The End Of Desire argi-8

by M. R. Sellars

  I shook my head. “There was nothing on the calendar. But, I will admit that she sometimes forgets to write them down where I can find them.”

  “Well, ‘er purse is gone. Could ya’ tell if she took any equipment?”

  “No,” I replied. “I looked, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what all she has down there, so she could walk out with a case full of stuff and I’d never be able to tell. Besides, she usually keeps a case in the Jeep as it is.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fine,” he offered again.

  I simply nodded then got up from my seat and walked over to the open door. I wiped my hand across the opaque condensation that had formed on the glass of the storm door and silently watched the world continuing on about its business outside.

  “You’re thinkin’ about it, aren’t ya’?” Ben asked after a long silence.

  I knew all too well the “it” to which he was referring. It was something that haunted me every December, especially on the anniversary, which was only a bit over a week away on Christmas Eve. “It” was the night I had returned home from working an investigation with Ben only to find Felicity missing because she had been abducted by a serial rapist. Given the situation, it was hard not to draw a few disturbing parallels.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Yeah, I am.”

  “This ain’t the same, Row,” he told me.

  “Of course it isn’t,” I replied. “He wanted to rape her. Annalise wants to kill her.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he huffed. “There’s no real reason to believe Annalise has anything to do with this. For one, Felicity’s vehicle is gone. For two, like I said, so is her purse. For three, there’s no sign of a struggle. And finally, the dogs weren’t locked up. Firehair had to have left here willingly, you know that.”

  In reality, I knew he was correct. There was absolutely nothing to indicate that Felicity hadn’t simply climbed in her Jeep and left of her own accord. But, even if that was fact, something still didn’t feel right about it.

  “Shouldn’t we be out looking for her?” I asked, surprising myself at how even my voice was remaining.

  “We can if ya’ want,” he replied. “You got an idea where ta’ start?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not really.”

  “Okay,” he replied then waited a measured beat before continuing. “Lemme ask ya’ somethin’… You absolutely sure the hocus-pocus with the doll worked?”

  I turned to face him. “Yeah, why?”

  “Just askin’.”

  I thought about what he’d asked, and my muddied brain managed to match up the pieces. With an obvious accusatory tone infecting my voice, I spat, “You think she might be heading for that bondage club again, don’t you?”

  “Calm down, White Man. I was just askin’,” he replied.

  “I broke that connection,” I continued, intent on making sure he understood. “Miranda isn’t able to use her as a horse any longer.”

  “Okay, so what if Annalise did somethin’? Maybe that thing with the candle. Didn’t ya’ say you thought that’s why Miranda brought ‘er back here?”

  “I don’t even want to entertain that thought.”

  “But, didn’ t you…”

  “No,” I spat. “Don’t even go there.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. I was just askin’.”

  I’m not sure if I was being so insistent for his benefit or my own because whether I wanted to admit it or not, the very same thought had already crossed my mind. My friend had simply been the first to vocalize it.

  “Actually, there’s something else that worries me,” I finally said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Shamus.”

  “Firehair’s dad? What about ‘im?”

  “When Felicity first got arrested, he blamed me. During one of his calls to berate me, he said he had made arrangements to have her deprogrammed once she was out of jail.”

  “Yeah, I remember you sayin’ that. But, I thought I remembered somethin’ about your mother-in-law sayin’ she’d put the kibosh on that?”

  “That’s what she said, but I still try not to underestimate Shamus.”

  He shook his head. “But there’s nothing here to indicate she was abducted, Row.”

  “Maybe he set it up differently,” I speculated. “Maybe he called her and she went over to their house and he had them waiting for her.”

  “With their black helicopter?”

  “Dammit, Ben, don’t make jokes!” I snapped.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but you’re soundin’ like one of those conspiracy nuts. Besides, your father-in-law didn’t call ‘er.”

  “How do you know?”

  “‘Cause there’s nothin’ on your caller ID since well before we left the house, and the only incomin’ call on ‘er cell for the past two days is the one you just made a little while ago.”

  “You checked that?”

  “I’m a cop, Row. Remember? It’s what I do.”

  “What about…”

  He interrupted before I could get the question out of my mouth. “Yeah, I checked ‘er business line, and yours too. No calls from Dad. But, if it’ll make ya’ feel better, I can call and have a unit go by to check.”

  “No…” I said after a moment. “Probably not. Not yet, anyway. If I’m wrong then that will just stir up a big mess all over again.”

  “I agree… and yeah, you’re wrong.”

  “I just don’t get it, Ben. Why would she leave? After everything that’s happened. After what showed up here. She knows it isn’t safe.”

  “We’re talkin’ about Firehair here. You wanna ask that question again or think about it first?”

  “I guess you’re right,” I mumbled then looked back toward the storm door. The condensation had obscured the view once again. “I suppose we’re going to look like idiots when she rolls back into the driveway with groceries or something.”

  “Yes and no,” my friend replied with a sideways bob of his head. “When it turns out ta’ be nothin’, yeah, it might look like an overreaction on the surface; but, under the circumstances, this is all warranted. Besides, ain’t a copper I know of who wouldn’t rather have a call turn out ta’ be nothin’, rather than somethin’. Believe me, we live for that shit.”

  Ben’s cell began trilling in his pocket, so he dug it out and answered it.

  “Yeah, Storm… Uh-huh… Yeah… Where? North or south? Okay, any sign of ‘er? Okay. How’s it look? Yeah. That’s good. Okay. Thanks.”

  I was talking before he had even managed to switch the device off. “What? What is it?”

  “Firehair’s Jeep is sittin’ on the north lot at the Galleria. Call just came in.”

  “That’s less than a mile from here.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Is she…”

  “All they found is the Jeep, Row, but it’s parked and locked. No sign of any foul play. Like I said earlier, she’s probably inside shoppin’. They’re gonna page ‘er. C’mon, grab your coat and we’ll go over there.”

  The drive was short; still, with traffic it took us a handful of minutes before we pulled off the main drag into the entrance of the large indoor mall. Ben turned early and aimed his van across the less crowded portion of the front parking lot before cutting over toward the far side of the shopping center.

  As we rounded the corner and entered the north lot, I spotted Felicity’s Jeep parked at the far end of the first row. Angled in behind it were a Briarwood Police cruiser and a mall security vehicle. As we continued up the aisle, I could see two uniformed officers standing next to the Jeep chatting with a petite woman who was gesturing toward the side entrance.

  My heart skipped a beat before starting to race yet again because, other than her small stature, she looked nothing like my wife.

  *****

  “Why did you do this?” I asked, confusion in my voice.

  “I already told you,” my wife replied.

  “Tel
l me again.”

  “Because, I don’t want to look like her.”

  I simply stared at her across the kitchen, unsure of what else to say. As it turned out, I had been mistaken. The woman talking with the two officers on the mall parking lot was, in fact, Felicity. In my defense, however, I had a valid reason for not recognizing her at a distance. The truth is, I even had a reasonable excuse for doing a double take when I got out of the van less that twenty feet away from her.

  “I still can’t believe you had the police looking for me,” she countered.

  “Why not?” I asked. “After what happened today? Not to mention that you told me you were going to lock the door and finish packing, but then I come home and you’re gone. What kind of reaction did you expect?”

  “Aye, you have a point. I suppose I should have left you a note.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone out to begin with.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “Maybe I am, but I think maybe you’re under reacting.”

  She simply shrugged and continued to look at me with her head cocked to the side, a mildly curious look in her eyes. I don’t suppose I could blame her. I was still staring at her, just as I had been for several minutes. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had blinked.

  “It will grow back, Rowan,” Felicity announced after a moment then leaned back against the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “Really, it will.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I replied. “But… I don’t know…”

  Her cascading tresses, which once reached down to her waist, now came to a blunt end just below her shoulders. While there was still a good bit of body to them in the form of a rippling wave, the loosely spiraling curls were all but gone as well. However, radical as those changes were, even they paled in comparison to the fact that her color had gone from fiery red to inky black.

  As she looked back at me now, her ivory complexion appeared ghostly white beneath the stark contrast of the straight-banged, retro hairstyle. I knew I didn’t have a say in the matter. It was her hair, not mine. But, I’d never seen her with short hair before, much less any color other than her natural red, so I was more than just a little taken aback.

  “But what?” she asked, prompting me for the rest of my aborted sentence.

  “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.”