Fear Familiar Bundle (56 page)

"Familiar," Cassandra called. She didn't like the idea of leaving him, but she had to get Bounder to a hospital, and fast. He was much weaker than he pretended.

"He'll come home," Adam reassured her as he put an arm around Bounder's waist and held him up. "Familiar knows the way home. He's plenty smart."

"Okay," Cassandra whispered. She eased up to his other side, careful of his arm, and offered as much support as she could. Adam was correct, the two of them were virtually carrying the injured man even though Bounder was trying to hold himself upright.

The trip down the mountain was marked by silence and an attempt to find the easiest footing. Cassandra put all of her thoughts into willing Bounder to make it.

When they were close to the house, Cassandra ran ahead. She fell into the house and collided with Running Stream. "It's Bounder. He's okay, but he's hurt. We need to rush him to the hospital. Get some towels and pillows. We'll take him in Adam's car."

"He will live?" Running Stream was motionless.

"Of course," Cassandra said, hugging her. "His arm is broken and he's been hit in the head, but he's coming down the mountain with Adam. He's walking and very much alive."

Running Stream blocked back the tears that threatened. "Thank goodness," she said as she smiled.

"A
RE YOU SURE
?" Adam asked as he pulled into the TV studio parking lot. "You didn't get an hour of sleep last night."

She was tired to the point of exhaustion. Bounder was in the hospital, sedated, and in stable condition. Running Stream was guarding him with her life. So far, they'd been able to keep the details of his injuries from the authorities. Adam didn't trust Beaker at all, and Cassandra concurred wholeheartedly.

To make matters worse, Familiar had completely disappeared. He'd never come down from the mountain, and Adam had been adamant in his refusal to let Cassandra go up and look for him.

"Cassandra, you don't have to do this," Adam repeated. She was too tired, but she was also the one who had to make her own decisions.

"It has to be done," Cassandra said. "The killer is still out there. We know one thing more about him, but that isn't enough to catch him."

"I read everything I could find on ritual scalping," Adam said. He reached across the car and took Cassandra's hand in his. "The most common form is a symbol of conquest, a notch-in-the-belt kind of thing. I don't get this from the hair you found."

Cassandra nodded. "It's something more. Either extreme hatred or almost envy. The traditional idea of scalping was to have proof that the enemy was vanquished, proof that he was dead. This business with the killer is more than that."

Cassandra leaned across the seat and kissed Adam on the cheek. They'd shared only an hour alone together in the past twenty-four, but the pleasure he'd given her was indelibly printed on her memory. She'd needed her sleep, that was true, but she needed his touch more. With each minute that she spent with Adam, she was more and more aware of the loneliness that had wrapped her life. Adam made her world complete.

"I love you," she whispered against his neck. "Come back for me in an hour. If you hang around the studio, it'll only make me nervous."

"Okay." Adam didn't want to leave her. He wanted to guard her, protect her— and love her. She'd shown him what it truly meant to share emotions. When she made love, she held nothing back. It was as if she'd waited all of her life to give him that special gift. It was such a precious thing, he couldn't endure the thought of anything happening to her.

"Talk to Bounder again if he wakes," she said. "See if you can connect the disappearance of his…that stuff in the cave with the hair and the earring. None of it makes any sense, Adam. There are a million questions."

"I'll talk with Bounder," Adam agreed. "But I'll be back here at quarter of four. And I'll keep an eye open for that cat."

"Thanks." She gave him one last kiss on the cheek. Cassandra opened the car door and as she stepped out, a streak of black catapulted by her leg.

"Familiar!" She was startled to see the cat. He hadn't made a peep in the car. It was almost as if he'd been hiding.

"Thank goodness," Adam said. He was genuinely relieved to see the feline. "I think he wants to be a star," Adam said, his gaze trained on the cat. "Let him go with you. I'd feel a lot better knowing Familiar was there to guard you."

"Great. The witch woman and her black cat." Cassandra shrugged. "I might as well give the people a good show."

"That's my girl." Adam put the car in reverse and pulled away.

"Come on, Familiar," Cassandra said. "Just don't make any trouble. Sit right with me and behave. When we get home, we're going to have a long talk. You had me worried sick."

"Meow," Familiar agreed as he walked beside her, black tail waving in the wind.

The studio was pretty much the way Cassandra had anticipated. Although they'd discussed hiding her identity, Cassandra had finally decided to play it completely straight. She took her seat on the sofa that made up the set, and pulled Familiar into her arms.

The sound man miked her up, and the cameraman closed in for a reading. In a matter of minutes she was waiting for Martin West to come down to talk with her. The studio lights prevented any real ability to look over the audience. Was the killer there, waiting for his chance? She shuddered and felt Familiar stiffen. This was no time for cold feet or cowardly thoughts.

Martin West came from the wings and took a few moments to go over the procedure for her, the cues for commercial interruptions and the methods for handling aggressive questions from the audience.

"We shouldn't generate too much hostility," he said, "but be prepared for the one or two who've come here to belittle anyone who claims to have extraordinary abilities."

"I understand."

"The cat?" He gave Familiar a long disdainful look.

Cassandra could feel the fur begin to stand on Familiar's back. "A little unexpected bonus," Cassandra said. "He hid in the car and bolted in here. Don't worry. He's very well behaved and quiet."

"If he gets out of hand, we have a cage in the back."

"That won't be necessary," she said coldly.

"Well, see that it isn't." He stood up. "It's about ten minutes until air time. I'm going out to warm up the audience."

He disappeared, and the tension level in Familiar reduced considerably. "He is a bit of a bore," Cassandra whispered to the cat. "Just ignore him. He can't be helped."

"Meow." Familiar settled down on her lap and looked around.

"Don't ham it up too much," Cassandra warned. "I get the impression Martin likes to be the only star on his show."

"Meow," Familiar agreed.

Before Cassandra became paralyzed by nerves, Martin took his seat beside her and signaled that they were on the air.

"Cassandra McBeth is a local girl who's remained local and yet made a national name for herself. For all of her acclaim, she still hasn't overcome her past here in the Gatlinburg area. And today, Cassandra is going to tell us a little about a special gift she has— one with which she claims she has witnessed the murder of three women," Martin began. He stood up and started to pace the stage.

"Ms. McBeth has a special talent, the ability to dream the future. And what she sees is neither pretty nor pleasant to discuss. She sees young women as fingers close around their throats and the life is slowly, lovingly, squeezed out of them."

The audiences shifted slightly, all heads turning for a look at Cassandra. Mouth dry, hands clutched in her lap, she felt the first ripples of animosity. They hated her, feared her for what she could do. She had something secret that they didn't have.

"Ms. McBeth's visions have been so extraordinarily accurate that Sheriff Harvey Beaker has listed Ms. McBeth and her lover Adam Raleigh as potential suspects in the murders." He looked at Cassandra, smiling with the cunningness of his coup.

Cassandra started to interrupt, but Martin never gave her a chance to clarify his statement. Beaker had never formally said she and Adam were suspects. They'd never even been charged.

Martin continued. "Now the young woman who has authored a dozen books on healthy living, eating, gardening, and home remedies is here to tell us about a murderer on the loose. Cassandra…"

Before she could attempt to speak, the audience erupted into a series of hisses.

"I've actually witnessed two murders, not three," she said carefully, speaking loud enough to be heard over the din of the audience. "The third woman, Sarah Welford, was murdered. I'm positive of that, but I can't honestly say that she was killed by the same man who killed Janey Ables and Carla Winchester. But there is another young woman in peril." The audience had quieted a bit, and Cassandra spoke directly to the television camera. "JoAnn Reed, if you can hear me, get in touch with me as soon as possible. You have the key to solving these murders. You've seen the killer. You can identify him."

"I thought you had that power, Ms. McBeth?" Martin prodded. "Isn't that the claim you've made, that you can identify the murderer?"

Cassandra had expected Martin West's aggressive grandstanding. No matter who he lured onto the show, he turned on them and made himself look like the big man.

"Oh, I can, Martin. I know him inside out. I know his sick and twisted mind. But I'm not telling everything I know today. I don't have to worry about ratings and network offers." She smiled sweetly.

"What
can
you tell us about the killer?" Martin's smile was angry and he pushed the conversation back where he wanted it.

"He's strong and very good-looking. He's extremely vain and also insecure. He likes flattery, and he likes attractive women who like him. He also likes to hurt women. He enjoys the sensation of squeezing the life from them."

A hush had fallen over the studio. "He's a very sick man who can appear to be normal. I'd also say that he has a job where a lot of people know him."

"Like?" Martin persisted. He mugged to the camera. "Like, say a…doctor?"

His response drew a laugh, and Cassandra knew she could hold the audience only so long. "Like a bartender, or a sports figure, or someone working at a carnival." She paused. "Someone who comes into contact with large numbers of people. That's how he selects his victims."

"You know this for a fact?"

"Yes." There was no room to quibble. Martin West would eat her alive.

"The killer also envies the women he kills. He covets their skin, their hair. He covets their beauty." She suddenly understood. "He wants to be like them, beautiful and admired as only women are allowed. He feels cheated of his adulation because he's a man."

"Since all of these killers have a reason for doing this, would you happen to know why?" Martin's skepticism was obvious. "I mean, was he abused, or deformed, or mutilated? Maybe he's just ugly— and really, really mad about it."

The audience erupted into laughter.

"He isn't ugly," Cassandra said quietly but with conviction. She concentrated on remembering the fleeting impressions of her dreams. She wanted to anger the killer, but she had to be close to the truth. Close but wrong enough— in public— to make him want to correct her.

"No, he isn't ugly. Quite the contrary. But he hates beautiful women. What does that say? Abandonment, rejection." She played the trump. "His mother was a lesbian. She rejected him for her female lover. Our killer has latent, suppressed homosexual tendencies."

The audience was completely quiet.

"That's a broad conclusion to jump to," Martin said.

"It's the truth." Cassandra sat back in her chair. The killer would never allow that statement to go unchallenged. It would strike at the core of his ego. He would have to retaliate.

"So, along with prophetic dreams, you have some aptitude for psychoanalysis." Martin reclaimed the audience and waited for the laughter to die down. "Care to tell us something about this guy's physical appearance? I mean, it's hard for the members of our audience to give everybody they meet a quiz regarding their feelings about women. If you know who the killer is, come on and give us a description."

"It's enough that he knows that I know him," Cassandra said quietly. "This is between us, now. Just the two of us."

The audience hushed and leaned forward in their seats.

"I offer a challenge to this man," Cassandra continued. "He thinks he's terribly bright. So far, he's picked on young, naive women. Let him take on someone who's a match for him."

"Someone like you?" West probed. There was a gleam in his eye as he signaled the camera in for a close-up of Cassandra's face. "That's quite a dare, Ms. McBeth."

"It's no dare," she answered. "We know each other," she said, allowing a smile to touch the corners of her lips. "Equals. Let's see how brave our murderer is when he's matched with someone who knows him."

"And I suppose that the creature on your lap is some mystical animal that helps you interpret the future? Or maybe a 'familiar'? I understand there are those around the area who believe you're a witch."

The audience was growing more unsettled. A few catcalls came from the back of the room, and people were standing up and waving their arms for a chance to get to a microphone. Familiar sat up, ears alert and tail twitching.

"No, the cat is a stray. I'm looking for his owner, so if anyone can identify him, please get in touch."

"Well, Ms. McBeth, I'm sure the audience has a number of questions for you. Say, do you go into a trance when you see these visions?"

"No," she answered, and girded herself for the onslaught.

C
ASSANDRA UNCLIPPED
the microphone. It was over! Several members of the audience had come at her with fangs sharpened, but she'd effectively warded them off. She couldn't tell if anyone had believed her about the dreams. She could only hope that JoAnn had heard the show and would get in touch with her.

Before the killer did.

He was watching. She had no doubts about that. She didn't know if he were in the audience or at home, but he was too vain not to watch a show devoted to him. Martin West appeared at her elbow, and she gave him an angry look.