I rolled my gaze back to my friend. “So what we were talking about…”
“Yeah?”
“If that’s what it takes, let me know, and I’ll do it.”
“Okay.”
I turned my face back to the ceiling and tried to relax as we began moving. Settling in, I noticed an extra set of pains coming from my left forearm. I slowly cocked my head at an angle and saw the edge of an inflatable splint encasing the appendage. Then I remembered the snapping sound of the bone and felt slightly queasy.
Flashes of memory whirled around inside my skull, always seeming to come back around to Star hanging from the end of the rope. I wondered, if I hadn’t hesitated, would it have been different? If I’d just been there a few seconds sooner, could I have stopped it all from happening? Or at least gotten her down before she choked to death?
As random thoughts tend to do, something that Agent Kavanaugh had said flitted past, and I latched onto it in an attempt to divert my mind. I mulled the comment over for a moment then twisted my head back to face my friend.
“Did Porter have a gun?”
“The scene hasn’t been cleared yet,” he returned. “But they haven’t found one yet, no. Why?”
“Something Agent Kavanaugh said.”
“About the bum from this morning.” He gave me a knowing nod as he made the statement. “Yeah, I heard. Even if they don’t find one, that doesn’t mean anything, Row. He coulda ditched it. Probably did in fact.”
“But he didn’t have one.” I tossed his original answer back to him.
“Not that we’ve found.” He cocked his head and looked at me. “Is there somethin’ I should know?”
“No,” I said in a dismissive tone. “Not really. Just do me a favor. If you see Kavanaugh, explain Twilight Zone to her and let her know I was right.”
“Jeez, Row.” He shook his head. “You and your hocus-pocus.”
“Yeah, me and my hocus-pocus,” I muttered.
The ambulance rocked as it bounced over what was probably a curb then listed slightly as it hooked into a turn. Ben reached out to steady himself, and I saw his right hand was tightly wrapped in gauze once again.
“So how is your hand, Tonto?” I asked.
“Hurts like a motherfucker.”
CHAPTER 40:
“An overwhelming sense of apathy and withdrawal is not that uncommon, Rowan.” Helen Storm’s friendly but analytical voice filtered into my ear from the telephone. “It does not mean that you are unsympathetic.”
The clock on the coffeemaker read 6:58 a.m. I had fully expected to connect with the answering service when I dialed the number to her office. I knew it was early, but I had gotten tired of waiting for business hours to roll around. I had to admit that I felt an almost cathartic sense of relief when she actually answered instead of them.
“But if I had been there ten seconds sooner, Helen…” I submitted.
“It probably would not have made a bit of difference,” she told me. “Rowan, understand that you are human. There is only so much that you can do. Millicent’s loss is a horrible tragedy for you to contend with-both of you. However, you cannot and should not obsess over something of which you had no control.”
It had been a little less than thirty-six hours since my life had run headlong into the floor of the abandoned building at the corner of Ashley and Second Street. At least, that is how I was feeling.
Felicity and I had talked, and she had certainly helped me, but I wondered if I had done her any good. We both had a lot to work through, on many levels. Our relationship had never been more solid, but emotionally we were both chewing our fingernails. We had agreed that we shouldn’t try riding it out alone, especially not after everything that had happened.
“Her parents called me last night,” I murmured.
“How did that go?” she asked.
“It wasn’t pleasant,” I returned with a sigh. “As far as they are concerned, their daughter would still be alive if she had never met me.”
“Rowan, you must understand that they are grieving a terrible loss, just as you and Felicity are. Anger is a stage of grief. They will reach a point where they will realize that you are not at fault.”
“I don’t know, Helen,” I replied. “That should have been me not her.”
“You know full well what Eldon Porter’s intent was all along, Rowan. What you are experiencing is normal, but still, you cannot torture yourself for an act that someone else committed.”
“Survivor guilt,” I returned softly.
“Precisely,” Helen acknowledged. “Now, when can the two of you be here?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Ben is supposed to show up any minute to help us move things back over to the house. Felicity has already gone to pick up the dogs, and we’re supposed to pick up the cats this afternoon.”
I gingerly cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear, wincing as it found a bruise to rest on. Using my right hand, I tugged the carafe out of its niche on the coffeemaker and topped off my cup. There were still a few inches of brew left in the Pyrex globe, but they probably wouldn’t last long considering how fast I was going through it.
The much-worshipped java machine was the last thing left to pack, really. We hadn’t brought that much with us when we’d been sequestered here to hide from a madman. Our suitcases were already packed, and a half-dozen medium-sized boxes stuffed with various personal comfort items now rested on the small, dining room table. The last box was sitting on the kitchen counter patiently waiting for the coffeemaker to occupy a space within.
After I crammed the carafe back onto the hotplate, I picked up a spoon and jammed the handle beneath the cast on my left arm and dug gently at an insistent itch.
“What about this evening then?” Helen asked.
“We don’t want to impose on you, Helen,” I told her.
“You won’t be,” she returned with an almost cheerful nonchalance. “I will come over to your house, and we will order out pizza.”
“But, Helen…” I began to object.
“No buts, Rowan. The two of you need to deal with this. Trust me, I am a doctor. I know these things.”
I couldn’t help but allow just a hint of a smile to pass across my lips. “Okay then. If you insist.”
“I do,” she replied. “If it will make you feel any better, you can buy.”
The smile grew larger, and I even chuckled lightly. “Deal.”
Her voice took on a mischievous tone, “Do you like anchovies?”
“I love ‘em, Felicity not so much,” I replied.
She chuckled. “So you will have to buy two pizzas then.”
“I think we can do that,” I replied. “And Helen, we really appreciate this.”
“I know you do,” she assured me. “How does seven sound?”
“Seven is perfect.”
“Seven it is. I will see you both then.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.”
There was a forceful rap on the door just as I dropped the handset into the cradle. I took a quick sip of my coffee then set the cup back on the counter before exiting the kitchenette, hooking around the table then moving through the small living room.
I undid the deadbolt then unlatched the door and pulled it open. As expected, Ben was standing on the other side, a familiar flat box resting in his hand like a platter.
He looked me over then said, “You look like shit.”
“Yeah, nice to see you too,” I replied as I stepped aside and allowed him to come in. “There’s some coffee left if you want it.”
“Got a cup?”
“Look in one of the boxes on the table.” I waved as I shut the door. “There should be some travel mugs in there.”
He had set the box of donuts on the counter, so I flipped it open and dug out one that looked as though it might have jelly or something injected into it.
“They were outta glazed, can ya’ believe it?” Ben asked rhetorically as he drained the coffeepot into a
large plastic mug bearing the logo of a particular film Felicity often used.
“Just stick it in the sink,” I told him as he started to stick the carafe back on the burner. “I need to rinse it out before I pack it.”
He nodded as he twisted then set the pot down in the sink. Turning back, he snapped the lid onto the mug with his good hand.
I swallowed a bite of the donut as I held up my cast-encased arm then said, “Looks like we have one good pair between us.”
“Yeah, well at least you broke your left,” he returned. “I shoot with my right you know, so now I have to fly a desk for at least six weeks.”
“I thought that was all you did anyway,” I jibed.
“Yeah. Funny.” He rolled his eyes. “So where’s Firehair?”
“Picking up the dogs.”
“At seven in the morning?” he asked. “Did she miss ‘em that much?”
I nodded. “Yeah, we both did I guess. But the real reason is that Joe and Terri both work Saturdays, and she wanted to pick them up before they left. It just works out easier that way.”
I finished off the jelly-filled pastry in a series of quick bites as I moved in past him. Stopping at the sink, I twisted on the faucet and then began rinsing out the carafe.
“That’s cool.” He shrugged, turning to face me, and then he took a sip of coffee. “Not like you have that much to move anyway.”
“True story,” I agreed.
“By the way,” he said suddenly, thrusting the coffee mug at me like a pointer. “Talked to Deck. He said for you to get your sorry ass up to the hospital and visit him.”
“Carl Deckert said that?” I chided.
“Okay, so he didn’t say that exactly, but I know he’d appreciate the visit.”
“Yeah, we will. How is he doing?”
“Good.” Ben nodded. “He’s good. They had to do a triple bypass, but he’s feeling good. Looks like he’ll be taking an early retirement.”
“How is he feeling about that?” I asked.
Ben shifted to the side as I reached around him and began disassembling the coffeemaker-emptying the grounds into the trash and rinsing the various parts.
“I don’t think it’s settled in yet, but he seems okay with it. Said something about opening up a PI shop or doing some consulting.”
“He’d be good at that,” I offered as I shook the excess water from the filter basket then began reassembling the device for easier transport. “How about Constance? Any word from her?”
“Yeah, she’s gettin' out today. She’ll be on desk duty for a while, but that’s what she normally does anyway.”
I finished stuffing the coffeemaker into the box on the counter, affecting the task one-handed, then hooked my arm around the cardboard container and moved it in with the others on the table.
“So, Ben,” I started as I turned back to face him. “Something has been nagging at me.”
“Whassat?”
“When we met Carl over at that house, he showed me the Witch jar,” I outlined.
“Yeah. That was friggin’ disgusting,” he replied as he screwed up his face for a moment.
“Whatever.” I dismissed the comment. “But there was something else. I was supposed to see some drawings or something that Porter had made?”
“Yeah. Pretty simple stuff really. I’m not sure what you were s’posed to get off ‘em to be honest.”
“So what were they?” I pressed.
“Bunch of stars. Kinda like the one you wear,” he replied and then started in on his coffee again.
“Pentacles?” I asked with a note of disbelief. “Pentacles? Pentagrams? Are you sure?”
“Well, they weren’t exactly like yours,” he told me, shaking his head and shrugging. “They had eight points, and yours only has five, right?”
“Right,” I nodded as I spoke. “But his had eight?”
He rolled his eyes up and looked like he was searching his memory. “Yeah, eight.”
“Protection Hex,” I muttered.
“Come again?”
“That would be a symbol of protection,” I explained. “Something commonly referred to as a Hex Sign. Used most often by the Pennsylvania Dutch and other persons of Germanic descent. They were painted or placed over the doors of barns to protect against bewitching and evil magick among other things.”
“Kinda fits with the jar full of piss then, doesn’t it?” he returned.
“That’s my point,” I told him. “The page from Hexen un Hexenmeister, a Witch jar, a Hex Sign…”
“Yeah, what?” he looked at me expectantly.
“There just seems to be a lot of ties to Germanic folklore,” I answered as I mulled the information over. “Something just feels hinky about it.”
“You mean like hinky ha-ha or hinky hocus-pocus?” he asked.
I bypassed his question. “Did they ever figure out what was up with that flash-boom thing?”
“Flash-bang,” he corrected. “Not yet. There’s still a lot of finger pointin’ goin on. It could be a while before they figure it out. So what about this hinky thing?”
“Why did that go off at that exact instant, Ben?” I asked.
“Who the fuck knows?” he shrugged. “That’s what they are investigating.” He cocked his head to the side and gave me a serious look. “Are you thinkin’ it was on purpose?”
“To create a diversion so I would go in there,” I answered.
“That would mean a dirty cop, Row, and I know you’re thinkin’ Albright.”
“Did you know that Albright is actually the Americanized version of the German surname Albrecht?” I asked.
“Row.” He shook his head slowly. “I see where you’re goin’, and believe me, I think she’s a loon myself but helping a serial killer? That’s some serious shit to accuse someone of, white man.”
“I know, Ben.” I gave my head a quick shake. “But it adds up.”
“For you, yeah,” he told me. “But I dunno what IAD would say.”
“Have you talked to them yet? About the other stuff, I mean?”
“Yeah, they’re lookin’ into it,” he replied then took another quaff of his java. “Good thing I’ve got a friend in there, otherwise it might have been just another cluster.”
“Are you going to tell them about what I just told you?”
“Lemme think on that, Row.” He shot me a wincing look. “Like I said, that’s some deep shit to pile on.”
“I know, but it feels right,” I replied.
“You’re sure it’s not just because you hate each other?” he asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Well…” He paused for a moment. “Like I said, lemme think on it and see where everything goes.”
“Okay,” I replied. I’d spent enough time arguing my point over the past few days. I didn’t have the energy to press it. At least not right now. “So we should get loaded up. Felicity is just going straight to the house.”
He pushed away from the counter and headed for the boxes on the table. “Lead on, Kemosabe.”
*****
“Missed a spot.” Ben pointed at the floor as he made the comment to Felicity.
She was just making the last of her third pass through the house with a bundle of straw that was bound tightly to a gnarled, old tree branch. The broom normally hung on the wall in our kitchen, positioned over the back door, but right now it was clasped in her hands as she moved fluidly throughout the entire house.
“Shhhh, Ben,” I admonished as I shuffled past him.
I was following behind my wife with a large bunch of white sage that had been tied into a smudge bundle. The end was a glowing red coal, and a healthy cloud of pungent smoke was billowing up as I waved the sage about.
Ben coughed slightly then continued to watch us from his seat at the breakfast nook in our kitchen without further comment.
Felicity ended at the back of the house with a strenuous flourish of the broom out the open door.
As she shook it, she
held her free hand up, three fingers pointing toward the sky, then began to speak. “Lord and Lady, hear my plea, keep us safe from things unseen. Protect these walls from evil deeds, but allow good spirits to plant their seeds. This cleansing now I do complete, ye things unwelcome must retreat.”
As she finished the recitation, she scribed a pentacle in the air with her fingers then pressed them against her lips and thrust her hand outward as if throwing a kiss. She stepped aside, and I tucked the burning sage between the fingers of my cast-encased hand. With my good appendage now free, I reached into my pocket and withdrew some salt, which I immediately sprinkled across the threshold.
Ben was staring at us with a bemused look when we reentered the kitchen. I had tamped out the sage bundle and left it on a plate in the atrium to cool, so I went over to the sink and brushed the excess salt off my hand.
“So what was that all about?” my friend asked.
“Cleansing,” Felicity told him. “This place felt very weird when I came in.”
“You’ve been gone for almost three weeks. Whaddaya expect? It always feels weird to come home after bein’ away.”
“Not this weird,” I told him. “Something strange was here.”
“Yeah, about ten different coppers that I know of.” He nodded. “And several of them are pretty strange.”
“My point exactly,” Felicity explained. “They brought something in with them.”
“Do you know if Albright was ever here?” I asked.
“Yeah, probably,” he replied. “Yeah, I think she was. Why?”
“That would explain a lot of the negativity,” I replied.
“Yes, it would,” Felicity agreed.
“What was that? A ‘yes’?” Ben jibed and then affected a bad Irish accent. “What happened to ‘Aye me good laddie boy and then and such.’”
Felicity just looked back at him as he sat there grinning. “I got some sleep, Ben. And, I don’t say ‘laddie boy,’ so give me a break.”
The phone rang, and I looked up with what had to be a startled expression on my face. I don’t know why, other than the fact that almost every time I had answered a phone in the past few days it had been unpleasant.
“You want me to get that?” Ben asked, leaning toward the device.
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