You Again

by Peggy Nicholson

  At some time in the past hundred years, some heartless idiot, some thoughtless monster, had cut four feet of the ledge away. Perhaps to accommodate a previous fire escape—her incredulous eyes traced rust streaks dark as blood down the granite till they vanished in a well of darkness. No, this cannot be.

  Yet it was.

  No way around that gap. And no way back. It would take her hours to back up even as far as the corner, and there was no rounding that, tail-first.- If it came to that, there were more dignified ways of dying.

  But if I die, Sam dies. And this I will not permit.

  You’ve got a choice?

  I have a choice. I make that choice. I would give anything…

  But anyone? Not only herself, but—

  Yes, even Cattoo, that love for this. Cattoo, I need you. I can’t do this alone.

  From deep, deep within, only the tiniest spark in answer. Please, leave me alone…Rest…

  We can’t rest here. If we stop here, we die. The building will burn. Cattoo, please…

  A guttering flame at the bottom of a well. Rest, I need—

  Cattoo, I need you. Please. I’m begging.

  And she came, as in need she always had. Clawing up from the depths, she came, peered out through their eyes and wailed. Not possible! Not even to be considered! It wasn’t the length of the leap, but the footing on this end, the landing on that. No. Leave me alone.

  Cattoo, I need you. Please. We can do it. We must. You have to jump for both of us. For Sam.

  The flames meet in the candle’s middle, and the stronger flame consumes the weaker. The flames burn as one. I would give anything.

  As for Jessica, Cattoo would give all, without hope, with all love.

  Haunches sinking like a spring compressing, tail quivering, heart bolting, energy gathering, eyes narrowing as all love and will coalesce to a single spark. And the gap that must be crossed.

  Tail tip shudders…then stills…Then…

  Muscles exploding into motion—black cat rising. Flying. Limbs stretching, clumsy paws reaching…

  One shoulder brushes rough-cut stone…And the night tilts.

  Ledge rushing nearer, then there—two inches to the right, not below where it should be. Claws snatching at unforgiving stone, pupils expanding to black pools of terror, gravity ravenous and sucking …It cannot be done.

  It must!

  It must and yet—“MERRROOOOOOOOOWR!”

  Black cat falling…

  Falling through the cool dark…

  Twisting…claws snatching…stars and city lights wheeling as she falls…limbs stretching as if to fly…

  Pupils expanding, black as the rushing night…wide as the ending world…

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HEAVEN WAS ROOFED with acoustic tiles, seven deep by… Jessica swung her head on the pillow as she counted. By ten tiles wide. The tenth tile ended above a familiar door. The door to her private room in the hospital.

  Oh, God, could it really…I’m not dead, I’m back? She tried to lift an arm and could not. It was strapped to a board to stabilize her IV needle. Her other arm came up as if she dragged it through clear water. She lay smiling as she clenched and flexed her fingers before her face. Fingers! And an opposable thumb. What she wouldn’t have given for—

  She had. Jessica struggled to one elbow. “Cattoo?”

  No answer. Not here…Not anywhere. Only darkness. I forced Cattoo to jump, then left her to it

  And Sam?

  “Sam!” Jessica struggled all the way up, stopped to slide the IV needle from her arm, unstrap the board. She swung her legs off the bed, tried to stand—and failed. How long had she been in bed? A week? A cat’s lifetime? Too long. Much of her muscle tone was gone.

  Scrambling to the foot of the bed, she was able to look out the window. The city lights were just bright enough to let her see the mill—and the white sheet blowing like a banner from Sam’s window. Sam, you haven’t quit yet! And neither would she.

  Though it seemed another lifetime, she must have fallen only minutes ago. How long do I have left?

  No red flickered yet in the windows on this side of the mill. And if smoke rose from the alley side, she couldn’t see it against the night sky. There’s time, dear God, there’s still time! I need a phone—911.

  Comatose patients don’t need phones, so none had been installed in the room. “Dear God…Sam…” She twisted around, shoved her legs off the other side of the bed, leaned to jab the call button, nearly fell, then caught herself by grabbing a wheeled cart, which stood against that wall. “911, Sam, oh, Sam.” But what am I waiting for? It was after midnight. The nurses might be napping, off tending another patient, calling a doctor. “I can’t wait.” Her eyes swept the room, then swung back to the cart. Yes!

  Minutes later, minutes that could have been a lifetime, might cost a life, Jessica wheeled herself down the hall. Flopped stomach-first over the cart, she pushed along, panting, feet slipping and sliding, like a wounded child on a makeshift scooter. Sam, oh, Sam, would you laugh at me now! 911. Oh, hang on, Sam. I’m coming. 911! Forty more feet to the nurses’ station—where in hell were they?

  A nurse stepped out of a patient’s room on her right, then stopped short, eyes rounding. “Oh, my sweet heaven! What do you think you’re—”

  “I need a phone,” Jessica panted, not stopping. “There’s a fire. I have to call 911. Help me.”

  “What are you doing out of bed? What are you doingMiss Myles? You’re awake, that’s wonder—But what are you—”

  “A phone! Find me a phone! Now! It’s an emergency— a fire!”

  “But dear, you haven’t been—How could you—First, let’s get you straight back to bed.” A decision reached, she hurried to the front end of the cart to stop it. Sugarcoated steel, she smiled into Jessica’s face. “Then we’ll call Doctor, see what he—”

  “Forgive me.” Jessica shoved the cart—hard.

  The nurse went down with a squawk, and Jessica wheeled right into the room from which the nurse had appeared. She managed to catch the door and pull it shut behind her, swung to turn the dead bolt, turned back again. “Oh, God, let this patient have a phone!”

  An elderly man sat upright in his bed, a talk show turned down low, his eyes bright with interest. “And he does.” He patted the phone on the table beside him, then lifted the handset. “May I dial you a number?”

  “Oh, God, thank you, somebody sane! Dial 911,” she cried as someone rattled the doorknob and called out.

  “With pleasure,” was the gallant return. “I’ve been dying of boredom.” He pecked out the numbers and handed her the phone.

  As soon as the dispatcher answered, Jessica spoke slowly and clearly. “The Clarke Street Mill in the Jewelry District is burning.”

  “Who is this, please?”

  A patient straight out of coma. Right, she wouldn’t make that mistake again. “The fire is on the sixth floor, and it’s a bad one. It’s burning on the alley side of the building, but there’s a man trapped on the bay side of the south wing. You’ll see a bed sheet marking his window.”

  Several voices conferred in low, urgent voices beyond the door. The doorknob rattled.

  “Who is this, please?”

  “Please hurry. It’s a mill, it’ll go fast, but you still have time. Please! Clarke Street Mill, Jewelry District, sixth floor, white sheet.”

  “You’ll have to tell me who’s making this call, before I can—”

  “I’m the man’s wife!” Jessica cried, then hit the disconnect button as the door to the hall burst open. Three nurses and a very large orderly marched into the room, their faces grimly determined.

  “Thank you.” Jessica passed the handset back.

  “Has she been bothering you, Father Houlihan?” a nurse clucked.

  “Not at all. Lovely time. Oh, now—” he added disapprovingly as Jessica was pressed none too gently into a wheelchair. “Come back and visit me, dear, when you’re, ah…free?”

  “
I will. I will, thank you!” Jessica called over her shoulder as she was whisked out the door.

  The wheelchair swung left toward her room. She drew a deep breath, then spoke deliberately. “This won’t be necessary—I’m signing myself out. If someone would just find me my clothes?” Surely the dispatcher would send a fire truck to check out her call—surely? But she meant to make doubly sure herself. Sam. Oh, Sam, hang on, love.

  Someone behind her snorted. “You can’t even walk, Miss Myles.”

  “It’s Doctor Myles, thank you. I’ll take a wheelchair to the lobby, then I can handle it from there.” Somehow.

  “Not until we consult the doctor, Miss, er…” The chair turned again, and she was back in her own room.

  “No!”

  “Now just calm down, dear.”

  “Wait! Please! If you’d just listen, let me speak with Fisher myself—”

  “Evvvvverything will be fine. You don’t know what a lucky girl you are.”

  DON’T FIGHT, Jessica told herself, her teeth clenching till they ached. Fighting will get you nowhere—got you nowhere, you chump. Even as she thought it, she yanked her hands against the straps that held her down. Damn! She couldn’t even sit up to see if the mill was ablaze. At least they’d had the decency to leave her legs free, so she could thrash out her frustration. Tears squeezed through her lashes, spilled down her cheeks.

  Her head sank back against the pillow, and she laughed silently. At least I can cry! But that reminded her of Cattoo. She bit her lip. Be patient. Fisher won’t make me wait till morning, will he?

  By morning, she would be dead from not knowing. Sam…

  The door opened softly, then closed with the same stealth as Jessica opened her eyes. A dark-haired woman in a nurse’s peach lab coat swung away from the door, then smiled. “Hello, Jessica.” Raye Talbot glided toward the bed.

  Scream! Instead, her breath came out in a series of hyperventilating gasps. Jessica tried to sit up, and the restraints yanked her back. Nightmare—the one where you can’t run, can’t squeak, while the monster glides closer. “You…”

  “Me. They’ve had orders all along to call me immediately if you woke up. Luckily my phone rings in my office, as well as at home.” She stood, looking down, her face detached, the woman of stony stillness. “I’ve been lobotomizing my hard drive for the last hour, thanks to you.”

  “To me?” Play dumb. Oh, God, where was Fisher, that grumpy nurse, anyone at all?

  “That’s right, you’ve been out of the loop, haven’t you?” Raye glanced toward the door. “Wish I had time to explain, but let’s just say you messed up everything, kiddo. I’d been planning an early retirement, yacht in the South Pacific, couple of nubile, tanned young crewmen for amusement. Had my sights set on three million for the cruising kitty. But the way things have been going lately, thanks to what you started, I’ve decided to settle for two. Just a few loose ends to tidy up, a few banks to visit in the morning, then I’m outta here.”

  “If they’ve called you and you’ve said you’d come, then you can’t kill me,” Jessica pointed out, trying for a tone of cool rationality and failing woefully. “There’s bound to be an autopsy—one moment I’m awake, the next I’m dead?”

  “Who said I picked up the phone when they called? They left the message on my answering machine. No one will ever prove I monitored. And then, of course, I came up the back stairs.” With a swift yank, Raye dragged the pillow from beneath Jessica’s head. “Now don’t yell and make me use this. Too icky for words.” She tucked it under one elbow, then drew a capped syringe from her coat pocket. “You always prided yourself on your dignity, didn’t you? Stiff upper lip, WASP reserve to the end? Sooner die than whine?”

  Perhaps she had, but no more. Not while there was a chance that Sam was still in the world, loving her. Jessica wriggled her feet in place as if, beneath the sheet, her ankles were also restrained. Raye’s chin swerved toward the motion, and in that moment, Jessica drew her wrist inward, until its tie pulled painfully taut.

  Raye turned back, gave her smile-for-a-shrug, and pulled the cap off her syringe. Pocketed that neatly.

  “What’s in it?”

  Raye smoothed a hand up through Jessica’s hair—it was almost a caress. Gathering a thick handful, she lifted it to expose nape and scalp. A needle prick there would never be noticed. “Succinycholine. Won’t hurt a bit, I promise you.”

  “What a pal.” Jessica pulled harder against her wrist strap, drew a shaking breath. Sam, I choose you. I choose life.

  Far away, perhaps at the nurses’ station, voices sounded—protesting, angry, excited.

  “Uh-oh!” Raye’s grip tightened cruelly. Black and serene as an oncoming shark’s, her eyes widened as they neared, homing in behind the tiny, silver-bright needle.

  “No!” Jessica screamed. Yanking against her restraint, she pivoted around. Her legs swung off the mattress—to slam Raye’s forearm, then her ribs. “Get away from me!”

  Staggering, Raye shrieked a wordless cry of rage. The syringe hit the wall and fell, unbroken. She dropped to her knees and scrambled after it.

  Beyond the door, someone yelled. Something thumped against a wall. A woman cried out.

  “Help!” Jessica squeaked, drawing in her feet and preparing to kick again.

  Raye grabbed the syringe, swung around on her knees. Not bothering to rise, she hobbled across the floor, needle poised, teeth bared. “It’s all your fault, you—”

  The door slammed back, and what looked like a rugby scrum staggered into the room—Sam, face smudged black, clothes torn, with a security man hugging his waist and dragging behind, while an orderly tried to heel him by his elbow. A nurse plucked at his shirt, while another added her cries of indignation from the hall.

  Raye swung around and froze.

  “There. You want to tackle somebody, how about her?” Sam panted, pointing at Raye. “All I did was try to leave ER without permission.”

  “She was trying to kill me,” Jessica added, as the guard dropped from Sam’s waist to sit glowering from Sam to Raye and back again, his chest heaving. “She’s also wanted for arson, blackmail and murder, and I do mean to bring charges.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Raye rose with fluid grace. Her hand fell unobtrusively to her thigh.

  The nurse who had hold of Sam’s shirt drew herself up to her full five foot one. “I’ll give the lot of you ridiculous, behaving like this in the critical-care ward! And as I tried to explain to the gentleman, it’s after visiting hours. So everyone out of here! Now!”

  “Except for my husband,” Jessica said, as her eyes locked fast with Sam’s across the room.

  BUT AFTER THAT MOMENT of suspended silence, reality surged back between them. Sam was sucked out the door on a riptide of protests, demands and explanations, none of which were deemed suitable for a recovering patient’s ears. So it must have been half an hour later when a tentative tap sounded on her door. Jessica opened her eyes as the door cracked open, and Sam stuck his head through the gap. “Hi.” He sounded as shy as she felt. “You still awake?”

  “Looks like it.” Rolling to face him, she touched the edge of her bed in mute invitation. “Everything settled?”

  He seemed uncertain for a moment if he should sit, then he did so. “They’ll hang on to her till we can sort it out. The security guard started takin’ it personal once she tried to stick him with that syringe. He said he was going along to the station to press charges on his own account. That should hold her till morning.”

  Silence set in again. Too many words crowding into their mouths at once, each begging to be the first to be spoken. No way to know how to start, or where. Sam frowned. “What you said about my bein’ your husband…”

  “I should have said ex-husband,” she returned too quickly. “Slip of the tongue.” Then cursed that part of her anatomy for a coward. Damn her pride, would she never learn? She caught his hand as he leaned back and seemed about to rise. “No! I mean—I didn’t mean—�
� She stopped, staring down at the glint of gold on his little finger, then gasped and pulled his hand to her lips. “I mean— Oh, Sam, I never know what to say! I never did.“ And it was so much easier saying it as a cat.

  He laughed, a wordless, breathless, almost hurting sound, and leaned down over her till his lips brushed her temple. “Then try sign language,” he growled. “Anything! I’ve been doing the talkin’ all week. Now it’s your turn.”

  Sign language. That she could do. Tears sliding even as she smiled, she kissed his knuckles, one by one, ending with the little finger that wore her ring. Her tongue curling like a cat’s, she touched it daintily to the ring, then to the soft skin between that finger and the next. Her smile widened when he shuddered and settled closer. “So…if you’re my ex-husband, what are you doing wearing my ring? My ring.

  He swung his long legs up on the bed so that they lay face-to-face, his hand still pressed to her lips. “I was tryin’ to figure out what to wear to a bonfire, or better yet, a quick departure therefrom. This was the only thing I could think of that mattered. That I couldn’t leave behind.” He reached over their clasped hands to stroke her hair. “Eight years, and I haven’t been able to leave us behind. So I said to myself, self, why quit on a good thing now?”

  “Don’t ever quit on me, Sam. Not ever, not even when I—”

  “I’ve no intention of quitting.” His whisper was as husky as her own. “Not that it’s exactly a voluntary process. I’d say you’re stuck with me, babe, or at least my devotion. Must’ve been a dog in my last life, the soulful, brown-eyed, lie-at-your-feet type.”

  Oh, after all this, that he could still…“You don’t think cats can be faithful?” For just a moment, she thought she could feel her tail lash, almost missed it.

  “Those sneaky fur-balls? They’re only out for what they can—” His smile ended in a gasp. “Oh, Lord, what have I—Kick me for a heartless—Once they told me in the ambulance that my wife—my wife—had called in that alarm, I couldn’t think of anything but getting to you, seein’ if you really…” He frowned. “But wait a minute, how did you know your cat and I…”