You Again

by Peggy Nicholson

  Forehead pressed to the glass, heart sinking, Jessica clutched at her failing wits and fading energy. Something… must do something. Break the glass? Not possible—it was double-paned. Find a phone, call 911? Right, they’d listen to a cat. Gotta do something. Instead, she was sucked softly, slowly, irresistibly down into echoing darkness. Oh, Sam…Sam…Sam Antonio mio.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CLAWING BLINDLY UP from a pit of blackness, Jessica reached the top, then forced open her eyes. Beyond the windowpane, Sam sat motionless in his chair, his hands flattened on the table as if for balance.

  Where’s Raye? Hope shot up like a bottle rocket, then fizzled as Raye entered the kichen from the direction of the living room. She glided across to a cabinet, removed objects, returned to place on the table a candelabra holding four half-burned candles.

  Oh, no. Jessica scrabbled at the glass. No.

  “You know your way around,” Sam said heavily while she switched off the lights.

  “I’ve been here before, Sam. Harold Neuman was a… friend of mine.” A match sparked, burst into flame in the darkness. Raye sat holding it, her black eyes reflecting the fire. “That’s better, isn’t it? I love candles… flames…heat…don’t you?” When he nodded, she touched the match to a candlewick. Flame flickered, then danced straight and true. “So tell me, Sam…who put that cat in my office yesterday?” She blew out the match and watched him through a veil of smoke.

  “Yesterday?” Sam frowned. “Yesterday…she strayed out of Jess’s room. Was loose in the hospital for hours. She went to…your office?”

  Raye struck a second match, held it up. “I don’t believe in accidents. So tell me, Sam, who put her there, and why?”

  This is the flip side of evil, Jessica realized, her nose pressed to the glass. Expecting evil to be done in return. Paranoia, you wolf. Do you see enemies, wherever you look?

  “If she went to your office, she must’ve had a reason.” Sam swiped a hand up through his hair, shook his head. “Beats me. Crazy cat.”

  Raye grimaced and set the match to candle. Flame guttered, then rose. “So tell me, who have you met since you’ve come here?”

  “Mac, Caroline—Jess’s receptionist. Mary, Fisher, Myles. Jez, but I…I knew her already.”

  Yes, you know me, Jessica thought, shivering in the wind. Deep down you’ve known me all along.

  Raye blew out the second match, gazed narrow-eyed through its rising smoke. “Tell me, Sam. Which one of them is helping you?”

  “Mmm, Mac helped me find this apartment. Fisher’s no help at all, blast him. Mary tried t’take the cat off my hands, but now I know that wouldn’t have helped—I’m good as married to the critter.”

  A match ripped into flame. Raye leaned across the table to hold it before his eyes. “Tell me, Sam. Who helped you today? Who was out front nosing around my computer, while you distracted me in my office?”

  “Jez messed with your computer?” Sam tipped back his head and laughed. “Damn cat! She’s been after mine for days. Wonder what she—”

  Raye blew out the flame, threw the match on the floor. She struck the next match under his nose. “TELL ME. Who’s your accomplice? Not the damned cat, what person is helping you?”

  “Jess. Jess in a fur coat.” Sam pushed his glass to one side. It tipped off the table and shattered. “Oops.”

  “Look at me, Sam—at me. Jessica’s in a coma. Tell me who helped you.“

  Slowly he shook his head. “Jess’s right here, watching you, watching me, giving me holy hell for talking with you.”

  Yes, yes, yes! Jessica beamed, her paws flattened to the glass. So throw her out.

  “I give up!” Raye lit the last candle and blew out the match.

  “That’s good. ‘Cause we’re goin’ to bed now. It’s been one helluva day.” Sam stood, opened the window.

  Jessica scrambled up into his arms, wrapped her paws around his neck. “So throw her out, Sam. Now/”

  But Raye had already gathered her purse and her jacket. “Don’t bother seeing me out, Sam. I know the way.”

  “That’s right.” He swayed dizzily, and his hands tightened on Jessica. “Then we’re off to bed. Blow out those candles, will you?”

  “See her out, Sam! Make sure she goes!”

  He didn’t. He ambled off to the bathroom, his fingers clamping on her scruff when she tried to wriggle out of his arms to see for herself. He shut the door, then dumped her on the counter. “Whew, fur-ball, don’t know what was wrong with that pizza, but I’m gonna be sick.”

  He was.

  Good. Shivering on the counter, Jessica stared from Sam to the door and back. Good, get it out. Though much of whatever Raye had given him had clearly hit his bloodstream already. Still. Nerves twanging, fur standing on end, she jittered while Sam brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, picked her up and hit the lights.

  Listen to me, she pleaded. Raye’s out there, I’m sure of it. Out there with a hammer. Sam, don’t—

  He opened the door—on blackness. Every light in the apartment was out. Her claws dug into his shoulders. Don’t go out there, Sam. Don’t.

  “What’s the matter, babe, scared of the dark? I’m with you.” He shuffled along the hall, one hand hugging her, the other brushing the wall.

  Even a cat can’t see without some light, but she tried, staring back over his shoulder, her ears swiveling, straining to catch the sound of eager breathing above her own hammering heart.

  They made it to the door.

  No lock on it, Jessica thought as he pulled it shut behind them. I wish we could lock it. Maybe pile furniture up against it? No, it opened outward, and maybe Raye was here already, waiting in the room.

  They made it to the bed.

  Cradling her to his chest, Sam sat, then toppled slowly backward. Don’t sleep, Sam. Don’t! But he sighed contentedly, Jess rising and falling on his chest as he breathed, then his breathing deepened. Too deep, too slow—drugged.

  Or poisoned? Trembling, she lay frozen, her ears flinching at every sound. If I could get to the phone in the living room…She jumped violently out from under his hands, landed, hissing, as, from the hallway, she heard a soft, sliding step. Oh, God, here she comes.

  Spinning around, she drove her claws into his shoulders. Sam, wake up. Here she comes!

  He grunted and rolled to his side. She nailed his bicep— he yelped, jerked half-upright—pushed her off the bed.

  Out in the hall, a gentle tapping sounded. Metal on wood.

  What’s she…?

  Again the tapping came, then again. And then suddenly, horribly, Whock! Whock! Whock! Steel clanging hollowly on steel—a hammer pounding a nail. Then another, and another.

  Oh, god. And so now she knew. Somehow it was almost a relief. Raye wasn’t coming through that doorway with hammer upraised. But then, they weren’t going out. She was nailing blocks of wood to the floor along the base of the door. Me, she locked in. But here she knew there wasn’t a lock, so she came prepared. Next would come fire.

  Jessica leapt onto the mattress again. Up, Sam! Get up! There was always the window. Six stories high. No fire escape on this side of the building. Up! Help me!

  The magic words with Sam. He grunted and struggled to his elbows. “Wha—? Jess-baby?”

  “If you’re awake, Sam,” Raye called beyond the door. “Here’s your last chance.”

  “What the hell—” Sam rolled off the bed and staggered toward her voice.

  “Never mind, Sam! There’s no way she’ll let us go after this. We have to…” Jessica swatted his calves, but he was at the door, turning the knob, then shoving. It wouldn’t budge.

  “So you are awake.” Raye laughed. “Listen up, beefcake, here’s your final chance.”

  “What are you—” Sam threw his shoulder against the door and bounced back.

  “I found two pages of my special file in your cat bag, Texas. Tell me who put them there. Who’s helping you? Tell me that and I’ll let you out.”
<
br />   “Are you crazy?” Sam stopped shoving and leaned his forehead against the oak. “Nobody put anything in the cat carrier. Listen, I think there was something bad in that pizza. If you’re feeling funny, then—”

  “I’m feeling fine, Texas, if a bit irritated. Nobody gets in my way. I told Jessica that, and now I’m telling you. Now…if you don’t want to star at your own Texas barbecue, Tex, you better tell me—who broke into my computer? Who knows about me…besides you?”

  “Open the door and let’s talk ’bout this. Raye? My God!“ he whispered.

  “Have you ever seen one of these old mills burn, Sam? We lose about one a year around here. There’s a hundred years of oil and grease soaked down in their beams and flooring. They burn like the wrath of God. Every fire department in the state comes out for the party, but they burn, baby. They burn till the stones melt and they see the smoke in Boston. No one will ever be sure you were even in here, you and your bitch cat. That’s what you want? Now tell me.”

  “God,” he whispered. “You hurt Jess, didn’t you, you crazy bitch?” Then, “Open the door and I’ll tell you.” He stumbled back to the bed to grab two pillows. Returning, he stuffed them along the crack below the door, then switched on the light. His head tipped back as his eyes followed the door’s perimeter while his fingers traced it. The movement made him dizzy; he clutched at the knob to stay upright. “Be glad to tell you.”

  Hinges on the other side, Jessica noted despairingly, and it was built solid. They’d never break it down, not in time.

  “Right, sweet cakes. If that’s the line you’re taking, then we’ve got nothing more to chat about. So I’ll find out for myself. This should smoke whoever-it-is out in the open, don’t you think?”

  I’ve killed you, Sam. Jessica tagged his unsteady steps to the window. You and Cattoo. Curiosity’s supposed to kill the cat, not everyone the cat loves. Oh, Sam!

  He shoved open the lower sash of the window and leaned out. A cold wind blowing off the bay rushed inward. Wind…wind would fan the flames. She leapt to the sill beside him as Sam stared left, then right, then twisted to look overhead.

  “Well, toodle-loo, gorgeous,” Raye called through the door. “I’m off to start a grease fire. Enjoy.”

  Jessica crowded to Sam’s elbow and peered down. Her stomach plummeted—elevator in free-fall. Below was only the sheer drop, six stories to the pavement. The street itself was badly lit, utterly deserted this time of night.

  “Hey, look at this.” Sam caught her up, cuddled her in his arms. “Cat highway.” He leaned out so she could see. Below the granite sill, a narrow, decorative ribbon of stone ran along the building.

  The ledge was precisely two inches wide. “Oh, no, Sam!”

  “Oh, yes, you can do it. You’re a cat—piece of cake. Follow that around the building—it should reach the fire escape. Go down, jump to the top of my car, get yourself a life. Find some nice tomcat—”

  “I don’t want a stupid tomcat, I want you!” She was crying, cats couldn’t cry, but still the tears fell. She pressed her face to his bicep. ”No, Sam.”

  “Yes, baby. I’d come too, if I could, but…” His hands smoothed down her body and his lips brushed her ears. “Anyway, I never liked heights.”

  “You never…You mean all those times you teased me… Damn you, Sam, you can make it!” But he swayed, then bumped heavily against the sill.

  “Get going, and don’t you worry about me. I won’t be bored. I’ve got this sky hook to build, or maybe a glider. Or maybe I’ll just sit here, chunk lamps and stuff at the passing cars.”

  “There aren’t any cars! Sam, let me stay!” She put a paw to his cheek as he lifted her up to his face. “Sam, I love you.”

  “I know you do, babe.” Nose touch—eyes holding, hearts fast. “I know you do.” He juggled his hold on her, then gathered her up, one hand under her ribs, the other gripping her tail. Braced on his elbows, ignoring her cries, he leaned out over cold, yawning space to set her on the ledge. Gradually his fingers withdrew, till only his fingertips pressed her against the stone. “Now beat your cat feet on outta here. Take a right at that corner, a right at the next, and you’re home free.”

  “Sam-”

  “And if a cat attention span stretches more than five minutes, once you get there you might consider finding a phone, and dialin’ 911. Just a thought.” He smoothed his palm softly, slowly down her side. Then nudged her haunches with the backs of his fingers. “Now scoot, fuzzybabe.”

  He was right. If she could make the fire escape, she might find a phone. And there were other people living in this building, allies who’d object to Raye’s plan, if only she could alert them. All she had to do was…She focused forward for the first time on that terrible catwalk above the abyss, lifted her face to the rising wind and wailed, “But I can’t!”

  She didn’t dare turn her head to look back for Sam, and something told her he’d withdrawn. He couldn’t help her now. She looked inward to the only one who could. “Cattoo? This is…your department, isn’t it? Cattoo? Please?”

  The candle burns from both ends till the flames meet. Deep within, Cattoo’s spark glowed and ebbed. She needed sleep. Leave me alone.

  Cattoo, please. I need you. Come?

  Clawing painfully up from oblivion, Cattoo peered for one moment through her eyes. The yowl that ripped from their throat was a cry of pure feline incredulity. “No!” Then she was gone, crouched somewhere deep within, hiding beneath some psychic sofa, waiting out the terror as any sensible cat would. No!

  Yes! We have to.

  No answer. Catlike, she was gone.

  Jessica swallowed and lifted her nose to the wind. “Fair enough, I suppose. I got you into this. So, if you won’t, then…” Shuddering all over, she lifted her outer forefoot. As it swung out over the depths, the skin of her pad quivered—nerves shrinking with electric dread. Gravity ravenous and sucking. I’m here. All your life I’ve been waiting. Her claws raked out, but the enemy was empty air.

  Hooking her paw delicately around the leg nearest the building, she gradually, shrinkingly, transferred her weight to it. She shuddered, then lifted her inner paw—slid it, side of leg and shoulder scraping the rough-cut stone, past the outer foot—then flattened it on the ledge. Transferred her trembling weight. And now the back paws. With perhaps twenty feet to go to the first corner. Then beyond that— Don’t think about it. Go.

  How much time had passed? Don’t think about it. Flow. Whiskers sending electric shocks to her right cheek, chill wind ruffling fur on her left. Clumsy catcher’s-mitt paws spread wide for balance, growing colder with each step on frigid stone. Tail outraged, incredulous, quivering as it brought up the rear. Somehow she reached the corner.

  Oh, Sam, I can’t. It would have been easier to be human and turn the corner standing upright, than it was to do it as a cat, where the longest part of her body—nose to tailmust be pivoted around that knife edge. I can’t do it.

  Then Sam will die. Go. Don’t think, flow.

  She set her outer paw on the outermost angle—her claws hooked empty air. She whimpered aloud, trusted her weight to that foot, then edged inner paw past outer, around to the side of the building she could not see. Oh, God, who knows if the ledge is even there?

  It was.

  Now her nose edged out over echoing space. She caught a glimpse of the ground—her eyes slammed shut. But she didn’t need them. This was all touch, balance…terror. Weaseling her body around the turn, the stone edge scraping her fur in the closest of shaves, she brought her outer paw forward, and now half of her was around. Bent to a right angle, she opened her eyes—and moaned. This end of the building was longer than she’d remembered. Far longer. And the side overhanging the alley was three times as long if it was an inch. I can’t do it.

  But she couldn’t stay here, halfway around, her compressed side muscles cramped and threatening to spasm. Back legs now, but don’t think, let them flow. They flowed out, around, after, her tail whisking behind�
��it swung out too wide. And the wind gusted.

  “Yerrrowwww!” Teetering on the razor’s edge, clawing stone for a toehold, tail flailing, every heartbeat threatening to jolt her from her perch, she cried again, then heaved herself into balance. Mewing wordlessly, she pressed her face to the wall. Oh God, oh Sam, oh Cattoo, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

  Then Sam would die. And how much time had passed? Five minutes? A lifetime?

  Some lifetimes weren’t so long. Go. Think how easy this straightaway looks compared to a corner.

  Don’t think about that corner up ahead.

  When she reached it, the second corner was harder. Whatever final reserves of Cattoo’s strength she’d drawn on, she was now sucking bottom. Beyond her shock-dilated pupils, the night sky pulsed lighter, darker, whiter, blacker, seemingly in time with the droning gusts of the wind. Her muscles shuddered and cramped, shivered and seized. Her toes ached, then grew numb, turned to small, clumsy blocks of furry ice.

  She turned the second corner by act of will alone. Sam. If I have to walk on air, then I will.

  Rounding it, she stopped again, closed her eyes and leaned into the granite. How much time had passed?

  Three lifetimes at least—Sam’s, Cattoo’s, hers.

  How much time was left? She smelled bacon, and knew.

  Bacon grease. All Raye had needed to do was turn up the flame on Sam’s skillet full of grease, crack the window to feed the fire, then walk away. Once the hall was ablaze, it wouldn’t matter if Sam broke through the bedroom door. He wouldn’t reach the fire escape or the elevator. The loft was a death trap.

  No, not yet. Not while I live.

  Now she flowed—left paw past right, scrape of shoulder, lunge of hindlegs, whiskers brushing stone, ribs heaving like bellows, eyes locked on the ever-nearer prize of the fire escape. A warm light danced on the kitchen windowpanes, turning black iron to a web of flickering gold.

  So fixed was she on her goal that she nearly flowed out into empty space. Nails screeching across rock, she stopped—ten feet from her goal. “Oh, nooooooo.”