Esmeralda woke her up with the promise of coffee and pancakes with as much maple syrup she could stomach. Cat climbed out of bed and stretched for a while before doing her morning ablutions.
Freshened up, Cat followed Catherine’s directions and got a fresh change of clothes. Not the ones Cat would’ve chosen but she needed to play the part in front of the DA. She found the sundress a bit too breezy down there and it reminded her of the dreaded hospital gown but she wore it without complaining.
Her next stop was the makeup station. Sitting in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair and tried to apply makeup. Tried being the keyword. Even with Catherine’s guidance and the body muscle memory, Cat still looked like a young child that played with her mother’s makeup kit.
“We literally don’t have the time of the month anymore. We had a hysterectomy,” Cat protested.
“Please enlighten me, o sage of all things feminine,” Cat playfully begged.
“And you told me that only now.”
Cat took the phone and checked Catherine's private schedule. The girl kept tight control of her periods and it was one of the pieces of evidence she would present to prove she didn’t intend to have intercourse, much less unprotected, that fateful night. She was fertile on the day of the party.
What followed was a lengthy and creamy process to get paint on Cat’s face. She finally understood why Catherine ushered her out of bed that early. He knew women took longer to get done but William and Dahlia didn’t live together. When he reached her place to pick her up for a date, for example, she was ready to go. Esmeralda came to call her for breakfast before Cat was finished putting makeup on. Cat was aware it was a lengthy process but it is the first time seeing it in the flesh. Literally.
“Sure,” Cat said noncommittally, drawing an irate grunt from her head-guest. “Let’s go get some food, I’m starving and crazy for some sugary tree sap. Time to work on hiding these ribs of yours.”
Cat put the jewelry she was told to, earning happy yelps of approval from Catherine. The ghost even asked her to stop for a minute so she could admire herself in the mirror.
Only then Cat was allowed to address her starving body. She opened the door to go downstairs for breakfast when she was pounced by a furious furry predator. Mr. Mouser jumped at her calves and ripped open her pantyhose. Cat yelped with surprise and a bit of pain although the cat didn’t break her skin this time. The critter moved away from her pulling some strands of nylon stuck in his claws.
“You bloody beast!” Cat protested and prepared to fight back.
Mr. Mouser protested their protests with a snarling hiss.
[It is confirmed. It knows I’m not you.]
Cat noticed the feline seemed to stop and pay attention while Catherine rambled. [Talk more,] Cat urged, making the cat confused.
[I think it can hear you. Talk more. Talk to it, not to me.]
Cat tried to help by making what she thought was a friendly facial expression. The cat didn’t approach but didn’t display aggression either. It seemed confused.
Cat reached out for the cat but the critter hissed loudly and bolted down the corridor and down the stairs. She had to go back to change the damaged pantyhose.
Finally joining Oliver for breakfast, they talked about the PI report that he’d received last night. If things went well, the three victims that agreed to testify against her aggressor would be there at the precinct this morning. Having all four testimonies on video would ensure the guy was locked up for life.
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“I called an armored car to take us to court,” Oliver reported. “One of the investigators tailing the defendant reported a series of strange meetings. A lot of people are visiting his mansion and some of them are confirmed criminals.”
Cat raised an eyebrow but couldn’t reply because her mouth was crammed with pancakes. After months of eating the inane hospital porridge, this was heaven.
“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst,” she finally said. “Should I get my Prada bulletproof vest?”
Oliver chuckled, “You should.”
Esmeralda came and refilled Cat’s mug. “Any sign of my mom?” Cat asked her.
“No. She’s been locked in her room all night,” the dismayed housekeeper replied.
“Oliver?”
The lawyer nodded, “We have time. Do what you think is right, Catherine.”
Cat downed her coffee, feeling a little burn as it went down. “I’ll be right back. Save my pancakes. I’m not done yet.”
After grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, she went to her mother’s door.
“Catherine?” Mrs. Wallenstein’s voice came from her door.
Groaning internally, Cat turned around and saw the ragged face of her birth mother standing behind a slightly ajar door. She put on her business smile and walked confidently toward her.
“Mom, good morning. May I enter your room?”
“Why?” She asked, suspicious.
“So we can sit down and talk, mom,” Cat answered, trying to be friendly. “I request an audience, Your Majesty,” she joked to break the ice.
“Who are you? You aren’t my daughter!” Mrs. Wallenstein shouted.
“Mom, we spent eight months without seeing each other. I almost died, killed a guy, lost my baby, people change! Open this door. We need to talk.”
“NO!” She shouted. “Go away you little monster! You-you-you tried to get your own mother arrested!”
“You assaulted me, mom. That’s a felony.”
“Says the one that murdered two men!”
Cat slammed a fist against the door. “We need to talk about Mr. Wallenstein’s death,” she said firmly. “How old was I when dad died, mom?”
The woman on the other side started to cry. Then the younger woman in Cat’s head started to cry. Cat knew the answer to her question was ‘too young’ from the family picture hung by the staircase. Catherine was just a little tyke in that photo.
“Someone has to tell me the truth,” Cat said out loud to both of them. She was getting angry at the situation and the two wary women. “C’mon, how old was Catherine Wallenstein when her father died? ANSWER ME!” She demanded and slammed the door again. Her delicate hand hurt.
“Seven. You were seven years old when you killed him,” Mrs. Wallenstein finally complied.
Catherine was a bawling mess in the girl’s head.
“Pray tell me how can a second-grade child weighing less than forty pounds kill a grown man? Spoiler alert, she can’t. Even if something happened, it wasn’t Catherine’s fault.”
Cat shook her head, “No you didn’t. It isn’t anyone’s fault. Now, tell me, what really happened?”
Catherine finally decided to explain. She spoke in broken sentences and went in circles.
The Wallenstein family went on vacation skiing. It was a blizzard day and they should stay indoors waiting for the weather to clear, but Catherine wanted to play in the snow. She slipped out of the hotel and went out. Mr. Wallenstein and the hotel staff went out to search for her. Since he knew the girl’s favorite spot, he was the first one to find her. He called but she refused to stop playing. When he went to get her, Catherine ran away and went over a snow mound without problem but her dad was too heavy and the snow was fresh. When he was about to catch her, she pushed him away. The snow caved in under his weight and he slipped down the hill. When the search party found him, he was dead.
She concluded.
“Hold on for a moment. Is this what happened?” She asked after repeating the recollection to her mother.
“Yes, Catherine. It’s your fault my husband is dead,” the accusation came from the other side.
Cat pinched the bridge of her nose and sat down with her back to the door. “Even more reason to open the door. This blame game is fucking stupid. Know what? Mom, open the damn door or I’ll bash it down.”
“Who are you?” The woman asked. “Where is my daughter? What did you do to her?”
Cat crouched and put her face next to the lower edge of the door. “Open the door, Mrs. Wallenstein, and I'll tell you where Catherine is,” she whispered loud enough to be heard on the other side. “Or don’t open the door, and make me angry. You don’t want to see me angry. I’m taking over as the trustee of the Wallenstein trust today. Now, if I’m not Catherine and you’re not my mother, then I have no reason to give you any money, do I?”
She heard nothing from the other side. The door didn’t let much light through the bottom so she wasn’t even sure Mrs. Wallenstein was on the other side.
“Do what you must, monster,” She said after a while.
“Fair enough,” Cat sighed. “I didn’t expect you to have a change of heart after a single conversation, especially while hungover. Open up, I have a little medicine for you here. I won’t do anything or force myself in, I swear, mom.”
Cat heard the latch come undone and the knob turning. She stood up as the door opened to a crack. A woman with swollen eyes peeked from the other side.
“Who are you?”
Cat met her eyes and tried to soften her expression the best she could. “I’m your daughter, what was left of Catherine after she killed herself. We’ll talk more when you are willing to have a face-to-face with me. I have to go to New York soon, Oliver is waiting for me.”
“Where’s Catherine?” She asked, visibly scared and suspicious.
Cat tapped her temple, “In here, somewhere. I’m Catherine too but the daughter you scarred for life with your stupid guilt trip isn’t able to speak at the moment. She’d have died alone that day if it weren’t for me. So here we are. Tick tock, mom. Time is running out. I have a rapist to convict and I intend to be there on time. When I get back, you’ll listen carefully to what I have to say, and we might mend this rift between you and me. Or don’t and see me walk away from your life with everything.”
[Technically it is you who’s insane,] Cat cheekily replied.
“Here,” Cat offered the water bottle. “Some medicine for your hangover. Try to stay sober today, at least.”
“What is in this?”
Cat tried to keep her face neutral, “Dihydrogen oxide with a trace amount of salts. Best hangover medicine ever. No poison, scout’s honor.”
She opened the door to snatch the bottle and pushed it closed. “I think if you wanted me gone, you would have the police take me away,” she said followed by drinking sounds. “This is just water.”
Cat chuckled, “That’s another name for this miraculous substance. Mom, go downstairs and have something to eat. The pancakes are delicious. And let Esmeralda clean up your room. No booze until I get back and please don’t burn the house down.”
“No promises,” the woman replied.
“Can you please open the door just to a crack again? I won’t try to force my way in.”
She did. “What do you want?”
“I’m going now. Just remember this, Mrs. Wallenstein. You have no idea how much Catherine suffered all these years, alone. And yet she still loves you.”
Cat dropped the metaphorical mic and walked away. She heard the door close and the key turn before she took the third step.