The expensive mistake.

Mister Fuzz

Eric adjusted his collar as he stepped into Tricelle's apartment. The familiar scent of spring flowers were heavy in the air, but beneath it lurked something metallic and bitter—blood. His heart raced, not from fear but from the sheer weight of what had happened.

A sliver of bright light swept in, where the window should have been.

Eric had stayed with Tricelle the whole night until the morning sun had risen. It angered him that Anne and her mother didn’t even bother to check up on Tricelle. This was deeply concerning to Eric.

“The Detectives say we have an hour,” Anton said behind Eric. Eric was sure Anton had to pull a few strings so that they could visit the crime site, but he didn’t care; he needed to see what happened for himself.

A few steps into Tricelle’s apartment Eric froze, He found himself staring at the pool of blood near the fridge and the window.

“There was no forced entry, the lock wasn’t even picked,” Anton said while inspecting the front door.

“So he had a key…” Eric said tearing his eyes off the red. He turned his gaze to the vintage-style kitchen, he smiled for a moment at her taste. Usually business women had expensive taste and even hired people to decorate their places, he could clearly see that Tricelle did her own decorating. Every piece of furniture was surely hand-picked by her.

Anton stepped cautiously toward the broken window, The scene before him twisted his gut into knots. Looking down on the street below, the blood had been washed off, but traces of the attacker were clearly visible.

“She is brave,” Anton said in a soft voice.

“Yes, It takes a lot for someone with her size, to push a full-grown man,” Eric said as he clenched his fists, willing himself to stay calm.

Eric moved around the kitchen observing, tracking the blood drops.

“Seems that she was stabbed here,” Eric said standing near the fridge. Shifting his attention to the rest of the apartment, Eric noticed that all the other rooms were untouched. He moved to Tricelle’s bedroom.

“Remember we are looking for anything related to a Mister Fuzz,”

Eric said as he opened her nightstand, looking through it carefully, he smiled when he saw her books and some lotion. Eric took the lotion and smelled it before he placed it back.

“Who is Mister Fuzz?” Anton asked curiously, joining Eric in the bedroom.

As soon as the words left Anton’s lips, a whimpering sound filled the room.

Both of them stood silently, staring at each other.

“Mister Fuzz,” Eric said loudly.

A soft squealing sound came from the closet again.

“Is that a cat?” Anton asked curious, walking to Eric’s side.

“I don’t know…” Eric said confused. “Mister Fuzz,” he said again.

The cat immediately meowed again.

Eric had always disliked cats, finding them sneaky and unpredictable, but at that moment, he couldn’t help but feel a strange connection with the creature. The cat had been alone, and his owner was hurt.

“Let’s find this Mister Fuzz,” Eric said worried.

Eric walked slowly toward the closet, then his eyes caught the grey fur ball, he was in a corner staring wide-eyed at Eric as he approached.

Its blue eyes bore into him, wide and terrified; he was left alone in a world that had suddenly shifted without warning.

Eric squatted down, trying to make himself appear less threatening. The cat hissed and retreated further into the shadows, its frame trembling. “Easy there, buddy,” he murmured. “I’m not here to hurt you Mister Fuzz.”

Anton watched over Eric's shoulders.

“I thought you hated cats?”

“This is her cat, there is a difference.”

Eric turned his attention back to the scared animal.

“Mister Fuzz, it’s okay,”

Eric said feeling sad that the cat was so afraid, the cat let out a soft whimper. It had ventured out from its hiding place cautiously, still low to the ground but no longer hissing. It was frightened but also desperate for comfort.

“Hey, big guy,” Eric said, softening his tone. “I know this is scary, but I’m going to make it better. Somehow.”

He reached out a hand cautiously, palm up, inviting the creature closer. After a moment that felt like an eternity, the cat took a hesitant step forward, then another, and soon, it was nuzzling against his leg.

“So Mister Fuzz is a fat grey cat,” Anton said, watching the cat nuzzle against Eric’s leg.

“Mister Fuzz is a cat… I thought it was code for something.” Eric said, softly stroking the cat.

Picking up the whimpering cat Eric noticed that the back leg was limp, he frowned. The cat had been kicked or something.

“We need to get this cat, to a vet immediately,” Eric said seriously.

Anton scanned the room, “don’t you want to look for anything that can help us narrow down the connection between the attacker and the Red Horse?”

“No, this cat was important to Tricelle, it was the first words she spoke when she regained consciousness, so we are talking the big guy to the vet,” Eric said in a stern voice.

***

It had been five days since Tricelle’s attack, and she was still in a semi-coma. He visited every day to check up on her, but the more he visited the angrier he got at the remaining family members of the Wincher family. None of them had even visited Tricelle.

Eric had asked the doctor to call him as soon as they showed up, he wanted to have a few words with them.

For the next few days, Eric learned everything about Tricelle Wincher when he was home. He needed to know if there could be another reason why The Red Horse mob would target her. As he sat there, studying her smile in countless photographs, a sensation began to unfurl within him. It began as a fleeting notion, but quickly consumed him: he was falling for her. This realization sent shivers down his spine.

His world was laden with danger and deception, a place where emotions were a liability, yet Tricelle’s essence pierced through his steely exterior. He found himself captivated not just by her beauty, but by her spirit—a light that taunted the shadows surrounding him.

The more he learned about her the more he wanted to know, she was truly an amazing person, he felt drawn to her.

As the hours passed, his fascination deepened into something heavier. For once, Eric found himself, hunched over his laptop, combing through social media profiles and interviews, piecing together Tricelle’s life. He discovered her passion for horse riding, her love for animals, and an undeniable empathy reflected in her interactions with people and charities.

Each revelation was like a brushstroke, coloring in the canvas of his heart.

Time slipped away as Eric lost himself in thoughts of Tricelle. Just as he pondered how someone as vibrant as she could ever fit into his world, he felt a soft nudge against his leg.

He looked down to find the cat, Mister Fuzz, pawing at him insistently, his bright blue eyes mirroring Eric's own internal struggle.

“Hey, buddy,”

he chuckled softly, breaking the tension in the room.

With a swift motion, Eric picked him up, cradling the feline in his arms. “You seem to be feeling better today.”

Fuzz purred loudly, nuzzling against Eric’s chest, demanding attention with every inch of his furry form. His leg had been broken and the cast was covering his fragile leg, giving him some restricted movement.

A knock on the door drew Eric’s attention. Anton stood in the doorway, with two coffees and a folder of papers under his arm.

“Maybe it’s time I let someone in,” Anton murmured looking at his friend’s face as he stroked the cat.

“Any news?” Eric asked ignoring Anton’s comment.

“Yes, I believe you're holding a local hero in your hands,” Anton said with a grin.

Eric raised his brow.

Anton placed the coffee in front of Eric and then he opened the folder revealing the coroner’s report. The horrid photos of the body of the attacker and of his death lay visible in front of Eric.

“It seems that this prick had feline bite marks and claw marks on both his legs,” Anton said with a smile.

Eric gave a low chuckle looking at the fluffy cat,

“So you’re going to be one of my bodyguards for Tricelle.”

Anton’s phone vibrated in his pocket drawing Eric’s attention. Anton quickly checked it and locked eyes with Eric.

“She’s awake.”