Perfect Trust argi-3

by M. R. Sellars

  Her momentary occupation of my conscious ends as she is bludgeoned from behind and thrown forcibly into the cold.

  My hand is warm and wet…

  Panting.

  Heart still racing.

  I’m spent…for now.

  I tug at my zipper.

  She’s so beautiful.

  She’s so very close.

  If only she really was her.

  Then…

  Then she would be perfect.

  I tap directly into the solid grounding Felicity is forcing upon me and fight to expand my “self” outward. My growing consciousness forces the vile invader from within me. But it isn’t enough. I’m caught between Debbie and the shadow of her tormentor-effectively outnumbered. And, each time I chase one of the them away, the other comes from behind to occupy the space. I struggle to follow the tennis match going on between the hemispheres of my brain.

  For one brief instant, calm ensues and I find myself face to face with a petite blonde.

  She strikes a pose then begins to dance about.

  Hey, hey, hey, whaddaya say!

  Rowan’s here, now we can play!

  Hey, hey, hey, whaddaya say!

  Look at me, I’m dead today!

  Take a good look, don’t you turn away!

  Just look at me, Rowan, I’m dead today!

  She stops and glares at me with a serious frown.

  I’m dead, Rowan. So what are you gonna do about it?

  “Rowan?” Ben’s voice slides in behind the morose prose. “What’re ya’ seeing? Tell me what you’re seein’.”

  Before I can open my mouth to answer, my “self” is hijacked yet again.

  “Oh yeah, that’s a great dress, asshole-if I was going to some kind of retro masquerade prom, MAYBE. Who the hell wears that much puke green taffeta? It makes me look like a bridesmaid in some kind of wedding from hell.” She unleashes a verbal assault then whispers into my ear, “Can you believe this guy, Rowan? He’s got the fashion sense of a rock.”

  I just can’t even move.

  I’m just so tired.

  Don’t know why.

  I’m so scared.

  What is he going to do to me?

  “But, you know, that dress is just plain ugly.”

  What is he doing back there?

  Oh God no, please…

  I’m sobbing inside.

  “Will you quit messing with my hair, you freak?” She shifts her view and yells angrily into the darkness, “Can’t you see that you’re scaring me?

  “Yeah, that’s it. Come around here where we can see you.”

  She turns her attention to me with a quickly uttered instruction, “Watch close, Rowan, here he comes.”

  Blinding light.

  “Dammit! Did you see him, Rowan? Did you?”

  I see nothing but darkness.

  “All right, you weirdo, quit messing with my feet. Get up and turn around so Rowan can see you, fetish boy.”

  What is he doing now?

  OUCH! That hurts!

  What is he doing to my feet?

  Why?

  My heart rattles in my breast.

  I can hardly breathe.

  I’m so frightened.

  “Look at that. The moron can’t even tell left from right.

  “Move so Rowan can see you. Yeah you, you fathead, Rowan needs to see you.

  “Oh, this is good. Look at this, Rowan. Sequined pumps. SEA FOAM GREEN sequined pumps. And would you look at how high those heels are! Where the hell did he get those things? Now I ask you, do I look like I have doll feet?”

  A sudden flicker of light.

  Psychedelic spots again.

  “I think he’s got a wiring problem in that place. The lights kept doing that.”

  Another bright flicker.

  Pain rakes through my grey matter like a cheap wine hangover as the sudden switch of personalities occurs again. The throb hammers in my temples as the alternating trio of psyches begin a knock-down, drag-out battle for possession of me.

  Oh sweet Jesus, she’s so beautiful.

  She’s so close.

  So close…

  “What are you doing?

  Please, no.

  PLEASE let me go?!

  Please don’t put that in my mouth.

  Please no!

  Somebody help me, PLEASE!

  Gagging.

  Bitter.

  “You shouldn’t have given me that, you moron.

  You already gave me too much to begin with.

  You ever hear the word overdose?

  Sheesh! What an idiot. Man, I just don’t care anymore.

  Just let me sleep.”

  Heavy breathing.

  Struggle.

  I feel so tired.

  My chest hurts.

  My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it.

  Breathe.

  I need to breathe.

  “Come on you jerk, quit grunting. I’m not that heavy.”

  Panting.

  Excitement.

  Arousal.

  It hurts.

  Oh God, it hurts.

  Why is my heart racing?

  God it hurts.

  “Look, I may be a cheerleader, but I don’t bend like that.

  Give me a break.”

  Heavy breathing in the darkness.

  Oh God, why can’t I breathe?!

  “Look at him, Rowan. LOOK AT HIM!”

  Hair just so.

  Chin tilted up.

  No, stay that way.

  Yes.

  Legs crossed.

  The silky feel of her stockings against the back of my hand.

  Another rush of arousal.

  Yes! Perfect!

  POP!

  Bright Light!

  POP!

  Bright Light!

  POP!

  I can’t feel anything.

  I can’t even feel my heart anymore.

  I don’t care…

  “Talk to me, white man.” My friend verbally insinuates himself into the vision once again, only to become a weak fourth voice in the turmoil.

  If only it was really her…

  Really her…

  Really her…

  Darkness.

  Fear gives way to warmth.

  Warmth gives way to cold.

  Cold gives way to nothingness.

  I don’t care…

  “Oh, man, what are you taking your pants off for, you idiot?

  You gonna jerk off some more?

  Oh, no way.

  You aren’t going to are you?

  Can’t you see I’m already gone?

  You fucking killed me already…

  You’re gonna be screwing a dead body, you moron!

  God, you’re just sick.

  Man, put ‘em back on, that’s just disgusting.

  You sick bastard.”

  So beautiful…

  So close…

  For now…

  She’ll do for now…

  Look at me, Rowan, don’t turn away.

  Look at me, Rowan, I’m dead today.

  So what are you gonna do about it?

  CHAPTER 9

  “If I’d been told it was anyone else, I never would have believed it.”

  The feminine voice issued from the doorway and was accompanied by the low whooshing sound of the door being forced quickly open. Sheathed in an authoritative tone with an underlying note of incredulity, the words glanced sharply from the tile walls, striking their targets from all sides. Those targets were, without a doubt, Ben, Felicity, and me.

  The comment didn’t exactly seem angry, but it wasn’t altogether friendly either. It was more along the line of a mixture between disturbed chastising and a cold statement of fact. In any event, no matter what emotion could finally be pinned to the verbiage, the sentence cut through the atmosphere in the room on a determined course. The intent behind its mission was fulfilled as all three of us came instantly to attention, swinging our start
led gazes toward the issuer of the remark.

  Doctor Christine Sanders, Chief Medical Examiner for the City of Saint Louis, didn’t look at all pleased. Truth was, she looked like she would much rather be asleep. Considering both the hour and her rumpled appearance, she’d obviously been roused from bed. Her close crop of brunette hair, flocked with grey static, was tousled, and her eyes were heavily lidded with a weary haze. She was hastily adorned in a pair of jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, and sneakers. Her parka-like coat hung across her slight frame, unzipped, with the hood carelessly thrown back.

  “Hey, Doc,” Ben offered sheepishly.

  Under his breath, my friend muttered a quick trailer to his statement, “Damn, she got here quick.” The barely audible addendum was spoken as if he wasn’t at all surprised by her arrival.

  “Just what the hell have you got against me, Storm?” she asked as she allowed the door to swing shut and ventured purposefully into the cold room. “Did I do something awful to you that I’m not aware of?”

  “I dunno why ya’ got called,” Ben shook his head as he stepped toward her. “There was no reason ta’ bother ya’ over this.”

  It was obvious, to me at least, that he was playing dumb. The observation didn’t escape the M.E.’s attention either.

  “Excuse me?” she returned. “I should have been called before you ever came in here. It’s called procedure, or have you forgotten?”

  “I didn’t wanna bother you.”

  “You didn’t want to bother me.” She offered the statement back to him, a much heavier note of incredulity lingering in her voice this time. “What’s wrong with you? You didn’t think someone on my staff would call me anyway? You know better than that.”

  “What for?” he shrugged.

  “Well, let’s see.” She rolled her gaze upward and gestured toward us. “For starters, three people show up in the middle of the night to view a body from an active homicide investigation.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I just told you. Procedure. You know full well that this is outside the norm. If we didn’t know her identity it would be one thing, but we know exactly who she is. I’m also betting that none of you are next of kin.”

  My friend continued to press his luck. “Yeah, so? Since when did viewin’ remains become outside normal procedure?”

  “Dammit, Storm! Will you quit it with the innocent act! You know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s almost one in the morning for God’s sake! This is a morgue, not a quick shop!”

  Felicity and I remained silent during the exchange. My wife still hadn’t released her grip on my hand, and in fact, she was squeezing so tight that my fingers were beginning to go numb. I gave her a quick nudge and glanced down at the entwined extremities. She followed my gaze, immediately picked up the queue, and let go.

  Itchy pinpricks assaulted my digits as blood flowed once again unfettered into my hand. Far worse, however, was the sudden feeling of isolation and detachment that washed over me as we separated. I had known that I was having trouble staying grounded-even if I hesitated to admit it-but the depth of this sensation drove firmly home the severity of my problem. It had been so long since I’d felt so truly centered and at ease that the feeling had been almost like a drug. I wanted it back, I wanted more, and I wanted it now.

  Being suddenly and instantly without the warm comfort it brought had ushered in its own brand of fear to fill the void. I had to consciously tell myself not to reach for Felicity’s hand like a frightened child.

  “Okay, so we aren’t exactly keepin’ banker’s hours,” Ben rebutted. “But we’re just havin’ a look. No big deal.”

  “If that is the case, Storm,” Doctor Sanders contended, “then why did you send the diener out of the room?”

  Ben shook his head at the mention of the morgue attendant. “I figured he had better things ta’ do than stand around and watch us look at a dead body. Besides, he’s a little creepy, ya’know?”

  “Spare me. And, it’s his job to stay in here with non-staff and you know it. Are you sure it wasn’t so he wouldn’t see what you were doing with that dead body?” she shot back.

  “We weren’t doin’ anything with it.” He went immediately on the defensive. “Just what are you implyin’?”

  “I’m not implying anything, Storm,” she declared. “Johnathan told me he heard some kind of chanting back here after he left you three. Do you have an explanation for that?”

  “That would have been me,” Felicity chimed in.

  “Stay out of this,” Ben ordered over his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor directed her gaze toward my wife, “I know we’ve met, but I don’t recall your name.”

  “O’Brien. Felicity O’Brien.”

  “Right. Well, Miz O’Brien, since Detective Storm seems to be stuck talking in circles right now, would you like to explain what is going on here?”

  “Listen, Doc…” Ben took another step forward and insinuated himself physically between the M.E. and us. “Let’s leave them outta this. If ya’ got a problem with all this, take it up with me.”

  “I tried that already and it didn’t get me very far, now did it?”

  The tension was rapidly building between the two of them, and my friend’s heretofore uncooperativeness was at its root. He was now making a fresh bid for control over the situation, but I wasn’t entirely sure he was going to win out. As was his nature, he was using his physical stature as an intimidation tactic; or trying to at least. Doctor Sanders appeared totally unfazed.

  “So what are you gonna do about it, Rowan?” Debbie Schaeffer whispers softly into my ear.

  The sudden return of the disembodied voice took me by surprise. I had been fully under the impression that any link with the other side had been completely severed the moment the medical examiner had interrupted us. Obviously, I was wrong.

  “Look,” Ben told the M.E., “I’m sorry. Let’s just work this out, okay?”

  She met his challenge with one of her own. “If you want to work this out, you can start by telling me what is really going on here.”

  Ben’s hand shot up to smooth back his hair and came to rest on his neck as his fingers began to work at a knot of tension. “It’s not as bad as it looks, okay?” he appealed.

  “Just tell me what’s going on, and I’ll decide that for myself.”

  “Just let them have their little tiff,” Debbie Schaeffer whispers into my ear again. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  I feel the touch of icy fingers against my palm, followed by them intertwining with my own. The frigid grasp of death encircles my hand, and I feel its frost creep upward along my arm.

  I looked down at my hand the moment the sensation took hold. There was nothing to see, but the chilled feeling was definitely there.

  “Look, Doc, you’ve seen the stuff that Rowan does, right?” My friend was starting into his explanation.

  “I’ve been witness to one or two of Mister Gant’s episodes, yes,” Doctor Sanders answered. “Is that what this is all about?”

  “Come on, Rowan. You need to look at this.” Debbie Schaeffer is pulling me by the hand.

  “Yeah, pretty much,” Ben affirmed.

  “Is there a particular reason it needed to be done in the middle of the night?”

  I glanced over to Felicity and saw that her attention was focused fully upon the exchange between Ben and Doctor Sanders. Consciously, I wanted to tell her what was happening. The recent revelation I’d reached regarding my own ability to ground and center once again brought forth the acid tang of fear on the back of my tongue. I knew that no matter how much I verbally denied it, my current state left me open and vulnerable. It wouldn’t take very much at all to get me into deep trouble-potentially fatal deep trouble. My mouth opened as I started to voice the concern, but before any sound escaped I felt my hand squeezed and heard a rush echo inside my skull.

  “Shhhhhh! Don’t tell anyone. Just come with me and look. You need to see this.”


  I closed my mouth and looked over the tableau again. My friend had his back to us and his large frame was positioned such that he was almost completely blocking the slight medical examiner from my view. I could only assume that I was just as obscured from her sight.

  I could feel something tugging at my hand, and when I looked, my arm was actually moving. I tried to stop its progress, but the spirit of Debbie Schaeffer was fully in charge, and her strength came from sources beyond this plane of existence. I was no match for her. I closed my eyes and desperately fought to achieve a solid ground. It was the only way I could think of to regain control over my own body.

  “Come on, Rowan. They aren’t watching. You really, really need to see this. Trust me.”

  “It was a judgment call,” Ben told the M.E. “Maybe it wasn’t the best one I’ve made, but those are the breaks.”

  “You’re pretty good for that, aren’t you?”

  “Come on, Doc. There ain’t a need ta’ make this personal.”

  “Then what about the chanting Johnathan heard?” she fired off another question. “What was that all about? I don’t recall chanting being a part of Mister Gant’s episodes.”

  “I think maybe he didn’t really understand what he heard.”

  “What did he hear then?”

  “Felicity here said a prayer, that’s all.”

  “COME ON, ROWAN! Don’t you trust me?”

  I started to appeal to my wife for help, only to find the words caught painfully in my throat. Instinctively I reached for her with my free hand, but grasped nothing more than a handful of cold air. I opened my eyes and became suddenly aware that I was no longer standing next to her. Without any realization whatsoever, I had moved several steps away and now found myself positioned in front of the wall bearing the cold storage drawers. Directly before me on a rectangle of stainless steel was a temporary label annotated with a case number and the name. The number meant nothing to me, but the name was all too familiar-Lawson, Paige.

  The disembodied voice of Debbie Schaeffer echoes with the insistence of an excited five-year-old. “Go on, open it. You really, really, really need to see this, Rowan!”

  I stood there completely dumbfounded for a moment. The pit of my stomach was churning in a way vastly different from what had been brought on by the stench of decay. The acrid boil that was happening down there now was one of pure, unadulterated fear. I had felt such things before, and with even greater intensity, but what was most disturbing about this instance was that this fear was my own-no one else’s.