Authoritrix Notes: I'd like to beg your forgiveness for producing this so late! I have had a lot of stress here lately. Ex: My mother in the hospital and everyone's favorite: Graduation. Ouch! Please forgive me!

Wields Ill Rats

By – RocketSolarCat

Chapter 6 – "So Damn Arguable [Double Anagrams]"

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The handle on the bathroom door was what gave in first—not mother's crying—as it broke, falling to shambles on the floor the door fell open. Creaking slowly upon the hinges, as mother's silenced figure lightly pushed it further.

Willard's eyes opened slowly, carefully. His head throbbed with a sharp pain—everything hurt. First thing he noticed was the dull pain in his wrist, then the fact that they were covered in tight bandages. His head on a fluffy feather-filled pillow—Cathyrn's bedroom. Inhaling heavily Willard thought's were suddenly pleasant—he was in Cathyrn's bed.

Bringing a hand over his face, he attempted to sit up, seeing movement to the corner of his vision. Cathryn was sitting calmly in a wooden chair just beside the bed, a book lay open onto her lap, she seemed to have just woke.

A saddened, imploring voice, "Willard…What happened?"

Mother's sudden silence, as she stood in the doorjamb of the bathroom drew his attention—scrunching his face in quiet confusion, he rose from his sitting place at the top of the stairs. Stepping towards his mother—standing behind her, through her he could see the bathroom fully. His eyes widened as he first caught sight of the blood seeping onto the ground. All he could see of his father, at that moment were his feet, he sat on the lavatory but his legs were slack as if he were slumped down.

Then, as he took a step back—a board creaking under him, his mother turned to him suddenly realizing he was there, her eyes wide. She rushed to him, quickly putting her hands over his eyes she yelled at the top of her lungs, "No, don't!"

It was too late for that, he'd seen, even as she had turned to stop him—that his father wasn't just slumped down, he was laying against the side of the sink, blood covering his arms—slack at his sides, the knife upon the ground in front of the toilet.

He turned slightly towards her, looking into her eyes, her concern was fully showing in her brown eyes. Softly he replied, "Cathyrn…It just happens…"

"But why!" She demanded, raising her voice to a sharp, harsh yelled. Willard's eyes closed at this—he hated it when people yelled. Once he reopened his eyes, he seen she had a hand to her face, a single tear down her face, "I'm sorry, Willard…. I don't understand…that knife…"

"Cathryn, it's…" Looking down he searched his head for the right words, "It's like a curse, every time I see it, I think about it…"

He glanced into her eyes, shamefully, she returned the gaze, with one increased in worry. Then, behind her, he seen something on the corner of the chair moving—Socrates. Balancing himself on the back of the chair, his pink tail wrapped around Cathryn's shoulder. Cathryn didn't seem phased as she continued to look further into Willard's eyes.

"It's gone. You don't have to worry about it, Willard." She said in a nonchalant manner after several seconds.

Gone? Willard's eyes widened, "Gone! Where?"

"Willard you just said—." She began, leaning towards his reclined figure, attempting to grab onto his hand resting to his side. Jerking away Willard began to shift in the bed, put into motion by the words, "It won't be a curse to you anymore! Willard, please, you shouldn't get up now—."

Angered, his eyes burned with tears as he continued to get up, "You don't understand Cathryn! I need that…It's not just that—it's my father's where is it?"

His sudden demand gave her a shocked look as Cathryn watched him scrambled from the bed. Socrates was also beginning to become more agitated, he climbed slowly down the side of the timber chair, clawing his way towards Willard's bare feet. Willard himself, swiftly looking about for his clothes, finding them in a pile onto the floor he searched through them wildly, frantic—searching for the Swiss Army Knife. Not finding it he turned back to her, choking out each word through his frustration—his voice was still soft, "Where…is…it?"

"I threw it away, Willard, I thought—" She began in a pleading voice, as he (followed closely by Socrates) headed towards the kitchen trash, she called after him, "The trash is gone Willard…"

Stopping fast—as Socrates hit into his heels, backing up he rubbed his nose into his hands irritated—Willard heatedly stood in the living room soundless, except his rigid breathing. Cathryn approached reluctantly, putting a hand onto his shoulder, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to Willard. I was just so scared of that knife, you could have killed yourself! Don't you understand, I didn't want you to hurt yourself anymore with it! Please! Willard…"

Turning to her slowly, Willard looked into her eyes—tears freely falling from her—Cathryn looked so beautiful, whether she was crying or laughing—as he looked at her with a sudden softness he couldn't help but let his anger seep back into him. Though, he couldn't bare to hurt her—didn't want to see her cry—but he didn't want to let the fact go that she took away one of the only things of his father's that he had left in this world.

Emotionlessly, he backed out of her grasp, letting her hand fall from his shoulder.

"I'm going to look for David." He kneeled down, delicately picking up the velvet rat near his feet. He walked back into Cathryn's bedroom—picking up the ruffled pile of clothing.

Minutes later, he emerged once more, Cathryn was sitting on the couch—facing the blank television screen soundlessly, he said nothing as he made his way across the living area. Socrates on his shoulders gave him a little nudge as he passed Cathryn—it seemed even the rat wanted something more to be said. Perhaps even rats know that no one should leave angry—you never know what will happen, you might not return to apologize—fate works in odd ways, Willard. Say something, Willard.

The door slammed shut.

Cathryn was left alone, a deep sigh as she muttered, "Be careful, Willard. I love you."

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Sometime deeper into the night, Cathryn recovered from her comatose state, upon the couch, and reached hatefully for the remote. Clicking the on button before roughly tossing the remote onto the opposite side. A picture of a blond anchor woman, wearing red popped onto the screen, cheerfully, "…And that's it for the sports, now back to John Franklen for the Crime Watch News, on KXL News-13!"

Cathryn shifted in agitation as another anchor came on, she hissed angrily, flopping her feet onto the couch as well, "I hate this guy…"

"…Thanks, Micky." He nodded his head, into view behind the anchor was a darkened building, "Now for the latest update on the Rat Slayings…Earlier this afternoon, seventeen year old Adam Ellans and his five year old step-sister Ursula Demona's bodies were found in this building. This building, once used as a rat Poison production plant. Yes, you heard right—now the amazing part of this is, that not a single rat has died from the poisoning…which is highly suspicious, according to some rat experts, because rat poison was covering the floors in some parts of the plant. For a rat to pass up, a 'free meal' on the floors would take…to quote the experts, 'A highly skilled rat trainer'.

"This makes the ninth and tenth victims, and hopefully the last. So far, the only clues have been the victims bodies…Back to you, Micky." The anchor shook his head in mock-concern, as the camera flipped back to the blond woman in red.

Cathyrn gave a concerned look. Getting up slowly, she went into the kitchen on the table lay a writing tablet open onto a page were the victim's names were etched in pencil (in Willard's handwriting).

Aiymee Stonewall

Victor Ironmorgue

Danielle Landcastor

Ingried Evans

Dan Tailyos

Thomas Simon

Natiella Ivangrede

Stanley Stephensons

Then, she quickly penciled in the others:

Adam Ellans

Ursula Demona

Slowly observing the names, over once more—a hand slowly come over her mouth.

"Oh my god." Her eyes darted around quickly, grabbing the pencil resting against the side of the notepad. She shakily began to circle the first letters of each word.

Willard reached the bottom of the steps, after talking once more to the young man behind the counter—he was still salivating over thoughts of Cathryn. Socrates on one shoulder, brushing against his neck, he gave a small noise as Willard roughly pushed the glass door open, jarring the little rat to one side (he held on tightly with his claws).

Once outside, Willard looked to both ends of the street. Whispering, "I swear, it feels like someone is watching us. Doesn't it, Socrates?"

A, V, D, I, D, A, T, S, N and U.

"David's Aunt." She concluded, scrunching her face in a thoughtful glance, exhaling deeply before pulling out a chair and (practically) falling down into it. She put her hands up in disgust, "I don't get it…"

Another irritated look, before she glancing back towards the paper—Cathryn seen something.

"Wait…"

Willard began to pace towards the bus, telling Socrates the best place to start was home—even though he swore not to go back, because he'd most likely be caught. As he went towards the stop he heard a soft voice, "Don't do that."

Quickly turning, Willard caught a view of the blond boy—"David!"

A smile from the child, his flaxen hair ruffled under a dark black Driving Cap, a light blue T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His hands to his sides, he didn't move to run away. Willard gave him a questioning glance, then the boy—almost abruptly—said, "There's a cop on that bench. A detective, is more like it…. I've been watching you ever since you left the house—sorry I run away."

He gave a genuine smile, he gestured for Willard to follow him. Willard simply listened emotionlessly, following him as they walked the opposite direction, asking gently when David was through, "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Ben." Willard whispered, as if it were a secret.

David looked down at this one, taking off the hat—he innocently smiled, "You mean...Solomon? That's what I call him! He's got one eye and a bad limp! Half-dead…poor fellow!"

Willard looked up onto his shoulder to Socrates, then once more to the youth before him, "But where is he?"

S, L, I, E, T, S, I, S, E and D.

Cathryn rapidly decoded this one as well. Her eyes growing wide—the answer was 'Stiles Dies'. Onto her feet, at this discovery she didn't bother to turn the television off as she rushed to the door of her apartment. Barely remembering to lock it—

She didn't know where to go, or what she was doing, but she knew someone was after Willard—for sure now, and she had to warn him. This was enough for her—she was determined to find him. She couldn't believe she let him go so easily, the person after him…Not just any person, it was this David boy's aunt.

With another smirk, David replied, turning to Willard, "I'll take you to Solomon, if you want, Mr. Stiles."

"Thank you, David." Willard felt the anticipation sweeping through him—he was finally going to see Ben—to finish him off, to kill him—anything to take Ben away from his life forever. With Ben out of his life, he'd finally be free—to go without this agonizing fear of being pursued by the rat. Maybe he'd even get to be with Cathryn (assuming she could forgive him).

"This way!" David called, as Willard looked up to Socrates once more.

Socrates' beady eyes shone as he returned Willard's look—it won't be that easy, his manner almost 'told' Willard.

"Nothing ever is, my friend." Willard replied to Socrates unspoken remark, as he ensued the blond boy.

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End notes: Last part is up next...t.y.