The Other Part of Me
Chapter 40

Cassie

"Keep, donate or toss?" Cassie held up a pair of white go-go boots that were found in the back of Aunt Marie's closet. Marie cringed. "I forgot I still had those."

Cassie stood up from the floor and dropped herself on her aunt's queen bed. "What I want to know is why you have these. They had to be well before your time."

Marie put her sandy brown hair in a ponytail. "My ex bought them for me," she folded a sweater before dropping it in the 'Donate' box. "He had a thing for go-go dancers."

"Which ex?" Cassie asked, knowing majority of her aunt's dating history. She wanted to put a face to the bad-taste-in-women's- footwear.

"Dylan." Marie reached for another article of clothing to fold.

"Ooooooh, Dylaaaaaaaan!" Cassie repeatedly, "Oh, I liked him. He was dreamy." She was a teenager when Dylan frequented their home. He was her first man-crush with his curly brown hair and silver eyes. He was the first guy she ever thought looked good in a full beard.

"Oh, yeah, he was very good looking." Marie agreed. "His wife made sure to let me know she thought so, too." Cassie noticed the next article of clothing was thrown in the box with a bit more force than the rest of the items Marie had placed in there.

Cassie gasped. "He was married?!" She stood to help Marie with the folding. "I always wondered why he stopped coming by."

"Married with at least two other extra-curricular relationships, I found out." She grabbed her niece by the shoulders, spinning her back towards her earlier task, nudging her with a gently shove. "Help me clear the floor. I don't want to take more things to the new apartment than I actually have to."

"Mmmm, do you think bad taste in men is contagious?" Cassie asked resuming her position next to the bypass sliding doors.

"Considering your dating history challenges mine, I'll say it's hereditary more than anything else."

Cassie smiled. She missed her aunt's twisted sense of humor. She pulled the last shoe box from the back of the closet. From the bed's vantage point, it just looked like a regular cardboard box but now that she was close to it, she was able to read the lettering.

She let out a whistle, "Louboutin's, Marie? You were holding out on me," Cassie opened the lid. Instead of replaceing the sex-on-a-stiletto-stick heels with the red sole she was expecting to see, she found a frosted garment bag. "What is this?" She asked curiously picking up the flaccid bag with both hands.

"I don't have Louboutin's," Marie stated as she turned around. Her eyes focused on the item her niece laid flat on the floor and was now unzipping. Frozen in place, she yelled out, "No, don't open that!"

Cassie had already unzipped the bag. She looked at her aunt. "It's just a pretty, pink cardigan, see for yourself." Cassie pulled it from the untouched tomb it had inhabited for who knows how many years. She held it up by the shoulders for her aunt to see. As the article of clothing unfolded itself with the help of gravity, its sleeves dangled downwards until they were left hanging and fully exposed.

"Oh, Cassie," Marie covered her face with her hand. "I didn't want you to see that, baby. I'm sorry." Marie sat herself down on the bed, still not bringing herself to look back at it.

Cassie frowned. She turned the sweater. There was a pattern like a Jackson Pollock splatter painting on the lower, frontal part of the sweater, as well as the bottom of the left sleeve. "Is that blood?" She looked at her aunt. "Marie, what is this?" She asked perplexed. "Who's blood is this?"

Marie's eyes were still cast downwards. She placed an open hand over her heart.

Cassie ran her hand down the bloodied sleeve, caressing the dried liquid which had hardened the softness of the sweater wherever it had met the knit-cotton material. "It's mom's blood." She said matter-of-factly.

Her aunt's reaction at the sight and the lack of a response were enough to confirm this.

She smelled the sweater. Although it was very faint, she was able to pick up the iron in the old blood as well as a clean scent that vaguely existed in her early memories.

As if reading her thoughts, her aunt finally spoke. "It used to smell like your mom. That's why I kept it." Marie stood, turning away from Cassie and the offensive sight of the sweater. "It took me a month to realize how morbid it was to keep it, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away."

Seeing the obvious distress her aunt was in at the sight of the cardigan, Cassie gently folded it and lovingly placed it inside the box without the garment bag. She put the lid back in place and walked to her aunt's side.

"Marie, I know I've never asked you, but just this once," she grabbed her by the hand. "Can you please tell me about her death?" She loved her aunt so much, she knew talking about the day her little sister was killed would be hard for her. Cassie didn't really know her mom so her loyalty had always been with Marie, but just today, she would allow that loyalty to stray. Marie sighed. She rested her temple against Cassie's. "Are you sure you want to hear this, baby?" She asked softly. "It's not pretty." Cassie nodded. "Only time I'll ever ask you, I promise." She wrapped her arms around her aunt's shoulders and kissed the side of her hair. Marie nodded. "We should probably sit, it's not for the weak."

Both ladies sat on the edge of the bed. Marie kept her gaze on her lap. "It happened one night after Diana picked you up from the babysitter's after work. All the police were able to piece together was that once your mom parked in front of the apartment building you lived in, an animal entered through the passenger side window and attacked your mom right away. She was able to exit the car and was trying to open the passenger door to get to you when the animal pounced on her, sinking its teeth into her neck, tearing it-" she stopped. Tears started rolling down her face. "I'm sorry, baby."

Cassie wiped her aunt's tears with her bare hands. "It's okay. I don't want to hear anymore either." She whispered. By this time, a few tears ran down Cassie's face as well. She stood up, going back to the closet and grabbing the box from the floor.

She caressed the lid, repeatedly. She decided then she would take the sweater back to the Bloodstones and burn it there, to spread its ashes on the same territory where her father had wanted her to call home.

So the three of them could be together where they always belonged.

She stood. "Marie," she turned to her aunt, "Were they able to tell what kind of animal attacked her?"

Marie looked at Cassie sadly. "The police report said it was a wolf attack."