Fear Familiar

by Carolyn Haines

  “I could use one,” Eleanor said. She was more nervous than she’d anticipated, but Magdalena Caruso was surprisingly easy to talk to. “If ARSA didn’t rob the lab, who did?”

  Magdalena rose. “Excuse me while I brew the tea. If I talk very loud, you can hear me.” She continued to talk over the clatter of cups and the whistling of the teakettle. “ARSA has been officially inactive since last summer, when I was arrested on a fur protest and subsequently injured in the local jail. I haven’t lost my heart for the work, but it has taken my ankle a bit longer to heal than I expected.” She popped her head around the door. “This lab that was broken into, what was taken?”

  “I don’t know for certain,” Eleanor said. If the ARSA leader didn’t know about the break-in, who did? Or it could be that Magdalena was playing the innocent? She made rapid calculations as she talked. “A cat that was being used in psychological experiments was taken, and I think that cat is Familiar.”

  “Was ARSA’s name mentioned?”

  “No. The CIA agent who questioned me didn’t say what organization. It’s just that you were the only person I knew who did animal rights work, and I thought this was as good a place to start as any. You have to admit, it’s more than coincidental that Familiar arrives at my house and you show up not a day later.”

  Magdalena returned with the spiced tea. “Yes, I do agree that more than coincidence is at work. Tell me everything,” she said.

  An hour later, Eleanor gathered her gloves and keys. If Magdalena Caruso had been involved in the lab break-in, she was a very convincing liar. Eleanor had told her everything—except for the business with her dead husband. “Before I go, would you tell me how you first got my name?’’

  “I’ve been thinking about that myself,’’ the woman said. “I got a call from Charles Breck.”

  “Breck? Is that the Charles Breck who’s in the news every night? The man who’s waiting for confirmation to head the CIA?”

  “Waiting and hoping. There is another candidate, you know, that Bueler man. Anyway, Charles doesn’t publicly support my work. He can’t afford to do that. In fact, I’d say he more than likely hates me because I hold his feet to the fire. But he has a good heart, and he gives me a lot of undercover support, such as leaking me the names of animal suppliers. He actually thought you were selling cats. Whoever gave him his information must have been confused.” Magdalena let her head drop to one shoulder. “Or else old Charles is trying to use me for some gain. This is all interesting, and I think that maybe a meeting with Charles will clarify a lot of things. Are you game?”

  “Sure,” Eleanor agreed. “At least this explains how the CIA got my name,” she said. “This is beginning to make a little more sense.”

  “I’ll arrange a meeting,” Magdalena promised. “I’ll be back in touch.”

  “Thanks.” Eleanor hurried down the bordered walk to her car.

  “And one more thing,” Magdalena called out.

  Eleanor’s hand was on the gate. “What?”

  “Be very careful. I’d like to know what kind of research has got the CIA so concerned.”

  “I just want them to leave me alone.” Her face was grim as she got into her car.

  Flipping over the issue again and again in her mind as she drove home, she could find no solid answers. No matter how she linked the events of her life, she could not make a triangular connection between Familiar, the frightening phone call and herself. The business with her apartment and Carter had to be some nasty practical joke that was unrelated to anything else. Magdalena’s warning was still on her mind, but her biggest sensation was one of relief.

  As she approached her apartment building, she was still engrossed in her thoughts. The winter night had fallen swiftly, and she noticed with a disappointed groan that all of the parking spaces on the street were filled. The afternoon wind, already brisk and cutting, had turned into a howling evening tenor, and she shivered in anticipation of the damp chill that lurked in the parking garage. She cheered herself with an image of Familiar and a cozy fire as she spiraled down the ramp into the garage.

  The parking lot was subterranean, but it had never bothered her before. She didn’t care for the sense of being buried but wasn’t afraid of the perpetual murkiness. At least she hadn’t been. Now, as if her imagination were being deliberately perverse, she remembered the phone call from the night before. The cruelty of it made her angry again. She’d cut her ties with Carter and his past. No one had the right to use her dead husband as a scare tactic. No one.

  The voice had sounded more than a little like Carter. Or at least it had sounded like she remembered Carter’s voice. Nine years was a long time, especially for a memory she didn’t particularly relish. If she found out who was practicing such ugly jokes, she’d certainly press criminal charges.

  She slipped from behind the wheel and gathered her purchases. The grocery package was light and she was anxious to get inside the warm building. As she dropped the keys into her purse, she heard the scuffing of leather on the concrete floor. It was a small sound that rang through her head like an alarm. She held herself perfectly still to listen better. Only the emptiness of the parking lot came back to her.

  “I’m letting my imagination get away with me,’’ she said out loud, realizing even as she spoke that she was imitating the young boy who whistled in the graveyard. All of her senses were vitally alert. There was something about the garage that didn’t strike her as right. It was too silent, too dark. She started toward the elevator.

  Her footsteps echoed emptily on the concrete, a steady, comforting sound. She walked faster, unable to stop herself from glancing between the cars. The elevator was only a hundred yards away.

  “Eleanor!”

  Her whispered name seemed to echo around the concrete columns. She froze.

  “Eleanor!”

  She turned, swinging her gaze in a 360-degree sweep on all sides. The parking lot was completely devoid of other human beings. There wasn’t even the sound of an idling motor. The voice had come from the shadowed comers, from the air. From the lips of a dead man.

  “I’ve been waiting a long, long time, Eleanor.”

  The voice penetrated her spine. Fear deeper than any she’d ever known tingled through her muscles.

  “Who are you?”

  “How cute, still the innocent little Eleanor.”

  The voice! She knew it for certain now! She knew that teasing note, the edge of familiarity.

  “Where are you?” Her own voice echoed eerily through the garage, striking the concrete walls and vibrating back to her.

  “I’m here, Eleanor. Watching you.” There was a deep, satisfied laugh. “You thought I was gone forever. Glad to see my car at the bottom of the cliff, weren’t you? I messed up your neat little life.”

  “Carter!” The word was barely a whisper as it came from Eleanor’s throat. “Carter, is it you?”

  “Oh, yes, it’s me. Back from the dead. Back to claim my wife.”

  “I’m not your wife anymore.” She swirled suddenly, hoping to find him behind her. But the garage was as empty as it had been the last time she looked. “Quit playing stupid games, Carter, and come out.”

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he mocked her. “Did you mourn me when I died, Eleanor? I don’t think so. You packed up and left Colorado. You didn’t even tell our friends goodbye.”

  “Your friends, Carter.” She turned on her heel and started to walk away, wobbling slightly. The garage had become a landscape for a nightmare. She had to escape, to get away from the sound of his voice so that she could think clearly. She started to run.

  Carter Wells was dead. Dead and buried, and she was standing in the garage of her building having a conversation with her imagination. Or maybe her guilty conscience. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel anything for a man...until Peter. And now that she was beginning to warm to a spark of interest, her mind had opened up to give her the ugly reminders of Carter. There was nothing real in th
e voice she heard, only her own repressed guilt.

  “Hey! I’ve come a long way to see you.”

  She turned suddenly and looked back at her car. Her knees began to buckle. Lounging against the fender was Carter Wells. He was smoking a cigarette, the gesture casual and perfect, as always.

  The blood rushed to her heart, a pounding tide of denial. “No,” she said. “No!” She held out a hand as if to ward off the vision. “You’re dead!”

  “No, Eleanor, I’m not.” He stepped toward her, his face shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat he’d always favored. “But you may be, if you don’t give back what you took.”

  Peter was frantic as he waited for Wessy to open Eleanor’s apartment door. He didn’t speculate on what he might find, but he was afraid she was injured. At last the door swung open and he and the doorman rushed inside. There was no sign of Eleanor, but Familiar gave them a half-interested greeting.

  Peter checked all the closets before he was completely satisfied, and then he left with the doorman, his own plans still indefinite. He had to find Eleanor, but where could she have gone?

  “Ms. Duncan might be shopping,” Wessy offered.

  “Of course.” Peter didn’t want to reveal how deeply worried he was. “I’ll call back later, and thanks for opening the door.”

  “Is she in some type of trouble?”

  Peter closely scrutinized the old man. Wessy was obviously fond of Eleanor, but was there something else behind his question? He’d delivered a threatening photo, and he’d conveniently been away from his duty post when it was left.

  “No, she isn’t in any trouble, Wessy. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you’re looking for her with a worried face, and that friend of hers, Dr. Betty Gillette, came by earlier and asked for her. She looked worried, too. Even Eleanor seemed nervous when I was teasing her about a secret admirer.”

  “Who is this Betty Gillette?” Peter asked.

  “Some professor out at the university. She and Ms. Duncan work together.”

  Peter remembered the name. Eleanor had said she often worked with the woman on Sunday afternoons. “Probably some business thing,” he said, “but I’ll tell Eleanor when I find her.” He didn’t wait for a reply but hurried toward the elevator.

  Instead of heading for the lobby, he pressed the button for Parking. There were three levels, and he intended to walk the entire garage until he found Eleanor’s car—if it was parked. She might be shopping, as Wessy had mentioned, but he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew for certain.

  He walked the first level, looking for the bright red import. He spiraled to the second level, his eyes growing more and more accustomed to the gloom. Parking garages! How he hated them. It was like being in a cave that worked its way slowly and inexorably into the heart of the earth. He turned a corner, walking gradually downhill.

  Long, slender legs seemed to protrude from the rear of a car. He saw them but didn’t believe his eyes. Even as his brain refused the image, his own legs began to pump. He ran.

  He recognized the skirt, the jacket, the ivory skin and hair.

  “Eleanor!” She was sitting on the bumper of a car, her face in her arms. “What’s going on?” When she didn’t respond, he gently touched her shoulder. “Eleanor?”

  Her breathing had steadied at last, and Eleanor lifted her face to Peter’s worried gaze. “I had a dizzy spell,” she said. There was no way she was going to try and convince him she’d had a confrontation with Carter Wells. She wasn’t sure she believed it herself.

  “Eleanor, what happened down here? You’re pasty-looking, as if you’d seen a ghost.”

  She managed a feeble smile. “Only a linguistics professor could appreciate that comment,” she said. She had to pull herself together. Whatever was going on, she wanted Peter out of the path of danger. Carter Wells had never been a tolerant man, and dead or alive, she didn’t think he’d mellowed much in the last nine years. He’d made his threat and then calmly walked out of the garage, hands in his pockets, hat cocked to one side. He’d never even turned around. No, she didn’t want Peter mixed up in the mess her life had become.

  “Can you stand?” Peter gave assistance as he spoke.

  Knees still wobbly, Eleanor got to her feet. When she almost stumbled, Peter held her against his chest. “Easy now. Was it something you ate?”

  “That would be my guess,” she said. “Peter, I want to get out of here.”

  “Yeah, I hate these places, too.” Peter’s strong hand on her elbow guided her to the elevator.

  “Maybe it would be best if I went upstairs and tried to rest.” She had to make him leave, but without arousing his suspicions.

  “Not on your life,” he answered as he punched the button.

  “I’m not really feeling well enough for company,” she insisted.

  “I won’t leave you alone until I’m certain you’re okay.”

  There was no arguing with him once his mind was made up, she realized and relented. “Maybe a cup of hot tea would do us both good.” The worst thing she could do was make him wonder what had happened in the garage.

  I THOUGHT I could escape them, but maybe it isn’t going to be so easy. Looking at the dame, with her face all white and her eyes so scared, I feel like hell. If it weren’t for me, she’d be sitting at the university in front of her computer, looking up the roots of words like "fetch” and “latch”. I can only wonder how Dr. Frankenstein figures into this little drama. It’s easy enough for a cat to see that the dame’s hiding something from the good doctor, and I’ll bet that something involves my good friend from the laboratory. I know the dame isn’t schizy, so she had to see something in that garage. Something really scary. I may have to put my old alley cat abilities to work and sneak down for some personal snooping of my own. If Dr. Doolittle is good, I might even let him go with me. That is, if he can give the dame a rest for a few minutes. He’s got more than a medical interest in her health, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it to himself.

  I can’t help but think this all tracks back to my old laboratory home and those wonderful humanoids who tried to use me for some of their experiments. I wasn’t exactly cooperative. Whoever would have thought they’d be so desperate to get me back that they’d terrify the dame? They seemed so much more involved with Zelda and her progress. I was foolish enough to think they really wouldn’t miss me.

  Poor Zelda. What are they doing to her now? Whenever I think about her brown eyes, and the eagerness with which she tried to please, I don’t know if I can ever appreciate my freedom. If there were only some way I could get Dr. Doolittle to take a look into that place, he might be able to get the muscle to shut them down. That crazy broad with the poodle, Magdalena Caruso, may even be my last hope. To think that I’d have to appeal to a dog lover to save Zelda! It makes me shudder to think about what they might be doing to her, though. I guess I’d sell my soul to save Zelda. And that means doing whatever it takes, even appealing to a canine woman.

  Maybe it’s foolish of me to think anyone would help. When that bigwig with the CIA showed up, I thought he’d clamp down on that little romper room of horrors. But Charles Breck never dirtied his three-piece suit with a snoop into how experiments were performed. He only looked at Zelda and remarked on how cute she was, and what an absolutely perfect little gift she’d be. He didn’t even notice the burns. He never even really looked closely. I was so mad that day I could have popped. But Zelda may be right. What’s a prisoner to do except escape? And maybe that’s the only hope for Zelda. As for me, I think I have some chores to attend to with the dame. Dr. Doolittle looks about ready to jump into her lap, and I’m going to stake my territory first.

  “Hey!” Peter laughed as he pushed the tom cat down. “I think your cat is worried about you.”

  Eleanor scooped Familiar into her arms. “I’m much better now,” she said. “Peter, would you mind if I canceled our movie tonight? I think I’d like to try and sleep.” She burrowed her face into Familiar’s fur. />
  “You’ve been under a lot of pressure, Eleanor. Maybe it would be best if you could rest. Are you sure you want to be alone, though?”

  “I’ll have Familiar to protect me. He saved me once.” She stroked the purring cat and scratched him under the chin. It wasn’t all a nightmare. Familiar was proof of that. Carter Wells wasn’t a hallucination. And neither was the fact that someone destructive was back in her life. Maybe it wasn’t Carter, but it was someone who had known him well enough to pull off a very good imitation.

  “Are you keeping something from me?” Peter asked. In the short hours of their separation, Eleanor had somehow grown distant.

  “I’m just tired, that’s all.” She pressed her hand against his shoulder and was surprised by the way he pulled back. “What is it?”

  “I seem to have bad luck with predatory birds. Someone broke into my office and let a great horned owl out of a cage. The bird was injured and frightened. When I went back into the kennels, he attacked.”

  “How bad is it?” Her own worries were momentarily pushed aside.

  “Just a bruise, really. His talons were weakened and I had on a thick coat. I’m fine, but my jacket was a total loss.” He looked at her. She’d had enough for one night. He decided against telling her about the damage to his car. But he did have to tell her about the files. The dreadful sensation that perhaps he’d involved her in his troubled life had been gnawing at him all evening. “What isn’t fine is that whoever broke in, broke in to get your file.”

  They both turned and looked at the cat.

  “Why Familiar?” Eleanor breathed. “What is it that he could have been involved in?”

  “That question grows more and more important,” Peter said.

  “And more dangerous,” she added.

  Chapter Six

  The dark walls of the garage closed around Peter. He was on the second level, not fifteen feet from where he’d found Eleanor slumped on the bumper of the car. He felt a surge of anger at the memory. Something had happened to her in the garage, something so frightening that she didn’t trust herself to share it with him. Was it Evans? Had he frightened her?