Shirley Murphy - Cat Pay the Devil

Violet lay on top of her, both of them jammed against the dash and the driver’s door, which was now underneath them. She couldn’t turn off the key-there was no key-and the engine was roaring. Afraid of fire, she shoved Violet aside hard, and jerked the wires loose every which way, breathing a shaking sigh when the engine quit.

She thought they must be on a ledge. She was afraid to move, the car was still rocking. The only sound was a faint ticking as the vehicle settled. Violet had fallen back on top of her, and lay there, limp. Wilma thought she was knocked out cold. She came to life suddenly, scrambling up and lunging for the passenger window above them, stepping on Wilma’s shoulder to boost herself through. Wilma didn’t grab her, she let her go, she didn’t want a battle that would send them over. The car rocked alarmingly as Violet leaped away. She heard Violet run, her footsteps soon lost in the night.

Gingerly Wilma lifted herself out from under the steering wheel and groped for the flashlight, sure she wouldn’t find it. She almost jumped when she felt its rubber-covered handle. Gripping it, envisioning the car balanced precariously on the edge of a cliff, she stood up slowly on the driver’s door, then stepped up into the crack between the two seat backs. As her head and shoulders cleared the passenger-side open window, the car teetered.

She didn’t see Violet in the darkness, didn’t hear her; now there was no sound. She could see, above her and above the edge of the drop, the jagged ghosts of broken walls.

Before climbing out she felt in the glove compartment carefully, not expecting to find anything useful, praying for a gun but knowing that Eddie and Cage weren’t that careless.

She found nothing but papers, probably old repair bills. Switching on the flashlight for an instant, shielding it in her cupped hand, she took a quick look at the cliff.

The earth looked solid enough beneath a black mass of boulders, she could see no dark empty spaces yawning directly below her. Switching off the light, she eased herself out the window onto the door. As she crept onto the fender, the car shifted. She slid to the ground landing among the boulders, thought it would fall again, but then it settled. Closing her eyes until they adjusted again to the dark, she climbed up the rocks that loomed black above her, her every muscle already aching and sore.

She stood at last on the road feeling incredibly free-free of ropes, free of the precarious car, free, for the moment, of Violet; hindered now only by the jabbing pain in her leg and hip, and by the aching sting of her cuts and bruises. Beneath the paler sky the land lay inky black; if she was indeed above the village, and if that faraway silver line was the sea, then those tiny clustered lights might be Molena Point. The thought of home had never seemed so safe and dear.

But she wasn’t there yet. Alone and hurting, she set off limping down the dark road thinking longingly of a hot shower, a stiff drink, and a rare steak-and entertaining herself with what she’d like to do to Cage Jones. But then her thoughts turned to Dulcie. She prayed that the little cat, in her panic when Wilma didn’t come home, hadn’t gone off alone looking for her.

But, no, first Dulcie would have called Max or Clyde. That would have the whole department looking for her, would have the law in Gilroy searching, going through the shops, talking with the clerks. Maybe they would find her credit card and know she’d been there, know something was wrong. She looked hopefully down the hills, longing to see the dark silhouettes of police units climbing without lights up the dark road-and yet, why would they come here? No one knew she was here, there was nothing to bring them looking for her in this desolate place.

Around her there was no sound, just the empty night and the looming hulks of broken walls-and, hiding somewhere among the tangles of stone, Violet Sears. Was Violet waiting, still meaning to harm her? Perhaps wielding some sturdy piece of metal she’d picked up among the rubble? But why would she bother, now that she had escaped? Wouldn’t she run head down the dark hills to freedom?

Or, if Cage and Eddie appeared suddenly, she would hide among the invisible tangles of stone and rubble and sudden drops. Maybe Violet knew the lay of these ruins, maybe she knew where to hide. Living so close, might she have come here during the day, when Eddie was gone? But then, eased of her stress, each time she would return, lacking the courage for escape?

Limping, hurting so badly she wondered if something was broken, and not sure how far she could walk, Wilma made her way slowly among the fallen walls, debating whether to start for the village or wait until the pain dissipated.

S lipping through the dark village streets, then through heavily shadowed, overgrown gardens, Cotton had at last found the oak that held Kit’s tree house. Thankful to have left traffic and people behind him, reassured by the night’s silence in the quiet neighborhood, he’d scrambled up the oak-and found himself face-to-face with Kit herself, and Dulcie, standing in the door to the tree house. Observing the street below, they had watched him for some time.

Already the two cats knew the redheaded lady was missing. And when Cotton described her capture, panting out his urgent news, within minutes Kit was across a branch to a window of the big house and inside, shouting and nearly mewing into the telephone to Police Captain Harper.

He’d told them how he and Willow and Coyote had seen the older, gray-haired woman through that kitchen window, how he’d gone for help and seen the two men grab the redheaded one and tie her up, and drive away with her up the dirt trail through the woods, and how the big man talked about the ruins-

“But Wilma…!” Dulcie had exploded, lashing her tail, her green eyes wild. “Where exactly is that house? Why did…?”

He had told them all he knew. And now when Kit finished the call, and went right in to talk with her humans, Cotton was ready to race away. But he was too curious-and the next thing he knew, the thin old woman, Lucinda, was bringing him food, and he was very hungry. He ate with one eye on the woman and the man, and listened to Kit argue boldly with them.

“You can’t be sure where they’re taking Charlie,” Lucinda said. “It’s late and dark, and you-”

“Cotton is sure,” Kit said. “He heard them, they said ‘to the ruins.’ We-”

“The police can get there faster, Kit. Those empty hills at night are wild with coyotes and bobcats. You do remember the cougar?”

“The cougar is not there now, we haven’t smelled him on the hills for a long time. We can be there in the time it takes to argue!”

“There could be shooting. You could end up in the middle of gunfire, and what good would that do Charlie or Wilma? Max will have half the force up there, armed officers who-”

“We have sense enough to stay out of the way!” Kit hissed at Lucinda. “You know you can’t keep us in, we-”

“If you must go, if you absolutely must , then Pedric and I will take you.”

“But you can’t. There will be too many police cars, they’ll be all over that little dirt road. They’ll have it blocked and…How will you explain being there? How would you explain that you already know about Charlie and Wilma? It won’t be on the news yet. Maybe it isn’t even on the police radios, maybe they’re using their cell phones so no one else will pick it up. You can’t-”

“We’ll take you as far as we can. I’ll just get my keys.” Lucinda stared hard into the kit’s blazing yellow eyes. “Wait for us! Promise me! Think of the time you can save.”