This is one of the Newcastle Herald Short Story Competition 2020 finalists. For a full list of the finalists revealed so far, head here.
Chappy was dead. Cold, his body contorted in a final paralytic spasm when the toxin took effect. Snakebite does that.
Chappy was always arrogant, smirking at the world, turning his head disdainfully at all around him. Cats can be that way. Chappy's owner was not that way. At least, not at first. Tall and no doubt attractive in a way, broad-shouldered and appearing at first glance to be athletic though this was a stroke of genetic good fortune. Oh, she would try the gym occasionally, but as the word implied, a workout literally meant work and investment in effort was generally outside her frame of reference.
Lawson should have picked up on that from the first but love was unseeing. Upon the initial meeting he was so speared by Cupid that he had noticed nothing except the exquisite teeth and the ready smile. Perhaps it was a too-ready smile, but what the heck. The social gathering was only an hour old and he'd already fallen in love. Blinkers.
They moved in together shortly afterwards. She'd come from previous broken marriages. So had Lawson. But this was different. He knew this time it was right. She told him she knew that too and he believed her. Even after the first admission of the pill dependence he still believed. No, not the mind-bending varieties proffered at every other city corner or suburban pub, but legally prescribed substances obtained almost at will by impassioned pleas to a septuagenarian GP long past his best. The reliance had developed gradually to help keep a lid on jumbled thinking and irrational outbursts and allow a perception of some kind of normality in the normal world around her.
Chappy's owner told Lawson of the addiction two years into the relationship. She told him, she said, because she loved him. She told him of how her addled mind had once motivated her to become an avid long term participant in a door knocking religious cult. She sought vainly in that for salvation but the whole experience ultimately would only serve to accelerate the demise of marriages and relationships culminating finally in the ostracism of siblings and family members. Strangely, Lawson was somehow relieved by these admissions as they at least explained certain behavioural traits which developed as time passed. Optimistically he brushed the issue aside, confident that with love all would be overcome. All would not be overcome.
Collective solace was still sought from the old red cosmetic case, a gift from someone long ago in her young years and which despite its battered, faded exterior still afforded a permanent though tenuous connection to the halcyon days. As the years mounted and the looks diminished the vanity endured in the guise of an ongoing, almost obsessive effort to fill the facial creases with foundation make-up to help camouflage the effects of the liquor. Pill bottles and plastic tablet wrappers lived together in the old red case among the cosmetics in a confused and jumbled mix. That old red case harboured within it the past and the present.
Time passed. Life became intense as occasional wine nightcaps evolved into a bottle-a-night habit now accompanied by malicious verbal onslaughts. Still Lawson turned a blind eye. Blinkers.
Lawson chose tolerance despite continuous rebuttal of his suggestions of professional help . He soon took to remaining at home while Chappy's owner socialised more frequently, partying late with friends of both genders. When she stumbled through the doors befuddled and rambling he accepted it. He loved her and he cared. Blinkers.
Lawson's own family became targets and were soon alienated as well. Why did the chords of deja vu not ring loud in his head?. Blinkers.
Love still sustained him partially as Chappy's owner became surrounded now by ever more drab acquaintances. Days lost familiar routine. Only the pharmaceuticals and wine binges remained constant.
Lawson came home from work one fateful night to find the door locks changed, a crumpled bag of his toiletries and clothing unceremoniously dumped on the doorstep. But was it unceremonious or was it a symbolic ritual? He knocked on the door. Only silence answered.
Confused, he found a note scrawled in untidy block letters which directed him to contact a solicitor. Retreating into the darkness Lawson suddenly felt alone and broken. He'd always believed love would sustain. He now knew love would not sustain.
She was moving on in search of greener pastures, not for the pastures themselves but rather for the next unwitting prey whom she had been nurturing for months on those late nights out. A prey with whom she could start afresh for the umpteenth time.
As the months passed Lawson came to grips with the irretrievable loss of time and of love. He lay awake till the early morning hours, endlessly rewinding the years frame by frame. Realisation only dawned when he struck upon the word that personified Chappy's owner. Narcissus. An old name from Greek mythology, the name of a character obsessed by perceived personal beauty irrespective of cost to others and who shifted blame to cover inadequacies and self doubt. He accepted now that Chappy's owner had always been that way, would always be that way. No more blinkers now.
Lawson recovered slowly yet found forgiveness beyond him. Love had much to answer for. So did Chappy's owner. The contents of the old red case could never plaster over cracks in a heart. He occasionally wondered who was now being deceived now. But he only wondered for a moment. Instead, Lawson just prayed each night. He wasn't exactly sure if he prayed to God or to the Universe, but he prayed anyway.
He prayed that Chappy's owner would go the way of Chappy. For the good of all.
