I couldn’t think of anything to say that I was sure hadn’t already been said. I let out a heavy breath and closed my eyes. I had been able to feel the burst of anguish that came from Agent Kavanaugh as she relayed the incident. To be honest, when she had first started, I wasn’t entirely sure the story was going to be anything more than a textbook example. That thought proved itself to be wrong within the first few sentences.
Still, had it not been for the empathic connection now presenting itself, I’m sure I would have believed she had fabricated the whole thing simply to benefit her explanation. I think maybe Ben’s jaded attitude had done more than just begun to wear off on me. It had become an integral part of my personal makeup.
“So…” She stopped short. I watched as she consciously took a deep breath herself, and then she began again. “So, I know that some of my questions might seem off the wall to you, Rowan, but there is a reason for them. Everything matters even if you don’t think it does.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
She shook her head. “Don’t be. I didn’t tell you that story to make you sorry. I want you to understand. As long as you do, that’s all that counts.”
“I think I do.”
“Good. Now can you give me any details from that call?”
I nodded. “I can try.”
I searched my memory for a moment, trying to remember specifics of a conversation that seemed to have taken place ages ago but in reality was no more than twelve hours old. My thoughts were muddy from lack of sleep and an overabundance of sensory input. I swam through the murk and seized on the snippets I found floating about the dark mental waters.
“His biblical references were all Satan specific,” I finally recalled aloud. “Ecclesiastes three, three. Second Corinthians, Book of Revelation. I’m pretty sure they were all from the King James Version.”
Kavanaugh scribbled a note on the legal pad. “Why does that stick out in your mind?”
“Because he follows the covenants and procedures of the Malleus Maleficarum,” I told her and then added a short explanation. “It’s a Witch-hunting text that was written by a pair of inquisitors posing as theologians in the year fourteen eighty-four. The King James version of the Holy Bible wasn’t published until over one hundred years later in sixteen eleven.”
“What do you think is the significance of that?” she pressed.
“It’s probably just a part of his mental state,” I offered. “It may be nothing. Truth is, the King James version of the Bible is the most commonly available, but what is so peculiar to me is that he has gone to a great deal of trouble to research things. From the Malleus Maleficarum, to various practices of the Inquisition, and even the pomp and ceremony of the executions. When I had my run-in with him last year, he was wearing the clerical collar of a Catholic priest. So in a way, I would have halfway expected him to use the version of the Bible connected with that period of history. All of it is the Christian faith, yes, but the translations aren’t exactly the same.
“However,” I said, “The prison ministry that is most likely responsible for sending him down this path is Evangelical, Old Testament, fire and brimstone. His indoctrination would have come from the KJV, so the discrepancy might be moot.”
“You never know. So your perception is that he is confused?” Kavanaugh asked as she scribbled.
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “Or at the very least, mislead.”
“What about his threat to rape your wife?”
“That was yet another thing that tied in to his research,” I stated flatly. “And he even told me as much. The fact is that it wasn’t uncommon for inquisitors to rape the accused as a form of torture. But the real reason he made the threat was to piss me off. What started out for him last year as a re-establishment of the fifteenth century Inquisition has now become focused on a personal vendetta.”
“Because you shot him?”
“That’s part of it, probably,” I acknowledged. “But I have a feeling that I was on his list long before that. When he makes references to me being the spawn of Satan, it’s not just a metaphor. I think he honestly believes, that by killing me, he is effectively beheading the monster. Eliminating the source of WitchCraft.”
“Why do you think he became so focused on you?”
“Just lucky I guess,” I quipped and then made a dismissive gesture of apology. “I’m sorry. Seriously, if I had to guess, it was probably because at the time he started his crusade I was in the public eye. There was a newspaper article running about me because I was teaching an ongoing alternative religion and tolerance seminar for the city police department.”
Kavanaugh nodded thoughtfully and underlined a couple of specific passages in her notes. “Is there anything else you can remember from that conversation?”
I took a sip of the coffee from the thermos cup and realized it had cooled considerably. Still, it wet my throat and that was primarily what I was after.
“His manner of speech, maybe,” I replied.
“How so?”
“This morning he was much more formal. He seemed calm, and his selection of wording was less conversational and more like it was staged. That’s pretty much how he was that night on the bridge as well. Deliberate and rehearsed.”
“That’s not uncommon when dealing with a psychosis,” she returned, making a quick note. “The insane will often slip between conversational and non-conversational English. It’s an indicator of the individual’s current state of stability.”
“Yeah.” I nodded in agreement. “But this whacko is a wildcard. It’s when he sounds rational that I really get worried.”
“That’s how most of them are,” Agent Kavanaugh replied with a curt nod as she proceeded to circle a few more spots within her page of notes. “I want to go ahead and get this out to the team so they can get it up on the board for the negotiator,” she told me as she stood up, still perusing the handwritten words. “I shouldn’t be gone for very long. There’s an agent right outside…”
“…To make sure I stay inside,” I completed her sentence.
“I was going to say, in case you need anything,” she replied flatly.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, unable to keep all of the sarcasm out of my tone.
“But since you brought it up…” She purposely allowed the comment to go uncompleted.
“I’ll be good,” I replied. “But could you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Ben Storm,” I said. “The detective I was with. Could you let him know where I am? He tends to worry like a mother hen.”
“He already knows,” she told me. “But I’ll say something to him.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
CHAPTER 36:
Agent Kavanaugh had only been gone for a minute or so, and I was finally starting to come down from the most recent in the daylong series of adrenalin dumps my body had been experiencing.
I looked behind myself, first over my left shoulder; and then over my right, just to make sure I wasn’t about to touch something that I shouldn’t; then I leaned back against the wall of the van. This was no easy task considering the bulk of the flak vest I was trussed up in. If I hadn’t thought Kavanaugh would throw a fit, I would have taken it off before she returned.
The metal bench I was seated on wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it beat standing. I gave a quick glance down its length and postulated that I just might be able to stretch out on it if I positioned myself correctly. After a healthy measure of seconds spent considering the idea, I decided I had better not.
It seemed ironic to me that I had just been sitting here discussing the mental state of Eldon Porter with an FBI agent because in reality, right now my own psyche was as fragile as spun glass. I was rafting on emotional whitewater, and my oar was lodged under a boulder two hundred yards behind me.
On the one hand, I was relieved that Porter was holed up in the building because at least now we knew where he was
. On the flip side, I feared for the safety of his hostage, not to mention the overwhelming guilt I felt because that hostage was Star.
Then there was everything in between. I was jittery, disgusted, sad, excited, angry, and virtually any other emotion you could think of, all at once. I was struggling with the sudden shifts from one to the next as I would run through the full range, only to find myself repeating it all over again in the very next moment.
The one thing that remained constant was the fact that I was just flat out exhausted.
I tilted my head back and tried to relax. I knew Agent Kavanaugh would probably be back any moment, and as soon as she was, the questions would start all over again. Her story had impressed upon me the importance of this interview, but I was still dealing with my overwhelming impatience.
What my irrational brain wanted me to do was rush into the building and bring about an end to Eldon Porter once and for all. What my logical brain wanted for me was to go to sleep. The few hours I’d managed to abscond with earlier had held me over for a while, but they were nothing more than a stopgap. I needed to be unconscious for a while-a long while-but I was afraid that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.
Drained as I was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep even if I tried. The headache that had started me on this odyssey was still in place and stronger than ever. It was going to be a while yet before I got my reprieve.
I found myself denying the diametrically opposed ideas being tossed about by the hemispheres of my brain and concentrating instead on the events of the past twenty-odd hours in search of answers to yet unasked questions. I was methodically trying to remember minute details of the day, unimportant and utterly mundane but details nonetheless. However, each time I would happen upon a gem to grasp, my overtaxed brain would release the previous tidbit and send it floating away into dark obscurity. The whole exercise quickly turned into a game of “keep away,” where I was the odd man out, desperately chasing after things that I remembered and then promptly forgot again.
I allowed myself to slouch lower then shoved my hands into my coat pockets for lack of anyplace else to put them. My right knuckles immediately thumped against something hard. I pondered the sensation absently for a moment and then wrapped my fingers around whatever it was and pulled it out. I’m not sure what my clouded brain was expecting, but it was only my cell phone. I vaguely recalled someone giving me my charred coat at the hospital, which must have been when I recovered the device. I guessed that Felicity must have transferred it to this jacket when we arrived home.
The sight of the phone in my hand renewed a little hope. It reminded me that I wasn’t as cut off from the outside as I had been feeling. I punched the power button and waited as the lights behind the dialing keys winked on, then the display flashed my number across the screen. I automatically thumbed out the pattern of Felicity’s cell number that my hand had memorized then hit send and put the phone to my ear.
I listened as the ring tone sounded at the other end a trio of times before ending abruptly in the middle of the fourth. The half-buzz was followed by a tired but familiar Celtic-patterned voice.
“Aye, Rowan?” Felicity asked.
“Yeah, honey, it’s me,” I replied. “Where are you?”
“We’re at the hospital. University down on Kingshighway.”
“Good hospital,” I murmured. “So how are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “What about you then?”
“Tired and achy,” I admitted. “But still in one piece.”
“Aye, you’d best stay that way.”
“I don’t think I have much choice,” I told her. “The FBI has me sitting in the back of a panel van trussed up in a bulletproof vest with an agent right outside the door.”
“Good for them,” she answered. “Remind me to send a thank you card.”
I ignored her jibe. “How’s Constance?”
“Aye, it looks like she’ll be fine. The doctor didn’t want to tell me anything at first, but I convinced him I was her sister.”
“And he fell for that?” I asked. “You two don’t look anything alike.”
“Aye, and what’s your point then? We’re twin sisters from different parents.”
“Yeah, sure,” I half chuckled. “I can see that.”
“Anyway,” she continued. “She has a broken nose, a concussion, two broken ribs, and a fractured wrist. Most of it came from the airbag they think.”
“Guess it could’ve been worse if there wasn’t an airbag.”
“Aye.”
“So what about you?” I asked. “Did the doctor check you over?”
“Aye, I’m fine, bumps and bruises, nothing more. I’m mostly worried about you and Ben.”
“I’m good,” I told her. “Ben’s hand is really messed up though. Last time I saw him there was a paramedic looking at it for him. I suspect he’ll need a trip to the hospital before it’s all over. Have you called Allison?”
“Aye. She was frantic at first, but you know how she is. She’s a nurse. She’s used to this kind of thing, especially out of Ben.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So what IS going on there?” my wife asked, her voice turning serious as she left the chitchat behind. “I’ve been watching the television, but they aren’t saying much.”
“Well, they got me here in time to appease Porter,” I replied. “For the moment anyway. Right now, I’m sitting in the back of a van, like I said, and they keep interviewing me.”
“What for?”
“Looking for angles to use while negotiating with him.”
“Aye, do they actually believe they can negotiate with that monster, then?”
“Yeah, they do.”
“What about you?” she asked after a pause. “Do you think they can?”
“No,” I almost whispered. “No, I don’t.”
We both fell silent, neither of us willing to press forward with the conversation but neither willing to say goodbye either. The digitally reproduced sounds of each other’s breathing issuing from the phones became a tenuous connection between us-distant and artificial, but better than nothing.
My fearful thoughts combined with the hollowness in the pit of my stomach, and I became the first to break the lull. “You know he’s going to kill her no matter what, don’t you?”
“Row… Don’t say that,” Felicity appealed softly.
“He will,” I continued. “I can feel it.”
“Don’t you go and do something stupid, now,” she said. “Okay?”
I didn’t reply.
Her voice came at me again, “Rowan? Answer me.”
“Yeah,” I finally said. “Nothing stupid.”
“Caorthann… ” Her voice was ringed by sadness and filled with resignation as she whispered the Gaelic pet name.
“Really, sweetheart,” I assured her. “Back of van, FBI, cops everywhere. I don’t think there’s anything I CAN do other than sit here.”
“Aye, but I know you.”
“They have a chapel there?” I asked, trying to divert her attention.
“I’m sure they do, why?”
“Maybe you should go light a candle for Star,” I offered.
Her reply told me that my gambit didn’t work as planned. “Aye, I think you mean I should go light a candle for you.”
There was no suitable reply that wouldn’t either confirm her fears or force me to lie to her. Remaining silent would just do the same. I said the only thing I could, “Maybe for both of us then.”
“Aye,” she whispered.
I knew that unchecked, we would continue to sit there clinging to the cellular thread that now linked us together in the physical world. As much as I wanted to give in to that comfort, I made the decision that I knew she wouldn’t.
“I’ve got to go, honey,” I said. “They’re going to want to start asking me some more questions in just a minute.”
“I love you, Rowan.”
I replied softly, “Yeah.
I love you too.”
I pulled the cell phone away from my ear then allowed my hand to slide down across my chest and fall into my lap. Without looking, I depressed the end button and disconnected the line. Closing my eyes, I left my head tilted back and began wondering about the wisdom of having made the call.
I wanted to be certain that she was okay, and I wanted to get an update on Constance but that information had come at a price. I wasn’t foolish enough to think that Felicity believed for a minute that I would be standing idly by at this scene. Not with Star’s life resting in the hands of Eldon Porter. I was convinced she hadn’t even believed that when she made the decision to stay behind with Agent Mandalay. But she had come to terms with it.
My phone call may have served to do nothing more than open a wound. It very simply could have been an inadvertent reminder of the dangerous uncertainty that I faced-and my melancholy, a possible harbinger that Ben’s promise to her could well be broken. Dwelling on the fact officially made me feel worse than I had before I dialed the number.
I breathed in a deep lungful of the chilly air then tilted my head back forward and glanced over at the door on the rear of the van. It had been several minutes since Agent Kavanaugh had left to hand over the information to the rest of the HNT. Considering that I hadn’t given over anything of much relevance, at least in my eyes, I was beginning to worry. Something was taking far too long.
With the momentary diversion from my migraine gone by the wayside, the pain had returned full force, hammering away even harder than before. As I sat there, I felt a creepy wave of gooseflesh climb up my back until it reached the base of my neck. I shivered with a chill as the sensation traveled back down my spine then spread out through my body. I fell into an eerie state of semi-catatonic nothingness that made me feel sick to my stomach.
I jumped with a start and caught an outbound breath in my throat as my cell phone began pealing out the William Tell Overture in dull electronic tones. When my muscles tensed, the various bruises I had acquired reported in sharply then settled back into dull aches with unwavering loyalty to the task. I forced my body to relax and rolled my head as I allowed myself to continue exhaling.
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