The Mute Cause

           A black cat scurried across Paige’s path. Paige groaned; the last thing she needed now was more bad luck.

           As the feline pranced toward the backyard, she stared at the house, a Victorian in which she would, at the very least, find her efforts futile. Most likely, she would end up also incurring the wrath of a woman who terrified the brave just as thoroughly as she did the cowardly. Paige could not hear Twila’s name without thinking of man who, less than twenty-four hours after Twila had caught him cheating on her, had been struck by a car, paralyzing him from the waist down. The teen who had suffered his first grand mal seizure when Twila had found him egging her house. The child who had broken out in hives after he’d bumped her, causing her to drop her phone. The woman whose store had burst into flames when Twila claimed that she’d overcharged her for a bag of rice. This, Paige knew, did not comprise even a dot on the composition of her capabilities. However, what she would do if Paige confronted her may well reveal the whole, hideous picture.

           But what choice did she have? She couldn’t let Asher do this to Kaitlynn.

           God knew, he had already done enough.

*         *         *

           Inclement weather had cut Kaitlynn’s business trip short. Wanting to surprise Asher, she’d made a casserole, roped Paige into coming along, and headed to his house.

           They arrived at the place—a crisp colonial Paige had always thought too big for just one person—and Kaitlynn let them in using her key. Immediately, carnal moans, coming from upstairs, assaulted them.

No, Paige told herself, he wouldn’t. Still, though, her stomach clenched, and her heartbeat adopted a feverish cadence as she followed Kaitlynn upstairs, to the master bedroom. He had left the door ajar, allowing an easy assault from Paige’s worst fear.

           He and the woman—a bottle blond with smeared siren-red lipstick and an orange tan—scrambled apart, clutching his charcoal-gray comforter to their naked bodies. Paige’s mind told her to speak, to move, to do something, but her body refused. Kaitlynn, too, had frozen, eyes glinting like those of a rabbit about to meet a truck tire, jaw nearly resting on her chest.

           “Don’t look at me like that, Kaitlynn,” Asher said, voice steadier than it had any right to be. With cream-smooth movements, he plucked his boxers off the carpet, rose, and pulled them on. Meanwhile, his lady friend had already thrown on her mini dress. She made a beeline for the doorway, and Paige stepped out of her way not because she wanted to allow her easy escape, but because she didn’t want to touch the filthy home wrecker. Her footsteps pattered on the stairs, followed by the front door opening and slamming.

           By this time, the shock had worn off, replaced with an inferno licking her throat and clenching her fists so tightly that her nails carved crescents into her sweaty palms. A million epithets tangled in her throat, but, before she could voice any of them, Asher, glaring at Kaitlynn, said, “You knew it was over a long time ago.”

           “What?” Kaitlynn squeaked, eyes nearly popping out of her skull. “No. No. We were happy. Going somewhere—“

           “Spare me the theatrics,” he snapped, planting his hands on his hips.

           Kaitlynn’s right hand flew to her lips, and she started gnawing on her nails, thinking and speaking simultaneously: “It’ll be okay. We can get past this. Talking, counseling, whatever it takes to—“

           “Don’t kid yourself, Kait,” he said.

           “You can’t do this,” Kaitlynn said, collapsing into tears. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t want to…”

           Heart shattering, Paige wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, letting her sob into her blouse.

           “You should leave,” Asher said, reaching for his jeans at last.

           Kaitlynn’s head jerked up. “No. I’m not leaving. We’re—“

           “We’re history. Over. Finished. Done.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s not draw this out any more than we have to.”

           Finally, Paige’s throat unlocked. Her lips parted, unleashing a torrent of swearing and insults unlike any she’d uttered or thought of uttering before. Asher stood still, arms crossed over his chest, jaw stone-solid. When she’d finished, he asked, “You done?”

           No. Not even close. No amount of vitriol could sufficiently punish him. But, even if she were able to compose such a tirade, it would do no good. Asher had made up his mind.

           She nudged her sister toward the stairs. “Come on, Kait, let’s go.”

           Kaitlynn cast Asher one last, pleading look, met with a continued death-stare, and, finally, allowed Paige to lead her down the stairs, out the door, to the car.

           Once inside, she collapsed again. Paige rubbed her back, hating herself for her inability to take the pain away as much as she did Asher for causing it. When, finally, her sister’s sobs softened, she said, “I know you don’t feel like it right now, but you’re better off without him.”

           “No. I love him.”

           “No, you don’t.” Only his mother, if anyone, could love a man like this.

           Kaitlynn shook her head, hugging herself. “What am I gonna do, Paige? He’s my life. I can’t lose him…”

           “You’re gonna find someone better, and soon, if you try—it’s not a high hurdle.”

           Kaitlynn glared at her as if she’d suggested that one could launch themselves to Mars on a trampoline, and then she crumpled again.

           Paige could only hold her and pray that Asher got what he deserved.

*         *         *

           Three days later, Kaitlynn stopped speaking. Desperation shot from her eyes, and her throat bobbed, but the words refused to leave her lips. When Paige handed her a paper and pencil, she grabbed the pencil greedily and held it above the paper. Her hand trembled, her forearms’ veins bulging. Then, she dropped the pencil, panting.

           She was, as far as Paige knew, physically healthy. Thus, Paige could think of only one possible explanation: Asher had roped Twila into helping him continue to torment them. His doing so defied logic; he had dumped her, and having seen how it crushed her should have given him all the satisfaction he felt he needed. But, then, some people’s ill will transcended understanding.

Apparently, Kaitlynn had managed to tie herself up with one of them.

*         *         *

           She toddled up the path leading from Twila’s driveway, through grass as stiff as rulers, to the porch. With a trembling hand, she rang the bell. Rapid footsteps sounded, and the door opened, bringing her face-to-face with the person she feared more than any other. “Can I help you?” she said.

           “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

           Twila hesitated but, finally, stepped aside. Paige entered a living room offering eggplant-purple walls, an ebony coffee table heaped with candles, a bookshelf stocked with worn leather-bound volumes, and burgundy velvet couches, on which they both took seats. Paige took one more breath, steeled her shoulders, and said, “I know Asher hired you to do this to my sister. I need you to undo the spell.”

           The creases beside Twila’s lips deepened. “What goes on with my clients is confidential. It wouldn’t be right for me to share that information without their permission.”

Bull. Twila didn’t care about doing the right thing. She just didn’t want to lose business.  But the meager satisfaction gained from saying so had nothing on the dangers it would bring, so, instead, she said, “This is my sister we’re talking about, Twila, and it’s not fair for you to just—“

           “Again, I’m not gonna comment on other clients.”

           “I’ll pay you. Double what Asher gave. Please. You’re…you’re ruining her life.”

           “I’m not ‘ruining’ anything. I’m a vehicle, not the driver.”

           She couldn’t possibly expect her to believe that, Paige thought, heat flaring in her chest. No, she hadn’t come up with the idea, but she had made it happen, which made her just as guilty as the monster who had requested it.

           “The fee for the spell was a thousand,” Twila said. “Still in?”

           A thousand dollars. Even steeper than she’d expected. For that kind of money, Asher must despise Kaitlynn. It really didn’t make sense.

           But, then, she needn’t make sense of it. She needed only to fix it. Two thousand dollars would take a huge bite out of her savings, but she couldn’t let Kaitlynn suffer. Swallowing, she said, “All right. Two grand. What do we have to do?”

           “One thousand up front,” Twila said. “I assume you have your card.”

           She did. Twila grabbed a scanner from one of her side tables, and she swiped it. Replacing the scanner, Twila said, “You’re not gonna tell her I told you any of this. You’re just gonna tell her you wanna have me fix it, and you bring her to me.”

           “All right, fine. Then what?”

“Then, I reverse it.” She straightened, smoothing her blouse. “But there is something else—off the record, of course.”

“What?” she asked, bracing herself as a new heaviness descended.

“You’re wrong about who hired me. It wasn’t Asher. It was your sister.”

           It hit her like a battleship. “What?”

           “Kaitlynn came to me. Wanted him to take her back. Begged me to make it happen.”

           She shook her head, feeling as if struggling to cram a queen-sized comforter into a shoebox. “And then you screw her over by—“

           “You’ve gotta understand, it’s easy for me to affect people willing to submit. It’s much harder to do it against their will, and it’s only fair that my pricing reflects that. Your sister didn’t want the extra cost. So I tailored her to him, instead of the other way around.”

           Paige leaned back, an icy wave rolling over her. She didn’t want to believe it. But, then, Twila had no reason to lie to her, and she could easily picture Kaitlynn coming to her with that request.

           Her phone rang. She pulled it from her purse and glanced at the caller ID. Kaitlynn. She pressed, “talk,” and, immediately afterward, “end,” and shoved it back into her purse.

           Before she could choose her next move, the black cat that had crossed her path outside galloped in from the kitchen and made a beeline for Twila. “Oh, Ephraim, what’ve you gotten into?” she cooed, scooping the feline up.

           Paige’s brows rose.

           It had never occurred to her that the cat belonged to Twila.