Miss Missy

Despite strident testimony to the contrary, Susannah Prendas was not “ok” to drive. The three drunks sitting next to her at the Safari Lounge could’ve attested to that, but they were all unconscious when she left, thanks to the many rounds of drinks that Mrs. Prendas herself had paid for. Only the bartender - Lu - was left standing by the time Shelia got up to leave, and Lu never was never one to be taking keys. Lu did holler after her as she bobbed and weaved her way towards the Safari’s front entrance, but that was only to ask her if she wanted to buy some coke.

Fuck no

Sue had belched back at him.

Coke would prolleh keep me awake, and we shckan’t havieh nowcan weesh?

***

Sue’s ride home would have been terrifying. Luckily she didn’t recall much of it. She’d shoplifted a bottle of Smirnoff during one of Lu’s thousand trips to the bathroom, and spent a lot of the 12 minute trip home searching under car trash for something to drink it out of. The bottle had a shot-measure instead of a cap and she couldn’t suck enough booze out of it. Some of the things Susannah almost hit during the search: A stop sign, a mother and toddler riding their bicycles, an elderly couple in a crosswalk, a meter maid in a cross walk, and a Boston Whaler fishing rig. Things she actually did hit: A parked car, a squirrel, a bird (!), and “Tunces” her next door neighbor’s eight year old Jack Russell Terrier.

She was aware of hitting all of them except the dog. Tunces had been asleep in his owner’s back yard until a squirrel came hurdling through the area, darting for the giant Oak in which he’d made his home. Tunces gave chase, and was gaining on the intruder when he slammed into his invisible fence. If his owner had been home at the time, he’d have come charging out of the house, wild eyed and probably armed, to investigate his animals keening.

Instead, Tunces continued his wailing, writhing and spasming around in the street for what seemed like hours. He stopped only when he realized that he was no longer in his yard. His momentum had sent him tumbling into the street, free of the invisible barrier. Finally getting shut of the horrible, invisible fence-induced pain-waves, Tunces wasted not a moment more of his newfound freedom. He sniffed the air and, finding it rich with squirrel, let his head follow his nose until he made visual contact with the offending rodent. Then, with a howl and a bark, Tunces the terrier was in hot pursuit. His horrified quarry feinted left and bolted right, breaking for a nearby birch he hadn’t a chance at making. That’s when Susan Prendas pulled her 2005 Maxima into her driveway, and ran over Tunces head, squishing the faithful old hound’s cranium like an aluminum can full of red paint.

*** 365 days later.

Susannah Prendas came home drunk enough to forget to turn off her car. It was still running when the police arrived at her house two hours later, and running - still - when they left it, an hour after that. Officers Jim Pierce and Ray Beck were too freaked out to go back into the house and tell Sue. Eventually it would run out of gas, and Prendas would use the event as further proof that the universe was against her.

But before any of that, Prendas planned on taking an extended vacation to a place called vicodin, most likely with her two best friends Johnny Black and Mr. Kendall Jackson Chardonnay. It wasn’t everyday a girl got fired AND sued.

A banner day calls for a banner buzz!

She chirped and went skipping toward her house. It came out :

Banndaee? Bambosh…

Sue made sure, on the way to her front door, to toss a drunken glance toward her homicidal freak neighbor’s empty fucking house. Gone was Mr. Speed, out of her life forever as of two days ago. His departure - she liked to think - the one positive thing the pathetic series of creepy events known as her life had managed to vomit up in the last 365 days.

But It’s a start!

It came out:

Isha Shtarrd!

She sang in full throat now, fumbling open the mailbox to grab the bills, dropping them, dropping her keys, singing again, and then dropping everything…Dizzy with ethyl-fueled anticipation, Sue finally picked up her shit and gained entrance. Throwing her getting-fired box on the kitchen table, Sue took off all her clothes, grabbed a stick of butter from the fridge and started rubbing it vigorously between her legs while calling for her beloved cat:

Missy. Lovely lady Missy-the-Cat!! Mommy needs…Mommy needs…

But no cat came. Prendas was too drunk to make much of it, but Miss Missy was always at the door to greet her as she returned from work. Even on short days like today, the cat knew where to be, and when to be there. Sue called a few more times with waning enthusiasm, finally getting up - butter stick in hand - and casting about in the nude for the missing kitty. That’s when she noticed the DVD on her table.

DVD case anyway, she thought as she approached, a blank one. No markings of any kind on it, or on the CD inside. Sue Prendas was still clutching her stick of Land ‘o Lakes as she made her way over to the 58-inch plasma in the Living Room. She pushed the disc into the front of the player and pressed play on the remote. Then she plopped down on her couch and found Miss Missy.

　

***24 hours later

Detective Kent Chantner didn’t have to watch the video again. The girl was a suicide, plain and simple, slam dunk. Enough people in Penrose getting killed by other people, he shouldn’t be spending the taxpayers hard-earned watching unnecessary “evidence”. He promised himself just the one last time before he put sent the thing to the E-locker where it would disappear forever. He pressed play and got comfortable. His partner Lars Mitten pulled up a chair too, thinking the same thing as Kent.

One last time just to make sure amigo?

Why not Lars. Nothin better to do.

Amen.

Chantner pressed “play”

　

　

　

　

　

　

A black screen for three seconds and then right into the action. The camera is trained on what appears to be a small airplane, the kind powered by a propellers instead of jets. There are voices off-screen, but nobody is visible. The camera carrier held up when he reached the plane, then zoomed on the 4-color lettering on the side of the aircraft. They read:

Speed sky jumping, freefall, sky surfing

“I feel the need…The need for Speed”

There was a parachute in silhouette Just below the writing. The same logo that appeared on the aircraft’s tail, visible during the approach. The camera held on the letters for a few seconds, and then panned to the left and down, taking a bead on a large pet carrier on the tarmac. Zooming in to where the words:

“Miss Missy”

were visible over the latticework at one end of the carrier. The camera view sank lower still. The cat inside was ugly and Siamese-looking. It was huddled at the rear of the carrier of the box and when the camera found it the thing looked back over it’s shoulder and hissed loudly. Mitten said:

Look at that fucker. That cat’s a dick. You can tell just by looking at the hairless bastard.

Kent said:

Yep. Dirty fucking cat. Up…Here we go.

A cut to another close-up of the Carrier. An ambient Humming is audible, along with giggles. A crushed beer can is thrown into view, and once again the camera slides down to get a look at the animal. It’s pressed itself up against the back wall and hidden it’s face. A voice off camera says:

Missy. Hi Missy! Who’s a pretty kitty…

The camera stays put for a few moments more, and then another cut. Now the camera is apparently mounted on a helmet. For a few seconds it looks as if the camera is in free fall, but the doorframe keeps bleeding into frame and panning down to reveal the camera person’s lower half. A shout comes from behind the camera and just like that the pov is plummeting. For almost 30 seconds all we see is green ground and blue sea below. Then the camera looks back up and finds four skydivers arranged like points of a square. Between them, in the center of the square, is the pet carrier.

The camera stays on this scene for what seems like a long time. The skydivers are talking to each other but the camera is only picking up wind. Finally, one of them gives to camera a “well, here we go…” look and begins fiddling with the carrier. A few seconds later he swings it open and reaches a gloved hand in. The fall as one, the skydiver appears to be giggling as he moves his arm around inside the plastic box. After another few seconds the skydiver jerks his hand back and holds a grey lump up like to display for the other chute-ists. Two of them clap. The diver holding the cat then wheels around and faces the camera, holding the cat up by neck scruff like an angler displaying a catch of bass.

Things start moving fast when the guy lets go of the cat. It takes some doing. The thing looks like a permanent appendage, wrapping around the diver’s hand like a Boa constrictor. Finally the guy is able to peel it off, and when he does, the cat looses it’s cat mind. It writhes around for a while in the air, and then goes into the traditional “scared cat” position: back up, legs bolted straight, fur hackled and rippling. The freefall has a weird effect though, and the two detectives laugh guilty laughs. Onscreen there’s more clapping.

The first time he watched the video, Kent remembered, he got to this point and just figured the guy would put the cat back in the box and land safely, with nobody the worse. He remembered having had that thought, and then having to abandon it when he noticed one of the skydivers was now wielding a giant black .12 gauge autoloader. As the other three jumpers move off camera, the gun-holder moves closer to the still-freaking animal. Before Detective Mitten even had time enough to wonder of the guy would really do it, the guy did it.

It was hard to see at first, because the report from the gun is no match for the wind and the muzzle flash doesn’t show against the bright November sky. The effect almost looks like a special effect. The guy floats over, puts the barrel of the Shotgun about six inches away from Miss Kitty, and then Miss Kitty disappears. Not practically, or figuratively , or mostly disappears. No: this cat literally blinks out of existence. Before the group pulls their chutes one by one, a lone diver drifts back out in front of the camera and holds up a crude slate tablet. The camera zooms, and the words:

Fuck you CUNT!

Are visible as the scene fades to black.