Chapter Four - The Tom In The Alley
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The dreams had tormented him for the past two years. They were always the same - he heard the screams and came running, running, until he came face to face with the fierce red monster of his mother's stories. Blurred images raced across his mind; a flurry of claws and blood and hair, and Orea was dead. The cold eyes of the tribe accusing him, boring into his mind, filling his heart with dread as they turned away, one by one. He always woke the same way.
"No... I didn't... please... NO!"
---
Lylisan heard the cries coming from the dark alley and hesitated. Her instinct told her to keep walking, that it was no more than another delapidated old cat who had lost their mind. But something in the tom's voice called to her through his cries, begging for her help. So she turned and crept cautiously toward the voice.
"Hello?"
The cries persisted. It sounded as though the tom was talking in his sleep - unable to hear Lylisan's approach or voice. She called louder.
"Hello? Are you all right?"
With a muffled sob, the crying ceased. There was a strange silence, broken only by the erratic breathing of the tom. Lylisan waited, then repeated, "Hello?"
"What do you want?"
"I... I heard you calling out... I just wanted to make sure you were all right." Lylisan squinted. "I can't see you. Where are you?" She took a step further into the alley.
"Don't come any closer!" the voice called hoarsely. "I'm... I'm fine." There was a soft rustling, then a sharp intake of breath, followed by another silence. Then, "Who are you?"
"My... my name's Lylisan. Are you sure you're all right? You sounded..." Lylisan trailed off, unsure of what to say. She wanted to tell the tom how awful and haunted he had sounded, but she wasn't sure how he would react. "...Scared," she finished.
A soft, bitter laugh drifted toward her. "I'm beyond scared," the tom replied, his voice still rough. Lylisan could almost feel his eyes on her. "How do you come to be here?" he asked.
"I was... just out for a walk," Lylisan lied. She wasn't sure why she didn't tell the tom the truth - perhaps he could even help her. But something about his voice was familiar - just familiar enough to cause Lylisan not to trust him.
"A walk," the tom repeated. "But you're from the Junkyard. An awfully long way to walk, isn't it?"
Lylisan froze and stared into the darkness, her eyes wide. "Do I know you?" she asked, very softly. Another rustle answered her. The tom was moving, though to where and for what reason Lylisan didn't know.
"No," came the reply. "Why do you ask?"
"Well... you know... I mean, do you know me?"
"I know the Junkyard tribe. I know all the tribes." Though still gruff, there was a touch of pride in his voice. "Why would someone from the Junkyard fancy a walk this far from home?"
"I have my reasons," Lylisan said, skirting the issue. She stared suspiciously toward his voice. "Are you quite sure I don't know you?"
There was a thoughtful silence. "Quite," the tom said, very softly. The edge was gone from his voice, and he sounded very sad. "Do I remind you of someone?"
"Yes," she said, surprised at his awareness. "Actually... you remind me of someone I knew... well, years ago, really. But... he's gone now."
"Who was he?"
"My best friend, really. We had..." she laughed softly, "we had a bit of a gang and he was the leader. But then... well. Something happened. He had to leave."
"Why?"
Lylisan paused, not sure whether she wanted to retell this story, especially to a complete stranger. But the same familiarity in his voice that she had noticed earlier was becoming more prominent, and she felt compelled.
"The... well, some of the tribe thought he did something. Something awful. So they banished him."
A pause, and when the tom spoke again, his voice was so soft that Lylisan had to strain to hear him. "Did he do it?"
"I never thought so. But... all the evidence pointed to the contrary."
"You believed he was innocent?"
"Yes."
"And yet you helped to banish him." This was not a question - it was a statement. Lylisan paused, startled.
"How would you know that?"
"Well... well it takes all members of a tribe to banish one of its members," the tom replied, sounding as though he had just made a very fast save. "It only makes sense you'd have helped."
The grief and guilt of two years sagged on Lylisan's shoulders. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "But there was nothing else I could have done. If only he could know that I believed him..."
"Everyone he loved turned on him!" the tom cried, suddenly sounding very fierce. Lylisan cowered as his voice grew louder, rougher. "It doesn't matter if you believed him, they all let him be sent away!"
The tom's shallow, ragged breathing filled the alley. Lylisan gathered her courage and spoke again. "You... you seem awfully -"
"I know," he answered shortly, "It's just that... well, I was banished from my tribe too. So I know how your friend feels."
Curiousity overcame her fear. "Why were you sent away?"
The silence following her question stretched for so long that Lylisan was afraid that the tom might have stolen away, or fallen asleep again. But quite unexpectedly, he answered, "That is another story for another time. Will you come and see me again?"
Taken aback, Lylisan muttered, "I can't even see you now."
The tom chuckled, and for the first time Lylisan heard real life and amusement in his voice. "You have a point. I'll tell you what - you come and visit me again, and maybe I'll let you see me."
The offer was tempting. Lylisan was unexplicably intrigued by the tom, and by the past that seemed to haunt him. On the other hand, she knew nothing about him - he may be dangerous, insane. But her desire to know more about him soon won over her apprehensions, and she replied, "Yes... all right."
"I'll be here," he continued scratchily. "I don't go much of anywhere else. Just stop by next time you... fancy one of your walks."
He didn't speak anymore, but Lylisan thought she could hear him laughing softly as she turned and walked away.
---
It was almost two weeks before Lylisan could chance to go see the tom in the alley again. Upon returning from their first meeting, she had been so quiet and pensive that Cassandra was sure she was sick. But every time she tried to ask her daughter what was wrong, Lylisan had avoided her, putting her state down as being tired.
In truth, the meeting with the strange, sad tom in the alley had unnerved Lylisan more than she could say. She had mulled over what had made the tom sound so familiar, and the more she thought, the more hope grew steadily in her chest. She knew it was unlikely, even impossible, but surely there was still the slightest chance...
But if it had been Jequimas, why hadn't he said so? she was forced to ask herself. Why hadn't he revealed himself, told her who he was, rushed from the shadows to greet her?
You heard him, a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her. He's angry with you, he's angry with everyone, because they sent him away. And he's quite right, she admitted, although it pained her to do so. He obviously didn't want you to know who he was.
And yet, he had asked her back. Why? Clearly he wanted to see her again. But was it just to tease her, to keep her guessing as to who he was?
She had to ask him, straight out. As he approached the alley, she grew nervous. What if he wasn't here? What if it wasn't him?
Or worse... what if it was?
Gathering her nerves, Lylisan called, "Hello?"
There was no answer. For a moment, Lylisan's heart froze. He wasn't there. She'd never know. Just as she turned to go home, she heard a rough voice answer, "I'd thought you weren't coming back."
She spun around, inexplicably glad to hear his voice. "I... I couldn't get away," she explained, straining her eyes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of him.
But she only heard him answer, "Yes, I'm sure you couldn't." His voice was still low and very gruff, but there was a definite hint of a smile in it. Then he added, in an entirely different sort of voice, "I'm glad you came back."
Maybe it was what he had said. Maybe it was the youth that Lylisan finally heard through the edge in his voice. Or maybe it was just her intense desire for it to be true, but something made Lylisan cry out, "Jequimas!"
The air went very still. Lylisan's stomach buzzed with anxiety and hope. When the silence finally became unbearable, she said again, "Jequimas. Please come out and face me."
She was faced only with silence and the shadows in the alley. Then she heard him say, very quietly but very clearly, "I never could fool you, could I?"
And then she saw him. He appeared from the shadows so suddenly that she wasn't quite sure where he had come from. But he was there, and it really was Jequimas.
But it was a very different Jequimas from the cheeky kitten she remembered. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and rather thin-faced. His steely eyes were deep-set and filled with a sad something that made him seem much older than she knew he was. His coat, had it been tended, would have gleamed the same silver as his father and sister's, but years of unkemptness had caused it to become a rather dull, light grey, streaked with his father's black and white.
Lylisan realized she was staring, but it didn't matter - she hadn't seen him in two years, and she felt she was entitled to be able to take in his changes. Besides, he was gazing at her in quite the same manner.
"You look so grown up," he finally said, his voice hoarse. Lylisan laughed, finally relaxing.
"You're one to talk," she replied. He didn't laugh, and Lylisan remembered the things he had said last time. "Jequimas... do you hate me?"
His eyes glinted; she thought for a moment he would cry. But when he spoke, his voice was very firm. "No. I don't hate you." He turned away from her. "For a long time I thought I did. It was easier that way. But... when I saw you again..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't hate you. Any of you."
Relief washed over her. She took a step toward him and touched his shoulder. He flinched and she quickly withdrew it. "Sorry."
"It's all right." His voice was still rough. He cleared his throat and winced.
"What happened to your voice?" Lylisan asked before she could stop herself. He shook his head.
"Old tom thought he'd teach me some manners." He grinned, without amusement. "I won in the end, but... he certainly left an impression on me." He was silent for a moment, then asked very softly, "Lylisan... how's Jeniiva?"
She hesitated. "She's... very pregnant."
Jequimas' eyes widened. "Pregnant! But... she's so young!"
Lylisan laughed. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're quite grown up now."
"Who's the father?"
More chuckling from Lylisan. "Rubeus!"
A ghost of a smile flickered across Jequimas' face. "I bet Dad's pleased," he said sardonically.
"Not in the least!" she answered, thoroughly relieved to see some spark of pleasure in his eyes. "Mungojerrie's chuffed enough, but when your dad found out they were going to be grandparents together..." she shook her head, grinning, "You'd have thought the world was coming to an end."
Jequimas blinked, as though suddenly realizing something. "Lyli - I'm going to be an uncle!" She smiled at him, but her smile faded as his brow knit and he stared at the ground. "I wish I could see the kits."
He sat down against the wall, staring into space. Lylisan knelt next to him, careful not to touch him. "Why don't you come back?" she said gently. He glared at her and she cowered slightly. His eyes were so much more fierce and empty than they used to be.
"Come back?" he said, giving a mirthless laugh. "Come back? The entire tribe thinks I'm a murderer, Lyli. I can't come back."
"I don't think you're a murderer," Lylisan corrected him quietly. "Neither does Jeniiva. Neither does your mother."
"Then why did all of you help to banish me!?" he demanded, snarling.
"Everyone else believed it!" she answered desperately, "Three voices wouldn't have made a difference! But we never believed you killed Orea!"
"Everyone else does," he said miserably, his head dropping, "And I can't even prove them wrong."
"How would you have proved it anyway?"
Jequimas then told her of Orea's ghost visiting him, what she had told him, and of her taking him to see the body of the cat he had truly killed.
"So I am a murderer," he concluded, "But I never laid a hand on Orea."
"Why don't you just go back and tell them what you've just told me?" Lylisan demanded, "Tell them the truth!"
"I've got the word of three mystics and my twin saying that I killed Orea. A story like mine won't take that away. They'd never believe me." He glared at her suspiciously. "Do you believe me?"
Lylisan stared at him. He was ragged and desperate, his eyes hollow, his face hard. He looked fierce; but he didn't look like a killer. "Yes," she whispered. "I do."
---
Lylisan continued to visit Jequimas in the weeks that followed. They would trade stories; she would tell him of what was happening with the tribe, and he would fill her in on the things that had happened to him over the past two years. She noticed that, whenever she spoke of the tribe, he would sit stoically, either gazing intently at her or off into space. He reacted only when she mentioned Jeniiva, and then he would return her words with a slightly sad smile.
"When are her kits due?" he asked one day as they sat together under a tree. They had long since abandoned his dark alley for more pleasant surroundings, at Lylisan's request.
"Any day now," she replied. She glanced at him. "Do you... want me to come get you when it's time?" she asked tenatively.
His eyes darkened and he looked away from her. "What for?" he muttered, "It's not as though I could come see them."
"Yes you could," she answered, wanting desperately to turn him around to face her. "I've been looking around the yard near her nest and I think I've found a place for you to hide."
He didn't speak for a moment. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and for an instant she thought she saw something like joy in his eyes. "I... I could see the kits... see Niiva?"
She smiled, her heart throbbing at the hope in his rough voice. "Yes," she said quietly, "I think you could." And carefully, very carefully, she reached out and placed a hand on his face. For the first time, he didn't flinch at her touch, and in that moment, the tom from the alley became her Jequimas again.
---
A/N: Yes, I know two years doesn't seem like a very long time for our Jequimas to become jaded, but remember that in cat years, he's gone from 7 to 21 - quite a jump.
---
The dreams had tormented him for the past two years. They were always the same - he heard the screams and came running, running, until he came face to face with the fierce red monster of his mother's stories. Blurred images raced across his mind; a flurry of claws and blood and hair, and Orea was dead. The cold eyes of the tribe accusing him, boring into his mind, filling his heart with dread as they turned away, one by one. He always woke the same way.
"No... I didn't... please... NO!"
---
Lylisan heard the cries coming from the dark alley and hesitated. Her instinct told her to keep walking, that it was no more than another delapidated old cat who had lost their mind. But something in the tom's voice called to her through his cries, begging for her help. So she turned and crept cautiously toward the voice.
"Hello?"
The cries persisted. It sounded as though the tom was talking in his sleep - unable to hear Lylisan's approach or voice. She called louder.
"Hello? Are you all right?"
With a muffled sob, the crying ceased. There was a strange silence, broken only by the erratic breathing of the tom. Lylisan waited, then repeated, "Hello?"
"What do you want?"
"I... I heard you calling out... I just wanted to make sure you were all right." Lylisan squinted. "I can't see you. Where are you?" She took a step further into the alley.
"Don't come any closer!" the voice called hoarsely. "I'm... I'm fine." There was a soft rustling, then a sharp intake of breath, followed by another silence. Then, "Who are you?"
"My... my name's Lylisan. Are you sure you're all right? You sounded..." Lylisan trailed off, unsure of what to say. She wanted to tell the tom how awful and haunted he had sounded, but she wasn't sure how he would react. "...Scared," she finished.
A soft, bitter laugh drifted toward her. "I'm beyond scared," the tom replied, his voice still rough. Lylisan could almost feel his eyes on her. "How do you come to be here?" he asked.
"I was... just out for a walk," Lylisan lied. She wasn't sure why she didn't tell the tom the truth - perhaps he could even help her. But something about his voice was familiar - just familiar enough to cause Lylisan not to trust him.
"A walk," the tom repeated. "But you're from the Junkyard. An awfully long way to walk, isn't it?"
Lylisan froze and stared into the darkness, her eyes wide. "Do I know you?" she asked, very softly. Another rustle answered her. The tom was moving, though to where and for what reason Lylisan didn't know.
"No," came the reply. "Why do you ask?"
"Well... you know... I mean, do you know me?"
"I know the Junkyard tribe. I know all the tribes." Though still gruff, there was a touch of pride in his voice. "Why would someone from the Junkyard fancy a walk this far from home?"
"I have my reasons," Lylisan said, skirting the issue. She stared suspiciously toward his voice. "Are you quite sure I don't know you?"
There was a thoughtful silence. "Quite," the tom said, very softly. The edge was gone from his voice, and he sounded very sad. "Do I remind you of someone?"
"Yes," she said, surprised at his awareness. "Actually... you remind me of someone I knew... well, years ago, really. But... he's gone now."
"Who was he?"
"My best friend, really. We had..." she laughed softly, "we had a bit of a gang and he was the leader. But then... well. Something happened. He had to leave."
"Why?"
Lylisan paused, not sure whether she wanted to retell this story, especially to a complete stranger. But the same familiarity in his voice that she had noticed earlier was becoming more prominent, and she felt compelled.
"The... well, some of the tribe thought he did something. Something awful. So they banished him."
A pause, and when the tom spoke again, his voice was so soft that Lylisan had to strain to hear him. "Did he do it?"
"I never thought so. But... all the evidence pointed to the contrary."
"You believed he was innocent?"
"Yes."
"And yet you helped to banish him." This was not a question - it was a statement. Lylisan paused, startled.
"How would you know that?"
"Well... well it takes all members of a tribe to banish one of its members," the tom replied, sounding as though he had just made a very fast save. "It only makes sense you'd have helped."
The grief and guilt of two years sagged on Lylisan's shoulders. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "But there was nothing else I could have done. If only he could know that I believed him..."
"Everyone he loved turned on him!" the tom cried, suddenly sounding very fierce. Lylisan cowered as his voice grew louder, rougher. "It doesn't matter if you believed him, they all let him be sent away!"
The tom's shallow, ragged breathing filled the alley. Lylisan gathered her courage and spoke again. "You... you seem awfully -"
"I know," he answered shortly, "It's just that... well, I was banished from my tribe too. So I know how your friend feels."
Curiousity overcame her fear. "Why were you sent away?"
The silence following her question stretched for so long that Lylisan was afraid that the tom might have stolen away, or fallen asleep again. But quite unexpectedly, he answered, "That is another story for another time. Will you come and see me again?"
Taken aback, Lylisan muttered, "I can't even see you now."
The tom chuckled, and for the first time Lylisan heard real life and amusement in his voice. "You have a point. I'll tell you what - you come and visit me again, and maybe I'll let you see me."
The offer was tempting. Lylisan was unexplicably intrigued by the tom, and by the past that seemed to haunt him. On the other hand, she knew nothing about him - he may be dangerous, insane. But her desire to know more about him soon won over her apprehensions, and she replied, "Yes... all right."
"I'll be here," he continued scratchily. "I don't go much of anywhere else. Just stop by next time you... fancy one of your walks."
He didn't speak anymore, but Lylisan thought she could hear him laughing softly as she turned and walked away.
---
It was almost two weeks before Lylisan could chance to go see the tom in the alley again. Upon returning from their first meeting, she had been so quiet and pensive that Cassandra was sure she was sick. But every time she tried to ask her daughter what was wrong, Lylisan had avoided her, putting her state down as being tired.
In truth, the meeting with the strange, sad tom in the alley had unnerved Lylisan more than she could say. She had mulled over what had made the tom sound so familiar, and the more she thought, the more hope grew steadily in her chest. She knew it was unlikely, even impossible, but surely there was still the slightest chance...
But if it had been Jequimas, why hadn't he said so? she was forced to ask herself. Why hadn't he revealed himself, told her who he was, rushed from the shadows to greet her?
You heard him, a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her. He's angry with you, he's angry with everyone, because they sent him away. And he's quite right, she admitted, although it pained her to do so. He obviously didn't want you to know who he was.
And yet, he had asked her back. Why? Clearly he wanted to see her again. But was it just to tease her, to keep her guessing as to who he was?
She had to ask him, straight out. As he approached the alley, she grew nervous. What if he wasn't here? What if it wasn't him?
Or worse... what if it was?
Gathering her nerves, Lylisan called, "Hello?"
There was no answer. For a moment, Lylisan's heart froze. He wasn't there. She'd never know. Just as she turned to go home, she heard a rough voice answer, "I'd thought you weren't coming back."
She spun around, inexplicably glad to hear his voice. "I... I couldn't get away," she explained, straining her eyes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of him.
But she only heard him answer, "Yes, I'm sure you couldn't." His voice was still low and very gruff, but there was a definite hint of a smile in it. Then he added, in an entirely different sort of voice, "I'm glad you came back."
Maybe it was what he had said. Maybe it was the youth that Lylisan finally heard through the edge in his voice. Or maybe it was just her intense desire for it to be true, but something made Lylisan cry out, "Jequimas!"
The air went very still. Lylisan's stomach buzzed with anxiety and hope. When the silence finally became unbearable, she said again, "Jequimas. Please come out and face me."
She was faced only with silence and the shadows in the alley. Then she heard him say, very quietly but very clearly, "I never could fool you, could I?"
And then she saw him. He appeared from the shadows so suddenly that she wasn't quite sure where he had come from. But he was there, and it really was Jequimas.
But it was a very different Jequimas from the cheeky kitten she remembered. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and rather thin-faced. His steely eyes were deep-set and filled with a sad something that made him seem much older than she knew he was. His coat, had it been tended, would have gleamed the same silver as his father and sister's, but years of unkemptness had caused it to become a rather dull, light grey, streaked with his father's black and white.
Lylisan realized she was staring, but it didn't matter - she hadn't seen him in two years, and she felt she was entitled to be able to take in his changes. Besides, he was gazing at her in quite the same manner.
"You look so grown up," he finally said, his voice hoarse. Lylisan laughed, finally relaxing.
"You're one to talk," she replied. He didn't laugh, and Lylisan remembered the things he had said last time. "Jequimas... do you hate me?"
His eyes glinted; she thought for a moment he would cry. But when he spoke, his voice was very firm. "No. I don't hate you." He turned away from her. "For a long time I thought I did. It was easier that way. But... when I saw you again..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't hate you. Any of you."
Relief washed over her. She took a step toward him and touched his shoulder. He flinched and she quickly withdrew it. "Sorry."
"It's all right." His voice was still rough. He cleared his throat and winced.
"What happened to your voice?" Lylisan asked before she could stop herself. He shook his head.
"Old tom thought he'd teach me some manners." He grinned, without amusement. "I won in the end, but... he certainly left an impression on me." He was silent for a moment, then asked very softly, "Lylisan... how's Jeniiva?"
She hesitated. "She's... very pregnant."
Jequimas' eyes widened. "Pregnant! But... she's so young!"
Lylisan laughed. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're quite grown up now."
"Who's the father?"
More chuckling from Lylisan. "Rubeus!"
A ghost of a smile flickered across Jequimas' face. "I bet Dad's pleased," he said sardonically.
"Not in the least!" she answered, thoroughly relieved to see some spark of pleasure in his eyes. "Mungojerrie's chuffed enough, but when your dad found out they were going to be grandparents together..." she shook her head, grinning, "You'd have thought the world was coming to an end."
Jequimas blinked, as though suddenly realizing something. "Lyli - I'm going to be an uncle!" She smiled at him, but her smile faded as his brow knit and he stared at the ground. "I wish I could see the kits."
He sat down against the wall, staring into space. Lylisan knelt next to him, careful not to touch him. "Why don't you come back?" she said gently. He glared at her and she cowered slightly. His eyes were so much more fierce and empty than they used to be.
"Come back?" he said, giving a mirthless laugh. "Come back? The entire tribe thinks I'm a murderer, Lyli. I can't come back."
"I don't think you're a murderer," Lylisan corrected him quietly. "Neither does Jeniiva. Neither does your mother."
"Then why did all of you help to banish me!?" he demanded, snarling.
"Everyone else believed it!" she answered desperately, "Three voices wouldn't have made a difference! But we never believed you killed Orea!"
"Everyone else does," he said miserably, his head dropping, "And I can't even prove them wrong."
"How would you have proved it anyway?"
Jequimas then told her of Orea's ghost visiting him, what she had told him, and of her taking him to see the body of the cat he had truly killed.
"So I am a murderer," he concluded, "But I never laid a hand on Orea."
"Why don't you just go back and tell them what you've just told me?" Lylisan demanded, "Tell them the truth!"
"I've got the word of three mystics and my twin saying that I killed Orea. A story like mine won't take that away. They'd never believe me." He glared at her suspiciously. "Do you believe me?"
Lylisan stared at him. He was ragged and desperate, his eyes hollow, his face hard. He looked fierce; but he didn't look like a killer. "Yes," she whispered. "I do."
---
Lylisan continued to visit Jequimas in the weeks that followed. They would trade stories; she would tell him of what was happening with the tribe, and he would fill her in on the things that had happened to him over the past two years. She noticed that, whenever she spoke of the tribe, he would sit stoically, either gazing intently at her or off into space. He reacted only when she mentioned Jeniiva, and then he would return her words with a slightly sad smile.
"When are her kits due?" he asked one day as they sat together under a tree. They had long since abandoned his dark alley for more pleasant surroundings, at Lylisan's request.
"Any day now," she replied. She glanced at him. "Do you... want me to come get you when it's time?" she asked tenatively.
His eyes darkened and he looked away from her. "What for?" he muttered, "It's not as though I could come see them."
"Yes you could," she answered, wanting desperately to turn him around to face her. "I've been looking around the yard near her nest and I think I've found a place for you to hide."
He didn't speak for a moment. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and for an instant she thought she saw something like joy in his eyes. "I... I could see the kits... see Niiva?"
She smiled, her heart throbbing at the hope in his rough voice. "Yes," she said quietly, "I think you could." And carefully, very carefully, she reached out and placed a hand on his face. For the first time, he didn't flinch at her touch, and in that moment, the tom from the alley became her Jequimas again.
---
A/N: Yes, I know two years doesn't seem like a very long time for our Jequimas to become jaded, but remember that in cat years, he's gone from 7 to 21 - quite a jump.