Without Remorse

Excited meowing had her lifting her head and looking up. Then her eyes widened.

“No, Ramona, don’t!”

But Sloane didn’t scramble to her feet quickly enough. Ramona was heading straight for the open door.

“Stop. Ramona!”

But the box of groceries was between Sloane and the doorway and by the time she stumbled around it, Ramona had already bolted through the door.

“Ramona!” Sloane shouted, grabbing the doorframe with one hand and reaching out uselessly with the other. “No. Come back!”

Ramona streaked across the yard and up a tree. Sloane could only watch in horror as Ramona’s swinging tail disappeared into the darkness of the tree branches.

Sloane’s hand frantically searched for the switch to the outside light. She finally got it flipped on just in time to see the midsize dogwood tree in her front yard start to shake. Ramona let out an ungodly cat screech, and the branches shook more, snow tufting down.

“Mona!” Sloane screeched. “Get back in here right now!” Sloane called. Ramona didn’t respond to the authority she tried to put in her voice. Maybe because even the cat could tell Sloane was more terrified than authoritative. Or she was too busy with whatever was making her continue to howl and rustle the tree.

“Ramona!”

Oh God.

Sloane needed to go out there. She needed to stop whatever was happening. She had to get Mona back.

“Ramona!” Sloane yelled, louder. It was snowing and that meant it was freezing. More like ten below, taking the wind chill into consideration. Stupid cat, why had she run out there in the first place?

Ramona let out another terrified screech that had Sloane’s heart in her throat. She clutched the doorframe, her nails digging into the wood. Shit, no, she didn’t mean it. Ramona wasn’t stupid, she was amazing.

Sloane was the stupid one. She usually made sure Ramona was shut away before she opened the front door. Ramona was too curious for her own good. Why had Sloane forgotten this time? Stupid, stupid.

Another yeowl, and the tree shook so much that larger and larger snow tufts fell to the ground. Ramona and some other animal in the tree were making a real racket.

Sloane put her hand over her eyes as if that would help her see into the dark night to see what the hell was going on in the top of the tree, but of course it didn’t help.

Shit. SHIT.

Sloane just needed to go outside and bring Ramona back.

It was that simple.

Simple.

Okay.

Her fingers were already white-knuckled from her grip on the doorframe.

Because going outside was the one thing she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do in the last six years.

Agoraphobia. That’s what the shrinks called it.

Sloane preferred to just think of herself as an extreme homebody. It wasn’t a big deal. Her life was great. She never felt disabled.

Until it came to something like this. She loved Ramona. And it wasn’t safe out there for her. She could get lost. If she was out too long in this weather, she’d get frostbite on her ears. Not to mention that whatever was in that damn tree didn’t sound friendly.

Was Sloane really going to let her suffer just because she was afraid of having a panic attack?

She squeezed her eyes shut and moved one foot to step onto the small stoop outside her front door.

“You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “It’s just your front yard.”

She bit her lip hard, clung even harder to the doorframe, and moved her front toe out into the space beyond the front door. Her chest immediately cinched up tight.

It was the first step that was the hardest, right?

God, the wind was so icy. Sloane hated winter. There were enough things to be afraid of in the world without nature trying to kill you too.

“I’m coming, Ramona,” she said confidently. She felt confident.

She could do this.

Of course she could. She always told herself she could go out if she ever really needed to. There just hadn’t been any incentive.

But here it was. A reason. The best reason. To help her best friend.

She lifted her right foot into the air and shoved it out the door.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Now step.”

She blinked and stared at her raised foot. “Step down.” She held onto the door frame, feeling ridiculous with her foot lifted. “Oh my God, just take the freaking step!”

But then an insidious little voice asked, remember what happened last time?

The last time she’d tried to leave the house was three years ago, right after her great aunt Trish died. Sloane had made it as far as the front porch before a panic attack had her curled in a ball on the ground and crawling back to the safety of the house like a dog.

Her chest went tight again at the memory. Like her lungs were being squeezed and she couldn’t get any new air in.