“And, that is why you must use it now…”
“But…”
“Do not argue, Annalise… Do as you have been told…”
Annalise stared at the necklace in her hand. It was a small half-coin suspended from a delicate gold chain. She fingered it gently, feeling the uneven edge where it had been cut like a puzzle piece. This was all she had of her true history. A gift from a mother she had never known. She had always imagined that somewhere the woman who had given birth to her was wearing the other half around her neck and thinking of the daughter she had given up.
There was a time in her life when she had felt nothing but animosity for that woman. But, in recent years her feelings had changed. She knew there had to have been a reason for her mother to make the choice she did, right or wrong. She wanted desperately to believe that she regretted that decision each and every day and was somewhere out there looking for her.
“But, my mother…” she objected again.
“Ezili is your mother, Annalise…”
“Yes, I know that, but…”
“Annalise!” Miranda’s voice scolded. “Do as you have been told!”
She jumped involuntarily at the harshness inside her head. Fear gripped her at the thought of punishment, but this time her defiance was not so easily dismissed.
“I can’t…” she muttered.
“You can, and you will…” Miranda instructed.
“No.”
The word came from her mouth as no more than a whisper, but she knew that didn’t matter. It took only a thought for Miranda to know.
She felt her muscles tense as the odd euphoria of possession began to overtake her. She tried to repeat the word, but nothing more than a gasp would exit her lips. She struggled against the cold embrace of the spirit, but her will had been broken long ago. It was only a moment before she felt herself being drawn into darkness as the Lwa entered her body.
As her vision tunneled, she watched her hands moving of their own accord, anointing the necklace with the dead man’s blood then placing it into a small glass bottle.
The last thing she remembered before disappearing into the void was the overpowering scent of cloves.
CHAPTER 28:
I had just finished spreading butter onto some slices of whole wheat bread before layering them with Swiss cheese and shaved, smoked ham. I already had a frying pan resting on the stove waiting patiently for me to ignite fire under it so that I could go about the business of grilling the sandwiches for lunch.
Felicity was hard at work in her basement office. Her meeting had gone well the day before, and it was almost a foregone conclusion that she would be signing a contract with the company. However, she still had other obligations to fulfill, so she was presently involved in applying her own brand of technological magic to some digital photographs she had taken for a different client.
It was actually a slow day for me. I had spent my morning recovering a corrupt database for one of my own customers, but other than that, I had little to do. The revolution of more user-friendly software had caused my business to drop off somewhat. Fortunately, I still served a relatively stable niche market and wasn’t feeling the effects too severely. In fact, the additional free time was welcome. Of course, I’m sure I would enjoy it more if I found something to fill it that didn’t involve serial killers or talking to the dead.
Emily, our calico, had been doing her best to trip me up for better than five minutes now. Weaving circuitously through my legs as I shuffled back and forth between the refrigerator and the counter where I was preparing lunch. Now and again she had let out a plaintive “mew” in a bid to get my attention. Finally, deciding that tactic had failed, she rose up on her haunches and began pawing at my leg.
“What?” I asked, stopping and looking down toward her.
She screeched out a fresh meow then dropped back to all fours and trotted toward the doorway. Stopping, she looked back at me and squeaked again.
“Here,” I told her as I stepped over to the back door and swung it open. “You want out?”
Instead of making a dash for the opening, as was her usual response, she turned and seated herself. Still staring at me, she issued a vocal demand once again.
“I don’t speak cat,” I told her, swinging the door shut and returning to the counter. “Here’s the deal. You learn to speak English, I’ll learn to speak cat.”
It wasn’t long before she was right back at trying to trip me by weaving through my legs, and this time she was even more vocal. I switched off the burner with an exasperated sigh and turned my attention back to her.
“What?!” I demanded.
She immediately turned and trotted toward the doorway again.
“Did Timmy fall down the well or something?” I quipped for my own amusement.
She stopped at the threshold and squeaked impatiently.
I gave up and followed. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure I was really trailing behind her then continued through the dining room and living room before finally parking herself at the front door and staring up at me expectantly.
“So, the back door isn’t good enough for you?” I asked.
She simply pivoted her ears then “mewed” again.
Rather than continue to deal with her annoying behavior, I stepped over to the door and unlatched it. Once I had swung it open and pushed the storm door out a few inches, she darted onto the porch and scurried down the stairs.
Behind me, the pendulum clock bonged out a single chime, announcing that it was now half past noon. Since I was already at the front door, I poked my head out and glanced at the mailbox. I could see a circular or two peeking up from the top of the receptacle, so I stepped out and gathered up the mail as well as a medium-sized parcel that was sitting beneath it.
Before returning to my interrupted culinary endeavor, I sorted through the pile, separating junk from bills and arranging them in stacks on the dining room table. The rectangular box was addressed to Felicity, care of her company, Emerald Photographic Services, so I placed it beneath her assortment of business correspondence.
On my way back to the kitchen, I detoured into the hallway and called down the stairs to my wife, “Felicity… Lunch in about five minutes.”
Her voice floated back up to me. “Okay.”
“Oh, and the mail is here,” I added. “You got a package.”
“Who is it from?” she asked.
“Sorry, I didn’t pay any attention. Want me to check?”
“I bet it’s that effects lens I ordered,” she called back. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Okay.”
I returned to the stove and set about the task of turning the cold sandwiches into hot ones while the microwave hummed along, doing the same for a large dish of tomato soup. I heard the rhythmic thump of Felicity’s feet against the stairs followed by the door to the basement opening then closing.
“Something smells good,” she announced in a loud voice. “But, since you’re cooking, I guess I’d better reserve judgment until I actually taste it.”
“Very funny,” I called back.
“Well, I thought it was,” she giggled. Her voice was a bit closer this time, and I could hear her shuffling through the mail in the dining room. After a brief pause she asked, “So, what are we having?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Aye, now I’m worried.”
“You’re in rare form today,” I replied.
I heard paper tearing as she opened the package. Following a half-minute or so of silence, she muttered, “Oh, dammit.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, still focusing my attention on flipping the sandwiches in the skillet.
“Well, it’s not my lens,” she replied, a semi-disgusted tone hugging her voice. “There was a card on top under the wrapping. Listen to this—‘Merry Christmas. I just wanted to say goodbye. Hope they fit. Forever at your feet, mat.’”
“Hope they fit?”
“I think the creep sent me a pair of shoes.”
“Gods… Well, let’s hope he really means goodbye,” I returned. “So what would you like to…”
I never got the chance to complete the question as it was unceremoniously cut off by a horrified scream. I started immediately, and the spatula I had been holding fell from my hand and clattered loudly on the floor. For the second time in as many days, I found myself racing from the kitchen with the acrid burn of fear churning through my stomach.
This time, however, I somehow knew it wasn’t going to go away.
* * * * *
“So, you just found it on the front porch?” Ben asked, staring at me intently, his pencil poised over his notebook.
We had positioned ourselves in the kitchen, keeping out of the way of the crime scene technician as she worked. While the smoky haze had finally settled, the funk of our burned lunch still hung in the air. Felicity had taken the blackened remnants out to the trashcan a bit earlier, and she still hadn’t come back into the house.
At the moment, she was standing on the back deck staring out across the yard, the skillet resting atop the railing next to her. I’d been keeping an eye on her through the window, and she hadn’t moved for several minutes. I knew I really needed to be out there with her, but I also wanted to keep as much distance between her and the current situation as possible. Since Ben needed answers, here I was, caught square in the middle. Unfortunately, it was probably an exercise in futility because he had already said he would need to talk to her as well.
My mind flashed on the dish of soup still sitting in the microwave. A defense mechanism, I’m sure. Our brains have a way of seeking out the mundane and normal in the face of horror. Of course, anything resembling hunger was long gone, so my thought was that I really needed to get it out of there and put it in the refrigerator before I forgot about it.
An explosion of light diverted my attention yet again. At random intervals a bright flash would illuminate the dining room as the tech took photos of the atrocity resting on the table. I glanced over out of reflex then looked back to my friend.
“So?” he pressed.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Ya’ said ya’ found the box on the front porch? Is that right?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “It was there when I went out to get the mail.”
“Did ya’ see anybody hangin’ around? Strange car? Anything like that?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Okay, so what time was it that ya’ found it?”
“Right at twelve thirty.”
“Had ya’ been outside before that?”
I shook my head. “No. Not since last night around ten.”
He jotted a quick note then glanced into the dining room before looking back to me.
“Well, there’s no postage on it, so I doubt the mail carrier delivered it.”
I nodded. “You’re probably right.”
“We’ll check it out anyway. But, I’m guessin’ Devereaux prob’ly put it there ‘erself.” He paused for a second then huffed, “Jeezus! If I’d just been able ta’ get a unit ta’ watch the house… Shit.”
“She may have paid someone to deliver it, Ben.”
“Yeah, maybe, but somethin’ in my gut says no. Either way I’ll get the locals to canvass and try to find out if anybody saw anything.”
“Yeah,” I solemnly agreed. “You might want to check over the yard as well.”
“For what?”
“Bone fragments.”
“You mean from the victim in Baton Rouge?”
I nodded. “If she actually came here, she probably spread them around. That would be a typical use in a cross. Why not kill two birds so to speak.”
“You got one of those headaches again?”
“You could say that.”
“You gonna be okay?”
“As okay as I can be given the circumstances.”
“Yeah… Lovely. I’ll get someone on it.”
A fresh burst of light flickered through the room, and I found my eyes wandering back in the direction of the table. The shoebox was still sitting there on the corner, resting atop the torn remnants of the craft paper in which it had been wrapped. The lid was lying on the floor exactly where Felicity had dropped it.
Under different circumstances, the contents, a pair of white, stiletto-heeled pumps, wouldn’t have elicited such a terror-stricken response from my wife. However, in this case, they weren’t simply a pair of white shoes. They were haphazardly smeared with rusted red. It didn’t take a close up inspection to know that the foreign substance streaking the patent leather was blood. But, even as disturbing as that was, it wasn’t the worst part. Skewered onto the heel of the right shoe was a limp hunk of pallid flesh that bore more than just a passing resemblance to a human tongue.
I heard some unintelligible mumbling in my ears as I continued to stare. A moment later, I felt a hard poke on my shoulder and heard my friend calling my name.
“Yo… Earth ta’ Rowan…”
“What?” I stammered, turning back to him. “I’m sorry.”
“Look right here,” Ben said, holding two fingers forked and waving them at his own face. “Look at me. Forget about that in there.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Yeah, I know, but stay with me on this. I need ta’ know if you touched any of it, or just Firehair?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just Felicity. Well, except that I’m the one who brought the package inside.”
“Was it still wrapped when you touched it?”
“Yeah,” I replied with a nod.
“Did you touch it after it was unwrapped?”
“No.”
“How about the card? You pick that up?”
“No. I was more concerned with calming Felicity.”
“Yeah. I can understan’ that.”
His cell phone let out a muted warble, so he dug it out of his pocket and looked at the display. Flipping it open, he pressed it to his ear. “Yeah, this is Detective Storm. Whaddaya got?”
While he was talking, I turned to watch Felicity. She had finally taken a couple of steps forward and was leaning against the railing, but other than what was obvious from her dejected posture, I couldn’t tell her current state of mind. Of course, even at a distance, I could feel the anxiety flowing around her. I heard my friend snap the cell phone shut, so I brought my attention back to him.
“Had a unit from County go by and check on Lewis at his apartment,” he offered, his tone crisp and official.
“He’s dead, isn’t he,” I remarked as much as asked.
“Yeah,” he replied with a nod. “The copper that just called sounded pretty green around the gills. From the bloody shoeprints around the body and what’s sittin’ on your table, looks like she might’ve stomped ‘im ta’ death. Apparently, she made the job Firehair did on ‘im look like a minor scratch.”
“Don’t say that around Felicity,” I replied. “I don’t know quite how she’d handle the comparison right now.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Martin’s on ‘is the way over with a crew right now ta’ work it. Sounds like a real mess.”
“She used him to find us,” I offered. “Now she’s using him to send a message.”
“Yeah, I’m inclined ta’ agree with ya’. Yesterday coulda been a big coincidence, but this sure’s fuck ain’t. Brings it all inta’ perspective… Question is how’d she know ta’ go after him in particular, and that he could lead ‘er to ya’?
“Miranda.”
“The ghost bitch. Okay, how?”
“Felicity’s connection to Lewis. The incident in the motel room. Everything that happened when Miranda was possessing her is a part of the Lwa’s memory now.”
“So ghosts got memories?”
“Of course they do.”
“That’s some screwed up shit, Row.”
“It always is, isn’t it?”
“Uh-hu
h. Yeah… That’s a fact… Problem is, I can’t arrest a ghost.”
“So you’ve said numerous times.”
“Yeah, I have because it’s true. So…” he paused as he smoothed his hair back. “You still feel like you’re safe stayin’ here?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Okay, so now I’m not askin’ anymore, I’m tellin’. Get Firehair in here, pack a coupl’a bags, an’ come crash at my place. I’ll wait and you can follow me over.”
“It doesn’t really matter where we go, Ben,” I told him. “As long as we’re dealing with Miranda, we’re not safe anywhere.”
CHAPTER 29:
I draped Felicity’s coat over her shoulders then slowly stepped around beside her. I had been standing at the door for better than a minute, watching her at the deck railing while trying to decide if I should intrude or simply leave her alone.
“I thought you might be getting cold,” I said softly.
She looked over at me with a weak smile as she pulled the garment tight around herself and held it clasped together at her neck. She didn’t say a word. Her gaze simply wandered back to some distant point in the patchy snow-covered yard.
Her cheeks were flushed red from the chilly wind, and that made me even more concerned for her emotional state. She had been out here far too long without a coat, and given how much she hated the cold, I knew that could only mean she wasn’t handling this situation very well.
“So… Want some company?” I asked.
“She killed him, didn’t she?” she answered with her own question. Her voice was faint and strained. It was as if she was struggling to contain her emotions.
I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to lie. I could tell she already knew the answer before she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
Ben was still in the house, and the crime scene technician had been bagging the evidence just before I came outside. At least she wasn’t trashing the place like the last crew when they had been dead set on finding something to implicate my wife in all this. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to check on the progress and saw my friend talking to the tech, so I knew things weren’t cleared out just yet.
The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 20