Just in case that wasn’t enough to deal with, for some reason there was a song playing in the back of my head, and I was having a hell of a time attaching a name to it. I knew I’d heard it before, but the title, artist, and everything else was escaping me.
I thought for a moment that if I gave up trying to place it then it would probably come to me. That’s how things always seemed to work. Unfortunately, the more I thought about not thinking about it, the more I dwelled on it. Once again, a prime example of how things always seemed to work.
I staved off another twinge of pain from somewhere around the back of my grey matter and decided to ignore the tune. For the moment, paying closer attention to the goings on before me seemed the most logical way to do so.
I watched as the intern regarded the industrial-sized Native American in front of him with an exhausted gaze and then took hold of his hand once again. “Detective Storm,” he stated. “You are the one who refused to have a local anesthetic. Perhaps you would like one now?”
“I already said no,” Ben answered.
“Then I suggest you find a way to deal with it.”
“I don’t like needles,” my friend muttered.
“Not many people do,” he returned. “But it would hurt a lot less if you had the local.”
“No.”
“Fine, if that is your choice. However, you are going to have to stop flinching. You still have some metal fragments in your hand, and we need to get them out.”
“Well don’t you think you can be a little gentler or somethin’? I mean do you have to dig around like that?”
“Detective,” the intern began, clearly at the limit of his patience. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, please refrain from telling me how to do mine.”
Personally, I thought the doctor was handling the situation well considering that this outburst had made something on the order of the fifth time Ben had jerked his hand away-and, that’s not to mention that he hadn’t shut up either.
During their exchange, the door had swung open, and a nurse entered, armed with some fresh gauze and washcloths. She had been assisting with both of us earlier, and she now set about cleaning the area surrounding the wound on my cheek. I simply tilted my head to the side without a word, shifting my gaze between her and the floorshow. I couldn’t help but notice that she wore a bemused expression as my friend bickered with the intern behind her.
“So much for bedside manner,” Ben huffed. “Freakin’ Marcus Welby you ain’t.”
“Marcus who?” the intern asked in an absent tone.
My friend raised an eyebrow and cocked his chin down as he stared at the doctor. “How old are you?”
“I don’t really think that has any bearing on your treatment, Detective.”
“Doctor Drew may be young,” the nurse offered aloud without looking away from her task at hand, “but he knows what he is doing, Detective Storm.”
Ben glanced over at the back of her head and then returned his gaze to the doctor. “You really don’t know who Marcus Welby is?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied.
“Jeez. What’s this world comin’ to?”
“You said it yourself earlier, Ben,” I offered in a flat tone, speaking for the first time since I’d been threatened with a hypodermic full of sedative. “We’re getting old.”
“Yeah, well, old is one thing,” he agreed, “but that’s no excuse for…”
The repetitive electronic refrain of his cell phone interrupted him, and he reached around to his belt with his free hand. He fumbled for a moment since the appendage was securely wrapped in fresh gauze but managed to grasp the small device. As he brought it up, he gestured at me and then to the intern with the stubby antenna while it continued to trill. “It’s no excuse for him not knowin’ who Marcus Welby is.” He finished the admonishment then thumbed the phone to life and put it to his ear. “Yeah, Storm here.”
“Is he always like this?” the nurse asked in a quiet voice as she swabbed my cheek with cold antiseptic. A light, southern lilt underscored her words.
I grimaced as the sting set in and tried not to flinch then shifted my eyes over to her. “Pretty much. Don’t let it bother you though. He’s really a good guy.”
My own voice still sounded rough, and its tone remained emotionless and tired. I realized when I heard myself that I didn’t sound particularly convincing.
“I’ll have to take your word for it, Mister Gant,” she returned with a smile.
“No, really, he is.” I tried to sound more sincere. “And please call me Rowan. Every time I hear ‘Mister Gant’ I think my father is here.”
She chuckled. “All right then, Rowan. You can call me Dorothy. I am afraid, however, that I will still have to take your word for it on Detective Storm.”
“He grows on you,” I offered.
She pressed something to my cheek that I later discovered was a butterfly closure and then inspected it closely. “There. All done.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” she told me. “Doctor Kirkman will be back in shortly. He wanted to go over a few things with you.”
“That’s fine,” I said then shifted to look at her. “Oh, my wife is supposed to be here.”
She nodded. “Detective Storm told us. Someone will bring her back as soon as she arrives.”
“Thank you.” I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my still flat voice. “I really appreciate it. And there’s just one more thing.”
“Certainly,” she said as she cocked her head to the side and gave me a questioning look.
“Another officer was brought in ahead of us. Deckert, Carl Deckert. We’ve been trying to get an idea of his condition for a while.”
She nodded. “I’ll see if I can find out something for you.”
“Thank you,” I told her again.
“You’re welcome.” She flashed me a quick grin and nodded in Ben’s direction while turning to go. “You know, maybe you can teach some manners to your friend over there.”
“I heard that!” Ben called after her as she exited the treatment room, but she was already gone.
My friend looked back over at me and shook his head. “Jeez.”
I gave him a tired shrug in return.
“So, was that Allison?” I asked as I dipped my head at the cell phone in his hand, referring to his wife.
“What? Oh, no.” He shook his head and clipped the device back onto his belt. “It was Ackman callin’ to give me an update.”
“Good news?” I asked hopefully.
“Not really,” he returned. “Still haven’t found Porter. The weather’s not helpin’, and it’s gonna be dark in a few hours.”
“Is it really that late?” I asked as I pulled my hand up to look at my watch, only to remember that it was broken when I saw the shattered face. I don’t know why I hadn’t just taken it off. I glanced around the room and found the face of the wall clock. It was fuzzy, but it was large enough for me to be able to read it without squinting too much. The position of the hands told me it was just past two p.m. This time of the year the sun was gone by five.
“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” Ben answered me with his own query.
I closed my eyes and massaged my forehead for a moment, then carefully laid myself back on the examination table. “No. Not much anyway.”
The tune was moving itself back into the forefront, and its eerie chords sent a fearful shiver racing up and down my spine. Each note seemed to carry with it a tiny pinprick of terror that grew exponentially as the melody wove itself through the even rhythm.
“How long you been up?” His voice sounded hollow and distant.
I did a protracted mental calculation that should have taken no more than a second or two then finally answered. “Pushing twenty-four at least, I think.”
“Jeezus, white man.”
“He’s got nothing to do with it,” I mumbled.
“Who?”
“Jesus.” This time my
voice was almost a whisper.
The song was all but completely filling my ears now and sounding creepier by the second. If it were not for the level of exhaustion I was battling, I think I might have been overcome by the intangible fear. At the moment, even my earlier anger was falling by the wayside, and darkness was becoming a comfortable blanket. The fatigue broke through my defenses and began to batter me with its weapon of choice-sleep. I made a half-hearted attempt at fighting back but quickly found that I was hopelessly outmatched. With a final, heavy sigh, I surrendered.
The beginnings of a distant echo came from the other side of the room. “Dammit, Rowan, you know what I…”
I didn’t hear the rest.
CHAPTER 21:
The only thing I really remembered about the trip home was that it was dark and that the back seat of the car was cold. Prior to that, there were some dreamlike recollections of unintelligible voices, a feeling like I was sitting up and floating down a long hallway, some fuzzy streaks of white passing through muted light, and of course, that damnable song playing in an endless loop between my ears.
It was still echoing there even now.
With more effort than I expected it to take, I let out a heavy sigh and tried to relax. After failing at that task, I reached down and reluctantly shut off the water in the shower. Then, I just stood there for what seemed like a good half hour. In reality, I think it was more like five minutes. The steam was dissipating quickly and water was dripping from my tortured skin. I tingled with a self-inflicted rawness on my face, neck, hands, and forearms where I had scrubbed to remove the soot and grime left over from the fire. I was still afflicted with a cough that would attack me without warning, but at least the episodes were becoming fewer and farther between. The doctor had told me it was an after effect of the smoke inhalation and that it would most likely work itself out in a day or two; as far as I was concerned, the quicker the better.
For a moment, I considered turning the water back on and just continuing to stand there motionless as I had for the last third of the shower. The warmth felt good, and it went a long way toward soothing the aches and pains that were once more answering a roll call throughout my body.
I started to reach for the chromed knob but hesitated as I heard the door open and then close, followed by Felicity’s concerned voice. “Row, are you okay?”
I’d been in here for close to an hour, and she had already checked on me twice before now. Three was the charm I suppose.
“Yeah,” I replied in a lazy voice as I reached up and slowly slid the shower curtain aside. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“I’m making you some tea, then,” she told me, leaning her back against the door as she spoke. “Are you hungry?”
I had actually been expecting her to break out the verbal cat ‘o nine tails on me over everything that had happened, or at the very least give me her particular brand of silent treatment. I knew that she was angry, but thus far, she had not shown that side. In fact, she had not even displayed any visible distress over the call from Porter. What was happening instead was that I was on the receiving end of her maternal instinct, which had evidently locked into overdrive.
“Not really,” I shook my head.
Actually, I was, but my tongue was sore, and I didn’t feel up to dealing with any additional pains that I might be able to avoid.
I watched my wife’s expression and decided that she was simply doing a good job of hiding the fear that I knew she had to be feeling. I was just too far out of it right now to pick it up on an extrasensory level. Moreover, as to the subject of her wrath, I was sure it would be coming at some point. There was no doubt in my mind about that. Based on what I had seen staring back at me from the mirror, my guess was that I just looked so pathetic to her that there was no way she couldn’t give me a stay of execution.
“Aye, are you sure?” She gazed back at me with even more concern. “You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m sure.” I gave her a shallow nod. “Ben might want something though. You know how he is.”
“He’s already gone.” She shook her head then reached up and pushed a loose strand of auburn curls back behind her ear. “Constance made him go. She’s going to stay with us tonight instead.”
I started to reach for a towel, and she quickly stepped forward to get it for me.
“That’s good,” I told her. “He needs some rest too.”
“Aye, now.” She shook her head and widened her jade green eyes. “Do you really believe that Benjamin Storm will be resting?”
“Probably not.” I agreed with what her words implied. We both knew how Ben had a tendency to push himself until he dropped. “Not unless Allison makes him.”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe she will,” I mused.
“We can only hope,” Felicity said. “He did say he was going to go home and get cleaned up.”
I began drying myself slowly, gently patting at my face with the fresh cotton towel. “Any word on Carl?”
“Aye. Ben said to tell you that the reason you two were having trouble finding out anything is that Carl was taken to a different hospital. He’s in the cardiac care unit at Christian. He’s stable at the moment and they’re planning to run some tests in the morning.”
“So he’s going to be okay?”
“I hope so.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s all they would tell him.”
I nodded. “Okay. At least he’s all right for now.”
The multi-toned harmonica whistle of a Chantal teakettle started low and rose in volume on the other side of the door. Felicity wasn’t a big fan of microwaves when it came to making tea, or much else for that matter, so the kettle was one of the few cooking implements we had brought along with us. Since the bathroom in this apartment backed up against the kitchenette, even with the door closed, the not-quite-harmonious chord was loud.
My wife stepped back toward the door and allowed her fingers to rest on the lever-like handle. “I found your spare glasses and put them on the dresser in the bedroom… And I laid out some fresh clothes for you on the bed. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get for you?”
“I’m sure, honey,” I told her. “Thanks. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
She opened the door and started through, then stopped and looked back at me with what could have been sadness in her eyes; or perhaps it was relief, I wasn’t exactly sure. “I love you, Rowan Linden Gant. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, honey, I know. Same here.”
*****
“Feeling better?” Special Agent Constance Mandalay asked, looking up from her coffee as I trudged into the room and eased myself into a chair.
Mandalay was petite and wore her brunette hair in a stylish, shoulder-length crop. Still in her late twenties, on the surface she appeared to be just a fresh-faced youngster. She looked as though she would be right at home on any college campus, chasing after a handful of letters to park behind her name, or waving pom-poms and cheering the home team on to victory. Descriptors such as pretty, cute, and perky immediately leapt to mind in conjunction with the young woman.
To me, her youthful countenance sometimes made it hard to believe that she already possessed a law degree from Cornell and had joined the FBI right out of school. However, I knew all too well that beneath the facade there was a hard-nosed femme fatale packing a forty-caliber Sig Sauer along with the finely honed skill to use it.
“Yeah,” I answered her. “About as much as I can at the moment.”
“That’s good, because you look like hell,” she offered with a sweet smile.
“Thanks, Constance,” I returned with an amused grin. “Nice to see you too.”
We had first been introduced to Agent Mandalay when she had exerted her federally bestowed authority to assume the helm of an investigation Ben had been leading. The initial contact between the two of them had been just short of explosive; as for me, well, I was on the top of her list from the get-go. I’m not talking abou
t the good list either. The adversarial interaction between us all had continued right through to the very end of that case.
Fortunately, various events from the investigation-negative though they were at the time-served to enlighten her as to my usefulness as a consultant even if my methods tended to run perpendicular to the established norm.
Since that time, our relationship had grown beyond the boundaries of work. In fact, we had all actually become very good friends. Even Ben, who regarded the FBI with great disdain, habitually calling them “Feebs,” and vocally lamenting their involvement in any investigation he was connected with, had come to treat her like any other cop.
“Here you go,” Felicity said as she set a large ceramic mug in front of me. “Drink it all, and I don’t want to hear any complaints about the taste.”
I slowly waved my hand in a circular motion over the top of the mug, wafting the steamy aroma upward to my face. I still had the smell of burning wood and plastics embedded in my nose, but I was able to pick up a few recognizable odors from the pungent brew.
“Willow bark… Ummm… Valerian root… And something else,” I offered aloud. “I’m not sure what.”
“Chamomile,” Felicity returned.
I easily recognized the analgesic and calmative properties of the herbs that comprised the tea. “I’m already tired, sweetheart,” I told her. “You don’t really need to sedate me, you know.”
“Aye, I’ll be the judge of that now,” she replied. “I’ve some honey if you want a spoonful or two to mask the taste.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“You’re sure, then?”
“Felicity, please.” I shook my head. “You’ve got to be exhausted yourself. Sit down. Relax.”
“I will in a minute,” she answered. “I need to put a fresh pot of coffee on for Constance.”
“Don’t worry about that, Felicity, I can do it,” Mandalay offered, starting up from her seat.
“You sit down, then,” Felicity instructed her. “I’ll see to it.”
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