The weather was great, the blue sky was great, even the greening-up grass was great. I was free! Kyle was horrible, but I just rubbed the scars on my arms and was thankful I only had Kyle to deal with. Dad kept me practicing times tables, but since the beast was gone I could remember things again. He was so pleased with my improvement that he stopped insisting we practice every night. For weeks, life was great, until one night near the end of April. Mom was frantic, with only days left to finish her clients’ tax returns. Dad was tired of doing all the cooking and cleaning, so he’d ordered Indian take-out. I had just served myself a big pile of palao rice and butter chicken when we heard screeching in the garden. We turned to the French doors leading out to the backyard. All we could see was a flurry of movement and then a fluttering of feathers on the deck. “An owl must have caught a bird,” my dad said, turning back to his supper. But I wasn’t so sure. Most of the feathers were black and white and small, like from a chickadee, but one larger feather was soft brown, a lot like the feathers I’d bought for making the beast.
