Silver Moon Stories

That damn cat was still there, staring. It has been there since he woke up before sunrise and now it was still there as the sun was setting. William the Scab didn’t like cats, they were bad luck. His mother had always warned him to steer clear of them. She had kicked William out of the house when his powers developed, saying that he had a pact with those devils, those cats. William had liked cats before that day but now, cats made that memory resurface and he loathed the vile creatures almost as much as he loathed his mother and himself.
Cats also reminded him of the day he had taken his revenge on his mother. That day was meant to have eased his self-loathing, and if anything, it had intensified his hatred for all things except for one thing, pain. Any pain, all pain. His own pain was constantly fed into the dark torrent that he called his soul. But the pain of others, that fueled the empty void that was his existence. William shook his head as if that would eliminate the thoughts like a hand shaking a magic 8 ball and turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
The woman meant nothing to him. She was a job, nothing more. They had all just been jobs ever since his mother. It was the pain that kept him waking up every day. Whenever he wondered if his life could have been different, he shook his head and cleared the intrusions away. He had no time rumination, work needed to be done.
He really wanted to go back to work but, the cat unnerved him. As far as William could tell, the cat had never moved, not even a blink since he woke up and found the cat staring at the house through the kitchen window. There were no blinds or curtains to block the cat’s gaze. What in the Hell did the creature want? There was no evidence that a cat had ever lived in the house. Then again, the cleaners the company used were thorough. They wouldn’t leave so much as a remnant of a fly excrement let alone a stray cat hair or piece of kibble.
William hadn’t been able to feed his need since the cat had shone up this morning. He kept trying to move to the back bedroom but, that gaze seemed to be locking him in place. If William had been anyone else, he would have called it fear. William had never experienced fear, not as most felt it. Now he felt paralyzed in the gaze of the feline that was casually sitting on a wall watching the house as if was hunting him. William had no malice towards the individual animal. He had no idea that he suffered from ailurophobia. He just wanted the cat to be on its way.
Now that twilight was here and quickly moving into night, maybe that cat would go away. Then he’d be able to continue his work, he was way behind schedule and it wouldn’t due to disappoint the company. He’d seen what happened to those who disappointed the company, in a matter of fact he’d the cause of some of those, what was it they called it? Oh yes, prunings. He wasn’t sure why they had chosen to use gardening terms but, in the end, William was a tool, a knife to be wielded and to cut away the dead growth. He only had a mind for the pain, his reason to be. William broke eye contact with the feline. He’d see if the cat left in a half an hour. For now, he’d go have another soda and stream a new episode on the reality show he was sort of watching. All television did for him was it allow him to imagine what the pain of others felt like. It was like a frozen meal was to many other men, it satiated the hunger but not in the same way as a real feast, prepared lovingly by hand. At least it would distract his mind off the hunger. That was exactly what Tortie wanted.

Tortie yawned long and wide showing off a full array of deadly, if small, dagger-like teeth. He had tried to stifle it to no avail. It made sense, he had being watching this house for nearly eighteen hours. The creep inside the house was scared of cats for some reason. He dossier had been very clear, an intense fear of all cats, especially domestic house cats. Well, that was within Tortie’s wheelhouse. Actually it was the entire length and breadth of his wheelhouse. That was his one and only power. He, Ethan Marson, was able to turn into a house cat. Specifically, an American domestic shorthair with a tortoiseshell colored coat.
His Super nickname was Tortie, but most of his colleagues called him House Panther. He didn’t really care what they called him. What he actually cared about was the fact that everyone in his organization thought his power was a joke. He worked with Supers that could bend steel beams into pretzels, other that could control all sorts of energies, even others that could fly at supersonic speeds, and many, many more diverse, useful powers and he could turn into a house cat.
Most laughed behind his back at his stupid power. Some, laughed straight to his face. The nicer of his comrades worry about his usefulness and how much danger he would be in against Meta-criminals and even other Supers. As he neared his first year in the field, he had not met anyone that he would call a friend. That was okay, he wasn’t here to make friends. He decided to be a Super to help others. To Ethan, it was not different than someone who decided to be a firefighter, or a police officer, or career military. As long as they weren’t outright hostile to him, Ethan could tolerate almost anything. Being a Super was his calling and he was here to live it.
He had graduated first in his class at the University of Loveland Colorado. It was a demanding course and if you didn’t get passing grades in all of your classes, there was no Superhero work for you. The undergraduate program at the college and the others just like it around the country were delivering the highest quality Supers to the teams around the world. Most of those Supers were considered to be top tier Supers. Almost every valedictorian from any program was guaranteed an Alpha rank on the team they went to. Almost. Tortie wasn’t an Alpha. He wasn’t even a Beta or Gamma. Nope he was an Omega, support Super.
House Panther, report. The voice spoke in his mind. He also had a mental image of who was talking. It was sort distracting. Bedlam appeared in his mind just as she appeared in life, tall and lithe with close cropped hair and amber colored eyes. He knew that she could change her appearance in peoples minds but it was much simpler to appear as herself. She sounded bored.
Hi, Bedlam. No change from last contact. Suspect has not moved from the front of the house. He still is holding the hostage in the back bedroom. My presence still seems to be unnerving him. Tortie always tried to be as thorough as possible but also concise.
We will be moving in within the hour, House Panther. We will contact you shortly with updated orders. Good work, Tortie. Bedlam’s image disappeared from him mind.

Tortie thought he could afford a small, in position, stretch. First he stretched his legs and then arched his back, finally ending with a tail swish. That felt good. As a cat, he was able to remain in one position for a long period of time but, even cats eventually got stiff muscles.

He loved being a cat. So many people ignored cats. You could hear all sorts of gossip and secrets. The people that didn’t ignore you generally wanted to pet you. He’d had a few people try to “rescue” him in the early days of his power but, he had resolved that with a collar and tags. There was a phone number on the tags that led to an automated voice mail that simply said, “ Sorry, I’m not home right now. Please leave a message. If this is about my cat, Tortie, there is no need to worry. He has a warm bed and full bowl of food at home and always finds his way home. Thank you for your concern. You can give him a snack and a pet if you wish.” It had changed a little bit over the years however, this seemed to ease most peoples’ minds and they let him get on with what he needed to do.

He had heard some fun gossip today. Mrs. Selwig’s husband was having an affair with his wife’s grown niece. Berthold had finally come out of the closet and was going to the pride parade next month. Hadn’t he been married to a woman, what was her name, Esme, before she passed last year? Didn’t he have a new house-mate move in just a few short months ago? Yes but, as it turned out, Erwin, his live in house-mate, wasn’t queer himself but they had come to an agreement and were still going to live together for now. That’s so nice. Bless their hearts. That man needed someone to take care of him. The Taylor’s down the street had moved back to California. Thank goodness, those kids had been a handful. What about the house that Mr. Lester had lived in until a sudden illness took him a few short weeks ago? Still in escrow from what I hear. Oh my, that’s too bad for the family. What family? He never married and had no nieces or nephews.

A sense of satisfaction roll over Ethan’s mind. Today had been a good day for fact finding. Especially the last one. It was Mr. Lester’s old house that he watched now. The brick outside walls of the single level ranch were in great shape for having been built in the 60’s. Mr. Lester had valued his privacy too. The brick fence was unusual, most fences in these older neighbor hoods were wood or chain link. It had allowed Tortie a great vantage point to watch the actions of William the Scab from the outside of the house. As his mind turned back to the matter at hand, it was at that moment that Tortie realized that William was no longer in view.

Shit! Tortie thought, Bedlam. Bedlam! Situation has changed. Target has moved, he is no longer in the front of the house! Please, send updated orders. There was no response. Tortie tried a few more times to no avail. He only hoped Bedlam or someone else on the team could hear his thoughts.

To any member of the strike team, this is Tortie. I am moving in to reestablish connection with target. Repeat, this is Tortie and I moving into the house regain eyes on target. Contact me whenever this message is received.

Tortie jumped down from the wall to the brown, dying grass lawn on the inside of the brick fence and moved quickly and quietly into the shadows. He knew his entrance to the house, he had picked it out within the first ten minutes of his surveillance. That was one of the first things you’re taught in the Supers programs. As soon as you are on site, known your way in and know your way out and if possible, have several back ups. Of course the first is, never lose sight of your target. One of the basement windows was open just enough that he could squeeze through. From there he would be on his own. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.