The End Of Desire argi-8

by M. R. Sellars

  “Nope. Both deceased. Have been for quite a few years. And, there weren’t any other livin’ relatives, so they left the whole shootin’ match to guess who?”

  “Annalise.”

  “Bingo. Speakin’ of that, it seems the address she used for her driver’s license might’ve been kinda bogus. The place actually exists and all… Or, it did before the flood… And, she even owned it… But accordin’ to one of the neighbors NOLA PD managed ta’ track down, they don’t think she actually lived there. A lawn service came by and kept the place up, and the guy said he noticed a car there a couple of times late at night, but he never saw anyone actually livin’ there.”

  “Do you think she was planning ahead for the eventuality of getting caught?” I asked.

  “Possibly. That, or she was usin’ it in the middle of the night or somethin’. Who knows? Doesn’t really matter much ‘cause since the flood, it’s totaled. If there was any evidence there, it’s gone now.

  “So, anyway, on the doctorate thing… She attended three separate colleges. Not sure why the moving around, but in the end she did her post-grad work at George Washington University in DC, which is where she got the doctorate. She didn’t really put it to use though. Not professionally anyway because after she got it, she worked as a VP for her dad’s company. But, that only lasted about a year.”

  “What happened?”

  “Dunno. Apparently she just up an’ quit. But, after the parents kicked, she sold off a lotta property as well as the family business. Been a lot of turnover there, so nobody really remembers much about ‘er. However, after that, even though she didn’t need the money, she spent some time working as a pro-dominatrix.”

  “That really doesn’t come as a big surprise.”

  “No, it doesn’t. She even owned one of those fetish clubs for a while ‘till it got shut down.” He flipped a page in the notebook and scanned down the page. “Yeah, here it is, Gwendolyn’s Keep.”

  “Another pseudonym…”

  “Yeah… Back then she was callin’ ‘erself, Mistress Gwen. Regular identity crisis with this one.”

  “Any idea why she was shut down?”

  “Yeah, actually. That took some diggin’, but it seems one of ‘er clients filed assault charges. Said she took the ‘game’ a bit too far. Accordin’ to the police report, she fucked ‘im up good. Lessee… Yeah… Whole lotta stitches, a broken hand, broken nose, and several bad cigarette burns.”

  “I guess there’s no surprise there either.”

  “Yeah, well her contention was expressed consent, which didn’t necessarily fly. So, the club got closed down and there was a big stink. Almost went ta’ trial, but she had the money ta’ make the whole situation go away. The nasty rumor is she not only paid off the client but a coupl’a local officials as well because they were lookin’ real hard at criminal charges. Anyway, after that she pretty much just dropped off the map. Not even a parkin’ ticket since. Pulled a Garbo. Total recluse. No friends or acquaintances ta’ speak of. She just pays ‘er taxes, donates to a coupl’a charities for the write-off, and that’s about it.”

  “Well, I think we know better than that.”

  “True story.”

  “Of course, with all that money, I suppose it isn’t hard to disappear if that’s what you want.”

  “Yeah, that’s a fact… Of course, right now ‘er bank accounts and credit cards are bein’ tracked, but somethin’ tells me she’s prob’ly got a stash we don’t know about… Maybe even whole ‘nother identity or two… Hell, I’d bet my paycheck on it.” He flipped the notebook closed then stowed it back in his pocket. “Okay, I showed ya’ mine. Your turn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this whole Miranda thing. You seem ta’ think she’s the real reason evil sis-in-law would come back… So, explain it to me. Why would this dead chick be after you?”

  “Oh, that… Well, it’s simple really. When I severed the binding, I took Felicity away from her.”

  “So she’s really after Felicity, not you?”

  “Probably. But, my bet is that Miranda wants Felicity alive and well so that she can continue using her as a horse. Annalise, on the other hand, based on what I picked up from that vision, would rather that not be the case. So, she’s going to be severely conflicted.”

  “Could be good for us if she is. Might cause ‘er ta’ make a mistake that’ll let us get a bead on ‘er,” he offered then thrust his chin toward me. “So technically, you’re safe.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’m a roadblock for both of them. I’m the one who took Felicity away. I know that didn’t sit well with Miranda at all. And, since I’ll also protect my wife at all costs, Annalise isn’t going to be terribly happy with me either. Neither of them will.”

  “So you’re pissin’ em both off.”

  “Essentially, yes. That would be my guess. Therefore, I’m expendable as far as both of them are concerned.”

  “So, ain’t you worried about Firehair out runnin’ around by herself?”

  “At the moment, no.” I shook my head. “Miranda exercises too much control over Annalise. She isn’t going to let Annalise come after Felicity. If anything, she’ll probably attempt something magickal again. I’m just not sure what.”

  “Somethin’ with the bones?”

  “Possibly, although that would be more curse oriented and more likely directed at me. If I had to speculate, I’d say she’ll probably try to re-establish the bond between them.”

  “How?”

  “At this point your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Well, I hate ta’ say it, but there ain’t much I can do about the Twilight Zone shit, Row.”

  “I know.”

  He sat staring off into space for a moment then exhaled heavily. “Okay. I’m gonna call and see if we can put somebody on the house. Then I’ll check with Constance and see if the Feebs can put you two up in a safe house.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Ben,” I said. “Besides, we tried that before, and if you recall it didn’t end very well.”

  “That was a different situation.”

  “Maybe. But I still don’t think it’s necessary, and even if it is, I’m not willing to take that chance. I need to stand my ground.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I’m not going to argue the point, Ben.”

  “Jeezus… Well, why don’t you an’ Felicity at least come crash at my place ‘till we can get a handle on this.”

  “I need to stay put. But, maybe I can talk Felicity into getting out of harm’s way.”

  “Yeah, right. Like she’s gonna go for that.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “Ain’t no prob’ly to it. I’ve been down this road with you two before. She’s more stubborn than you if that’s possible.”

  “Believe me, that’s already on my mind.”

  Ben’s cell phone began trilling, so he fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Yeah. Storm… Uh-huh… Yeah… Hold on, he’s sittin’ right here. I’ll ask ‘im…”

  “What?” I asked as he cupped his hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Has Felicity got a necklace with a half a coin or somethin’ like that on it?”

  “Yeah,” I replied with a nod. “It’s an heirloom she got from her mother.”

  “Was she wearin’ it today?”

  “Probably. She almost always is.”

  “Yeah. That’s what Lewis just told ‘em.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “He’s still insistin’ it was Felicity he was with. Swears he can’t be makin’ a mistake ‘cause she was wearin’ the same necklace last night when he hooked up with ‘er.”

  “Dammit, Ben, we aren’t going there again, are we? Felicity didn’t…”

  He cut me off. “Calm down, Row. It’s all good. I just had ta’ ask. We know the guy’s a wingnut.”

  He removed his hand and returned his attention to the phon
e. “Yeah, Row says ‘e thinks she wears it all the time, so she prob’ly had it on this mornin’ when the fruitloop showed up… Yeah, that’s my thought too… Wait, hold on… What, White Man?”

  I had been waving at him to get his attention.

  “If you’re looking for something to distinguish them from one another, ask him if the woman last night had any tattoos. Annalise has a triskele on her back, near her left shoulder.”

  “How do ya’ know that? Wait… Forget I asked…” He moved the phone back up to his mouth. “Ya’ catch that? Yeah, left shoulder. Yeah… I’ll hold…”

  “So?”

  “So cool your jets,” he told me. “We ain’t comin’ after Felicity. The guy’s certifiable and we know it. Ackman’s gonna ask ‘im about the tatt.”

  After a moment he repositioned the phone and said, “What’s that? Yeah. Thought so… Okay, I’ll be over in a few. Later.”

  I watched him as he folded the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket.

  “You were right. Lewis says she had the BDSM tatt on ‘er shoulder. That somethin’ you got from a visit to the Twilight Zone?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, odds are he’s just so fixated on Firehair that he’s sayin’ anything ‘e can to make us believe there’s a relationship there, so I wouldn’t worry about it. So, look… I gotta run. I need ta’ hook up with Ackman ta’ go check out that club.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “What I want is for ya’ ta’ pack a bag, grab your wife, and hightail it over ta’ my place. I can give ya’ my spare key.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that happening.”

  “Yeah, I know. So, we go for number two on my wish list instead. You stay right here with the door locked, and call me if any ooga-boogas pop in and give ya’ a message.”

  Other than a particularly angry resurgence of my chronic headache, the rest of the day passed without incident. But, as they say, all good things must come to an end. Unfortunately, for me, the good things always seemed to reach that end far too quickly.

  Wednesday, December 14

  1:17 A.M.

  Unit 103

  Blue Moon Apartments

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 27:

  “Why?” Annalise asked aloud.

  “It is not for you to ask…” Miranda told her.

  “But, I’ve had this all my life.”

  “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 n
ow 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.