We had gone to bed almost as soon as Felicity was finished with her soak in the tub even though it was still relatively early in the evening for a Saturday. Of course, we were both exhausted, physically and mentally; and, on top of that my quick nap earlier had served only to whet my appetite for more shuteye. With my wife safely home, the autonomic portion of my brain took it upon itself to have a clandestine meeting with the rest of my body. The immediate consensus was that the crisis was over for the time being, and ethereally driven headache or not, it was time for me to rest.
And, so it was decreed. Without warning, the flow of adrenalin that had kept me going for the past two days came to an immediate halt, and I was left with no other choice than to give myself over to the dire need for sleep. Even with that, Felicity had been a half step ahead of me and was already drifting in a quiet slumber by the time I slipped beneath the blanket.
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” my wife replied as she surveyed the mess. Her voice, however, was devoid of anything resembling good humor. “I mean, was all this really necessary?”
“Depends on your point of view, I guess,” I told her. “Apparently they felt it was.”
She let out a heavy sigh and knelt to the floor, starting in on the pile nearest her.
While the evening had been an early one for us, so had the morning. Even with my gut feeling that more strife was barreling toward us with no intention of slowing down, I wanted to at least make an attempt at returning our lives to something near normal, so I started in on the cleanup project with minimal delay. Actually, we both did.
I had rolled out of the bed well before the dawn, my body immediately complaining that it wasn’t quite finished with its hiatus from the land of the conscious. But, I pressed on; there was way too much work to do. I barely had the coffee started when Felicity joined me in the kitchen, wordlessly slipping her arms around me from behind and resting her cheek against my back as she squeezed for all she was worth. The carafe had been full, with the java maker sputtering its way through one last steamy gurgle before she finally let go.
“I’m putting fiction here and non-fiction over here, for the moment,” I offered, nodding toward the two separate stacks as I quickly shuffled a pair of books between them. “So…I’m almost afraid to ask, but I guess I should—how much laundry do we have to do?”
“I’m not sure I even want to think about it,” Felicity replied then shook her head and continued anyway. “I’d say four loads at least, probably more. I think the cats made themselves a nest in there. One of my formal gowns is snagged so badly it’s completely ruined. Several of them are covered with hair, and one of your suits as well. I’ll need to run a lint brush over those then take them to the dry cleaners.”
“Sorry about that. I guess I should have moved everything, or at least thrown something over the pile.”
“Like you didn’t have enough to worry about?” she quipped. “I’m not upset with you. I blame them.”
“The cats?”
“No, the police. I should send the bastards a bill. That was a four-hundred-dollar dress.”
“Well, at least tell me it wasn’t the shiny black one with…” I waved my hands about in a failed attempt at gesturing my way through the description.
“Aye, if you mean the black satin off the shoulder, with the full skirt and basque waist. Yes.”
“Yeah…okay…whatever all that means…” I replied. “But what I really want to know is if it’s the one that really shows off your back and legs and has that design on the front with all the sparkly things?”
“Yes.”
“Damn,” I mumbled. “You looked really hot in that one.”
“I know,” she replied not even attempting to feign humility. “That’s exactly why I bought it. And, it’s still in style, too, dammit.”
I chuckled lightly. Even though my head still hurt for reasons beyond the natural, there was something very restorative about this conversation. In fact, it was comforting enough to allow me to forget about the pain for a while.
“It’s not funny, Rowan. The dress is ruined.”
“I wasn’t laughing at that, honey. It’s just…never mind. It’s not important. I’m just happy you’re home.”
“Me too.”
“So, ruined, huh?”
“Yes, ruined. Remember, they got hold of one of your suits as well. Fortunately, it just looks like it’s only covered with hair. No damage that I could see.”
“Well, save some money on that one. You can just hit it with a lint brush and give it to charity,” I said, half-joking. “It’s not like I wear suits that often.”
“Aye, I think not,” she replied as she looked toward me. The corners of her mouth turned up in what might have been a slight smile. “It’s the charcoal grey suit you just bought, and I think it makes you look very handsome. You’ll be keeping it.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Sure I can,” she returned in a light tone that was suddenly replaced by anger as she sputtered, “Dammit! Dammit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Look at this!” she exclaimed, holding up a tome that bore a severely bent corner and a large rip traversing three-fourths of the cover. “This is my autographed first edition of Lucinda’s Web. Damnnú iad! Where does it end?!”
“Calm down, honey,” I soothed. “I’ll get you another dress, and I’ll get you another book.”
“That’s not the point,” she grumbled then hung her head, carefully caressing the damaged novel. Eventually, she sniffled and then whispered, “After everything we’ve done for them…after everything you’ve done for them, and what you’ve been through…why? Why did they do this to us, Rowan?”
After everything…
That preface was running through both our minds but from somewhat different points of view, as my thoughts were wallowing in the land of after everything they’ve done to us, why do I still feel compelled to help them. It was a quandary I wasn’t sure I’d ever work out.
Still, I couldn’t blame my wife for her reaction to the situation. The damaged book was yet another act of disrespect heaped upon a towering mound of contempt, with us at the bottom. My own feelings had been a mirror image of hers just a day before. I’d just had more time to come to terms with it than her.
I replied softly, avoiding the obvious slur against Albright that was lacerating the tip of my tongue and told her instead, “I don’t know, honey. I wish I did, but I just don’t know.”
“Why can’t we just be normal?” she lamented.
I took in a deep breath then sighed. “Believe me, sweetheart. That’s one I’ve been asking myself for a long time now, and I don’t have an answer for it either.”
The ding of the doorbell joined together with the sound of shuffling footsteps on the front porch and was instantly followed by a quick round of yaps from the dogs, effectively bringing our moment to an end. I started up from the floor, but Felicity was already on her feet, quickly brushing her dampened cheeks with the back of her hand.
“I’ll get it,” she mumbled. “I’m closer.”
I stood up anyway and immediately began stepping around the semi-sorted piles to close the gap between us. My protective attitude regarding her was still set to high, and I wasn’t overly excited about her being the one to answer the door. At this stage of the game, it wasn’t out of the question for whoever was standing on the other side of it to be determined to snatch her away from me once again.
Reaching the door, she stood on tiptoe and put her eye to the peephole. Almost instantly, however, she pulled back and began quickly fumbling with the lock.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Austin!” she almost shrieked.
“Felicity, no!” I yelped, but I was too late. She had already pulled the door open wide and was rushing forward into an embrace with her brother.
“Austin!” she yelped his name again. “Gods! I thought you weren’t coming until the end of the week?�
��
I covered the remaining distance in a pair of steps, coming immediately behind my wife, my face wearing what had to be a mix of anger and fear.
“Máthair called me, so I changed my flight and got here yesterday,” he said to her as an explanation. “Are you okay, then?”
“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m fine. Even better now.”
I hated to break up the reunion, but as far as I was concerned, my brother-in-law’s motives were still suspect. I started to reach for Felicity, but as I did Austin met my eyes with his own and spoke.
“Aye, Rowan,” he said almost apologetically. “It’s all right, then. You needn’t worry, I’m sober. And, I’m only here to talk this time.”
“What?” Felicity asked, pulling back and casting her puzzled glance back and forth between us. “What do you mean this time? What are you talking about?”
“Austin and I visited with one another last night before you called,” I answered, my voice flat.
She looked back at me with a puzzled frown. “What? You knew he was already here, and you didn’t tell me?”
“Given how it went, it wasn’t exactly high on my priority list.”
“Don’t blame him, Felicity, it’s understandable,” Austin interjected. “Like Rowan said, it wasn’t what you would call a pleasant meeting.” He gave her a meek shrug then nodded toward me. “I’m afraid I’m the one responsible for marking up his face.”
My wife instantly turned a heated glare back at her brother and snapped, “You hit him?”
“Aye, I hate to…”
The rest of his sentence was cut short by the sound of Felicity’s open palm connecting firmly with his cheek.
* * * * *
“I can’t believe you would let our father get to you that way, Austin,” my wife admonished her brother as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him then scooted into a seat on the opposite side of the breakfast nook.
Between the two of us, we had given her a rough sketch of the events that had transpired the previous evening before I received her call. Austin volunteered the fact that he had spent the night only a few miles away in a cell at the Briarwood police station. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be holding a grudge against me in that regard. Of course, Ben may not have told him that I had sanctioned the idea, and right now wasn’t the time for me to be making confessions.
“Well, remember, I was drinking,” he offered as an explanation.
“Obviously,” she shot back. “But, even then you should know better.”
“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know for sure,” he half-agreed. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t believe him, not at first. Not until he showed me the letters. Then I had to start wondering if maybe he was telling the truth.”
“Letters?” she asked. “What letters?”
“That’s a little detail that got left out earlier,” I offered.
“Go on, then,” she urged. “One of you add it back in.”
“He has letters, Felicity,” Austin began. “From you. Letters written in your own hand begging him to help you get away from Rowan and his cult.”
“Cac capaill!” she spat, screwing up her face and shaking her head adamantly. “He does not.”
“Aye, he does. He showed them to me.”
“Are you sure you didn’t imagine all of this, Austin? Just how much did you drink last night?”
“I didn’t imagine them, Felicity.”
She shook her head again. “I know he’s got his problems with Rowan and our religious path, but that’s just insane.”
“You’re not going to get any argument from me there,” I interjected.
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Can you explain them?” Austin asked.
“Yes. Like I said, you were imagining things.”
“Hand to God, dear sister, I saw them with my own eyes.”
“And, were you already seeing double?”
He shook his head and objected. “I may have been drinking, but I was sober enough to know what I saw.”
“I can’t imagine why daid would make up something like that, but all I can tell you is that they aren’t real.”
“Are you certain?” he pressed.
“Aye, do you think I’m daft? Don’t you think I would know if I had written them?”
I watched as Austin hemmed and hawed for a moment then made a shallow nod in my direction. I’m sure he thought he was doing it on the sly, but I caught it easily, and the significance of the motion wasn’t lost on me.
“What?” Felicity asked, shaking her head. “Spit it out.”
“He’s trying to tell you he thinks you might be lying because you’re under duress since I’m sitting right here,” I offered.
“That’s ridiculous!” she sputtered.
“I can go in the other room if it would make you feel better, Austin,” I offered flatly, starting to rise from my chair.
“You, stay put,” Felicity ordered, then she turned back to her brother. “Austin, are you still drunk? Do I look to you like I’m afraid of my husband?”
“No, but the letters were written in your own hand, Felicity,” he appealed. “How can you explain that?”
“How can you be so sure?” she countered. “When did you become an expert on handwriting analysis? And, besides that, when did you last see anything I’d written by hand?”
“He showed me some old letters you sent home from university,” Austin explained. “I checked and the handwriting looked the same to me.”
“Well, I’m telling you…” she started then immediately stopped herself and cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. After a moment she resumed speaking. “Wait a minute. He had the letters I’d sent home from school?”
“Aye, that’s what I said.”
“Did you ask to see those?”
“No, he just offered.”
“That’s it then.”
“What’s it?”
“Remember when we were kids, how daidí used to have people write down their names, and then after looking at the signature for a minute, he would make a copy with his own hand?”
“Aye,” Austin replied with a slow nod. “I do remember that.”
“Shamus was into forgery?” I queried.
“No.” Felicity shot me a glance and gave a quick shake of her head. “It was just a trick he could do, a bizarre talent. He used to entertain everyone by doing it. Of course, they weren’t perfect, but they were close enough.”
“So you’re thinking he forged the letters he showed Austin, using your old correspondences from college to work from?” I asked.
“That’s the only explanation I can think of,” she replied. “Because I damn sure didn’t write them.”
“Aye, and I suppose if anyone could do it, Shamus O’Brien would be the one,” Austin agreed.
“That would also explain why he made it a point to show you the old college letters,” I added, directing myself to Austin. “It gave you something to compare them to. It was his way to prove to you that the forged letters were legitimate. But, given what you two just said, I think that move might have just backfired on him and tipped his hand.”
“But why?” Felicity asked. “Why forge letters like that? I still don’t understand why he would do something so mean.”
“Because he doesn’t see it as mean,” I offered. “He’s doing it out of love for his daughter.”
“You’re defending him?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not so much defending as understanding,” I replied. “Believe me, over the past two days I’ve had my fill of your father. But, like I said to Austin last night when I was trying to convince him that you couldn’t possibly have written the letters—if I had a daughter, and I had any inkling at all that she could be in danger, I would do anything in my power to help her. Even if she didn’t want my help. I can see where that would include forging some type of evidence to help me effect that rescue.”
“But I’m not. Not from you, anyway.”
“Agreed, but that’s not how he sees it. I’m not saying he isn’t misguided, and I’m also not saying that I don’t want to wring his neck because I do. But, stepping away and looking at it from a different viewpoint, I can understand how his skewed logic is driving him to do it.”
“But all he’s doing is creating a bigger rift,” she replied.
I nodded. “I know. But, remember, he told me himself that he has already contacted someone about having you deprogrammed.”
“He’d best forget that idea right now,” my wife spat.
“I agree, but I don’t think he’s going to. I think the fact that he went to the trouble of forging those letters is evidence enough of that.”
“I’m afraid Rowan might be right, Felicity,” Austin agreed. “He was talking of it yesterday when he showed them to me.”
“What did máthair say about it then?”
“She wasn’t happy about it at all.” He let out a small huff. “In fact, when I left the house they weren’t speaking. She had gone upstairs, slamming doors all the way.”
“So that’s where you got it,” I commented, but my observation was met only by Felicity frowning and rolling her eyes at me.
“Well, maybe she’s talked some sense into him by now,” she mused.
A moment of sullen quiet fell over all of us as we sat and sipped our coffee. Finally, Austin cleared his throat.
“Aye, well how did he sound when you told him they let you go?” he asked.
“I haven’t called yet,” Felicity returned coldly. “And, now I’m not so sure that I’m going to.”
Her comment wasn’t an idle threat. As it turned out, she never actually made the call herself. It was the other way around, for Shamus began calling us as soon as her release was reported on the midday news. At last count he had managed to leave six messages. How many attempts it took for him to accomplish that feat was a mystery, however, because the phone itself was ringing non-stop before Austin ever left. Reporters from every television and radio station, as well as newspaper, in the area were looking for an interview—or at the very least a comment from the newly freed and wrongly accused Witch. Felicity ignored those as well, leaving them to me. But, after I doled out more “no comments” than I could tally in my head, I gave up on the annoyances myself and started allowing the machine to get the calls.
All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 22