Note- I don't own CATS.

This part caused me major sleep deprivation as the story started to grow in ways I didn't want it to. Bah. Never try to control your story. It gets nasty when it fights back.

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3 (cassandra)

"Alonzo?"

The sadness in my voice surprises me.

"Alonzo?"

Why doesn't he talk? It is a little bit scary, or it would be if he was looking at me, but he just leans stiffly against the tire, staring at the sliver of moon. Hard to believe it's only been a month since the Ball, since everything was going well. Now its light is pale and thin, and it shines unfavorably on his red eyes and unshed tears.

"It's not true, Alonzo, is it? Tantomile says you tried to run away."

It's important to me to know. I'd never have asked something like that before, just blindly assumed he couldn't and wouldn't lie to me, but yesterday, today, a lot of assumptions were being shattered. In the best of times, cats are not social creatures, and now there were dreadful rumors of the Jellicles dissolving or worse.

Abruptly, I need to know the truth, and I need it to be no, he was on some legitimate business. I need him to stand up strong and be the tom I always dated, not this scared, sad shell.

But he sags, and looks above me with one of his tired, haunted pupils. I wish that look would leave his eye. I suppose it will, in time.

"Almost, Cass. But I didn't." God, he sounds wrung out and shredded, like he'd been pulled apart at the seams and not stitched back together. He staggers a little, and I don't resist the instinct to draw him to me, but he flinches away.

He doesn't seem to want to touch me. I'm not sure I want to touch him.

"Who did that to you?" I point at blood caked below his nose in an effort to change the subject.

"Bombalurina." He's swaying, a little, and the focus is bleeding out of his eyes as they cross and uncross.

"Are you okay?" It's the single stupidest thing I could say, I guess. He doesn't respond, anyway, and I stand and stare at him for a moment, trying to put this creature together with the Alonzo I last saw before- well, before the news. My eyes refuse bodily to move away, and my mouth refuses to open. There are so many things I want to say, but suddenly it's too late, because he's falling, and I don't even move to catch him. I just watch him slide down and pass out like a drunk on the ground, and then I force my eyes shut, and try to think about something else.

(It is over, isn't it? Tell me it's over, it's gotta be!)

Maybe he'll get the hang of the job. Maybe all he needs is some help. Or maybe

(don't think that, don't think that)

maybe-

Never mind.

He's not very heavy, and it feels like he hasn't eaten in the past two days. Fell, I can feel his ribs wooden slats. I'm dragging him in a very squeamish way, because I don't want blood or mud or any of the stuff all over his fur on me.

I don't like the idea of seeing him like this for the next who-knows-how long. It's killing him, and it's only been two days. I'm still not sure why it hit him so hard

(How well did he know the old leader? Munkustrak, or trap, or whatever.)

but it did, almost as bad as Demeter, or the Tugger. Come to think of it, no one's seen Munky's brother since the murder.

I shrug these thoughts from my mind, but too quickly they are replaced by fear. Horrible, icy fear for the junkyard, Demeter, for our safety, and mostly for me and for the broken cat I'm dragging to my den as I think.

They can have him later. He needs me now, and I need him.

The Tugger grinned sickly as the flash of orange fur faded away. It had been the wrong orange, but that changed nothing.

He knew exactly what to do now; he knew how to get back at the bastard.

They had probably helped him, anyway. Everyone knew they had helped him. He was everyone, and if anyone else didn't think so, they were wrong!

Claws biting into his hands, he exerted all of his willpower to remain seated. The pain was unnoticed, just more fuel to the fires of his anger.

There was time enough to do this right. He just had to keep the throbbing beast of his feelings inside for now, to plan it out. The adrenaline, the fury so cold if made his spine numb, the shear claw shredding need to kill, could beat futile against bars of reason until it was time to let them out.

A smile spread over his face, so normal, so happy, that it would have sent chills down the spine of the late Munkustrap, who knew what it meant.

Unclenching one paw with painful effort, he raised it to his face and began to lick the warm blood off.

It was almost time. He had a plan, now.

He doesn't wake up, so I leave him to sleep off whatever he needs to in house my owners bought me, a rich blue affair with pillows tossed over the floor. Satin. I'm proud of them, and he's spreading mud and who knows what else on them, but I'll overlook it for now. Curled up like a kitten in them, he looks so at peace that I don't want to disturb him, so I leave him there to get my bedding filthy, and go off to find something to do.

There isn't much. The house is kept tidy by my humans (who would kill me if they saw I brought another cat home) and their maid, and I don't have many possessions of my own. A hint of catnip, here and there, but now isn't the time for that. Tomorrow, maybe. I'll need it then.

I'm not so sad that Munkustrap is dead as the others are. I feel oddly at peace with it, possibly because I didn't even know him. I mean, it sounds stupid. He is- was- the leader.

The saddening thing is that he died, and the chilling thing is that he was murdered. You know what they say- about the note- what it said.

Why would someone do that? Even Macavity? How could something like that happen to one of us?

I don't know.

This room offers no answers, only raises more questions. It's my humans' prayer room, and it's where I come to think, because it's easy to lose myself in it.

Misty gray walls confine it, but they seem to be less of a boundary then of a window, looking out from here, into the mysterious fogs of infinity. In the room, I feel quite small, but large at the same time. I feel like I can see everything, falling gently into place. Coarse and puffy beneath my feet, the blackness seems less of a carpet than a cloud.

There is not a single window in this room. Nor is there a light.

It makes its own light, deep in my soul, glowing happily and comfortably, so that I see clearest in here, through the floating lines of pungent incense smoke.

Lining the walls are statues.

Beautiful statues.

They are ancient (my humans paid thousands for them) and white, like marble or bone. Their proud gazes don't ever waver or stray from each other, never do they look down at me with stone eyes. They just stare into space, gleaming silently in the darkness.

I wonder what these things have seen.

I wonder if I know as much as I always thought I do.

I wonder... I just wonder, that's all.

She took a bite out of the mouse, but it had no taste on her tongue, which was sickening, and she expelled it instantly.

Macavity did this. Who would he come after next? Would he come after her again? Did he do this just to hurt her? Why couldn't he leave her alone?

No, that wasn't right. She took a breath and a brave expression crossed her face, as if she thought or knew that she had to calm.

Well, a brave expression tried to cross her face. It was chased away by the one of fright and grief, as she pulled the tatter of a blanket closely around her.

Earlier, she had eaten, but it wouldn't be happening again, she thought with a sigh. One delicate paw caressed the steel floor of the oven, avoiding a piece of chewed mouse. Her stance was still scared, but her eyes softened into misery as she looked at the floor. As long as she stayed in the oven, she was safe. She could cry, she could starve herself, but here, in his favorite place, no harm would come to Demeter. Imagining she could still feel his paws around her, she lay down, wanting to sleep and dream it all away...

An instant later, she was jolted by a scream.

Sounds break me out of my reverie, and my head snaps back towards my nest. I stand and drift between the statues back towards it, unnerved by the how steady it is. It sounds like a noise that a statue would make, just a broken, muffled repetition, not unlike someone being beaten to death with a pillow, but they are silent, and the sound is from elsewhere.

When I do step off of the black carpet of the prayer room, let the fog slide away into crisp focus, then I come to earth. I listen for an instant, and follow the odd noise from here, across the dining room in all its grace, through the overly bright and modern kitchen, into the little room set aside for me. There, amid the pillows, not moved from the position I left him in, he lies racked by the sounds, jerking up and down in time to them.

It takes me a minute to realize that in his sleep, Alonzo is sobbing.

The shred of a moon was not high or low, not cold or warm, but just there for the ultimate purpose it is always there- illumination.

On the silhouette of a maned cat, so furious that every one of his hairs stood on end, it didn't shine at all, leaving him completely in the dark, while just a few feet away, it lit two figures lounging dully on the sidewalk.

Between them flowed a low murmur of conversation, as perhaps was happening for every cat around the junkyard that night. They were oddly subdued, absorbed in their conversation, oblivious to their surroundings, even the danger just a few feet away.

The rumors were only about one thing. They were about, of course, a dead cat. Why he was dead.

Was it Macavity? They had heard no more than usual- they would have thought that he would have said something to them.

On the coarse concrete of the sidewalk, on of the cats rolled over to take in the shiver of moon as she whispered, "What do you think's gonna 'appen now?"

The other leaned his elbows against cool asphalt, his spine curving gracefully as his body slid to the street. On the darkness of the asphalt, he was a saffron scar, and not even the darkness could make it duller. "Life goes on. We're gonna stay outa the junkyard for awhile, I guess. They'll get over it. They always do."

Above them, the moon kept smiling, unaware of the danger stalking closer to the orange felines with every moment that flowed by.

I'm in the prayer room again; my eyes squeezed close so hard it hurts my head, my body arched in a bow. In front of me, I can feel cold air wash off the proud statue of Bastet, flowing around her marble body as she stares blankly into an eternity of mist.

She does not deign to look at me, like a good cat goddess.

My heart is thrumming in my neck, my chest, the pit of my stomach as I pray, trying to grasp some sort of inner peace. My mind does not calm, though, merely shoots from one thought to the next, as I try to piece together what is going to happen now, in a world without our everlasting leader.

My frantic prayers echo into the silence of infinity, and lie there unanswered.

His eyes narrowed with fury and excitement.

So many ways to do this, and only one thing he could choose, out of all of his options.

In front of him, his targets' furs seared their color brazenly into the otherwise respectful night. Their watcher seemed to take it as a personal insult.

His tail lashed like a whip from side to side, charged with the ever building adrenaline that permeated his body.

One of them rolled slowly over, and her mouth released words that he couldn't hear from where he lurked.

His lips curled back in a snarl, fangs gleaming chillingly in the icy light, and like liquid, he flowed through the shadows towards them.

When I open my eyes, the room's walls are no longer soft and surrounding but suffocating and dreadful. They close in on me, their grey softness threatening and ready to pound my life out...

I run.

There is a scream, and many cats hear it, but Demeter burrows down further into the ragtag bedding scattered around the oven, telling herself that she heard nothing.

When I reach the dining room door, I am stopped.

It hurts. Down and backwards, I tumble until a jarring thud that reverberates through my body tells me I have hit the floor. A scant instant later, a painful noise tells me that the cat I ran into has done the same.

"Ow..."

I agree with a groan of my own, then think about pulling myself up. As if in protest, every bone in my body starts its own private fantasy of pain.

I hadn't realized Alonzo was awake yet. How long had I spent praying to empty space?

It doesn't matter. He seems to concur and doesn't stir.

At first, it's peaceful. I stare at the plastered ceiling and try to put some sense into the events of the last few days, something which I've been doing since it all started.

Nothing.

"Cass?" It's an interesting way to converse, lying face up on the ground.

"Yes?"

"What's going on?"

"You were standing in the doorway and I ran into the room- I didn't see you- and then-"

"No, I mean what's going on in the junkyard. How did all of this shit start? Why did it start?"

"Watch your language," is the first thing out of my mouth. He knows I hate it when he curses.

"Shitshitshi-"

"Alonzo!"

There is a stir, and he sits up, paws massaging the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. But I feel like sh- like crap. My entire body hurts, I'm covered in filth, I can feel it caked all over me. Under my fingernails, in my tail, on my face, even inside my mouth. I'm going insane. Need a paw up?"

Without speaking, I slowly extend my left paw, and he clutches it with one grimy hand and pulls me towards him. Then we're both sitting up and staring at each other, hands still locked, and for a second, a flash of understanding fuses our gazes. We stare for a little while longer, until one of his eyes snaps shut in a blink, and it's gone.

I stand, and pull him up with me. I want to say something understanding, loving, something that will make everything better, but instead, my nose wrinkles at the fresh smell of mud. "Go clean yourself off."

He sleeps.

Old Deuteronomy has been told, but he didn't shed tears. Instead, he went out to the kittens, letting them hug him and cry on him, and looked up into the sky.

He took Victoria's head in his hands, turned it towards the moon, and told her to smile for Munkustrap.

Now he sleeps, peaceful as can be. He never shed any tears, not from coldness, but because he has faith that so many don't. He believes in his son, sitting up in the Heaviside, smiling down on them. Many things have happened, and he believes in taking them as they come, savoring the things that last.

So he sleeps, ready to go back out and comfort the Jellicles in the morning, his own sadness behind him.

He sleeps. He is wise but not omnipotent. This cat is ancient, and his dreams run deep.

The screaming, right outside his den, does not wake him. In his sleep he smiles, believing that all is well.

"Better?" An amused look sits on his face, just a tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless. The smell of mud is gone, and he stands in the door of my little gray room like a specter, black and white, with no brown anywhere. It's been scoured off at last.

Took long enough, too. The sticks of incense have burned halfway down.

"Sure." I smile, but he doesn't return it. Instead, the happiness on his face falls off like a bad mask, and shatters on the carpet.

Bastet stares impassively above our heads.

"Why did it happen, Cass?"

"I don't know..." For an instant, I forget that I'm talking to a determined atheist, "Everlasting Cat, and Bastet, only they know."

His expression hardens, as he remembers what this room is to me. "And what have they told you? Have you prayed until your mouth went numb, and did they come from on high and tell you who did it, and why they did it, and how to make every da- everything better?"

My hands rise up defensively, I feel my eyes widen. "Alonzo, don't. Please. They're there, I know they'll take care of everything. You just have to have faith."

"I don't have faith! How can I? This wasn't supposed to happen! And if you say anything, anything at all along the lines of, 'It's all part of a plan', or 'It's up to them', I swear... I'll..."

I take a step back instantly and crash into the icy surface of the statue. Painful radiance bursts out in front of my eyes, then blossoms away. As it fades, Alonzo's face becomes clear, like a ship sailing out of a storm. His mouth is open, his eyes wide.

"Sorry, Cass, I didn't mean it, I really didn't. It's just-" he stops.

Now the edges of my eyes tingle, and my head is full of air. "Ever wondered why the priestess could date an atheist?"

"No."

Serenely, my face melts into a smile. "Neither did I."

"Cassandra..."

I pause, watching his expression try to decide what it is.

"I'm scared."

That, at least, I can understand. "So am I, Alonzo."

Admetus and Bombalurina are the first to run over, and at first they don't know what it is they see.

It's furious. It's violent. Blood already sprays over pavement.

It's dreadful, as Bomby will say later.

Barely recognizable, the Tugger has one bright orange cat on the ground, and is shredding chunks of flesh out of it, in snarling fury. Frantically, another cat claws on his back, but the only notice he takes of this is, periodically, to roll his entire body over and shake her off, slamming his captive jarringly back down on the ground when he lands again.

Completely against her nature though it is, Bombalurina screams, and Admetus lets out a terrified yelp.

In a panic, Rumpelteazer dashes towards them, burying her face in the vicinity of Bombalurina's collarbone. Something muffled emerges, and the queen shoots a desperate glance at Admetus, who shakes his head, still panicked. Against her front, hot tears soak into her fur, and she feels a bit of a heel when she pushes the sobbing queen away to throw herself into the fray...