“Unfortunately, no. She went completely off radar after your little run in with her. Up until now.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear, Ben,” I replied.
“Yeah, I figured ya’ wouldn’t be too excited ‘bout that.”
“Why do I get the feeling the ‘up until now’ part has something to do with this call?”
“Because you’re psychic?”
“No, actually I’m not,” I replied.
“Yeah, I know. Look, Kemosabe, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”
My voice went flat as I spoke, “Important how? Because I seem to recall telling you I was done, Ben. More than once.”
“Yeah, but I still don’t think ya’ meant it,” he replied.
“Yes, Ben, I did, and I’m not going to bother giving you all the reasons again.”
“Yeah, well ya’ need ta’ talk ta’ me about this anyway.”
“No, I don’t. I’m staying out of this.”
“I’m afraid you can’t. That’s why I called.”
“What do you mean I can’t? Listen closely, this is me hanging up.”
I had the phone halfway to the cradle when I heard him bark, “Don’t be an asshole, White Man! I really need ya’ ta’ listen to this.”
Ignoring the insult, I put the phone back to my ear and demanded, “Why, Ben? Why do you want to drag me back into this?”
“Did I say I wanted ta’ do it?”
“Well, why else would you be making this call?”
“You ready ta’ shut up and listen?”
“Fine. What about her?”
“She killed again…”
“I can’t say that surprises me,” I told him.
“Yeah, didn’t figure it would,” he replied. “But, she added a new twist you need ta’ know about.”
“What’s that?”
“She carved your name in the victim’s chest. Accordin’ to the M.E., it appears she did it before she killed ‘im.”
“My name?”
“Yeah, Row. Your name… And, there’s more.”
“What?”
“The victim’s head was covered with a black cloth bag that was filled with dirt and some kinda dried leaves.”
Before Ben could continue I interjected, “And, the torture was only cursory, nothing to the extent of her other victims. But, when she killed him she did it by bashing his head in with a hammer or something similar.”
Ben fell silent at the other end, but I could hear him breathing. I had thought my ability to surprise him had run out long ago, but in this case it seemed to be operating full force.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” I asked.
“Think maybe that’s why ya’ got the headache?”
I didn’t answer.
“Okay, so what’s it mean, Row?” he asked. “It some kinda Voodoo curse?”
“Hoodoo actually, but yeah. It’s a cross,” I explained, recalling the particulars of the magickal working from my recent research. “It’s old folk magick. She’s seeking revenge against me for something. Everything that happened in the graveyard maybe. I don’t know. Normally the person hexing would use a black china figurine instead of a living human, but we already know she doesn’t operate within normal parameters.”
“That fits. Victim was an African-American male,” he offered.
“I think you’ll find the leaves are from a blackberry bush. The dirt most likely came from the graveyard. She probably has bags of it sitting around.”
“She tryin’ ta’ kill ya’ with Voodoo?”
“More or less,” I replied. “When did this happen?”
“Last night. Medical examiner estimated the time of death at sometime Wednesday evening. The records at the motel where he was found pretty much back that up, although no one saw Annalise, as usual.”
I grunted, “Middle of the week. I guess that would make sense.”
“What?”
“Nothing really. I’d have to look up the actual cross to be certain, but I remember something about executing it over a seven-day period, starting on a Saturday. I was just speculating that she might have chosen Wednesday since it’s basically in the middle. I’m guessing she didn’t want to sit in one place for seven days taking a hammer to a decomposing corpse.”
“Okay, so tell me what ya’ make of this part then. She amputated both his hands. Both of ‘em were still at the scene… Well, kinda… They were missin’ all the bones.”
“Hold on a sec…” I told him.
I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder then tossed the icepack over onto the coffee table. It wasn’t doing much good; besides, my brain was now far too occupied to focus on the pain. I hated to admit it but Ben was correct. I was never going to be able to distance myself from this sort of thing, no matter how much I tried.
Stretching the cord out, I stepped over and scanned the next set of shelves, systematically moving stacks of books which were two and three deep until I found the volume I was searching for.
“You still there?” Ben asked.
“Yeah, hang on,” I told him as I flipped to the index of the selected text, noted the page number for crossings, and began thumbing back through. “Okay…here it is. My guess would be she’s going to use them for some more gris-gris. There’s a crossing here that calls for drying chicken bones, crushing them up, then using them as a component for a curse.”
“I’ll let Baton Rouge PD know that,” Ben replied.
“So, is that where the body was found?” I asked.
“Yeah… Motel just like all the others, ‘cept it was room three instead of seven.”
“Sacred space.”
“Come again?”
“Three would be a number equated with protection. She wanted a safe place to do the cross.”
“Stickler for detail, ain’t she?”
“It’s all part of working magick.”
“‘Kay, we’re back ta’ that. So if she’s tryin’ ta’ kill ya’ with magic, what happens when it doesn’t work? I mean, it ain’t gonna, is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You mean you don’t know what she’ll do if it doesn’t work, right?”
“I mean I don’t know on either one, Ben.”
Monday, December 12
10:02 P.M.
The Whine Cellar Bondage Club
Private Playroom C
Bridge, Illinois
CHAPTER 24:
Annalise reached over her head and grasped the suspension cuffs, which were securely attached to an overhead beam, then gave them a tug. You never knew what the state of the equipment might be in some of these clubs. Not all of them were maintained as well as they should be. But, this place actually appeared to be properly cared for. In some ways it even reminded her of her own.
She gave the hardware a second tug, and the shiny chains rattled against one another. The metallic clinking noise made her heart race with anticipation.
Steadying herself, she looked down at the mostly nude man lying spread-eagle in front of her. She had only just finished locking him into the floor-mounted restraints moments before. He stared back up at her, adoration in his eyes.
“Did I say you could look at me?” she demanded.
“No, Mistress,” the man whispered.
His display of subservience ignited the tickle deep inside. This was the first time she had felt the desire in several days, and to her relief, it was actually pleasurable. Not like it had been before, when she was being punished. Still, the sensation gave her a moment’s pause. Those days of torment had been almost more than she could bear, and the thought of facing it again frightened her more than anything.
But, this time it would be different. Miranda promised release. She had promised the reward.
Using the suspension cuffs to maintain her balance, Annalise stepped up onto the man’s bare chest and twisted slowly, rocking back on her stiletto heels and digging them into his flesh. He groaned as she swayed back and forth, walking in place on his pr
one body.
And, the tickle continued to flare. She knew the itch wouldn’t be very far behind.
This particular sub was a trample fetishist whose kink was being used as a woman’s doormat. In fact, he even went by the name “mat.” Annalise had always found this particular display of dominance enjoyable, just as she did now. However, truth be told, tonight she had been more in the mood to mete out a good flogging. There was certainly no shortage of bare backs here that she would have relished marking with the sting of braided leather. From what she had seen in the club proper, it was obvious that there were several who would have gladly submitted to that torture as well. However, Miranda had said no. She had a specific purpose for Annalise being here, and “mat” was it. She had yet to tell her why. Only that for the moment, she was to seek him out, and him alone.
It had been a long drive to get here from Baton Rouge. With restroom breaks and fuel stops, almost eleven hours to be exact. Annalise had been up and on the road several hours before dawn. She knew full well she should be exhausted, but she wasn’t. She hadn’t even napped after checking into her hotel. She had merely freshened up, changed into suitable attire, and brought herself here to do Miranda’s bidding, though she was still at some loss as to what that bidding was.
Stepping hard, she continued grinding her heels into the man beneath her, reveling in the way his soft flesh gave way to her weight. He moaned as he tensed against his bonds. She wasn’t far behind him in the endorphin rush. The tickle had become the itch, and her breaths were now coming in shallow pants.
“Thank you,” the man gasped. “Thank you for coming back, Mistress Felicity…”
Annalise stopped moving.
She stood there, frozen in place at the sound of the name-the name of the other.
After a moment she shifted her weight then slipped the toe of her shoe beneath his chin and lifted, rolling his head so that she could look directly into his face.
“What did you call me?” she asked, her tone this time far more inquisitive than demanding.
“I’m sorry, Mistress…” the man apologized meekly. “Mistress Miranda.”
“No,” Annalise said firmly. “Tell me what you called me.”
He continued looking up at her but didn’t answer.
She carefully stepped down from his chest then lowered herself until she was seated on his stomach. Smiling sweetly, she reached out and grasped one of his nipples between her thumb and forefinger. Pinching hard, she began to twist and pull the tender flesh.
“I said,” she growled, emphasizing each word. “Tell… Me… What… You… Called… Me.”
The man tensed and groaned heavily, his face screwed into a mask of pain.
“Yes… yes… Mistress…” he stammered through the grimace. “I… I said, Felicity… I… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have used…your… real name…”
Annalise eased off on the nipple, but not without giving it a final rough tweak. She remained sitting as she continued staring blankly into his face. Now she knew why Miranda had insisted she come here in search of him in particular. He must have a connection to the other.
The itch faded quickly upon the revelation, completely bypassing the tickle in reverse and becoming no more than a hollow numbness in the pit of her stomach. Anger welled inside her, and she felt her cheeks flush with its heat.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured. “Why do you think I’m her?”
“Mistress?”
“Why do you think I’m her?” she said again, louder.
“Mistress? But I don’t…”
She didn’t hear the rest of his answer as it was drowned out by the voice inside her skull.
“You will… When it is time…” Miranda said.
“This is why?” Annalise muttered under her breath. “She is why I’m here?”
“Yes…”
“What, Mistress?” the man breathed.
“Shut up!” Annalise spat.
“Mark him…” Miranda’s voice echoed again.
“No,” Annalise said aloud. “I won’t.”
“Punishment or reward, Annalise… You decide.”
“All you want is her!” Annalise complained aloud. “What about me? I’ve done everything for you! The reward belongs to me!”
“There is enough for you both… Now mark him…”
“Mistress?” the man questioned again.
“I thought I told you to shut up!” Annalise barked, flashing him an angry stare.
“Show him how much we love him…” Miranda demanded. “I promise, you will be rewarded…”
“Damn you…” Annalise muttered. “Goddamn you…”
“I am already damned… As are you… Now do as you were told…”
Annalise huffed out a heavy sigh. She knew she couldn’t truly disobey. If she did, the punishment would come again. She feared that perhaps this time it would be even worse.
Reaching back, she slipped off one of her pumps then turned it in her hand so that she could use the tip of the sharp heel as a stylus.
The tickle returned, spreading out through her stomach, forcing the anger to flee, giving way to pleasure.
Pressing the heel-tip against the man’s bare chest, she pressed down and began to drag it in a languid arc. He yelped at the new pain, tensing just as he had done before.
“Relax, little man,” Annalise whispered. “I’m just showing you how much we love you…”
Tuesday, December 13
8:19 A.M.
Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 25:
Normalcy had returned. Well, normalcy so far as I could consider my life normal. Several days had passed since Ben’s call about the homicide in Baton Rouge, and I’d heard nothing about it since. In addition, other than my painfully lucid nightmares, which had greatly lessened in frequency, my afflictions were keeping a low profile. I still had a bit of the chronic ache in the back of my skull but nothing like the blinding migraine I had faced before. Since I’d rarely been without the twinge for several years now, it was easy to ignore.
At any rate, Felicity and I had fallen back into our routines, and though we were unable to ignore everything that had happened or that a killer was still at large, we decided not to let it consume our lives as it had in the past. For the time being at least, we were making a go at being just plain average, even if it was in large part a lie. So far, we seemed to be having a relative amount of success on that front, at least as far as the outside world was concerned.
I took a drink of my coffee then glanced up at the clock on the microwave before bringing my gaze back down to my wife. As usual, she was in the middle of dumping what had to be the fourth or fifth heaping spoonful of sugar into her own cup.
“What time is your meeting?” I asked.
“Ten thirty,” she replied. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Well, for one thing, you were out of bed before me, and you’re already dressed. It’s not even half past eight yet.”
“That a problem?” she quipped with a smile, rattling the spoon around the inside of the ceramic mug as she added hazelnut-flavored creamer to the already overly sweetened brew.
“Can’t say that it is. I’m just not used to you being on time, much less early.”
I dropped my eyes back to the newspaper. Most everything on the front page had fallen into the category of depressing, so I was perusing the daily comics in hopes of finding a chuckle or two instead.
“Aye, well I’m not actually there yet,” she said.
“You have a point,” I agreed without looking up.
“By the way, do I look okay?”
“You look great, as usual.”
“Rowan,” she admonished. “You aren’t even looking at me.”
I lowered the paper and gave her a quick glance. She was clad in a dark grey, pinstripe business suit. Her hair was swept up off her shoulders and pinned in place, cascading into a neat fall down her back. It also didn’t escape my notice that she�
��d seen more than just a cursory visit with her makeup table.
“You look great. Just like you did five minutes ago when you asked me the same thing.”
“I already asked?”
“Uh-huh. Twice actually… This time makes three.”
“But, you’re sure I look okay?”
“Yes,” I told her with a nod then looked back down at the comics. “You look wonderful.”
“I was thinking maybe I should wear a skirt instead of slacks. What do you think?”
“Okay.”
“Well, do you think that would be too much?”
“I don’t know. I guess that would depend on who you’re meeting with and how short the skirt is,” I chuckled.
“I’m serious, Rowan.” She offered the words with a heavy note of exasperation in her voice.
I folded the paper and laid it aside then brought my eyes up to meet hers, giving her my full attention. “All right… What’s up? I’ve never seen you this nervous about work before.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Okay, fine. I’m a little nervous.”
“Why?”
“I’m not usually dealing with the stigma of an arrest and a stay in a psych ward.”
“I don’t understand. You’ve done several jobs since you got home. Why is there a problem now?”
“Those were established accounts who already knew me. This is the first meeting I’ve had to pitch to a potential client since all that happened, you know. It’s different.”
“Yeah, okay. But, I really think you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing, sweetheart,” I reassured her. “You’ll be fine. You always are.”
“I wish I had your confidence about that.”
“Okay, let me ask you this-Did you approach them looking for work or did they call you?”
“They called me.”
“There you go.”
“There I go what?”
“If anything that was in the news about your bogus arrest was going to affect their decision, I doubt they would have even called you in the first place. Obviously it isn’t a factor.”
“Maybe they just haven’t heard about it yet.”
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