Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  Disorientation gave way to longing.

  There was only one thing that I cared about.

  Her.

  She was here.

  But was it really her?

  No.

  She was close, but it wasn’t really her.

  Her hair spiraled softly across her shoulders, streaked with highlights from the sun’s rays filtering through the mini-blinds.

  She sat motionless, legs crossed, lounging seductively in the chair… Looking at me with lust in her eyes.

  Yes, the blinds worked. They were artistic.

  But something still wasn’t quite right.

  Perhaps it was the sun.

  Maybe just a bit less yellow…Yes, that would help.

  And maybe tweak the blinds just a bit more.

  Yes, perfect.

  Well almost.

  It would only be perfect when she was really there.

  She moaned softly.

  Need to hurry.

  She whimpered.

  Yes, must hurry before she moves.

  She slid downward, falling to the side then off the chair, coming to rest as a tangled mess on the floor.

  She was no longer perfect.

  A flash of light.

  Fear.

  Pain.

  Loneliness.

  Lust.

  Animal passion.

  Needful desire.

  Putrefaction sets in within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Purge fluids escape through the bodily orifices as the organs begin to decompose, and breakdown of the vascular system occurs.

  Almost perfect.

  If she’ll just stay in one place a bit longer this time.

  If only she was really her…

  Then…

  Then she would be perfect.

  Absolutely perfect.

  Death settles in,

  warming itself briefly on the fading embers

  of a passing life.

  I’m cold.

  So very cold.

  Why me?

  Darkness.

  A mocking chant in the distance.

  Listen everybody; I’ve got a story to tell,

  I’m lying here dead, and he just says, “Oh well.”

  I called on Rowan; they said he was the best.

  They told me, “Go see Rowan,” and forget about the rest.

  I called on Rowan, because I was afraid,

  But all he seems to want, is to get himself laid.

  Dead I am, yes, dead today,

  Will Rowan find my killer?

  Hell no! Not this way.

  * * * * *

  I awoke more exhausted than I’d been when I had crawled into bed next to Felicity. According to the clock almost seven hours had passed, but considering how I was feeling it might just as well have been seven minutes. I remained perfectly still, watching until the numerals on the face of the digital timepiece incremented forward enough times to make it officially noon. Of course, since my wife had a penchant for setting clocks a bit fast to avoid being late, it was more like quarter till.

  A small voice rattled about between my ears—singing a song or reciting a poem, I wasn’t entirely sure. I couldn’t actually make out the words, and the echo was so faint that I had no choice but to conclude that I was imagining things.

  Still, something about it seemed intimately familiar.

  My head was throbbing with a dull ache. Not enough to be debilitating but more than enough to get my attention. All in all, annoying, and something that I hoped would disappear in the very near future.

  After a moment, I started to sit up on the side of the bed and found myself bound in a wild tangle of sheets. When I finally managed to extricate myself, I wearily twisted my fists in my eyes to force the sleep away. I threw a slack-jawed glance over my shoulder and saw that the bed linens were in a chaotic jumble. One of us must have done some serious tossing and turning, and I presumed that I was the guilty party.

  Taking in a deep breath, I started to let out a sigh but was greeted instead by a grating cough. My throat was dry and felt a bit raw. Following the bout of hacking and sputtering, I wheezed in a deep breath and felt it rattle in my chest.

  My hand automatically reached for the nightstand and pawed about, coming up empty. At first I really didn’t even know what I was looking for, then it dawned on me.

  Cigarettes.

  I stared quietly at the floor and picked through the mild twinges in the back of my skull. Reality was setting in and I summoned a bit of concentration before sending it on a quest for memories of the previous night. A quick inventory told me there didn’t appear to be anything new to add to the nonsensical list.

  The one good thing—or bad, depending upon your take—that came to mind was that I hadn’t had any nightmares. At least, I didn’t think I had. Something still didn’t feel right though, and I definitely wasn’t catching on to what it was.

  “Good morning,” Felicity greeted the back of my head from the doorway. “Or should I say, afternoon, then? Finally decided to join the rest of the world?” Her voice still held a heavier than normal Celtic lilt, and that told me that she must not have slept any better than I had.

  “Uh-huh,” I grunted then forced out a scratchy query while thrusting a finger over my shoulder. “Is that clock right?”

  “Close enough,” she returned as she ventured farther into the room and made her way around the end of the bed. “Right as it ever is.”

  “Damn,” I muttered, “I sure don’t feel like I got seven hours of sleep.”

  She laughed, “As it was I only got four myself. What makes you think you’d be gettin’ that much more than me, then?”

  Now I was even more befuddled. “We went to bed around five a.m., right?”

  “Aye.”

  I didn’t say anything else. The comment seemed self-explanatory to me.

  “Well?” I finally said.

  “Well, what?” she answered as she tugged the bed linens off into a pile on the floor.

  “Well, noon minus five,” I offered through my haze, “comes out to around seven. In my head anyway.”

  “It does at that,” she replied as she hooked an arm around my neck and slid into my lap. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower and she smelled faintly of roses. The sweet scent tickled my nose as she leaned in to kiss my cheek then whisper, “And I told you then that we should be spending it sleeping. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

  I was just about to ask her to explain what she meant when the various pieces of the equation started to fall into place. What had been unidentified variables up until now became known quantities. When the values were added up, the undeniable final product was obviously a prolonged and intense sexual encounter.

  Unfortunately, it was one to which I was completely oblivious. Fortunately, I had enough wits about me to know better than to say so, at least until I figured out why.

  “Oh, yeah, that,” I lied for effect.

  “I’m loving you a whole bunch right now,” my wife whispered softly.

  “Yeah, me too,” I said while searching my memory for the slightest inkling of the recent passion and finding none. “Me too.”

  Behind my quiet façade, confusion opened the door then politely invited fear to come on in and make itself at home.

  It didn’t hesitate to accept.

  CHAPTER 12

  “I really appreciate you working me into your schedule like this,” I told Helen Storm as we both sidled up to the balcony railing of the outdoor smoking lounge. “I know you’re very busy.”

  Felicity hadn’t objected in the least when I begged off from helping clean the house in order to attend a hastily scheduled visit with Doctor Storm. Had it been for any other reason, I doubt I would have made it as far as the front door before she started spouting Gaelic. I still hadn’t told my wife about my amnesia regarding our intimacy, and I wasn’t sure if I would. I wasn’t even positive that I was going to tell Helen about it just yet, even though it was
the catalyst for the sudden appointment. Quite a bit was going to depend upon what conclusions were reached over the next hour.

  “It was no problem, Rowan,” she answered.

  “Well, I felt bad about calling you on such short notice.”

  “You should not. That is what I am here for.”

  “Even so,” I expressed, “I hate coming off as some sort of needy flake.”

  “You need not worry about that. It was not my perception in the least. Really, Rowan, it was a light day for me anyway, and it was quite obvious that something was troubling you.”

  I suspected that there had been more to rearranging her schedule than she let on. “Well, I still appreciate it.”

  “I know you do, so stop beating yourself up about it. Truth is, I cannot really say that I was surprised to hear from you,” she offered gently. “Benjamin called me early this morning.”

  “So is he really that worried about me?”

  “Yes he is, but please do not get the impression that he is checking up on you or trying to interfere in your life. He was actually calling me about getting together on Christmas Eve. I could tell he had something else on his mind though, so I pried it out of him.”

  “I’ve discovered over the years that’s not always an advisable task with Ben.”

  “No,” she mused. “Not even for a friend who is as close to him as you are. But being the older sister who has acted as his confidant for more years than she cares to acknowledge, I can get away with it.”

  “I see.” I nodded. “So what did he tell you?”

  “Not much in the way of details really. Just that you had experienced one of your psychic episodes last night and that you were not displaying your usual clarity in that regard.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “He alluded that it was something very out of character for you,” she agreed with a nod.

  “I’m not usually this befuddled, no.”

  “That is what worries him most, I believe—your wife as well. They are concerned that this confusion might interfere with your judgment and, if so, your safety.”

  I knew exactly what she meant and offered the unspoken evidence. “Just like it did when I chased Eldon Porter out onto that bridge. Yeah, we’ve been down that road a couple of times already.”

  “Then you know that they are merely expressing concern for a loved one. You.”

  “I know.” I nodded. “I know… But it still doesn’t make things any easier to deal with. Sometimes it just makes me feel…like…”

  I struggled to find any word or phrase that could accurately describe my feelings, but none were forthcoming.

  “Diminished?” Helen offered.

  “Yes. Exactly. Like they feel as though I’m incapable of making my own decisions.”

  “So what about those decisions?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With everything we have discussed so far,” she explained, “it all seems to come back to Eldon Porter and the decisions you made then.”

  “It was a bad situation,” I said.

  “From what little both you and Benjamin have told me, it sounds like it was a royally fucked up situation.”

  I was momentarily taken aback by the single spoken vulgarity coming from Helen Storm. Her soothing demeanor and calm voice made the expletive stand out even more against the backdrop of her words—effectively framing it and making it the succinct and perfect description of the situation. But it was perfect only as she said it. Had the same statement been made by anyone else, it would have simply been an observation punctuated by profanity.

  I already liked her, but the stark humanness of the expression ingratiated her to me even more.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Yes it was.”

  “What about the decisions you made during that case? Were they as well?”

  “Depends on who you ask. Ben thinks I was lacking in my judgment, that’s for sure. And Felicity has it in for Ben and me both where that is concerned.”

  “I am not asking them,” she submitted. “I am asking you.”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged and took a hit from my cigarette before crushing it out. I stripped the butt then discarded the filter and paper in a nearby trash receptacle before continuing. “I did what I thought I needed to do. In retrospect, I suppose chasing after a serial killer in the middle of the night, alone, probably wasn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Why do you think you felt you had to do it?”

  “I didn’t want him to get away.” I gave her a statement of fact as I saw it.

  “Are you certain that is why?”

  I wasn’t sure where she was headed with this, but I feared I was soon going to find out.

  “Fairly certain,” I answered. “You think I might have had another reason?”

  “I am merely curious,” she returned. “Could you not have simply called the police and notified them? Surely they were better equipped to handle the situation than you.”

  “Do you think I was grandstanding?” I asked her. “Attention seeking?”

  “I did not say that.” She shook her head. “But in answer to your question, no. That is not what I think. I am simply asking why you did not call the police instead of going after him yourself.”

  “I didn’t think there was enough time.”

  “Again, are you certain? The Briarwood police station is not that far from your house, is it?”

  “Done some research, have you?” I queried.

  “A little,” she said.

  “Well, I did tell Felicity to call Ben and have him call me on my cell phone.”

  “But you still chased after Eldon Porter on your own.”

  “Okay. Right now, given my current state, I might be a bit denser than normal, but I can see that you have a different idea about this. I just haven’t figured out what it is. Would you like to share?”

  “No,” she shook her head again. “Not really.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What I think is not the point, Rowan. What is the point is what your motivation for that decision actually was at the time. Only you know that answer, and me telling you my theory will not help, whether I am correct or not. You have to reach the conclusion on your own.”

  “So, no offense, but I’m paying you so that I can reach my own conclusions?”

  “No,” she smiled. “You are paying me to help you navigate unfamiliar terrain in order to work toward those conclusions. Just consider me a docent for your psyche.”

  I let out a quiet chuckle. “So you’re basically an expensive tour guide.”

  “Something like that, but I am not allowed to accept tips.”

  “You know, you really aren’t what I expected from a shrink.”

  “I should hope not,” she laughed musically.

  The mood lightened for a moment as we stood there. Helen waited patiently for me to continue, without prompting, and allowed me to observe where she had taken us. Something in me wanted to rush along to the next exhibit buried deeper within my mind, seeking out the answer that would make everything right—the panacea that would return normalcy to my life. But, I knew deep down that no such cure existed. Obviously, so did she.

  Still, she wasn’t about to budge and remained steadfast in her silence. I apparently hadn’t seen everything I was meant to see here.

  “I know I wasn’t very grounded at the time I made that decision,” I finally said with a sigh. “And I really haven’t been ever since. That has certainly become a problem for me now.”

  “Hence your lack of focus?”

  “There’s another understatement,” I confessed. “I’m just this side of legally blind, I think.”

  “I doubt you are as bad as that,” she said.

  “I don’t know,” I contended. “I feel like I’m trapped on the inside looking out, and it’s midnight with a new moon, clouds, and a power outage.”

  “That could be an important milestone.”

  “W
hat? Like I’m a prisoner of my own failings?”

  “No, nothing so self-deprecating.”

  “Okay, I give. How about a hint?”

  “What happens when you place a piece of black paper behind a pane of glass, Rowan?” she asked.

  “Well, if I remember my grade school physical science class correctly, you end up with a somewhat crude mirror,” I answered with a shrug.

  “Exactly. Perhaps the darkness you see is doing just that for you, but instead, you are looking too hard for something else beyond that veil.”

  “So you think I should just accept what I see?”

  “I think you should take advantage of the opportunity to peer into your own reflection.”

  “Now that really scares me,” I returned. “I’m afraid that’s where the real darkness is.”

  “We all have darkness within us, Rowan,” she replied. “And when you encounter it, sometimes you have no choice but to light your own way.”

  “I’m not so sure I’ve got enough of a candle to do that,” I sighed.

  “Of course you do. You must simply find it first.”

  “I think I’m running out of places to look, Helen.”

  “Do not worry,” she grinned. “I guarantee that it will be in the last place you look.”

  I couldn’t help but return a grin of my own in response to the cliché adage. Apparently I’d seen enough, and when she spoke again, we continued smoothly into a seemingly new subject.

  “Something Benjamin neglected to tell me was that you had started smoking again.”

  I looked down at the freshly burning cigarette in my hand and noticed that it was tucked between my two middle fingers. I didn’t even remember lighting it. It felt completely natural but looked foreign positioned in the middle of my hand as it was now, so I moved it up beneath my index finger.

  Now that it looked normal to me, it felt extremely out of place.

  I elected to ignore the sensation and took a puff.

  “Yeah. Last night,” I acknowledged. “I’ve been fighting the craving for a while, but falling off the wagon was kind of sudden.”