By J DIAMZON I first saw her on a rainy night. She looked so sad, so alone. As the rain washed over her. She looked so cold, she felt so cold. She was as cold, as I. FIRST NIGHT Del got home soaking wet from the rain that continued to pour outside. She could hear the television all the way from one of the bedrooms upstairs. Its volume turned to maximum, just the way her mother wanted it. She could hear the weather forecast, the nasal voice of the female meteorologist droning on that there would be rain in the next three days. A crack of thunder from overhead came with that announcement. She never liked rain. It always made her cold. And for the past years since her father’s desertion and her mother’s deteriorating mental health, she has been getting colder. If she was prone to thoughts of fancy, she’d think she was losing her soul with every bit of coldness that permeated her body. But she was a practical, logical sort. Perhaps it was her apparent lack of emotions that made her a favorite target of bullies at work. She wasn’t exactly catatonic as some readily thought of her. She can still feel. She can still get hurt. She just never showed it. A movement upstairs. Her mother must’ve heard her come in. It didn’t come as a surprise to her, even with the television full blast, and her entry as quiet as a mouse under a cat’s nose. Her mother seemed to have decided to latch on to her and suck up every single living essence residing inside her. So she knew the moment she came within her range of detection, which was anywhere within and around the house, her mother’s domain. At times, Del felt envious of her father. For breaking free. Del decided to go straight to the kitchen and prepare dinner. Her mother would be down shortly. Work was very tiring today. And a group of guys from another department had been harassing her the past two months. And lately, their aggressiveness was starting to feel, predatory. Her mother appeared cradling her beloved seven-year-old Persian cat, Belle, in her arms. And like clockwork, she started haranguing her. The litany went on during the setting of the table, all the way through dinner, while she washed the dishes and a parting shot as she went upstairs. “You’re exactly like your faithless father. I should never have given birth to you, you ingrate.” Del quietly went into her room, although she wanted to slam the door once in her life. But for 10 years since her father left them, she had been the perfect daughter. She had provided for her mother, took in every hurtful word, and never once had she answered back. How long could she keep this up? Del shivered. Her window curtains flapped as a gust of wind blew in. She frowned, knowing she closed the windows before leaving for work that morning. She hurried over to close it. As she was doing so, she caught sight of a figure outside, on the street. It had the appearance of a cloaked man. Del squinted her eyes to see better. From the way the shoulders were angled, the man appeared to be looking directly at her. She shuddered. She closed the window, drew the curtains shut, and immediately stepped away. Her body wouldn’t stop trembling. The coldness that was always a part of her grew. SECOND NIGHT Del got home soaking wet from more than the rain that was pouring outside. Her quivering legs were tracking blood. Her corporate uniform was torn, wet, and blood-stained. She could barely open her left eye, which was now blackened and swollen. Every part of her body hurt. She was close to fainting, but through dint of will she kept upright. She could hear her saintly mother moving upstairs. She saw the cat nimbly making its way down the stairs, its yellow eyes fixed on her. Anytime now her mother would appear at the top of the stairs. She thought briefly of hiding, but she couldn’t make herself move. And then she was there. Her mother flew down the stairs. For once, Del felt the coldness leave her. Was that concern she saw in her mother’s eyes? She nearly cried. All through her ordeal, she fought. But she never once cried. The image of her mother racing to her nearly did her in. Tears were starting to form. And then she was there. A resounding slap echoed in the house. It rivaled the thunder overhead that came with it. Whatever tears there were would’ve been mistaken for the rainwater dripping from her head. Her mother didn’t wait for any explanation. She started to accuse her of lustfulness. How she was so much like her father, how she was as wicked, cavorting with any male within the vicinity. Her mother called her a whore. Not once, but many times. Her mother didn’t see her battered face or her violated body. Her mother saw only her father in her. Del didn’t exactly know how she was able to disengage herself from her hysterical mother. But she found herself making her way up to her room. She went into her bathroom and started to clean herself up. She closed her eyes tight as images of her attackers flashed in her head. She should report the incident to the police. She should get help. A sob that nearly escaped turned into a gasp as severe coldness seeped into her bones. She opened her eyes and looked around. One of the bathroom walls looked different. It appeared to have a dark stain on it. The stain got darker. Del instinctively started to move back. The stain detached itself from the bathroom wall, forming into a stygian cloaked figure of a man slowly walking to her. She screamed in terror but the figure kept walking to her. Until complete and utter coldness embraced her. THIRD NIGHT She couldn’t bear to look at her. This daughter she gave birth to. How she looked so much like that man. She should send her after him, she knew. Naming her Delilah turned out to be appropriate. Coming home last night and claiming rape when it was plain to see how she inherited her father’s wickedness. She started to caress the beads of the rosary that was hanging around her neck, as she disdainfully looked at this woman, stirring whatever abomination was in that pot on the stove. Whatever it was, it smelled foul. Where was her beautiful, loyal Belle? She was about to get out of her chair to look for her precious cat when Del finally turned with two bowls in each hand. She placed them on the table and sat opposite her. She could see her daughter’s swollen and bruised face, but it didn’t move her. It only made her angrier. This daughter of hers was quieter than usual, colder than usual. It was no concern of hers. She started to eat. First the broth of the soup, and finally a few bites of meat. Something got stuck in between her teeth, and she tried to pick it out with her fingernails. She found a few strands of golden tan hair. Her hair was black and so was her daughter’s. Whose hair was this? She looked across the table and gasped in horror. Sticking out of Del’s bowl was half the face of her beloved Belle. She screamed and threw anything she could get her hands on at her daughter, calling her a murderess and the spawn of Satan, screaming for help. Then Del looked up at her and she froze. She could see the stark details of coal black, thin and very long, claw-like fingers gripping both Del’s shoulders from behind. Her next horrified scream died in her throat. FOURTH NIGHT The rain was getting weaker. The police was asking the female neighbor for information that might help them with their investigation. A stretcher with a body bag on it was being hefted outside of the house. The neighbor couldn’t add much other than what she thought was a woman screaming the other night, but she couldn’t be sure. It was part of the dead cat being found on their roof that late afternoon that made her knock on her neighbor’s door, that led to the discovery of the gruesome crime. She did tell the police that there was a daughter, whose whereabouts she couldn’t really say. She stopped while telling this and looked across the street. The policeman looked across the street and asked what she saw. The neighbor shook her head and said she thought she saw the daughter with some hooded guy, but whatever she saw was gone. The rain finally stopped pouring.