Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

No one knew where his name came from, but somehow, it suited him. A black cat with snowy white paws and one ear. A tiny little apex predator who came and went as he pleased. He was a part of everyone’s life and belonged to no one. Completely free. Those who tried to cage him felt 7 pounds of Hell’s wrath; anyone who showed him kindness on his terms found a lifelong friend.

Jedediah was especially fond of me. I’d spent a lifetime on the outside looking in, never belonging, even with the outcasts. God’s little mistake. I made people nervous. I was quiet and weird, all alone in my head. Some people just piss the world off by existing, I guess.

Books and animals meant more to me than people. They never made me feel bad about myself just for kicks. A forest abutted our McMansion and a few years back I’d found an empty bomb shelter. I couldn’t believe my luck. It was compromised of two rooms made entirely of cement with a wall fitted with a heavy metal door splitting them. A secret I kept from the world.

Every day, I retreated there. A half dozen cats and a few books in tow. I called it “Lothlorien.” A run down, abandoned bunker in the woods was as close to serenity and a home as I was ever going to find. I felt safe. Safe with my cats, safe to be me. I loved them all, but Jedediah was my favorite. A lone who felt the sting of this world’s cruelty. But he was brave and true and kind, and that’s all I wanted to be.

Every day, more and more meant less to me, but that, that mattered. He mattered. We spent endless hours together in silence. I read Vonnegut and he made a home of my lap. I loved him for exactly who he was. The alley cat who brought life into my life.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

I stared down at his tiny body. Old scars cascaded down his temple to his jaw. A fresh, jagged cut. His throat had been slashed. My stomach fell halfway to Hell. I couldn’t breathe. Everything was loud and quiet simultaneously, like the Earth was pulsating. I think they call that “anguish.”

His white paws were stained red. In my heart, I knew he’d shredded whoever did this. Nobody took Jedediah Bones without a fight. I prayed silently to no one that every gash on the killer’s body would become infected, rot off, blister, burn, something, anything. The last thing I remember before they found me was my tears falling on his body, silently pleading for life to spill into his veins. They’d tell me later I was wailing and pulling my hair out when they found me. I didn’t notice.

Everyone already thought I was the weird little basket case, the school shooter to be. Monty the freak. Monty the schizoid. Monty the this, Monty the that. It wasn’t a far leap for everyone to conclude I had killed Jedediah.

People began whispering. Therapy followed. My parents debated committing me. The police let me go with a warning. Powerful, drunk fathers are good for something, I guess. I never bothered objecting or correcting anyone. I was too heartbroken. Life felt like it had escaped from my bones, like I was all alone in the dark. Telling people I loved Jedediah more than any person I knew would have been akin to screaming at an empty night sky. Why speak the truth when the world is mute to you? Why speak at all?

School was already Hellish, but it became so much worse. Ricky Fortunato, God’s special little golden boy, made it his life’s goal to torture me. It had just been a side quest before. “Jeffrey Dahmer” carved in my locker. Random beatings while I was walking home. Getting the whole school to call me “Cat Fucker” was a particularly creative endeavor.

“Mr. Fortune,” everyone called him. The best quarterback in the district. The object of everyone’s envy and desire. The crux of popularity. “Mr. Fortune.” I thought it sounded like a corny WWE wrestler, fitting given his Cro-Magnon IQ, but apparently it was just another nickname for “God” at our school. And our little suburban god, complete violent homophobia, and a penchant for sadism, took an Old Testament perspective where freaks like me were concerned.

I thought about suicide. My parents wouldn’t look at me. School was an unadulterated nightmare that just kept escalating. I had gone from the unwelcome to the completely shunned everywhere I went. I didn’t feel any purpose or love in my life.

Ricky changed all that.

Ricky gave me purpose.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

Ricky was beating me, alternating between calling me “queer” and smashing various parts of my body with wild haymakers.

I never bothered fighting back. What good could come from it? The errant psycho would just froth more, beat me harder. If I managed to hurt him, I would be the cat killing freak that hurt nature’s perfect little shitstorm. Not like I had a chance, anyway.

And a part of me hoped he’d just finish me off. I could see the glee in his eye with each crashing blow, hear the glee behind every curse. I decided to throw a little fuel on the fire, see if I might just shuffle off this horrible mortal coil. Ricky always wore his letterman’s jacket, idiotically adorned with “MR. FORTUNE” in a font that would make a blind man cringe. You wouldn’t find the mouth-breather without it.

When he paused the beating to catch his breath, I lunged. I just meant to pull it and set him off. I was stronger than I realized, full of adrenaline. The entire left sleeve of the jacket ripped completely off, revealing his bare left arm.

An arm entirely covered from shoulder to wrist with deep cuts.

My brain couldn’t process what I was seeing at first. I had no doubt he had at least 37 screws loose. But self-harm? I wouldn’t have guessed. But they didn’t look right, not like the clean cuts a knife make. And there was a familiar pattern in all that fleshy chaos.

That’s when Ricky grinned. The kind of smile that made the Devil nervously ask for the check. An empty, inhuman thing taking off its mask.

“You like ‘em?”

He pointed to a series of cuts right on his forearm.

“That little shit-stain stray gave me these right before I gutted his throat.”

I felt my body convulsing all over. A computer crashing from too many programs running.

“I’ve cut up twelve of those fuckers and boy, do they put up a fight. Not like a queer like you. Just look at all my war wounds. Maybe I’ll gut you next.”

I sat there, listening to the psychopath howl with laughter about how cruelly tore the life from those beautiful little creatures. From Jedediah.

A few hours prior I might have welcome to prospect of him finishing me off. Not anymore. I had a purpose.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

I slammed a foot into his crotch with everything I had, ignoring the pains screaming from every inch of my torse. A swift right jab snapped his nose.

I was long gone before he could recover from the daze. The echoing promises of brutality followed me as I ran deeper and deeper into the forest, until I was safely in Lothlorien.

The monster had to pay. Not for what I lost, but for what he’d done.

A plan began to form in my knotted mind.

I never went home that day or any day since.

There might have been a halfhearted attempt to find me. Probably a pro forma gesture by my parents and the town to say “hey, we tried,” when, in all likelihood, they sincerely hoped not to find me.

That was fine by me.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

I had enough nonperishable food stocked up for weeks. It wouldn’t take that long. I slept on a cot and read during the day.

The black of night is when the Devil does his work.

I snuck around, from house to alley to park. One by one I lured them back to the bunker. They loved me, trusted me. A few turned into a dozen morphed into twenty before I just lost count.

Missing posters went up all over town.

Each day, the population of the back room grew. The screaming, wailing, and begging started as a din and turned into one endless cacophonous scream. Pleading with me, accusing me.

I hated myself for what I was doing.

I left them water but no food. Kept a watchful eye for cannibalism.

Every hour of every day was filled with horrible allegations of my barbarianism.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

It had been nearly two weeks since I disappeared, and some of the wailing was growing weaker. It was time.

I watched him from the woods like the predator I was supposed to be. Watched him deride his friends to feel superior, watched him hurt others just to feel something, watched him treat every girl he crossed paths with like a plaything for his pleasure.

Watched him until he was alone.

“HEY CAT FUCKER, RECOVERED FROM YOUR BEATING YET?”

I screamed at him from the tree line, a good twenty yards aware.

The shock in Ricky’s face quickly turned to manic rage and he was off after me. He was faster than me, stronger than me.

But he wasn’t faster than the swing of the baseball bat I’d hidden behind a tree just inside the woods, and he certainly wasn’t stronger.

One crack and he was out like a light. I just I didn’t kill him, that he would regain consciousness. The result would be the same, albeit not nearly so satisfying.

I dragged his body, limp as a fish that finally accepts that its over, behind me for what felt like miles to the bunker.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

I cut open some wounds along his arms and legs, ensuring not to hit any arteries, before binding his hands and feet. But I wanted him fresh, leaking, and weak.

The metal door screeched as I opened it, threw him in the back room, and slammed it shut before any escapees could make a break for it.

The caterwauling grew softer, changed tones. There was almost an air of pleasure to it. The glee of getting what you want the most in this world.

Food for the hungry.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

There was silence for the first time in nearly two weeks.

I heard Ricky stir. “W…what the fuck?” His voice was meek, confused. “Monty, what the fuck is going on?”

I could hear him struggle against his binds, muttering panicky threats of empty violence my way.

“Monty, I’m…I’m sorry, buddy. Just, just let me go. Let’s call it even, bud. It stinks in here and I don’t feel so good. Is there something in here with...”

His voice froze.

“OW! OW! WHAT THE HELL? MONTY, SOMETHING’S BITING ME! HELP! HELP!”

I knew he could feel me on the other side of the wall, that little six sense buried inside us from ancient hunters feeling eyes on them in the darkness. Ricky knew I was listening. I said nothing.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS IN HERE WITH ME? SOMETHING IS FUCKING TRYING TO EAT...OW AHHHH FUCK MY FUCKING EYE! WHAT THE FUCK IS IN HERE?”

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

As if on cue, my friends, the prisoners, began a sing-song chorus.

“Meow! Meow! Meow!”

Ricky’s pleas reached a heightened crescendo, sheer terror.

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MONTY!”

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

I listened closely as the horde of cats ate Mr. Fortune.

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of me died with him.

When all that remained was the soft sound of chewing and purring, I opened all the doors to the bunker, giving my friends a path to freedom at their discretion.

I left that time and place behind, wandering out, looking for a softer world, but always prepared to deal with a cruel one.

These days, if you find me in a bar or talk to me outside the classroom at the college I attend, you simply know me as “Jed.”

Jedediah Bones was dead, and a part of him lives with me.