she made her first cut. She carefully put the expanders in. Then hesitated, looking at the red and yellow mass. “Um, Pagel?” She said, trying to get his attention. “The vascularity of this pig’s abdomen is off-putting.”

“I have one of the cauterizing devices,” Pagel replied. “You can use that to stop any small bleeds that occur, but you should avoid large vessels all together.”

 “Oh, okay,” Alicia said, finding the tool amongst the metal tray. “I think I need a hand with that then.”

Alicia stared at the mass until she recognized the shapes of organs. Gently moving the tubular intestines, she sought out the spleen. Pagel appeared by her side. “You can cut the fat out,” Pagel suggested. “And the connective tissue a little, so you can move these organs out of the way.”

Alicia nodded, taking a scalpel to the white strands holding the intestines together. With every small bleed, Pagel leaned in and cauterized it. She coaxed out part of the intestines, resting them on the sanitary blue cloth covering the pig’s ribs. She exhaled slowly to overcome her nausea. She looked into the cavity to see the small triangular organ. “Found it!”

Pagel smiled. “Great, now get the syringe. You don’t need to move it too much.”

Alicia reached in, syringe a hand. She steadied the spleen with one hand and extracted its fluid. She handed Pagel the syringe and asked for a clamp. Staring at the organ, she felt it pressed in to her hand. She clamped the spleen before taking a step back. “Does that look good?”

He bent over to look. “Yes,” He answered, handing her a pair of scissors.

She took them and snipped off the membrane. Reaching in with forceps, Pagel snatched the membrane and stuck it in a container. “Good job,” He said warmly. “Stitch her up.”

Alicia carefully stitched the spleen before giving it a squeeze. No blood oozed out, causing Alicia to smile proudly. She grabbed the intestines and put them back in order. Pagel took out the expanders, and Alicia stitched the pig up. “Do we have gauze?”

Pagel gave her some, along with tape, so she could cover the stitches. She took a step back when she was finished with an exhausted sigh. With a grin, he patted her shoulder. “You did great,” He said. “Now I’ll inject her with antibiotics and we should be good to go.”

Alicia nodded, playing with her nitrile gloves. “Do you want to explore around the pectoralis to prepare for Kristen?” Pagel offered, though the pig’s chest was nothing like a human’s.

Shaking her head, she pulled off her gloves. “I’m good. I’m nauseated as it is.”

+++++

             Police Chief Daisuke Utlawe stood behind a wooden podium, flanked by a dozen police officers. His stern eyes were surrounded by wrinkles as he glared at the cameras and crowd. “Good evening,” He began, trying not to sound as serious as his expression.

             The footage cut between him and an image he held up. The image was of a young woman. He tried not to look troubled as he continued, “Michelle Castile went missing from Rose Bar last night sometime after eleven pm. If you have any information on Ms. Castile, please contact us using the number on your screen.”

             He set down the photo and showed a new one. It was a still image from a CCTV, displaying a familiar figure. “Likewise,” He continued. “We have gotten footage of the serial convenience store robber from her recent botched attempt to rob a store on Kingsley Lane. She revealed her face long enough for us to find a decent picture of her. If you recognize her, please contact us as soon as possible.”

             Placing the image on the podium, he leaned on it. He was trying to appear casual, but he looked defeated and tired, like the podium was the only thing keeping him upright. “We would like to open up this conference for questions,” He said before pointing at a raised hand. “Yes?”

             A person in business casual stood, pen at the ready. “There’s been word that a new drug has been introduced to Kattegat. What information can you provide the people?”

             Chief Utlawe looked down at his papers. He had prepared for this question, “Yes, there has been a new drug introduced. Analysis determined that it was a type of pseudoephedrine, which is a tightly regulated drug. We have some leads that we will pursue to the fullest extent and we will update the public if any of the leads pan out.”

             He nodded politely to the reporter, who seemed satisfied. Another reporter stood while straightening their tie. “The Katte’s Meow has coined the name Animal Mask Gang for the group of vigilantes that have been enacting justice as of late. What is the Bureau’s stance on this gang?”

             Chief Utlawe looked over to the officers behind him. A subtle gesture encouraged Kidman to come to the podium. He stepped aside, so Kidman could give her statement. “Hello everyone,” She said, glancing confidently at the crowd. “I am Junior Detective Kidman and I have a message for this group of vigilantes.”

             She paused. “We would like to meet with this group and coordinate our efforts. You have a lot of information we can use,” She admitted humbly. “Your vigilante actions will be disregarded during this meeting and for a short time afterward. Consider this a peace offering.”

             She smiled softly, trying to exude genuine emotion. “Thank you for your time.”

+++++

             “We got a CD in the mail,” Wu declared, appearing at the door to his shared office.

             Kidman stood up, snatching the CD case from his upheld hand. Wu hovered uneasily. A piece of tape had “For Kidman” scribbled on it in tidy cursive. “Addressed to me,” She said, smirking. “Do you think it’s them?”

             “Probably,” He replied, glancing at Griffin.

             Griffin waved them over, opening his CD drive. “The only way to find out is by watching it,” He said.

             Kidman gave him the case before standing behind him. He put in the disc and a video popped up on the screen. Griffin hit play and sat back. The video started with silence. Five people sat behind a table in a white room. They wore all black and masks. Kidman recognized it as the vigilante’s costumes. The central figure held their hands together to form a peak.

             “Our team is interested in meeting with Detective Kidman,” Ink said, his voice lowered by a serious tone. “She, and any associates she wishes to bring, can meet us in the warehouse where Light and Eon captured the arsonist. We trust that your people can secure the area for our conversation… We’ll see you next Wednesday at six.”

             The video stopped, returning to the first image. “We can comply to their demands, right?” Kidman asked, barely containing her excitement.

             Griffin pointed to the center person with a thick finger. He obscured everything except the man’s black and green mask. “That is Ink, correct?”

             Kidman rolled her eyes, answering with a dry, “Yes, sir.”

             “He is the leader then,” Griffin said. “There are only five members… We can take them.”

             Kidman chuckled. “You can’t be serious,” She responded. “I assured them and the public that they wouldn’t be arrested.”

             Griffin rubbed his scruffy chin in thought. Wu looked conflicted, his eyes flicking between the two. “Besides,” She continued, picking up steam. “We wouldn’t be able to ‘take them.’ They have superpowers and you are assuming that they won’t fight the police. They’re vigilantes, not saints.”

             “Fine,” Griffin interjected. “We won’t arrest them.”

             He ejected the disc and handed it to Kidman. She placed it in its case while watching him think. “We won’t arrest them,” He repeated. “But we need to get as much information from them as possible.”

             “We could case the place,” Wu suggested. “To see if we can spot them without their masks. Or, we could follow them after the meeting to see some sort of identifying information.”

             Griffin nodded as Kidman rolled her eyes. “We can try that out,” Griffin replied.

             Kidman knew she couldn’t make them do anything. The best she could do was make suggestions. She clicked her tongue and went to her desk, thinking about how something seemed to be missing from the video.