Fury Consumed
by Y.B. Cats
by Y.B. Cats
The flash of a passing car's headlights set the scene below in harsh light. From where she perched she
saw the lone armchair, orange and threadbare, shine luridly. She winced and waited for dark to return –
it was easier on her senses and hid the clear reminder of where she had ended up. She expected the car
to pass but heard it grind to a halt and two loud, macho voices echoed while car doors slammed. She
tensed and tried to determine if they headed in her direction. A small skittering drew her attention to the
floor and she watched as a boy darted inside and scurried toward the chair, where he crouched, breathing
heavily. A footfall on the garbage-strewn floor indicated another arrival. A man said something loud and
taunting, and the boy covered his head with his hands. She decided she'd had enough.
She maneuvered among rafters until she stood directly over the man as he slowly pulled a handgun from
his waistband. He took another step to the chair and she dropped, landing on him with her full weight.
He collapsed and a whoosh of air escaped his chest. He didn't move again, and she easily climbed aloft to
wait for the other one. The boy peered from behind the chair and saw his would-be assailant, defeated.
He immediately began to pray, and his whispers needled her ears to no end. The other man entered as
her irritation peaked and she dispatched him in much the same way she did the first. When she turned,
the boy stood staring at her in astonishment.
"Are you – you are an angel?" he whispered. She raised a skeptical eyebrow and spit on the floor. A
wisp of smoke rose from where her saliva hit, and the boy's mouth opened in awe.
"No, but as far as I know, a prayer never goes unheard." She indicated for him to stay where he was
then crouched to inspect the pockets of the fallen men. She found drugs and neat folds of cash. "What
did they want with you?"
"My friend owes them," he said after an uncertain pause.
"Your friend owes me now," she snickered, half-serious. She tossed him the bundles of cash, his face rife
with disbelief.
"You got to be an angel," he murmured.
"You think if I was I'd be here?" she countered, raising her arms to indicate peeling wall paint and the
garbage-laden floor.
He considered her closely and recognition began to creep across his features. She immediately
approached him, meaning to intimidate all thought out of his head. It was possible he recognized her as
who she used to be – and as eager as she may have been to remember who she was, his recognition was
threatening. The boy backed up until he pressed against the wall, fear returning in a rush to his face.
"Ok, ok," she tried to relax, "how about this – how many more of them do you know?" She indicated the
motionless bodies with a lazy wave of her hand. The boy gulped.
"Lots, but, those were the worst," he replied softly.
"Tell you what – you and I are going to clean up the neighborhood. You think you can get more to come
here?" The boy paused and licked his lips as he thought about what she said.
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Great. Bring them here, and whatever is in their pockets is yours, minus drugs and guns. Ok?" He
nodded again. "Alright, get out of here. You don't want to see what I'm going to do next." His eyes
opened wide and he moved warily to the door. She called mockingly after him. "Go ahead and tell your
friends what happened here tonight. When they come to see for themselves, I won't discern between
them and the dealers. Anyone who comes here will get the same welcome, except for you. Got it?" Half-
way to the door, he paused and turned, standing anxiously.
"I'm Devon," he said, eager to distinguish himself. "What – who are you?" In reply, she gave him a
hostile look tinged with frustration and guilt.
"I don't care what you call me," she alleged.
"My sister's name is Keisha, and she's almost as mean as you," he may have smiled, or grimaced.
"Keisha it is then," she said. "Now go away." He slipped out the door and she listened as the pounding
of his feet faded. Sighing wearily, she slumped into the chair. "Ugh," she complained, discovering its
rotten odor.
From her seat, she observed her surroundings like a queen of the damned. The doors and windows had
long since been removed, giving the room a toothless look. Large cracks and water stains ran down
pockmarked walls. How had she ended up here? She may have followed someone to confront them, but
that was all she remembered. She struggled with hazy thoughts until she rediscovered her prey and
persistent hunger, and slid sinuously to the floor.
Devon did not disappoint. The next day a gangly man entered her domain and wandered warily around.
"Devon?" he called, and Keisha, waking from a leisurely nap, smiled knowingly. Paranoid and quick, this
one put up more of a fight. He looked surprised as he stumbled from the effort of trying to shove her
aside. She quickly put him out of his confusion.
"Devon," she said. A whisper of sound told her he had emerged from his hiding place and stood within
view. She went through the man's pockets and found tiny bags of drugs and a few bills. "It's not
much," she said as she handed him the cash. The boy looked at her with a hint of pity and something
else. She didn't like it. "Want to stay and watch?" she asked darkly. He shook his head vigorously and
left.
Days passed. When Devon returned, he was alone, and carried a cardboard box.
"Keisha," he called softly. She unfolded herself from where she balanced and dropped down to greet him.
"Why are you alone?" she asked, irritated.
"I brought some things – I thought you might be bored," he offered.
"I'm hungry, not bored," she said pointedly. He raised the box to her, determined. She refused and he
set it at her feet.
"There aren't any more for you to …take care of. Everyone's lying low," he shrugged.
"That doesn't mean you can't get one to come here," she argued.
"I'll try. They all think it's the police making people disappear."
"The longer it takes, the hungrier I get."
Devon nodded and backed cautiously out of the room. After he left she kicked over the box and a
change of clothes, magazines, mirror, and a newspaper spilled onto the floor. The clothes looked her
size, and she realized she hadn't thought about how long she had worn what she had on. The
magazines with smiling-lipstick faces disgusted her. The paper was folded strangely, and as she opened
it a headline about a missing girl caught her attention. A feeling of dread clenched her stomach. The
missing girl's name was Keisha – she had a younger brother Devon – the two were foster children.
Keisha was last seen with her boyfriend Dante, a suspected drug dealer. To one side of the article was a
picture of the missing girl. She scrambled for the mirror and looked at her own face. It was her – she
was Keisha, the one who was missing. Hot tears slid down her cheeks and splashed on the paper,
causing curls of smoke to waft from the page.
"You wouldn't have believed me." Devon reappeared behind her.
"Where is Dante?" she whispered. Devon gave her a troubled look.
"He was the reason you were missing, and I told him I was going to the police. He and his friend brought
me here in their car but I climbed out the window and ran. You killed him the night you found me." Small
flames began to lick at the newspaper where her fingers held it, but she didn't notice.
"He killed me," she uttered, grief stricken, "and I prayed for revenge." The flames grew larger but didn't
yet consume her. Devon took a step back as the heat grew unbearable.
"Keisha, stop!" he exclaimed.
"Get out," she gasped, "get away from me, Devon." The fire swallowed her and he watched in horror as
the blaze hungrily consumed the floor and crawled up the walls. Eager flames rushed forward and he
stumbled out into the street, falling. Picking himself up, he sat on a curb and watched the building burn.
Fire crews and police responded, but Devon was left undisturbed. Finally someone approached him.
"What happened here?"
"My sister is missing," he said solemnly, watching the smoldering rubble.
The newspaper would say the inferno left nothing standing, and despite the frantic search for a missing
girl, no bodies were found in the rubble. The owners would be suspected of arson because the city had
deemed the building an eyesore and tasked them with tearing it down.
Within a year, a new apartment complex would be erected on the site.
saw the lone armchair, orange and threadbare, shine luridly. She winced and waited for dark to return –
it was easier on her senses and hid the clear reminder of where she had ended up. She expected the car
to pass but heard it grind to a halt and two loud, macho voices echoed while car doors slammed. She
tensed and tried to determine if they headed in her direction. A small skittering drew her attention to the
floor and she watched as a boy darted inside and scurried toward the chair, where he crouched, breathing
heavily. A footfall on the garbage-strewn floor indicated another arrival. A man said something loud and
taunting, and the boy covered his head with his hands. She decided she'd had enough.
She maneuvered among rafters until she stood directly over the man as he slowly pulled a handgun from
his waistband. He took another step to the chair and she dropped, landing on him with her full weight.
He collapsed and a whoosh of air escaped his chest. He didn't move again, and she easily climbed aloft to
wait for the other one. The boy peered from behind the chair and saw his would-be assailant, defeated.
He immediately began to pray, and his whispers needled her ears to no end. The other man entered as
her irritation peaked and she dispatched him in much the same way she did the first. When she turned,
the boy stood staring at her in astonishment.
"Are you – you are an angel?" he whispered. She raised a skeptical eyebrow and spit on the floor. A
wisp of smoke rose from where her saliva hit, and the boy's mouth opened in awe.
"No, but as far as I know, a prayer never goes unheard." She indicated for him to stay where he was
then crouched to inspect the pockets of the fallen men. She found drugs and neat folds of cash. "What
did they want with you?"
"My friend owes them," he said after an uncertain pause.
"Your friend owes me now," she snickered, half-serious. She tossed him the bundles of cash, his face rife
with disbelief.
"You got to be an angel," he murmured.
"You think if I was I'd be here?" she countered, raising her arms to indicate peeling wall paint and the
garbage-laden floor.
He considered her closely and recognition began to creep across his features. She immediately
approached him, meaning to intimidate all thought out of his head. It was possible he recognized her as
who she used to be – and as eager as she may have been to remember who she was, his recognition was
threatening. The boy backed up until he pressed against the wall, fear returning in a rush to his face.
"Ok, ok," she tried to relax, "how about this – how many more of them do you know?" She indicated the
motionless bodies with a lazy wave of her hand. The boy gulped.
"Lots, but, those were the worst," he replied softly.
"Tell you what – you and I are going to clean up the neighborhood. You think you can get more to come
here?" The boy paused and licked his lips as he thought about what she said.
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Great. Bring them here, and whatever is in their pockets is yours, minus drugs and guns. Ok?" He
nodded again. "Alright, get out of here. You don't want to see what I'm going to do next." His eyes
opened wide and he moved warily to the door. She called mockingly after him. "Go ahead and tell your
friends what happened here tonight. When they come to see for themselves, I won't discern between
them and the dealers. Anyone who comes here will get the same welcome, except for you. Got it?" Half-
way to the door, he paused and turned, standing anxiously.
"I'm Devon," he said, eager to distinguish himself. "What – who are you?" In reply, she gave him a
hostile look tinged with frustration and guilt.
"I don't care what you call me," she alleged.
"My sister's name is Keisha, and she's almost as mean as you," he may have smiled, or grimaced.
"Keisha it is then," she said. "Now go away." He slipped out the door and she listened as the pounding
of his feet faded. Sighing wearily, she slumped into the chair. "Ugh," she complained, discovering its
rotten odor.
From her seat, she observed her surroundings like a queen of the damned. The doors and windows had
long since been removed, giving the room a toothless look. Large cracks and water stains ran down
pockmarked walls. How had she ended up here? She may have followed someone to confront them, but
that was all she remembered. She struggled with hazy thoughts until she rediscovered her prey and
persistent hunger, and slid sinuously to the floor.
Devon did not disappoint. The next day a gangly man entered her domain and wandered warily around.
"Devon?" he called, and Keisha, waking from a leisurely nap, smiled knowingly. Paranoid and quick, this
one put up more of a fight. He looked surprised as he stumbled from the effort of trying to shove her
aside. She quickly put him out of his confusion.
"Devon," she said. A whisper of sound told her he had emerged from his hiding place and stood within
view. She went through the man's pockets and found tiny bags of drugs and a few bills. "It's not
much," she said as she handed him the cash. The boy looked at her with a hint of pity and something
else. She didn't like it. "Want to stay and watch?" she asked darkly. He shook his head vigorously and
left.
Days passed. When Devon returned, he was alone, and carried a cardboard box.
"Keisha," he called softly. She unfolded herself from where she balanced and dropped down to greet him.
"Why are you alone?" she asked, irritated.
"I brought some things – I thought you might be bored," he offered.
"I'm hungry, not bored," she said pointedly. He raised the box to her, determined. She refused and he
set it at her feet.
"There aren't any more for you to …take care of. Everyone's lying low," he shrugged.
"That doesn't mean you can't get one to come here," she argued.
"I'll try. They all think it's the police making people disappear."
"The longer it takes, the hungrier I get."
Devon nodded and backed cautiously out of the room. After he left she kicked over the box and a
change of clothes, magazines, mirror, and a newspaper spilled onto the floor. The clothes looked her
size, and she realized she hadn't thought about how long she had worn what she had on. The
magazines with smiling-lipstick faces disgusted her. The paper was folded strangely, and as she opened
it a headline about a missing girl caught her attention. A feeling of dread clenched her stomach. The
missing girl's name was Keisha – she had a younger brother Devon – the two were foster children.
Keisha was last seen with her boyfriend Dante, a suspected drug dealer. To one side of the article was a
picture of the missing girl. She scrambled for the mirror and looked at her own face. It was her – she
was Keisha, the one who was missing. Hot tears slid down her cheeks and splashed on the paper,
causing curls of smoke to waft from the page.
"You wouldn't have believed me." Devon reappeared behind her.
"Where is Dante?" she whispered. Devon gave her a troubled look.
"He was the reason you were missing, and I told him I was going to the police. He and his friend brought
me here in their car but I climbed out the window and ran. You killed him the night you found me." Small
flames began to lick at the newspaper where her fingers held it, but she didn't notice.
"He killed me," she uttered, grief stricken, "and I prayed for revenge." The flames grew larger but didn't
yet consume her. Devon took a step back as the heat grew unbearable.
"Keisha, stop!" he exclaimed.
"Get out," she gasped, "get away from me, Devon." The fire swallowed her and he watched in horror as
the blaze hungrily consumed the floor and crawled up the walls. Eager flames rushed forward and he
stumbled out into the street, falling. Picking himself up, he sat on a curb and watched the building burn.
Fire crews and police responded, but Devon was left undisturbed. Finally someone approached him.
"What happened here?"
"My sister is missing," he said solemnly, watching the smoldering rubble.
The newspaper would say the inferno left nothing standing, and despite the frantic search for a missing
girl, no bodies were found in the rubble. The owners would be suspected of arson because the city had
deemed the building an eyesore and tasked them with tearing it down.
Within a year, a new apartment complex would be erected on the site.
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