“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 a
fter 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 facade. “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?”
“That would be my theory. I’m certain she’s livid about Miranda using Felicity as a horse. But, projecting the anger at a Lwa isn’t going to help. For example, it would be no different than a Christian taking God to task for not giving them the new car they prayed for… Or me blaming the universe for not winning the lottery just because I did a money spell… That’s certainly not going to get a positive result. Negativity begets negativity.
“So, for Annalise to vent her anger at Miranda will only further deny her the gratification. In the end it’s really a simple matter of transference. Felicity becomes the object of her disdain because she views her as a rival for that which she desires.”
“I don’t understand. How is Felicity a rival?” she asked. “Ben said you’d done away with the connection that allowed all this to happen.”
“I did. But, I believe Miranda brought Annalise back here in order to re-establish that connection somehow. The how, I haven’t yet figured out, but she may have already done it. I’m hoping not, but I can’t really be sure. Either way, Annalise almost certainly knows exactly what Miranda wants, but she isn’t about to let it happen if she can help it. And, the only way for her to accomplish that is to remove Felicity from the picture entirely.”
“Okay, so that’s her motivation,” Constance replied. “I suppose you believe that is what’s driving the escalation as well?”
“Partly. But mainly I think it’s frustration,” I said with a nod. “To put it bluntly, I don’t think she’s getting any, so to speak. Of her most recent two murders, neither has been for the sexual gratification like those prior. One appeared to be for the express purpose of working a cross against me, since I am seen as another of her obstacles. Then, the Lewis homicide was purely out of blind anger.”
“He should never have called me by your name,” she repeated Annalise’s words from the tape with an understanding nod.
“Which explains the tongue,” Ben added.
“Exactly,” I agreed. “Blatant symbolism is common in hoodoo, and most any other magick, so it would definitely fit the way she thinks.”
Ben thrust his chin toward Constance with a quick nod. “Speakin’ of the Lewis homicide, did you check it out?”
“Not personally,” she replied, shaking her head. “But we had a team there. From what I hear, apparently they just missed you and Rowan.”
“Yeah, well we were just passin’ through.”
“I heard,” she replied then raised her eyebrow and took on a concerned tone. “You know, Ben, you’re probably going to get yourself suspended for taking Rowan there.”
“That’s the plan.”
She sighed. “And you worry about me getting into trouble.”
“Yeah, well, that’s life. So… Your guys find anything we missed?”
She shook her head again. “Not that I’ve heard. They’re still going over everything, but she didn’t seem to leave anything that will help track her down.”
“Wunnerful,” he harrumphed. “So we’re still at square one.”
“For now, it looks that way.”
“Okay, well, if you two will excuse me, I’m going to go check on Felicity,” I said.
Constance gave me an understanding nod. “That’s probably a good idea.”
I turned to head back to the bedroom, but before I even made it as far as the hallway, the electronic trill of a telephone ringing issued from the basement. A split second later, the cordless handset from Felicity’s business line downstairs, which was resting on the dining room table, chirped for attention. I stopped mid-stride and turned around.
Constance looked over to me and asked, “Has Devereaux heard Felicity’s voice?”
“Probably on the answering machine,” I replied.
“Damn,” she mumbled. She stepped over and picked up the handset anyway but simply held it in her hand as it chirped again. “Does she actually identify herself on the outgoing message?”
“I don’t think so. I believe she just launches into the standard leave a message spiel.”
“Good. Maybe we’ll be okay then.” She thumbed the talk button then placed it against her ear. Without missing a beat, she said, “Emerald Photographic Services.”
She looked toward us and nodded as she continued. “This is Felicity… The message? No, that would be my assistant. Who is this?”
We watched silently as Constance put the impromptu ruse into motion. Behind me, I heard the bedroom door open and Felicity softly calling my name. I turned to see her coming toward me, a questioning look on her face. I held my finger up to my lips, motioning for her to stay quiet.
“I assure you, I am Felicity O’Brien,” Constance said into the phone. “But, you still haven’t told me who you…”
She shook her head and sighed then pulled the phone away and thumbed it off.
“She hung up,” she said as she placed the handset back onto the table. “Apparently she didn’t buy it.”
“The accent,” Ben offered. “Five’ll get ya’ ten Lewis mentioned it at some point.”
“You’re probably right,” she agreed. “And, then she picked it up from the answering machine too, so there’s no way around it.”
“You’d best let me answer it the next time, then,” Felicity interjected.
“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that,” I said.
“Aye, and I don’t know if I’m comfortable with her still being out there,” she spat. “It’s me she’s after. I just want it over.”
“I understand that, honey, but with the state you’re in, I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to talk to her.”
“And what state is that?” she demanded.
“You’re distraught… Understandably so… And, getting on the phone with her is just going to make it worse.”
“Rowan’s right, Felicity,” Constance added, steppi
ng back toward the rest of us. “Talking to Devereaux isn’t going to be easy.”
“Damnu! ” my wife snapped. “I don’t care! I just want this over! Now!”
“Calm down, honey,” I said, trying to soothe her.
“Calm down? Don’t you tell me to calm down!”
“Felicity,” Ben started. “We’re just tryin’ ta’ protect you.”
“Well stop it! I don’t want you to protect me!”
Before any of us could respond, the telephone trilled again. Felicity twisted away from me and darted forward, shouldering past Constance as she began to turn. In an instant my wife snatched the handset from the table and had it pressed against the side of her head.
“Hello!” she spat, her tone nothing short of a demand.
All three of us started toward her, but she slipped around to the opposite side of the table, effectively placing it between her and us. We could have easily scrambled around after her, but at this point it didn’t matter. The damage was already done.
She barked into the phone, “Yes, this is she, you saigh… No, it’s Gaelic and it means bitch. Well, I don’t speak French either, but I know bitch when I hear it…”
Having no other recourse, Constance waved to get Felicity’s attention. Once she had it, she pointed to her watch and mouthed, “Keep her talking.”
My wife gave her a curt nod, but the hard frown never left her face, even as she continued to speak, “No. That was my assistant. She has a tendency to be overprotective… Yes, I did get them. They were a lovely thought, but the police wouldn’t let me keep them.”
Constance was keeping her eyes fixed on Felicity, but she had stepped back into the living room and was whispering into her cell phone.
“Aye, what’s wrong?” my wife asked. “Not getting the reaction you wanted?… Did you really think a little blood was going to bother me? I’m afraid you’re going to have to try harder, then…”
I had once been right where my wife was now. On a phone talking to a serial killer-one that wanted me dead more than anything-so, I knew the drill all too well. Unfortunately, my wife wasn’t following it. But, of course, neither had I.
The End Of Desire argi-8 Page 24