Free Witch Ball by Adele Elliott Page A

fern. When I looked behind the pot I saw Michael-Ray lying in a puddle of red. A sound came out of me that I had never before heard. Something shrill and primitive started deep in my gut and rolled out of my throat in a wail that startled me.
    Fleur threw open the door. I couldn't speak. My hand trembled as I pointed to the little black cat. He looked up at us, helpless. There was so much sadness and love in his eyes. He took one breath, and then his chest was still. We knew that he was gone.
    Aunt Fleur knelt beside him. Blood seeped up, staining her caftan; the crimson blot blended with the light blue fabric, turning the growing stigmata deep purple. She went back into the house and emerged with a piece of white linen. She wrapped the cloth around Michael. We both cried quietly. There was nothing to say.
    She went into the house, clutching the tiny body close to her. Once inside, she made two phone calls. I don't know how long it took for her friends to arrive. I just sat at the kitchen table staring at my tea cup.
    When her friends came, there was hugging, but few words. We went into the back yard and buried the cat under a crape myrtle tree. Fleur placed a porcelain figurine of a cherub over the grave.
    Aunt Fleur said, "Cross the Rainbow bridge, dear soul."
    Her friends repeated, "Cross the Rainbow bridge, dear soul."
    Aunt Fleur said, "We will meet in the sunny meadows. We will run by the sweet streams."
    "We will meet in the sunny meadows. We will run by the sweet streams." I joined her friends in the chant.
    Fragile blossoms fell from the branches, draping the raw ground with a soft white mantle. It looked like a layer of snow against the damp earth.
    We all went inside. Her friend, Algonquin, helped Fleur with the cups and saucers for our tea. This time , she splashed some sherry into each cup.
    The ladies stayed for a while. We talked about pets we had loved. One friend, Trillian Bacakus, told us how her Cockapoo, Cordelia, sometimes came to visit, even though she had been gone for almost three years.
    Algonquin said that sometimes she can feel her cat, Larkspur, rubbing against her legs as she reads at night.
    "How sad," I said.
    "Not at all," she said as she smiled at me. "I find it comforting. Love doesn't die."
    It wasn't hard to see why these ladies were friends. They had similar styles. Each wore flowing clothes and lots of jangly jewelry. The heavy makeup and thickly-lined eyes were not typical of Columbus women. Our local look is conservative, and slightly boring. Yet somehow, this weird fashion seemed right for them.
    After they left, I stayed with my Aunt, hoping to give her some comfort.
    "Fleur, why didn't anyone call the police? This was a murder. Aren't you frightened?"
    She smiled at me with her mouth closed. "Yes, a murder, to be sure."
    "Maybe the police could at least solve this one." She didn't respond. "Aunt Fleur, how could someone be so cruel?"
    "Well, Truly, it may not be as much a mystery as you imagine."
    "Oh!" The realization hit me. "You know who did this to Michael-Ray." Then I said, "And you know who beat you!"
    She looked so weary. "I don't know for sure. It was dark, and they had bandanas around their faces. But I have an idea."
    "Let's call the police now. We could lead them to the criminals."
    "Truly, the police don't care who killed a little cat. This is my personal tragedy."
    In my life, I have had almost no experience with police. I was taught that they were there to help us. The cruisers have "To Protect and to Serve" written on one side. The have "The Friendly City" written on the other side. Why would they not help us?
    I remembered the story of how the policeman had done nothing when her father tried to beat her so many years ago. Maybe this was the same sort of thing, good-old-boys sticking together.
    Kids my age believe that life is fair, that there is justice in the world. We never think that someone we love could be hurt and no one would care, that no one would be