Patricia Jane Recruitment

## Recruitment: Time to Torture

She wandered to the quiet little chapel on the hill. Usually no one would be there. Even if there was someone, the girls at the posh boarding school tended to respect each others privacy there. It was where you went to figure out the things that you couldn't in the hallways and sleeping dorms crowded with chattering girls. The burned out candles and wilted flowers on the stone slab attested to this. Miffy was the only one who didn't care if there was someone else. The fat, fluffy tabby owned by miss Cauthon, the cook, considered it her territory She had found her perfect nooks and crannies there, in the first sun in the spring, cool in the shade on the marble floor in the summer and lots of cuddles by visiting schoolgirls. The cat was missing though, today. She had been for a few days now. Miss Cauthon didn't really care, the cat went on excursions regularly. She hadn't noticed any differences this time. Matrim junior, her eight-year-old son was worried though. Patricia had heard him pleading anxiously for a search the day before. Patricia knew exactly where to find the cat though.

She put down her bag on the grey stone steps. Staring at the lovely rolling landscape behind the school, without seeing anything. To deep inside her own mind. Was she really going to go through with this? A muffled meow woke her from her contemplations. The meows grew louder and more frantic. Did she calculate it wrongly? The thermometer method should have been scientifically accurate.

Patricia took some cat food out of the bag. Underneath a bunch of old towels, her sharp little sewing scissors tinkled against the steak knife borrowed from the school diner. She hoisted herself up the roof. Hidden behind the balustrade, so she could not be seen from outside, she looked at the cat.

Mother nature was indeed faster then she had calculated. There was already some blood. But she was still in time. The cat's meows turned into shrieks and howls. Like the shrieks of a baby in distress, or a woman. Patricia remembered how she sneakily pinched toddlers so her sister could get the wallets of the distracted mothers. That was really funny. But she was little then. Now her methods are more refined.

She had been waiting for it for weeks. Giving up this week of spring holiday with her sister and staying here to `study'. Which was not completely untrue. There would be no better empirical lesson in biology. The obligatory frog to disect in class didn't compare to this.

There it was. Miffy's first kitten was born. It was white as snow, eyes closed, as adorable as can be. For something covered in blood, that is. Patricia watched, enchanted. Softly stroking momma's head and whispering encouragements. Four more came. Two black, one tabby. Happily lying against their mother, who was still working hard. The last one was white again. But this one was different. Smaller. Miffy was not interested in it. Patricia hesitated. And broke open the amniotic sac herself, holding the little one for Miffy's nose. Miffy ignored it. Patricia frantically started to rub it with a towel, to stimulate breathing. All that reading about cats giving birth came in handy. The kitten started to breath. She puts in in front of Miffy again. Miffy starts licking it. No, she bites. Hard. The kitten gives a small pityfull meep. Patricia pulls it away frantically. Panicking about what to do. Run to the school? To far away. Let it die? The kitting gives tiny sounds, struggling to breath again. It clearly is in pain. A lot of pain. Then, still hidden behind the balustrade, she notices little Matrim coming to the chapel. The other kittens and Miffy are meowling louder and louder. Just a few more meters and Matron would hear it. Patricia takes the steakknife and holds in front of the little kitten. Patricia looks at the little boy walking towards her. And at the kitten struggling for its life. She knows it will fail. When Matrims head tilts up as if she hears a sound, Patricia quickly plunges the knife into the kittens heart. The kitten gives one last meep.

Matrim! Patricia calls. Matrim, up here! I've found Miffy. You should see this. Wait a second and I'll come down and help you up. With trembling fingers Patricia frantically tries to stuff the kitten in a towel and in her bag. Once it's in, she climbs down and helps little Matrim safely up onto the roof. The boy is enchanted by the little kittens and chatters about names for them. Patricia keeps her bag close to her, dreading the blood would leak throug. Together with a very happy Matrim they brainstorm about kittennames. After some time she convinces the boy he has to go back for lunch. And to run ahead to tell the good news. Patricia hastily hides her bag in a convenient bush.

Miss Cauthon serves tomatosoup. Since it is a holiday, the dining hall is empty and everyone, including the cook just sits together. Matrim is exitedly chattering about how incredibly cute the five kittens are. And what would be good names. One of course should be called Patricia, he decides. Patricia manages to steer it to Patty. Mister Branson, the mathteacher, joins the happy banter. Patricia, staring at the deep red soup, pretends she's enjoying the chatter. The wholesome, familylike atmosphere is helping her to actually enjoy it a little. She wonders how Matrim would have behaved now, had she gone through with her initial plans. How guilty she would have felt right now. Staring at the red tomatosoup does not help. She's grateful to little Matrim because he arrived just in time.

After lunch, she starts walking again. Her mind is in turmoil. She picks up the bag with the dead kitten and just wanders through the woods. Past the recently dug cat-sized hole. Past the hollow tree that holds the necessaties for a fire, a small bottle of chlorine and some garbagebags. Far away from the school she digs another hole with her bare hands, where she buries the kitten, never even daring to open the towel it was rolled in. She puts some stones in her bloodied bag and throws it into a pond. She goes back to the hollow tree to clean the steakknife with the chlorine before she puts it back in the dining hall.

Mr Branson notices his star pupil coming out of the woods. He walks in the woods and the hills daily himself. He claims there is something about the shape of trees that makes math easier to comprehend. He has noticed the recently dug hole that is still empty. The filled up hollow tree that now holds a little less chlorine. And the sudden and recent walks of his brightest student. He doubts that she's trying to improve her math by looking at trees. He has seen her struggle. Seen how she hides how much she likes the bloody tv-series about a sadistic serial killer. How she pretends the late night discovery channel shows about real serial killers is only on because she forgot to turn of the telly while reading a book. He has contacted his handlers of the NWO, to see if they can help. It would be a waste if all that potential joined the dark side. They advise him to to get her psychological help.

After her walk, Patricia excuses herself for tea with the excuse that she wants to study in her room. Mr. Branson brings up a tray for her. He knocks.

`I've brought your tea, Patricia. You can't study well if you don't take care of yourself.'

Patricia opens the door. `Thank you mr. Branson. That really was not nece....'

She falls silent when she sees what's on the plate. Besides the tea and biscuits, there is a steakknife and the bottle of chlorine.

`What does that mean?' she tries to say, but her voice trembles.

`I think you know. I think it's time you speak to a psychologist. Don't you agree?'

...

Mr Branson walks down again, leaving alonePatricia with her thoughts. He is certain she will make an appointment. Little Matrim bumps into him. `I'm sorry!. Do you know what the last kitten is called? Brann, cause you said if I was that worried, I should go to the chapel this morning.'