You Again

by Peggy Nicholson

  “For birthdays, I make time.” Jessica twirled the oven knob, slipped the pizza box inside, straightened to look at her guest.

  Raye stood frozen, staring past her.

  Expecting a rat, a cobra, perhaps an ax murderer, Jessica spun to see. Cattoo crouched on a counter, her tail the size of a bottle brush, eyes like green saucers. Fixed on the psychiatrist.

  “I didn’t know you had a…” Raye’s breathless voice trailed away…

  …As Cattoo’s rose into audibility, just the thread of a moan, weaving a hypnotic little song of menace and fear. Keep back, keep away from me! I have claws. I have teeth.

  Raye backed right out of the kitchen.

  “Raye!” Jessica hurried after her. “She’s very friendly. You just surprised her.”

  “Yeah, that makes two of us!” Raye stood behind the couch, her teeth clenched, eyes riveted on the kitchen door.

  She should have thought—had been so focused on Raye’s invasion, then the reason for it, that she’d forgotten the incident that had made her call Toby in the first place.

  Raye had let her off in front of her town house that night, returning from the Jamaican cafe. Jessica had bounded from the car, grateful to be alive, made it to her door, then hesitated. She should make Raye sleep on the couch, shouldn’t let her drive farther, drunk as she was.

  Too late, she’d turned to the sound of screeching tires. The black Corvette leapt from stillness to speed in one heartbeat, went roaring off into the night. “Raye!” She’d run out into the street to stare after.

  Eyes blazing green in the oncoming lights, a cat crouched in the road.

  “No!” she’d cried, and run, as if she could somehow stop what was coming.

  The cat came to its senses—dived for a car parked alongside the curb.

  And the black car swerved to follow.

  Jessica’s cry had merged with the crack! of metal and the roar of the engine. Taillights zoomed into the distance, two red eyes receding, winking at the corner, rushing off into the dark.

  Panting, she’d knelt by the parked car to peer under. “Kitty? Kiiiii?”

  No cat. And no cat smeared in the roadway.

  No cat thrown into the bushes, though she’d searched the block foot by foot. He’d made it, she concluded thankfully at last. He’d dived under the car, then kept on running, as any sensible cat would. The only damage done was to the parked car. Its sideview mirror lay shattered thirty yards down the street. Raye had cut it that close.

  Jessica had returned to her house, picked up her own cat, marched straight upstairs to call Toby…

  It was only later that she’d begun to doubt what she’d seen. It had happened so fast, after all. And she’d had a drink herself. And perhaps her angle of vision had made it look worse. Or perhaps Raye had never even noticed the cat? That swerve could have been the aftermath of five rum-and-Cokes, not a hatred of fuzzies.

  But now…

  “I should’ve known you’d have a cat.” Raye’s jaw tightened as Cattoo edged into view. Her tail was still puffed, her head stiffly lowered, her ears folded back. As if treading on hot coals, she took three tentative steps along the wall in the direction of the staircase, then froze, eyes fixed on the intruder.

  Perhaps it was the musk in Raye’s perfume that offended? Musk was animal scent, after all. Or maybe Cattoo was reacting to the smell of fear itself. Whatever, Jessica knew better than to pick her friend up at the moment. “She doesn’t meet many strangers.”

  “That figures…” Raye flicked her scowl toward Jessica, then swung her head back to follow Cattoo’s progression toward safety. “Is that the only one you have?”

  “She’s the only one I live with, yes.”

  Cattoo had reached the bottom of the stairs. There she dithered, one paw on the first step, perhaps fearing to turn her back to escape upward.

  “Go on,” Jessica said softly. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid—”

  “Be scared witless!” Raye stamped her boot. “BOO!”

  Inflating with a hiss like a blown airbag, Cattoo shot up the stairs and out of sight.

  “Did you see that?” Raye threw back her head and laughed. “Nyah-nyah-nyah! Scaredy-cat!”

  Jessica wished she’d never opened the door. This was going to be a very long night.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “IT’S ONLY THAT I’m allergic to cats,” Raye said contritely while she opened the wine.

  “Really?” Setting plates on the kitchen table, Jessica didn’t look her way. Raye had none of the signs, no red eyes, no sniffles. No, this was something else, a phobia or, at the very least, a deep-seated distaste.

  Not that distaste was a crime. Who was she to say that Raye should like cats, just because she loved them, but still…“How ’bout a salad for contrast?” For the moment she’d rather stand at the counter chopping vegetables than sit across a table from Raye. Her doubts would show in her face. Sam had always claimed she was transparent as glass, that he could see right through her. And Raye was quite as acute.

  “Super.” Raye brought her a glass brimming with red wine. “Drink up.”

  Jessica smiled and raised it. “Happy fortieth.”

  “Is there such?” Ray made a comical face and drank. “Mmm, not bad.” She licked her upper lip corner to corner.

  It wasn’t bad at all—a big Beaujolais, harsh on the tongue, mellowing as it went down. Jessica preferred something more subtle, a white, generally. She peeled three carrots, the tiny snick of the peeler filling the silence. Still…because you loathed cats, was that any reason to try to kill one?

  You don’t know that she did. Not for sure. But the way she’d looked at Cattoo…

  “This reminds me of a wine we had chartering out of Antigua,” Raye said, holding her glass up to the light. “Every time we sailed down island, we’d buy it by the caseload in Martinique, imported from France. Owner of the boat thought he was some connoisseur.” She laughed softly. “Just for the hell of it, the captain and I bought a case of rotgut red, cost a tenth of what the real stuff cost. We tried cutting the good stuff with the table wine, fiftyfifty, and he and his guests liked that just fine. Meanwhile, back in the galley, we liked the real stuff. So, we ask ourselves, if he can’t tell the difference in the half-blend, will he notice…”

  Jessica switched to her chef knife and chopped hard, drowning the story out. This was what disturbed her about Raye, had disturbed her from the start—listening to the stories. They all had an edge, a cynicism that would have bothered her coming from anybody. But coming from a shrink, a person trained to heal wounded spirits?

  “Hey, don’t you like it?” Raye appeared at her shoulder holding the bottle.

  “Sure I do.” Jessica lifted her glass, took a sip to prove it, set it aside.

  Raye refilled the glass and moved to the oven. “I’ll turn this baby down. Two hundred?”

  “Fine.” Baby…or babe—he’d called her either and both. Stop. Her thoughts ricocheted, to a sea story Raye had told over a last rum-and-Coke at the cafe…

  “Was that boat owner, the wine lover, the same one you lost overboard during the hurricane?” Raye had painted that tale with nostalgic gusto, limning every color and texture of the storm. Jessica could see in her mind’s eye the owner, standing forward, swaying with one elbow hooked around a shroud, silhouetted against elephant-gray seas while he relieved himself over the side of the boat.

  “Had to go forward,” Raye had explained, grinning, “since we were running downwind. One second there he is, giving me a show of his family jewels. Since I’m the one steering, I can’t help but look, and he knows it.

  “The next second I…lose it, can’t—quite—keep the stern square to the wave that’s roaring up our ass. Whoops! Over we go, green water to the midline, and when I get us under control again…” Raye had kissed her fingers, then waggled them goodbye.

  “You didn’t go back for him?” Jessica had whispered, horrified.

  “Kiddo, we had fifty kn
ots plus on the tail! Nobody else was on deck. By the time we could have horsed in the main and turned back…” Raye had shrugged. “And going upwind against those seas, the boat’d never have punched through them.”

  “What about the Coast Guard?”

  Raye had laughed outright. “This is offshore, Jessica, another world. The rules don’t apply. No cops on the corners—nobody out there to pick up the pieces, not within a thousand miles. It’s every man for himself.”

  Or every woman.

  Raye frowned now, repeating, “The same one we lost overboard? Oh—him. No. This was another guy, just as big a loser.”

  Jessica didn’t dare glance at the clock above Raye’s head, but she could feel the second hand jerking slowly round its dial. Move faster, she petitioned it silently, and picked up her glass to help move it along.

  The evening did move, with that disconnected, runningthrough-water quality of a fever dream. They ate the pizza, drank the wine, while Raye spun her outrageous, laughing stories, bright and cruel-edged as shards of broken mirror. Jessica retreated behind a polite smile and let her talk. Soon, very soon, she’d find a kindly way to bring this to a close.

  The kitchen phone rang and Jessica swung to look. Her eyes nailed it, then lost it again, as it reeled farther around the room.

  “Oh, don’t answer that!”

  “No fear. It’ll only be—” Jessica pressed her fingers to her lips. She didn’t want to talk about Sam, not with—

  “Be who?”

  “Be-who, be-who,” Jessica murmured, savoring the sound of that on her tongue. “It behooves me to let the…answering machine find out…who.” She got it out triumphantly, then made a face up at the ceiling.

  Upstairs, the machine must have switched on. The phone went silent.

  “Nut!” Laughing, Raye emptied the bottle into her glass.

  “No.” Jessica shook her head solemnly, and again the room followed the motion. ”I don’t need that.”

  “Who’s talking about need? I needed to turn forty? Like a hole in the head!” Raye lifted her glass. “Forty.”

  Jessica raised her own glass obediently. “Forty.”

  Raye drank deeply. Jessica sat, staring at her uplifted glass. She hated heavy drinking—despised the loss of control that went with it. She’d been confining herself to sips the whole night long. Yet she was feeling as if—

  “Jessica.” Raye’s voice was a laughing purr. “That was a toast.”

  “Oh.” Jessica took a tiny sip, then set the glass at arm’s length.

  “You know—” Raye lounged back in her chair, hands clasped behind her head “—I’d like to hypnotize you sometime.”

  Jessica smiled, shut her eyes, shook her head. “Now why…would I let you do that?” Perhaps that was the secret to dealing with Raye. You had to remember one tiny word. No. No, you can’t come in my house. No, stay out of my head.

  “Ohhh, for the fun of it? And it’s great for tension. You’re always strung tight as a guitar string, girl.”

  Jessica sat, listening to one pure, vibrating note—as if someone’s finger plucked a taut, protesting nerve.

  “Why don’t we try it tonight? “ Raye’s voice was feather soft, inviting.

  I may be drunk, but I’m not crazy. Smiling, eyes closed, Jessica shook her head. “How did you learn hypnotism?” she asked, to change the subject.

  “Would you believe I was a nightclub hypnotist once ’pon a time? You get some stuffy geek up from the audience, you know, to do a striptease, tell his wife who he really loves, bark like a dog…”

  Jessica’s eyes snapped open. “You’re not…serious!”

  Raye’s eyes were black, no line between iris and pupil. “Sure, I’m serious. And you’d believe anything I tell you…won’t you?”

  It was a dare—jump, jump, why don’t you jump? She’d jumped at eight on a dare, broken her arm. Jumped at twenty into Sam’s arms, broken her heart…

  “Won’t you?” Raye repeated, looming ever so slowly closer.

  Jessica closed her eyes. “I won’t.” She held her breath and waited, praying for the phone to ring, for Cattoo to come thumping downstairs. Anything to break this moment of awful, spinning stillness. “I won’t!” she repeated, her voice high as a child’s. And found she’d broken the moment herself. She opened her eyes.

  Raye’s chair creaked as she sat back. “So you won’t,” she agreed, her words without inflection. She gave Jessica her shrug-for-a-smile. “And no, Jessica, I was never really a stage hypnotist. Just kidding.”

  I don’t believe you. Jessica stood—too abruptly. This time the room spun from north to south. Much worse. “Okay.” She flattened her hands on the table to stop its moving. “You know…I don’t…feel very well.” What was wrong with honesty, after all? Nothing, she decided, and clung tight to that notion.

  “You don’t look so well,” Raye agreed. “Time to call it a night. Let’s get you up to bed.”

  Raye in her house was bad enough. Raye upstairs was…unthinkable. “I can manage.” Jessica drifted toward the living room, leaving the shrink to follow.

  “I’m not so sure.” Raye’s laughing voice came close to her ear. “You really packed it away tonight, kiddo.”

  “I didn’t. Had exactly one glass.” She was sure of that. Surely?

  Raye chuckled. “If you say so. All the same, I’m helping you upstairs. You’re not so steady on your pegs.”

  It was true, Jessica realized on a wave of shame. She’d never felt this way before. Hated it. Hated Raye for seeing her brought to this. To be out of control, that was the cardinal sin in her family.

  One step behind, Raye splayed a friendly hand between her shoulder blades and steadied her up the stairs. Shrinking from the woman’s touch, Jessica focused on staying upright, moving deliberately. Then as they neared the landing, she remembered. “Cattoo’s upstairs.”

  Raye stopped. “Your cat…”

  “I can make it from here. Really. I’m all right.”

  “Well…” Raye’s hand eased, then dropped away. “If you’re sure…”

  “Very sure.” Jessica just wanted her gone. She ought to offer her the couch, since Raye had drunk most of the bottle, but she wasn’t going to do that. She wanted her gone.

  “Okay.” Raye withdrew a step, turned to look back. “How do I lock your door?”

  “Turn the button in the handle,” Jessica said gratefully. She’d forgotten that. “Slam it hard, then check to see if it’s caught.”

  “Will do.” Raye stood looking over her shoulder at Jessica a moment, then she started down. “Thanks for the birthday party!”

  “You’re welcome,” Jessica said entirely without irony. Wading through shadows like water, she made the top of the stairs, then paused in the hallway, swaying.

  Below, the lights went out. Then came hard, booted heels, crossing the floor, then the sound of the front door opening. A cool draft riffled up the stairwell. “Night!” Raye whispered from below.

  Jessica made no answer.

  The door shut solidly.

  Thank God. Jessica wobbled into her room and fell across the bed. Whiskers brushed her cheek. Touch of a cool, questing nose. She flung out an arm, hugged squeaking softness, and slept.

  SOMEWHERE, SOMEONE was running a table saw. And doing it poorly. The blade whined, a rising, falling song of protest as the wood was forced in crosswise.

  Sunlight glowed redly beyond her closed lids. What idiot would run a saw at dawn? Jessica opened her eyes to see, and saw candles. On her bureau across the room, their flickering flames doubled in the mirror.

  Inch by inch, she turned her aching head. More candles burned on the bedside table, their flames glimmering off silver—the candelabra that had been a graduation present from her mother.

  The whining song still rose and fell. Who’d run a table saw in her bedroom?

  Beyond the table, something moved in the shadows. Raye Talbot sat in Jessica’s bentwood rocker, rocking gently. Their eyes me
t, and Raye’s smile slowly widened.

  Raye…But this wasn’t the zestful raconteur of Jessica’s kitchen. This was the Raye who stood in an ocean-blue office. The woman of stony stillness and smiling lies.

  Candles…but not the little kind. She ought to blow them all out, anyway. Get her wish this time. Wish Raye out of her bedroom. Wish Sam back in her bed. “It’s not…not your birthday.” Her head hurt when she spoke.

  “Got it in one, kiddo.” Raye rocked, at ease, smiling her smile that was not a smile.

  “And you…did it on purpose.” It felt so good to speak truth at last.

  “Drugged you? Right again.”

  Jessica shook her head, stopped when it hurt. “You drowned that man. Made him fall overboard.”

  Raye’s teeth gleamed in silent laughter. “D’you think? I’ve never been sure about that one myself.” Gently she rocked. “Either way, the prick deserved what he got. And believe me, it was worth it—that look on his face when he went over the side.”

  “And you slashed my tires that time.”

  “You wouldn’t come out for a drink. What’s a girl to do?”

  Still the table saw whined. No. That sound was… “Cattoo!” Jessica tried to sit up—made it halfway, her elbows braced against the mattress. “Where is she?”

  “In your closet. Fuzzy bitch didn’t like my candles.”

  Neither did Jessica. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you to pass out again so I can light your bed.”

  She should be terrified. Wasn’t. Valium, maybe—one of the tranquilizers, anyway. A shrink could prescribe drugs. Raye would’ve had her choice. “Why…would you do that?”

  “Don’t really know.” Her teeth gleamed again. “Professional courtesy?”

  “No, why would you…kill me?” It was so easy to be detached. A stupid, stupid woman lay on the bed, lit by flickering candles. While Jessica Myles cowered in the closet with her moaning cat. I’m not here. This isn’t happening. Not to me.

  “You broke my one rule, Jessica—never let anyone get in your way.” Raye’s hand moved to her hip. “After you asked me about Anne this afternoon, I thought I’d better check.” She drew something from her pocket—a folded envelope. “Too bad you got nosy.”