The End Of Desire argi-8

by M. R. Sellars

  “I know that, Helen.”

  “You need to be careful.”

  “What makes you think I’m not?”

  “I know you too well. You are there alone, and you do not have anyone to stop you from taking unnecessary risks.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “I suppose you do know me. Well, I am. Being careful, that is.”

  “I hope you are correct, however, I suspect that what you perceive as being careful is a far cry from fact.”

  “You don’t have to mother me. I know what I’m doing,” I returned, even though I wasn’t sure I believed the statement myself. Rather than allow it to go any further, however, I changed the subject. “So, like I said, I called about Felicity. Not me. Is there any chance I could speak to her?”

  “Yes, there is. In fact, I suspect hearing your voice might help her mood,” she replied. “Hold on for a moment, and I will have the switchboard transfer you to her room.”

  The music filled the earpiece once again, though this time I thought I might have recognized the tune. I didn’t get much of a chance to place a title with it, however, as I was treated to a much shorter wait than when I was originally placed on hold. The song was abruptly cut short, and I heard my wife’s voice in its place.

  “Rowan?”

  “Hey…” I said, trying to inject some liveliness into my tone. “How’s my favorite redhead?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just okay? Helen says you’re doing pretty good.”

  “Aye,” she muttered, her singsong Celtic lilt coming through. “Helen should know, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, that’s what she gets paid for.”

  She fell quiet, but I could hear her breathing softly at the other end. After a long pause I asked, “Are you still with me?”

  “Aye,” she mumbled. “I’m here.”

  “Would you rather not talk right now?” I asked, trying desperately to keep disappointment from invading my voice.

  “No,” she replied then corrected herself. “I mean… I do want to talk. It’s just… It’s just that it’s so good to hear your voice right now.”

  “Yours too,” I told her.

  “What about you then?” she asked. “How are you?”

  “Me? I’m fine.”

  “Breugadair.”

  The accusation actually made me smile. Even though she had just called me a liar, the fact that she was interjecting Gaelic into her speech meant that she was much more her old self than even she realized.

  “What makes you think I’m lying?” I asked.

  “I’m depressed, Rowan, I’m not stupid.”

  My voice softened. “Can’t get anything past you, can I?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Aye, you haven’t been sleeping, have you?” She wasn’t really asking, she was telling.

  It was obvious that my powers of deception were more than a bit anemic lately, but then, according to my wife they always were. I decided not to even make an attempt at denying the observation.

  “Not enough,” I admitted. “But, like I said, you don’t need to worry about me. You need to worry about you.”

  “Worrying about you is part of what makes me who I am.”

  “Same here,” I told her. “But you need to concentrate on feeling better. I’m responsible for getting you into this, and I’ll get you out of it.”

  “How do you figure that you’re responsible, then?”

  I closed my eyes and gave my head a slight shake. I knew immediately that I had said the wrong thing, but there was no way to take it back.

  “That’s not important right now,” I told her.

  “Aye, it is to me.”

  I let out a cautious breath as I tried to choose my words. “Let’s just say that if I had never become involved in Ariel Tanner’s murder investigation all those years back, we’d probably be having a much more normal life. Maybe all this wouldn’t be happening.”

  This wasn’t a new thought for me. It was simply one that I usually kept to myself. But, it had weighed on me for quite some time. Had I never opened the door to that other realm by insinuating myself so deeply into that first investigation, maybe the dead would be speaking to someone else instead of me. And, if that were the case, Felicity wouldn’t be sitting in the psychiatric wing of a hospital because an out of control Lwa was using her as a horse.

  “Aye, Caorthann,” my wife soothed. “You had no choice. Ariel was your friend.”

  “I’m supposed to be cheering you up,” I finally muttered.

  “You are…” she replied, and I could actually hear the smile in her voice.

  “I’m glad you think so, because I don’t feel like I am.”

  “How is it down there?” she asked, switching the subject without acknowledging what I had just said.

  On reflex I looked out the windows of the taxi at the piles of detritus as I spoke, “Not as bad as we saw on TV, but it’s still not good.”

  “Are you keeping your wards up?”

  “Yeah. I am.”

  When she replied, her voice was still illuminated by the somewhat bright tone that had made me smile a moment ago. “ Cac capaill. You’re lying again. You haven’t been able to shield yourself for more than ten minutes in years. I know coven initiates who ground better than you.”

  I allowed myself a grin at the comment, complete with the Gaelic profanity. Knowing Felicity as I did, I took the curse as yet another positive sign.

  I felt the car slowing and looked up. We listed briefly as the driver swung the vehicle into the motel’s lot in a tight arc and then eased us up in front of the office.

  “Hold on, honey,” I said into the phone as I fished out my wallet.

  I did a quick mental calculation of the tip and stuffed some bills into his hand with a quick “keep the change,” then stepped out of the vehicle and started across the lot to my own car. The trip had put a dent in my traveling cash, but I wasn’t hurting yet. Still, I figured plastic was probably going to be my best choice to pay for my meals from this point on.

  “Okay, I’m back,” I said after returning the phone to my ear.

  “Have you been eating?” she asked, still bent on taking care of me by long distance.

  I didn’t think she needed the worry, but it seemed to be giving her something to focus on. So, if it made her feel better, I wasn’t going to argue.

  “Aspirin and coffee.”

  “Rowan…”

  “I’ll get something later. I promise.”

  “Something healthy.”

  “You got it. Something healthy.”

  “So what are your plans today?” she pressed.

  I glanced at my watch and saw that it was 10:20.

  “I’m going down to the main branch of the library to check their archives. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to pick up a lead on Miranda from some of the genealogy records. I don’t know if it will do any good, even if I find something, but maybe.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting up with Doctor Rieth to have a look at the cemetery?” she asked.

  “That isn’t until tomorrow. She’s still in Baton Rouge right now. But, I have a map so I might go out there myself this afternoon.”

  I stopped at my rental car then pulled the key out of my pocket and unlocked the door. I opened it but didn’t get in right away. I just stood there watching the traffic out on Airline Highway.

  “Please don’t,” Felicity appealed.

  “Why?”

  “Just… I don’t know. Just don’t go alone. Please wait until tomorrow when Doctor Rieth is with you.”

  “Okay,” I answered softly. “I can do that. Don’t worry.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, honey. I promise,” I said, unconsciously nodding as I spoke. “Truth is I should probably go back to the motel and grab some sleep once I’m done at the library.”

  “Aye, I think you should.”

  Silenc
e fell between us. I turned to slip into the car, and my eyes caught the sight of a maid’s cart outside the door of room 7. Some of the furniture was already resting in a pile near the entrance to the open stairwell on the left.

  “I’m loving you right now,” my wife finally said.

  “I’m loving you too,” I replied.

  “Well…” she began hesitantly. “I suppose I should let you go.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I still need to figure out how to get to the library from here.”

  “Call me later? When you wake up from your nap…”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart.”

  I waited to fold the cell phone in half until I heard the click at her end. I hated to end the call just as much as she, but I really did need to figure out where I was going, and get there.

  It took a moment for me to realize I was still staring in the direction of room 7 as the maid and a man who could have been a maintenance worker went in and out the door at random intervals. I absently wondered how soon they might have the room ready for rental and even considered going over to the office to ask. Of course, the lady behind the desk probably wouldn’t be particularly interested in renting it to me after what had happened a few hours ago.

  Besides, I also remembered what Detective Fairbanks had said. While I’m sure he was well aware I had no intention of leaving New Orleans just yet, I suspected another run-in with the local constabulary wouldn’t go nearly as well as the first. I knew I was going to need to fly beneath their radar for the rest of my visit. Occupying a room at a motel run by the person who had turned me in didn’t strike me as falling into that category.

  But, even if that hadn’t been the case, staying here would probably be a very bad idea. Even though my current digs were far less than desirable, I had to take another important point into consideration. They could replace everything in that room except the ghosts. They were there to stay, and I wasn’t all that keen on spending any more time with them than I already had.

  I shook my head and started to get into the car. As I slid into the seat and closed the door, I noticed a figure standing in the doorway of the office. It was the owner, sans housecoat this time, although I’m betting she was probably still well armed. She stood sipping from a cup and watching me through the window with a determined stare.

  I decided to check my map when I was a little farther down the road.

  CHAPTER 9:

  It had been heavily overcast when the police turned me out, but any precipitation was sporadic. Now, however, it was falling steadily. Not pounding, by any means, just a steady rain. At least it waited until I was indoors.

  I had just finished yet another perusal of the microfilm drawers in the archives division of the New Orleans Public Library. Now, I found myself gazing out the window at the small third floor courtyard, watching the water spatter against the windows. Even up here, the sharp smells of mold and mildewed carpet were prominent as they jetted out through the ventilation system.

  The condition of the library itself was enough to make a person heartsick. The flood that had come in the wake of Katrina had inflicted more than its share of damage on the building and its contents. The signs were everywhere, including the water level marks on the walls.

  But, it wasn’t merely the physical toll that evoked painful emotions. This repository of the written word was now only a part-time library. The rest of the time, it was a temporary federal office housing the FEMA response teams.

  Armed officers waited at the entrance, bringing you in single file through metal detectors as if you were entering an airport concourse. The main floor now housed very few books. Instead, harried people with government ID’s occupied the better part of it, each of them systematically interviewing survivors of the disaster, cataloging their losses and shuffling paperwork-but providing little or no relief. The overwhelming sense of despair I could feel from the people I had seen waiting, government forms clutched in their hands, was almost more than I could bear at the moment. Had I not been focused on my own task, I firmly believe I would have sat down in the middle of the floor and wept for them.

  Even with an entire floor of the building between them and me, I could still feel it.

  I shook off the anxiety then gathered my steno pad and two square boxes containing rolls of microfilm from the top of the metal cabinets. Making my way around the end of the stacks, I headed back toward the center of the dogleg in the L-shaped room. Earlier it had been almost dead up here, but now there was plenty of quiet activity. I wandered up the rows of microfilm readers, checking all the way to the back of the farthest stand, but found them all occupied. Letting out a sigh, I trudged over to a table and pulled out a chair. I hoped my wait wouldn’t be overly long.

  “Excuse me…Sir?” a young woman’s voice broke through the calm room. She wasn’t being loud by any means, but given the relative quiet, her words were hard to miss.

  I looked in the direction of the voice and saw a very young-looking blonde motioning to me with one hand as she used her other to rewind a roll of film.

  “Yeah?” I grunted.

  “I’m done here if you need the machine,” she offered.

  As I had noticed with Detective Fairbanks, her voice held none of the clipped affectations I had become used to hearing since I had arrived in the city. It made her seem almost as out of place as I felt. But, given the fact that she was young, as well as casually dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, I figured she was probably a college student from out of state.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said in a tired drone, giving her a shallow nod.

  I pushed the unused chair back beneath the table then walked over and stood next to the reader and waited patiently. The young woman removed the spool of film then tucked it back into a box. Gathering up her notebook, she hefted her backpack from the floor and slipped it over one shoulder before stepping aside and giving me a smile.

  “You kind of have to coax it a bit sometimes,” she told me. “It sticks every now and then.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I had to use this one earlier. Thanks.”

  “Soooo…Genealogy?” she asked.

  “Huh?” My question came out more as a grunt than a word.

  I wasn’t really paying attention. I already had my own spool of aging film in my hand and was pushing it onto the feed spindle when she made her query. Truth is, my mind was wandering, and it had settled on the fact that I hadn’t done research by microfilm since I was in college myself, which was longer ago than I really wanted to think about.

  “I was just wondering if you were maybe doing genealogical research,” she pressed on, apparently unfazed by my woolgathering expression. “You know, investigating your roots. That sort of thing.”

  “Yeah,” I said, glancing back and giving her a tired nod. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s something like that.”

  I turned back to the task at hand and pressed the plastic spool inward until I felt it snap. Then I tugged on the free end of the film and started to thread it beneath the glass.

  I couldn’t help but feel the girl was still standing behind me. I wondered for a moment if I should reach back and check on my wallet. But, malicious energy wasn’t what seemed to be coming from her. Actually, it felt more like a bizarre mix of curiosity and arousal. Of course, with everything that was bombarding me, I didn’t even want to hazard a guess as to whether or not those feelings were coming from her or somewhere across the room. Instead I just tried to ignore her and hoped that she would go away.

  “Yeah, I figured as much,” she finally said. “I’ve been watching you.”

  Obviously, ignoring her wasn’t going to work. I glanced back over my shoulder again. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Well, I mean…” She paused for a moment then shrugged. “You look kinda old to be a student.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, my voice flat.

  Turning back to the machine, I fished
the loop of brittle film through the guide plate and hooked it onto the take-up reel.

  “Oh, that wasn’t meant as an insult,” she said, backpedaling.

  I replied without turning this time. “No big deal. I wasn’t offended. I realize I’m old as compared to you. That part of my brain still works.”

  I felt something touch me, and I looked down to see that she had leaned in close, actually bringing her ample chest against my arm. I had the distinct impression the physical contact wasn’t an accident. She proved that out by dropping her voice even lower and infusing it with a sultry sweetness.

  “The truth is, I really like older men…a lot…know what I mean?” she whispered as if sharing a secret.

  Now the hairs on the back of my neck were no longer at rest. I stopped what I was doing and hung my head for a moment then sighed.

  Finally, I said, “Please tell me you aren’t trying to pick me up.”

  I could hear the nonchalance in her voice as she replied, “Well, hey… You’re kind of cute. I was thinking maybe we could go get a cup of coffee or something and see where things go from there?”

  I turned to face her and she eased back, flashing me a shy smile that was too brazen to truly qualify as coy.

  “I’m betting I’m old enough to be your father,” I said.

  “Yeah, probably. So what? That’s the point.”

  I opened my mouth to comment on that observation but decided against it. I certainly had no right to judge whatever her proclivities were. Instead I bolstered my objection with, “I’m also happily married.”

  “Yeah. Okay. But, she isn’t with you right now is she?” she countered. “You’ve been alone since I’ve been here.”

  “Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here at the moment, but that’s not the point…”

  “Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Look, young lady…”

  “Erika.” She interrupted me then thrust out her hand. “And you are?”

  I ignored her gesture but returned with a sigh, “Rowan.”

  “Rowan. That’s an interesting name. I like it.” She continued holding her hand out waiting for me to take it.