“I can connect him with Ariel Tanner,” he shot back angrily. “Shit, we’re obviously dealin’ with a psycho, maybe the kid’s got a fuckin’ split personality or somethin’!”
I stared back silently, stunned by his sudden outburst. I knew this case was wearing on him, but something else was there too. His hand went up to his neck, and he let out a heavy sigh.
“Listen,” Ben’s voice was much calmer. “I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t be snappin’ at ya’. It’s just that...”
Ben was unceremoniously interrupted by the shrill tone of his beeper as it demanded his attention. He automatically pulled it from his belt and quickly perused its liquid crystal face.
“It’s a call from the coppers I had sittin’ on Cally’s house,” he told me. “I’d better get in touch with ‘em.”
“Go ahead,” I urged. “I’ll be with Felicity.”
“Look, Rowan…” Ben struggled with the words as he wagged his finger back and forth between us. “Are you and me okay?”
“Yeah,” I reassured him. “We’re fine. Go make your call.”
* * * * *
“How’re you feeling?” I whispered as I leaned forward and brushed the hair from her face.
“Aye, tired,” she murmured, “and sore.”
I returned a half-hearted smile. “I’ll bet.”
“Rowan…Has anyone told you…About, you know...”
“Yeah, I know about it. Allison told me. I’m sorry.”
A small teardrop glistened in the corner of her eye and slowly rolled across her cheek to wet the pillow.
“I’m the one who should apologize, then,” she returned. “I never should have gone over there. Cally just sounded so frightened...”
“Shhhh.” I brushed away the next tear as it began to journey down her face. “It’s all right. You did exactly what I would have done. It’s okay.”
She blinked rapidly then took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She lay there in silence, just looking back at me for a few short moments as she regained her composure.
“Is Cally okay, then?” she finally asked.
“Physically, she’s fine. He never laid a hand on her,” I answered. “Mentally. About as well as can be expected. She blames herself for what happened to you. Allison took her down for coffee a little while ago.”
“It wasn’t her fault.”
“I know,” I assured her. “I know.”
“Aye, what about Devon? Did they catch him?”
“Ben went to check on that. The officers that were watching Cally’s place just beeped him.”
Watching her face, I could see that the tranquilizer had not worn off and was creeping up on her once again. Her breathing became easier, and she began sliding backward into relaxation.
“I’ve got a shoot to do this afternoon,” Felicity told me groggily.
“No you don’t. I’ll call them and re-schedule for you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“I love you” was the last thing she whispered before drifting into the arms of sleep.
“I love you, too,” I returned and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
I waited a few more minutes before deciding to go in search of Ben. I attempted to retrace our steps in coming to this room and as I had not paid attention, quickly became lost. As I rounded a corner, I came upon what resembled a small break room and was almost immediately bowled over as a red-faced Allison Storm rushed angrily past me. I looked after her then peered into the open doorway, only to find Ben, hands in his pockets and hangdog expression creasing his face. Something was definitely wrong between the two of them. I assumed it was the amount of time he was spending on this case and that I had just witnessed the tail end of an argument it had caused.
“You okay?” I queried as I stepped through the doorway.
“What? Yeah.” He looked up and noticed me. “Yeah, I’m fine. How’s the squaw?”
“She woke up for a minute or two,” I replied. “She’s doing okay, considering. Oh, and I guessed right. She went over there because she wanted to help Cally.”
“Sounds like her.”
“You sure you’re okay?” I asked again and hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “You seem a little preoccupied, and Allison looked kind of irritated...”
“Yeah, I’m good.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall. “She’s okay. It’s just been a rough day for ‘er. Hell, for all of us.”
I decided not to push any further out of respect for my friend. If he and his wife were having problems, it was none of my business unless he chose to tell me. If he made that choice, I would be there to listen, no questions asked.
“So,” I changed the subject, “that phone call get you anywhere? Did you find anything out?”
“Oh yeah.” He brightened noticeably. “They were in the lobby. Seems the son-of-a-bitch is in surgery right this minute, in this very hospital.”
“Surgery?” I puzzled. “What happened, did they shoot him?”
“Nope.” Ben explained, “Seems the idiot went over a fence when they were chasin’ ‘im and landed smack in the middle of a dog pen. Apparently, the pit bull livin’ in it at the time was not pleased.”
“How bad?” I grimaced.
“Sounds REAL bad,” he answered. “It took ‘em awhile ta’ get the dog off ‘im. Unfortunately, they ended up havin’ ta’ drop the hammer on it.”
“Is he going to live?”
“Don’t know. Benson—that’s the copper that I talked to—told me the doc said he’d lost a lot of blood. It’s pretty much touch and go right now.”
“The threefold return,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” Ben asked.
“The threefold return,” I pronounced more clearly. “It’s a belief we Witches have, that everything we do will return to us threefold. Good or Bad.”
“Yeah. What goes around comes around. You’ve said that before. So?”
“So Devon sacrificed a dog,” I explained.
Ben looked at me, and his eyes widened as the irony behind what I had just said sunk in. When he finally opened his mouth, all he could say was “Oh.”
CHAPTER 15
While Felicity slept, Ben and I executed a roughly choreographed shuffle of vehicles: first, driving my wife’s Jeep from Cally’s house back to where it belonged then retrieving my truck from behind the police station. He remained silent and distant as we drove about, completing the tasks, keeping his eyes glued to the road before him and saying only as much as necessary. I didn’t like seeing him like this, but I knew I could only wait until he was ready to talk, for anything else would only drive him further into his world of introspection. I mutely reassured myself that everything would work out between Ben and Allison and that all would return to normalcy soon. Besides, I had my own pain to contend with.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked him.
We were standing next to my vehicle on the parking lot of the police station. It was still early afternoon, and the bright sun had only recently begun the downward portion of its arc through the sky. A light breeze blew in, tousling Ben’s already disheveled hair as he looked back at me wearily.
“I’ll see if the search warrant has been issued for R.J.’s place,” he sighed. “And we’ll be waitin’ to hear from the hospital about Devon. Other than that, it’s business as usual.”
“I know we’ve been down this road before, Ben,” I ventured, “but I really believe R.J. is innocent. You aren’t going to find anything at his place.”
“For his sake, I hope you’re right,” he acknowledged. “But, I still have a job to do, and I wouldn’t be much of a cop if I didn’t follow all the leads. Look, Row, I’d like ta’ agree with you, but even you hafta admit the fingerprint on the bottom of that candle is pretty incriminatin’.”
“Yeah. It is,” I agreed, “but I’m sure there’s an explanation for it.”
“Lemme know if ya’ think of a reasonable one,” Ben returned.
We stood a little longer, silently staring at one another. Tension still radiated from my friend, and I felt there was something he wished to say but couldn’t find the words. The sounds of sirens being tested filled the wordless void around us as shifts changed and squad cars entered and left the lot.
Finally, I broke the speechless interlude. “So, you’ll call me if anything turns up?”
“Yeah, I’ll let ya’ know,” he told me with a nod then added, “Give Felicity my best and... Tell ‘er… Tell ‘er I’m sorry.”
“I’ll do that.”
* * * * *
Ben had already disappeared into the door of the police station by the time I backed out of my parking space and shifted into forward motion. I reached over and turned up the radio as I pulled out of the lot. I hung a quick right and melded with the traffic then pointed myself in the direction of home. Before returning to the hospital, I still needed to call Felicity’s client to re-schedule as well as put together an overnight bag for her, just in case.
The last few nondescript chords of a song I didn’t recognize filtered to my ears, and a DJ’s voice blended in behind them. Before she had a chance to tell me the name of the song I had just ignored, I punched a preset and switched to the local National Public Radio affiliate. I was looking for something other than the events of this day to occupy my mind—even if only for a few moments.
* * * * *
The afternoon faded slowly into evening, and the end of visiting hours approached at an ever-quickening pace. Once Felicity had returned to wakefulness, I spent the evening filling her in on the events that had occurred with R.J. This did little to improve her demeanor, so I elected to leave out the incident with Ben and Allison for the time being. As if my news weren’t enough, the doctor assigned to her case chose to keep her overnight for observation despite her vehement and very animated protestations. The rest of my evening was spent listening to her grumble.
When the nurse finally decided to eject me from the room, I kissed my still fuming wife goodbye and promised to return bright and early the next morning.
* * * * *
I arrived home to a sedate household—the dogs moping about listlessly, and the wide-eyed cats lined up along the windowsill, ears twisting like radar dishes searching for even the most remote sign of Felicity. Anyone who tells you that animals don’t sense when something is wrong, or that they can’t show concern, has definitely never owned a pet.
I tended to their various needs of being let out and in, food, water, and generous amounts of attention before locking up for the night. The house felt empty and hollow without Felicity. We had been separated before but never under circumstances such as these. Never, at a time when among my greatest fears was that of going to sleep—going to sleep and facing another nightmare.
I put on a pot of coffee and stubbornly decided that I would wait out the night. I would read, play solitaire, watch old movies, but under no circumstances would I allow myself to re-live Ariel’s death in my dreams. Of course, everyone knows about the best-laid plans of mice and men.
My first mistake was choosing to sit on the couch while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. My second mistake was allowing my eyelids to close as exhaustion crept up on me.
Darkness.
Darkness without shape or form.
Cold, bone chilling darkness from the heart of nowhere.
I was floating.
I was falling.
I was screaming.
“Rowan.” Ariel, once again in a white lace gown, smiled brightly at me. “Have a seat. It’s been so long since I’ve read for you.”
I was sitting. It was sudden. The movement disjointed. I didn’t recall moving to the chair.
I was sitting.
Ariel smiled at me across the table. A table that until moments before had never existed. Her face was vibrant, her eyes bright and alive. Her strawberry-blonde hair lofted gently on a cool breeze. In her dainty hands, she held an oversized deck of cards. A deck of tarot cards. I watched as she shuffled them quickly. Or did she? Her hands never moved.
“This represents him,” she said aloud, looking down at the center of the table.
The Knight of Cups.
“No, Ariel. The Knight of Cups is not my significator,” I try to tell her. “It doesn’t represent me.”
My words fall soundlessly to the floor like a grotesque parody of a children’s cartoon.
“This covers him.” She continues to look only at the table.
The Devil.
She’s not reading for me.
She’s reading for the killer.
“This crosses him,” she continues.
The Tower.
I watch the cards intently.
“Rowan, how nice to see you,” a lilting voice comes from behind me.
I turn.
Ariel is smiling at me. A dark shape, hooded and malevolent, moves behind her. I want to warn her, but I know that I can’t.
Crimson spreads across the white lace.
“Why, Rowan? Why?” her gurgling voice calls to me.
Darkness.
Dull black void.
“Hey, Mister,” a tiny voice asserts itself.
I turn and look down.
A young girl. Silky, strawberry-blonde hair tied back with white bows. A white lace dress encases her. She looks up at me with large, sad eyes. A familiar deck of cards is clutched tightly in her tiny hand. She holds it out, offering them to me. I take the cards.
“Why don’t you stop the bad man?” the child asks.
Before I can reply, she is gone.
I spin about in search of her and find only darkness. I look back to the deck of tarot cards in my hand. They seem so tiny. I turn over the top card.
The Seven of Pentacles.
Pain rips through my back and into my chest. Out of reflex I look down. The gilt end of a beveled blade is protruding from my chest.
Blood.
Scarlet, thick blood runs down my shirt.
“All...Is…Forgiven.” A dark voice laughs from behind me. The knife juts farther from my solar plexus.
I look down at the tarot cards in my hand. Slowly they spill into space, fluttering then fading away. I fight to focus on them as they quickly flash their faces to me before they disappear.
They are all the same card.
They are all the Seven of Pentacles.
Darkness.
An endless tortured scream.
I awoke to the sound of my own voice. Maybe voice isn’t the right word as it was more the sound of my own bloodcurdling and tortured scream. The dogs were alertly stationed before me, growling and barking as if an intruder had burst into the house, invading their territory. The cats were nowhere to be seen, and I can’t say that I blamed them.
Once again, I was bathed in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as though I had just finished running a marathon. This was becoming ridiculous. I had only managed one decent night’s sleep out of the past four, and it was beginning to take its toll. This time the nightmare had taken on even more intensity. It was obvious that Ariel was trying to tell me something; I was certain of it. Doubtless, she had been trying to do the same in the last dream as well.
After calming the dogs, I immediately retrieved my Book of Shadows and recorded the still vivid details of this latest nightmare. By the time I finished, fatigue once again overtook me, knocking the second wind from my sails and leading me into a restless sleep.
* * * * *
The next morning, Felicity was dressed and waiting for me when I arrived at the hospital. Her doctor had released her earlier, and she was more than ready to remove herself from the premises. She had been fortunate in some respects as her injuries could have been far worse. Other than the miscarriage, she sustained only two cracked ribs and some minor bruises.
My fiery-tressed wife demonstrated her stubbornness and resolve in her refusal to be push
ed out of the hospital in a wheelchair, though she did allow me to carry her overnight bag for her. I left Felicity sitting on a bench at the main entrance while I rode up in the elevator and then brought my truck down through the spiraling corkscrew of the parking garage. Moments after I left her, I exited the concrete structure, quickly zipped around the block, and brought the truck to a halt directly in front of the bench.
“I should have known you would be ready to leave,” I told her after I turned onto the street.
“I hate hospitals,” she answered. “You know that.”
“Well, you must have at least gotten some rest.”
“What makes you say that?”
“No heavy accent this morning.”
“I don’t have an accent.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, leave me alone,” she returned with a slightly annoyed tone then returned to the original subject. “I didn’t need to stay overnight. I feel fine.”
I pushed the truck forward and turned left onto Kingshighway. “I’m glad you feel fine, but what did the doctor say?”
“He said I was okay,” she acknowledged. “I just need to take an iron supplement for a while.”
“What about the ribs?”
“He told me they’d be sore for a week or so,” she went on. “But they’ll heal up okay.”
I veered right toward the on-ramp and sped up, merging with the highway traffic. We rode along in silence for a few moments, Felicity staring out the side window.
“How are you with the whole miscarriage thing,” I gently queried. “I mean mentally.”
“I honestly don’t know,” she replied, her voice flat. “I’m kind of in shock I guess. I’m not sure if it’s really sunk in yet.” She let out a long sigh and continued staring out the window. A few moments passed, and she turned to me once again. “I don’t know that I really felt all that pregnant.”
Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 20