Little more than three hours had passed since my conversation with Doctor Rieth. The thread of positive luck—if you could really call it that—which had begun during the phone call, had seemed to continue in its wake. For a little while at least, as only a few moments after I had hung up, the phone began to ring again. That time it had been Jackie calling to let me know that she’d managed to arrange a court-ordered visit with Felicity.
The fact was, under normal circumstances, prisoners detained at the Saint Louis City Justice Center had to schedule visitors in advance, and each particular “dorm” had specific days set aside for those visits to take place. By obtaining an impromptu judicial order, our—or given the events of last evening I should say Felicity’s—attorney had succeeded in circumventing the system, getting me in to see her early this afternoon.
What I was going to end up owing Jackie for this bit of legal sorcery, I had no idea, but the truth is I didn’t really care. I had to see my wife. I needed to know that she was okay. Moreover, I needed her to know that I had not forsaken her. That I was going to do everything in my power to stop this from happening.
And, now, here I was, downtown and just around the corner from where I had been the night before while waiting to wake up from this nightmare. From the looks of things, it appeared I still hadn’t accomplished that task.
At this particular moment, I couldn’t even remember which floor of the building I was on. In fact, I was lucky that I could even recall that the address was on Tucker. All that really stood out in my mind right now is that we had gone up after being patted down, wanded, and generally scrutinized by uniformed corrections officers. However, I don’t think it was the frisking that was responsible for my sudden attack of geographical amnesia. More than likely it was the initial shock of seeing Felicity in her present state.
Her red hair, which usually spiraled about her soft face with fiery brilliance, was dull and limp. Down, it would hang past her waist, but at the moment it was twisted, wrapped, and tucked—sitting in a lifeless pile atop her head. While it wasn’t that unusual for her to wear it in a Gibson-girlish coif, I had to admit I was a bit surprised since she wasn’t allowed anything with which to affix it in place. I suppose it was staying up only by the grace of some bit of woman magick men can never understand, let alone duplicate.
Her smooth ivory skin was blotchy and beyond any definition of pale that came to my mind. Even ashen was too delicate a word to describe the greyness that seemed to envelope her.
Jade green irises, normally bright, were no more than flat disks swimming in the centers of bloodshot whites. They both stood out in contrast to the dark rings encircling her sunken eyes.
She was totally devoid of makeup, and it showed. It wasn’t as if she really ever wore that much to begin with, but right now, unlike any other time, its absence was beyond glaring.
Her petite frame was clad in a loose fitting, sherbet orange jumpsuit, which was standard issue for inmates at the facility. The unnaturally brilliant color did little to help her altogether stark and sickly appearance.
Everything about the way she looked, right down to the way she carried herself, told me she’d managed to get no more rest than I had eked out of the long night. She looked absolutely horrible, and I’m certain the expression on my face upon first seeing her had betrayed at least that much.
Even so, to me, she still couldn’t be more beautiful.
Unfortunately, just sitting here looking at her wasn’t going to help either of us. We didn’t have all that much time, and even less to waste. Court order or not, it wasn’t going to be long before I was sent on my way by the guard on the other side of the mirrored glass.
Jackie’s arrangement had specified what was called a “contact visit”, something that might have been otherwise impossible considering the severity of the charges against Felicity. And, of course, somehow she had also managed to get them to leave us more or less unchaperoned in the room. However, that was as far as the indulgences went. Contact or not, the court order wasn’t going to buy us any more time together than normal inmate visits prescribed.
The charges themselves, although making the arrangements for our visit a bit tricky, were actually working to my wife’s advantage. For one thing, I had been told that she was alone in her cell, as they were segregating her from the rest of the “population” due to her alleged crimes. Basically, in order to keep the petty thieves and DWI detainees safe, they weren’t about to put an accused serial killer in direct contact with them without close supervision. I was certainly glad of that, but for much the opposite reason.
I continued watching my wife in silence across the small table. I hadn’t yet replied to her urging, and I wasn’t sure I could get away with the reticence for much longer. Refusing to tell her now would only widen the unexplained rift that seemed to have formed between us. The problem was, right now my brain was just too sluggish to come up with a convincing lie considering how I had started the earlier sentence.
“So, are you going to tell me, then?” she asked again, pushing the silence aside.
Thus far, she’d had a tendency to stare into space whenever she spoke, and that hadn’t changed. I also noticed that she was still absently rubbing her red, swollen wrists where the handcuffs had chafed and bruised them. I sincerely hoped those marks hadn’t been left by Ben because if they had, he wouldn’t need to invite the next punch.
I opened my mouth to speak, mumbled through a false start, then offered up what I thought was a logical excuse, as I tried one last shot at disentangling myself from the self-inflicted mess. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I really don’t want to upset you.”
“Too late, Rowan,” she replied. “Take a look around. The police beat you to it.”
“You still don’t need any more to worry about,” I told her with a shake of my head.
“And, you do?”
“No…” I replied quietly. “Neither of us do.”
“Aye.”
“Yeah, but still…”
“Misery loves company. Go ahead. Tell me, then.”
“You aren’t miserable enough as it is?”
“I think this is about as miserable as it gets, Row.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“Go on, then. Quit avoiding the question. Share.”
“Well…It’s nothing really…I’ve had a few somewhat unpleasant conversations with your father since yesterday morning.”
“Aye, I can’t say that I’m surprised by that.”
“By the way, speaking of that…any insight on the phrase ‘an rabe something-or-other’?”
“An riabhach?” she repeated, filling in the blanks.
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Did he call you that?”
“That’s the gist I got. A couple of times for sure. Of course, he’d already called me quite a few things I already knew how to translate.”
“It’s been bad, then?”
“It hasn’t been pleasant. Although, he does have a fairly predictable cycle. He calls, blames me for this, calls me names, demands to know what I’m going to do to fix it but doesn’t give me a chance to answer, then I hang up on him. Then he calls back…lather, rinse, repeat.”
My attempt at levity didn’t provoke a laugh, or even a smile. She simply sighed and slowly shook her head. “Well, that phrase means, the evil one.”
I gave her a half shrug. “Go figure.”
“Aye.”
“So, I guess the fact that he blames me for this isn’t any big surprise either.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is, given the tension between the two of you, then. But, you should just ignore him. He’ll get over it.”
“Trying to. I’ve been letting the machine grab the phone lately.”
“Good…so, is that what you thought was going to upset me?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re lying. I can tell.”
/> I’d managed to bluff her in the past, but I guess my acting skills were diminished by my emotional state, or my exhaustion. Actually, it was probably due to both.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Okay, so there was something else.”
“What?”
“Well, I guess I should consider it funny, truthfully. Or, I suppose it could be if it weren’t so sad… Anyway, what I started to tell you is that once this is all over Shamus wants to have you deprogrammed.” I made the statement as calmly as I could, considering that I was unable to find in it any of the humor I had just espoused.
“That’s it?”
“That’s not enough?”
“Aye, he’s just wailing at whoever will listen,” she said with a shake of her head. “My father has always done that whenever he feels helpless. It’s just his way. You know it’s not going to happen.”
“Maybe, but I’m not so willing to rule out an attempt. I think he might be serious about this,” I offered after a moment.
She shook her head again. “My mother will put an end to it, never you mind.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Don’t you know by now, we O’Brien women are the dominant type?”
“Yes, I do, but under the circumstances I don’t think you should joke about that right now.”
“If I don’t joke about it, Rowan, I’ll just be crying, then.”
“Yeah…” I mumbled.
“So,” she said, giving her head a sideways nod toward my bruised knuckles without actually turning to look. “When are you going to tell me what happened to your hand?”
I wasn’t sure she’d even noticed. She hadn’t really looked at me since Jackie and I had arrived, at least, not that I had seen. But, I wasn’t going to gripe about it just yet. We now had a dialogue going and that was an improvement.
“Nothing really. An irresistible force met an unmovable object.”
“Aye, so you were venting aggression, then. Do we need a new door or just a patch job on a wall?”
“Neither. Ben’s jaw was the object.”
“Oh, Caorthann…” she muttered, using the Gaelic version of my name. It was the first time since she’d entered the room that she had seemed to show any real emotion at all.
“Don’t worry about it. He asked for it. Literally.”
“Don’t blame him, Rowan. This isn’t his fault.”
“Yeah. He keeps saying the same thing.”
“He’s right.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Aye, you don’t believe he’s responsible for this and you know it.”
“Responsible or not, he’s the one who led you out of the house in handcuffs, and I’m afraid that’s going to take a lot of forgiving on my part.”
“He was doing his job.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Rowan…”
“I have my reasons, honey,” I cut her off. “Why don’t we move on to something else?”
I didn’t think it would be a good idea to let her in on the fact that Ben wasn’t convinced of her innocence. However, if we stayed on this subject, I was probably going to screw up and tell her just that. For now, I felt it was better to let her keep on believing he was one of the good guys. Maybe with a little luck he would come around, and she’d never have to know about his doubts.
“All right, then. What would you like to talk about?”
She still wasn’t making eye contact with me, and I knew that wasn’t good. However, since she’d seemed to open up, I decided to push a little further.
“Your turn to share. Why don’t you tell me what your problem is with me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Look at me.”
“What?”
“Look at me, Felicity. You haven’t looked me in the face since they brought you into the room.”
She sucked in a deep breath and slowly turned her head the necessary fraction to meet my eyes, but only barely. We held one another’s gaze for a long moment before I finally broke the thick silence.
“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong? Besides the obvious I mean.”
“Aye, what are you talking about then?”
“Felicity, something’s going on here that I’m not being told. Jackie informed me last night that you don’t want her discussing your case with me. Then, after she moved the world to get me in here to see you today, we’re making small talk about nothing, and I can hardly even get you to look at me. What’s going on? Why are you shutting me out?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Give me a break, honey. Yes, you are. Hell, a blind, deaf mute can tell what’s going on here. What I want to know is why?”
“Aye, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, guess what? I do.”
“Well I don’t. Not now.”
“Dammit, Felicity!” I barked the reply as I pushed back from the table and stood. “There isn’t time for this. If I’m going to help you, I have to know what’s going on from all sides. Cutting me off like this isn’t going to get either of us anywhere. Least of all you.”
She didn’t even flinch at my minor outburst. Her face remained stoic and eyes focused on where I had been sitting. She didn’t even bring her gaze up to meet mine.
“Maybe there isn’t anywhere for me to get to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe I’m already there.”
“Felicity, I definitely don’t like the sound of this,” I said, a mix of confusion and anger in my voice. “What are you trying to say?”
She dropped her head forward and stared down at her wrists as she continued to gently rub them. Silence filled the short void between us, and I continued to watch as her shoulders seemed to droop even more than they had only moments ago.
Finally, without looking up, she said, “I spoke with Jackie about this last night. I was going to wait a bit, but since you’re asking now…anyway…I’m…I’m thinking it might be a good idea for you to file for divorce.”
CHAPTER 16:
If ever there was a sentence that could qualify as a sucker punch, there it was, and the fact that Felicity had just delivered it stunned me speechless. The force behind the meaning of the word landed square in my gut, and then just for good measure it backhanded me across the face. Of anything my wife could have said to me, that was absolutely the last thing I ever imagined. In fact, I hadn’t imagined it at all, that’s how far off the chart it truly was.
I honestly didn’t know whether the air had just evacuated from my lungs of its own accord or if I had simply forgotten to breathe. What I did know was that my ears were ringing, and the wearisome headache was ramping up a little more with each and every heartbeat.
The cold hollowness that was drilling into the pit of my stomach started to extend its fingers outward through my body, and I felt like I wanted to vomit. All I could do was stare back at her with what I am sure was a mix of incredulity and utter shock on my face. The mask of confused emotions was entirely lost on her though because she was still staring at the table, not me.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to wheeze in a deep breath as stars started to dance in front of my eyes. My brain ran up and down the scale of emotions, randomly choosing one, trying it on for size, and then discarding it for another. Happiness wasn’t one that ever made it into that mix. Finally, after the fifth or sixth emotional costume change, I found myself fitting comfortably into anger and I remained there.
“File for…” I blurted, unable to complete the sentence for fear of actually manifesting the act if I dared speak the word aloud. “What the hell are you talking about?! Have you lost your mind?!”
Felicity had yet to raise her eyes from the table, and even that jibe didn’t force her to do so.
She muttered quietly, “You could probably use that when you file.”
“Use it my ass!” I snapped. “And, I’m not
going to file for a goddammed…you know…one of those things.”
“Divorce.”
“Don’t say it!”
“Calm down, Rowan. It’s just a word.”
“Maybe so, but words and magick go hand in hand, especially with you…either way, I’m not going there.”
“But…”
I cut her off. “But nothing. Who told you to do this anyway? Have you been talking to your father or something?”
“No.”
“Was it Jackie? Because if it was, she’s fired. I’ll get you a different attorney.”
“No,” she returned, shaking her head but still not looking up. “No one told me to do this. It’s my idea.”
“Your idea?”
“Aye.”
“Your idea. No outside influence. Just poof, you want a divorce.”
“I already said yes.”
“So, are you trying to tell me you really and truly want one of those?”
She paused then nodded her head slightly.
“No,” I admonished. “You need to say it.”
“Yes.” There was no mistaking the marked hesitation that came before she choked out the word.
“Yeah, right. You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you.”
“Well, I do.”
“Okay, if you want it so bad then why don’t you file for it yourself?”
“I’m a little busy in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” I quipped. “So you came up with this idea all by yourself?”
“Aye. I’ve already told you that.”
“Okay. How about you fill me in on the particulars, like, oh, I don’t know, why?”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do? Honey, this isn’t like leaving a note on someone’s windshield after you accidentally ding their car door on the supermarket parking lot.”
“Do you really think I don’t know that?”
“If you do, then get serious and tell me why? Have you suddenly stopped loving me?”
All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 15