AGAMEMNON.
A peeling sticker along the bottom announced him in green marker pen in crowded, boyish lettering. The Murderer knew the name.
Next, on the eroded couch, asleep between the remote and a dirty sock, was a big grey brute of a cat: a tabby with giant black paws and a tail like an exclamation mark, who went by the name of Hector.
On many counts, Hector was the most despised animal in the house, and today, even in such heat, he was curled up like a furry fat C, except for his tail, which was stuck into him like a shaggy sword. When he changed positions, fur flew off him in droves, but he slept on, undiminished, and purring. Someone need only go near him to set the motor running. Even murderers. Hector was never very discerning.
Last, on top of the bookshelf, sat a long, large birdcage.
Inside it was a pigeon, waiting sternly still but happy.
The door was completely open.
Once or twice, when he stood and walked, his purple head bobbed with great economy, he moved in perfect rhythm. That was what the pigeon did, each and every day, as he waited to perch on Tommy.
These days we called him Telly.
Or T.
But never, no matter the occasion, his full, infuriating name:
Telemachus.
God, how we hated Tommy for those names.
The single reason he got away with it was that we all understood:
That kid knew what he was doing.
* * *
—
A few steps in now, the Murderer looked.
This appeared to be the lot:
One cat, one bird, one goldfish, one murderer.
And the mule, of course, in the kitchen.
A pretty undangerous bunch.
In the weird light, in the hung heat, and amongst the other articles of the lounge room—a used and abused old laptop, the coffee-stained couch arms, the schoolbooks in cairns on the carpet—the Murderer felt it loom, just behind his back. The only thing it didn’t do was say boo:
The piano.
The piano.
Christ, he thought, the piano.
Wooden, walnut and upright, it stood in the corner with its mouth closed and a sea of dust on top:
Deep and calm, sensationally sad.
A piano, that was all.
If it seems innocuous enough, think again, for his left foot began to twitch. His heart ached with such force that he could have burst back out the front door.