The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “You just look… Well… Different.”

  “Good. That’s what I wanted.”

  “Really different,” I repeated with added emphasis.

  “You don’t like it?” she asked.

  “It’s not that… It’s just… I mean… I just think it’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “Gonna be kinda hard ta’ call ya’ Firehair now,” Ben announced from his seat at the table.

  “Aye, the color is temporary,” Felicity replied, twisting a lock of her new coif around her finger and pulling it up where she could glance at it from the corner of her eye. “It will wash out over the next couple of weeks. Of course, if I decide I like it I can get a more permanent dye job.”

  “Could we maybe just take things one step at a time?” I appealed.

  “Don’t worry,” she replied. “I was only kidding. I like my natural color.”

  I tried not to be obvious about my relieved sigh but failed miserably. Fortunately, she took it in stride and merely grinned.

  “Well, I’ll say this much,” I offered. “You definitely seem to be in a better mood than you were when we left earlier.”

  “Aye, it’s amazing what getting your hair done will do for your attitude,” she replied with a smile. “Now, what are we going to have for dinner? I’m starving.”

  “Well, after you two finish gettin’ packed, we can pick up somethin’ on the way to my place,” Ben offered. “I’ll buy.”

  “Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you,” Felicity replied. “I changed my mind. We’re staying here.”

  “You’re what?” he asked, a healthy note of surprise in his tone.

  “Don’t worry,” my wife replied, her demeanor remaining entirely nonchalant. “I’ll still let you buy.”

  CHAPTER 33:

  “Are you going to need to run home for some fresh clothes or anything?” I asked.

  “No,” Ben replied with a shake of his head. “Got an overnight bag in the van for emergencies.”

  “Emergencies?”

  “Yeah, emergencies,” he repeated, shooting me an obvious you know what I mean kind of look.

  “Oh, like when you stay over at Con…”

  “Yeah,” he said, cutting me off before I could get any more than the first syllable of Constance’s name out of my mouth. “Emergencies.”

  In the context of his profession as a cop, the subject of sex was never a stumbling block in conversations. It was just another part of the job, and he would discuss it with unabashed candor as long as it applied to a crime at hand. When it came to his personal life, and especially that of his friends, however, simply hinting at it could send him into an almost painful fit of modesty.

  You just never knew with Ben. On rare occasions, he would make a comment filled with sexual innuendo or even publicly flirt like there was no tomorrow. But, more often than not, even a casual mention of anything remotely related to sex was taboo where he was concerned—even a comment as innocuous as him spending the night at his girlfriend’s apartment.

  Obviously, tonight was one of those times when the subject was off-limits. It was a good thing Felicity was downstairs in her office finishing up a project for one of her clients, otherwise he wouldn’t be getting any peace at all. She always seemed to take great pleasure in making him squirm whenever he displayed his timidity on the matter.

  At the moment, my friend and I were standing on the front porch, each with a cigar smoldering beneath a crooked finger. Since Felicity was in the house alone, we left the front door standing open with only the glass of the storm door to keep the cold from seeping in. It wasn’t exactly energy efficient, but Ben insisted on having a clear view of the interior. Ostensibly, it was so he could keep an eye out in case Annalise was to elect to come here, somehow slip around us, and break in through the back door. However, I knew such reasoning was nothing more than a convoluted excuse. He really wanted to be sure Felicity stayed put. Ever since her earlier excursion, he had been preoccupied with her uncharacteristic behavior. He hadn’t said as much just yet, but I could tell it was coming.

  Our attempts to reason with my wife over her decision to remain here had gotten us nowhere fast. She had decided that we were staying here in our own home, and there didn’t seem to be anything either of us could say to dissuade her from it. With each appeal, she had countered with any one of several reasons such as work, or the animals. All of which were easily dismissed. However, logic, or at least our version thereof, wasn’t something she seemed interested in embracing. She had stood her ground, and in the end it all came down to her stating in a matter of fact tone, “Because I’ve made up my mind, and that’s how it’s going to be.”

  Short of actually placing us both in protective custody, which for all intents and purposes meant under arrest, there was little Ben could do other than give in. He did, however, make his own proclamation, that being very simply—if we weren’t coming to stay with him, then he was staying with us. Fortunately, my wife didn’t seem to have a problem with that compromise.

  “Listen, Kemosabe, don’t take this the wrong way,” Ben started carefully after a lengthy silence. “But, I think your wife has gone right over the fuckin’ edge.”

  Finally, he was dropping the bomb I had been expecting all evening.

  “I’m hoping it’s just an after effect of the shock,” I replied.

  “So, it ain’t just me? You think she’s actin’ flaky too?”

  “I don’t know if flaky is the word I’d use, but she’s definitely not acting like herself. And, yeah, I’m a little concerned. Not as much as you though, apparently.”

  “Jeezus, Row, she went and got all ‘er damn hair cut off and dyed black. Then she decided on ‘er own that you two are stayin’ here, and wouldn’t even listen… Sheesh… If that ain’t flaky I don’t know what is.”

  I waited a moment, struggling with the memory of my earlier conversation with her out on the deck. I’d kept it to myself, but now it was hard not to mention it.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” I began, hesitation in my voice. “But, earlier today… Before you and I left for the crime scene… She was having a bit of an emotional crisis.”

  “Yeah, no shit,” he replied. “That’s kinda obvious.”

  I continued. “She told me she couldn’t feel sorry for Lewis. In fact, she said he deserved it.”

  My friend turned to look at me with a deep frown creasing his face. “And you’re just now mentionin’ this?”

  “It may be a symptom of post-traumatic stress,” I offered. “She’s been through way too much the past couple of months. Put that together with the shock…” I shrugged. “It concerns me, but I’m not sure if it’s something to get worked up over or not.”

  “Your wife told you that Lewis deserved to die?” he posed the question like a statement. “Row, that’s just not like ‘er.”

  “I know,” I replied. “Believe me, I know. But, Helen told me after everything that’s happened, she would probably have some emotional issues for a while. A feeling of disconnection. Possible identity issues. She even said there was a good chance she might have some manic-depressive type of mood swings.” After a short pause I added, “She’s definitely seen some moments of depression since she’s been home. So I have to assume that’s what’s happening now.”

  “Well, I guess now we’re gettin’ the flip side,” my friend huffed. “‘Cause I’d say manic is a pretty good description of the whole hair thing. Not ta’ mention the whole mood thing. Did ya’ see the way she just kept smilin’ when we were arguin’? She wasn’t about ta’ give in, but she never got mad about it.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that.”

  “Well? Was that weird or what?”

  I nodded. “A little. But she does tend to grin when she feels like she’s won an argument, and in her mind, she had that one conquered from the outset. So, all I really saw was my wife feeling like she had the upper hand. Maybe I’m just too close to her to see.”

  �
��She told ya’ Lewis deserved to die,” he repeated in a half questioning tone.

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “But, I don’t think she really believes that. That was the problem. She knew she was supposed to be upset. She just couldn’t make herself feel the remorse.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya’, Row, that’s fucked up. She’s actin’ flaky.”

  “Maybe so, but I also think we need to cut her some slack. Like I said, Helen expected some type of odd behavior from her when the effects of the stress bubbled to the surface. I doubt you could come up with a better trigger for it than the package today combined with the visit from Lewis yesterday.”

  “Yeah, well speakin’ of Helen, what I think is that Firehair needs ta’ have a sit down with ‘er. Right away.”

  “I don’t disagree with you there, but I can’t force her to do it.”

  “I bet we can. I got handcuffs.”

  “She’d just use them on you if she got the chance,” I told him with a half-hearted chuckle.

  “Jeez, let’s not go there, ‘kay?”

  “You brought it up.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. My bad.”

  “Seriously, though. She’ll talk to Helen when she’s ready.”

  “Yeah, well let’s hope she’s ready before she shaves ‘er head or somethin’.”

  “You know, Ben, I get the feeling you’re even more disturbed by her change of appearance than anything else.”

  “It ain’t right. She looks like one of those goth chicks or somethin’,” he replied then tucked his cigar into his mouth and puffed. After a second unproductive draw, he pulled it out and inspected the end. “Damn. Went out. Lemme see your lighter.”

  I dug the device out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Actually, with it dyed black, it’s more of a Bettie Page look.”

  “Who’s Bettie Page?”

  “She’s a pinup model from the fifties.”

  “Pinup model, huh?”

  “Yeah. Her claim to fame was cheesecake bondage and fetish photos.”

  “Awww, Jeez…” He mumbled, casting me a sideways glance as he re-ignited his cigar. “I shoulda known.”

  “Uh-huh,” I grunted, accepting the lighter back. “But, as shocking as the change is, I have to admit it still looks good on her.”

  “Well, yeah,” he agreed. “Never said it looked bad. It just don’t look right ta’ me. I mean it’s Firehair. She’s s’posed ta’ have red hair.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to call her something else for a while.”

  “Yeah. I’m workin’ on that, but I got a feelin’ she ain’t gonna like Blackhead.”

  “I think you’re probably right about that.”

  I took a puff off my own cigar then rolled the smoke around on my tongue before blowing it out in a long stream on the cold air. The cloud of condensed breath quickly dissipated, leaving behind only the thin, blue-white haze lofting on a gentle breeze.

  Looking out into the night, I stared at the neighborhood. It was relatively peaceful and pretty much always had been. Up until a few years ago, that is. But, everything that happened to shatter that quiet seemed to center around this house—and me. We’d never had any sort of close relationship with any of our neighbors, but these days they weren’t even interested in waving to us from across the street.

  I sighed as thoughts of pulling up stakes and moving crossed my mind once again. Finally, I looked over at my friend and asked, “Do you really think Annalise is going to come here?”

  “Dunno,” he grunted after a moment of thought. “But, she’s been here at least once already.”

  “You don’t know that for a fact,” I countered.

  “Gut feelin’,” he told me. “She was here.”

  I didn’t refute what he said. I’d learned to trust his instincts just as much as he trusted mine. After a moment I mused aloud, “Why does this sort of thing always get so out of hand?”

  My friend huffed out what passed for an apathetic chuckle then replied, “Just lucky, I guess.”

  I was getting ready to tell him that his answer didn’t make me feel any better, but as I opened my mouth to speak, I heard a distant echo that sounded almost like my name being called. I left my comment unspoken and cocked my head to the side, listening intently.

  A second later, I heard it again, louder. This time it wasn’t only my name but Ben’s too. And, the voice was recognizable, even through the panic in which it was encased. I looked up at my friend whose expression was a mirror image of my own. A heartbeat later we were both in motion. The only reason we didn’t collide was that I started for the door a split second sooner than he.

  Felicity was already topping the basement stairs and coming into the hall as we entered through the front door. The look on her face instantly bolstered the rush of anxiety that was already tightening my chest.

  “What’s wrong?!” I asked, continuing toward her.

  “She called,” she replied, her eyes wide and face even paler than usual.

  “Devereaux?” Ben asked.

  “Aye,” she replied. “Just now.”

  “You talked to her?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No. She called my business line, and I just let the answering machine pick it up.”

  “Did you save the message?” Ben pressed.

  “I was sitting there when she called. I haven’t played it back yet.”

  My friend pressed past us and headed downward. We followed only a step or two behind. Hitting the bottom of the stairs, we veered immediately left, past Felicity’s darkroom, and then hooked around the corner into her actual office. The answering machine was perched on the corner of her desk, where it always sat, and the message light was winking on and off, demanding attention.

  Ben reached over and pressed the play button. The device was digital, so it instantly chirped and an electronic voice announced, “You have one new message. Received… December four…teenth… at… nine thir… ty-two P.M…”

  The machine-generated voice was then replaced by the hiss of telephone static and the sound of a single, heavily exhaled breath. On the heels of the sigh, a sweet, Southern-accented voice issued from the speaker.

  “Hello, Felicity,” it said. “I’m so sorry I missed you. I was just calling to see if you enjoyed the gift. You know, mat was just dying to be under them.” The voice snickered as if amused at the sick joke. A second later it continued, a stern tone affecting its cadence, “He never should have called me by your name. But, I don’t guess we need to worry about him making that mistake again, do we?”

  There was a thick pause, and we could hear her breathing, then Annalise spoke again, her words harsh and demanding, “It isn’t yours, chienne! It belongs to me, and I won’t let her give it to you!”

  With that, the line clicked and went dead, only to be replaced a moment later by an electro-mechanical announcement saying, “End new messages.”

  We all stared at the machine for what seemed like a full minute, none of us saying a word. Finally, Ben sighed then reached up to massage the back of his neck.

  Leveling his gaze on my wife, he said, “Wanna reconsider your decision ta’ stay here now?”

  CHAPTER 34:

  “It would appear the call originated from a payphone at a gas station in Northwest County,” Special Agent Constance Mandalay said, folding her cell and slipping it into her pocket for what seemed like the hundredth time since she arrived. “The local cops checked it out, but the attendant doesn’t remember seeing anyone use it, much less anyone who fit Devereaux’s description.”

  “Yeah, figures,” Ben grunted.

  Almost two hours had passed since the call from Annalise. The clock was just starting its uphill climb toward midnight, but none of us were particularly interested in sleeping at the moment. None of us except Felicity, that is, who was lying down in the bedroom. I suspected, however, she was really doing more hiding from reality than actual resting.

  Ben had called Constance after we listened to
the recording a second time, since at this point, the FBI was just as deeply involved in this investigation as the Major Case Squad, if not more so. She had arrived shortly thereafter, but until now any conversation with her had been sparse since she was spending the majority of her time on her cell phone conferring with other agents and law enforcement personnel.

  “That’s always the way,” Constance replied. “To be on the safe side, we put a tap on all your phone lines just in case she calls again.”

  “She will,” I offered. “She’ll keep trying until she gets Felicity on the line.”

  “That’s typical,” she agreed. “I just didn’t want to say it.”

  “You know you don’t have to pull any punches with me, Constance.”

  “You’re right,” she replied with a shallow nod. “Force of habit. Put the victim at ease.”

  “I don’t think there is going to be any ease around here until this is over, but thanks for trying.”

  She smiled briefly before slipping back into her serious façade. “So, obviously we expect her to call again. The real question is when.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to wait long. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t tried again already.”

  “Well, a delay is typical too,” she told me. “Stalkers use it to instill fear in their victims. They draw their power from terrorizing their chosen subject, and the waiting game tends to be very effective where that is concerned.”

  “I know, but Annalise isn’t your average stalker.”

  “None of them ever are, Rowan,” she said with a nod. “But, what she has done so far fits the basic profile.”

  “So far,” I said. “But, I’m sure that will change. Soon.”

  “One of your feelings?” she asked, no skepticism in her voice whatsoever. She was among the few who had come to readily accept without question the intangible evidences provided by my curse.

  “That, and something she said,” I replied with a shrug. “Her last comment was ‘I won’t let her give it to you.’”

  “The ‘it’ being the sexual gratification you’ve mentioned before, I assume?”