CHAPTER 4
He was floating, soaring through clouds. He could see the houses, the little lights from the streets that flickered in the darkness of the night. Everything seemed calm and serene. Then suddenly he felt like choking, a fire erupted within his chest and darkness engulfed him as he whizzed with immense speed towards the ground. Imminent impact…
Harry jolted from his sleep, he sat in a straight sitting position on his bed heavily panting, cold sweat run from his temples. His heart hammered in his chest. At his right, the figure of his wife stirred.
"Water…" he mouthed at her incoherent sleepy question.
He rose from his bed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He was still shaking from the vivid dream he had just experienced. He didn't know what to make of it. After a glass of water and when his breath evened, he decided to blame the Chinese food they had for dinner and went back upstairs to continue his sleep.
The next morning found Harry sporting a headache. He didn't mention the dream he had last night to his wife. Instead he ate breakfast with his family as per usual, bid them goodbye and left for his work.
"What are you reading?" Harry's colleague asked him while plopping himself on a chair next to him. It was lunch break, and Harry had retreated to the teacher's lounge to silently eat and read his book.
"A book," Harry said rather dismissively.
His colleague unfolded the paper for his sandwich, making extreme noise to Harry's opinion, and took a bite. "What's it about?" His colleague asked while munching.
Harry glanced at him and tried to control his facial expression from contorting with disgust. "About a wizard's plan to defeat his greatest enemy and save the world…" he said offhandedly.
"Oh, sounds like a kid's story… let me see…" The colleague said and made to grab the book from Harry.
As Harry saw his mustard-covered fingers nearing his book, he slapped his colleague's hand away and clutched the book tightly to his chest. "Keep your filthy hands off me. That is mine." Anger laced his voice.
"Ow, easy there Gollum! I just wanted to check the title so I can buy it for my kids…"
"It's not a kid's book, you, big oaf!" Harry squeaked.
"Oy, Potter, I was just trying to make conversation!" His colleague said and rose from the table, sandwich in hand. "Everybody already thinks you are loco man, but if you keep that shit up, people might think you have gone over the edge, du…"
His colleague never managed to finish the sentence, as Harry rose rapidly from his seat, knocking his chair back. Book clutched in his left hand, his right formed into a fist and connected with his colleague's face.
Several minutes later, Harry found himself in the Headmaster's office listening to the man rumbling about inappropriate and unprofessional behaviour. Harry was yawning inside his head, trying with so much effort not to let himself drift to sleep right in the middle of his reprimanding.
After nearly an hour of hearing the Headmaster's monologue, Harry was given permission to go, along with a week's leave of absence, to cool himself off. Without saying anything Harry left the office, took his briefcase and drove back home.
As he neared his house, Harry noticed two police cars stopped outside the yard across his house. He slowly drove his car in the driveway, and exited the vehicle. He spotted his wife leaning against the doorframe, a tissue in her hands.
"What's wrong?" He asked her when he was close enough.
She run and hugged him tight, he felt her tears wetting his neck. "Mrs. Figg... was murdered…" She said between sobs.
"What? How? When?!" He asked frantically while patting her back to soothe her.
"They don't...know, sniff, probably last night…" She raised her eyes to meet his. "I got a peek at her face Harry, the marks were...oh my god" She said and buried her face in her hands sobbing again.
"Was this a robbery, what did the police say?"
She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know, Harry...I don't know...oh my god...we have a child."
"Hey honey, calm down. Let's see what the police says first…" Harry wrapped a hand over his wife's shoulders and led her inside.
It was an hour or two after dusk when the police left the premises of Mrs. Figg's house, securing the property with this yellow tape that read "Police", reminding everyone that something bad had happened here. He and his wife were questioned about the old woman's activities the day before and asked if they saw anything unusual.
From the brief conversations, he had with the policemen and the neighbours, Harry found out that Mrs. Figg's death was in the end a suicide. The police didn't find evidence of forced entry. No murder weapon was found, nothing was stolen, and generally there was no indication to suggest foul play. After a thorough examination the police had concluded that the old lady with the cats finally went cuckoo and ended herself by throwing bleach in her face and lighting herself with a match.
Apparently going mad was very common for old ladies with cats, Harry thought before closing the curtain of his window and retreating to his living room. But where are the cats…