Eight Months Earlier
Saturday, April 22
9:32 A.M. – Flight 1695
On Final Approach To
Dallas Fort Worth International Airport
CHAPTER 1
“Revelations?” My wife, Felicity, whispered the question.
“Chapter six, verse twelve,” I replied. “And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake… And the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood…”
“I suppose it’s ironic, isn’t it then?”
“That’s one word for it,” I replied. “Not the one I had in mind though.”
“They’re just stories, Rowan,” she said. “You of all people know that. You can even quote them better than most Christians. The Bible is a book of allegorical prose. It’s filled with misunderstood and misinterpreted metaphors and similes from a different age.”
“I know,” I sighed. “But everything has an element of truth to it somewhere… And sometimes…with everything I’ve seen… I just… Well, I just have to wonder if some prophecies are universal… If perhaps we’re driving ourselves headlong into the darkened abyss of our own insanity. Why else would so many people do the horrible things they do?”
“Don’t overanalyze,” she offered. “Just try to forget about it. This is over. You’ve earned a rest.”
I gave my head a slow shake. “Something tells me it isn’t.”
“Why?”
I let out a heavy sigh and pulled her closer as I struggled to find the words to express what I was feeling. “This wasn’t right… I mean, the way it all happened. The killer escalated far too quickly. From a victim who disappeared several months ago, to a sudden spree.”
“I’m sure the serial killer experts have an explanation for that.”
“You’re right, they probably do. But something still feels very wrong about it to me… And, that isn’t the only thing. Ben made a valid point back at the rest area. I just handed him an address for the killer, and here we are. We all know that isn’t how it happens. Everything usually comes to me in cryptic messages I have to decipher. That’s how communication across the veil works. It’s like a language barrier.”
“Maybe you’re just learning the language then,” she replied.
“Maybe…” I said. “But that’s not how it feels. It’s almost as if someone was translating for me.”
“Who?”
I sighed again. “That’s the problem. I have no idea. I feel like I should, but I just don’t…”
“Sir… Excuse me, sir…”
The voice drifted into my ears and floated around inside my skull like a distant whisper. It faintly registered, only in as much as I knew it was there, but nothing more. It seemed my misfiring neurons were still fixated on the endless loop of a perplexing memory that refused to be ignored.
“Maybe you’re just learning the language then,” she replied.
“Maybe…” I said. “But that’s not how it feels. It’s almost as if someone was translating for me.”
“Who?”
I sighed again. “That’s the problem. I have no idea. I feel like I should, but I just don’t…”
“…I feel like I should, but I just don’t…”
“…but I just don’t…”
“…just don’t…”
“Rowan…” A different voice now called me by name. This time however, I had the distinct feeling it belonged to someone familiar. Its tone was far more adamant, not to mention that it was also joined by a not-so-gentle nudge from something that felt curiously like an elbow.
I flinched at the sudden stab of discomfort, which only served to send a much sharper and far more enduring pain radiating up the back of my neck. It was at right about this moment I noticed I was leaning to my left with the side of my face pressed against something hard, effectively cocking my head at an uncomfortable angle. While this realization certainly explained the pain in my neck, it also seemed to have awakened a sore throb in my cheek.
My brain mulled all of this over for a fraction of a second then decided it had best pay attention to the voices now that pain was involved. Against my better judgment I sat up straighter and turned toward their sources.
“Huh?” I grunted as my eyes fluttered open.
The blurred countenance of a blue uniformed flight attendant shot me what appeared to be a quick smile and said, “Sir, I need for you to raise your seatback, please.”
“What? Oh, umm, yeah… Sorry,” I muttered the words through a haze of half sleep as I fumbled with the button on the side of the armrest and slowly leaned my creaking body forward.
I suspect the flight attendant didn’t even hear my answer. By the time I looked up again, she was on the move and already several rows away as she continued toward the front of the MD-80’s passenger cabin. At least that was my assumption—all I knew for certain was that a fuzzy blue shape was rapidly shrinking in the near distance, and it was no longer in my face.
I took in a deep breath and huffed out a heavy sigh. The fresh pains were starting to subside, but unfortunately, I was now becoming reacquainted with the fact that my skull was locked in a dire battle with a headache of questionable origin. I certainly could have done without the pounding inside my head, but I had been here countless times before. I knew simply by the way it felt that the pain had just about everything to do with the paranormal as opposed to earthly causes; and that was something painkillers couldn’t usually make go away, no matter how much I abused them.
I reached up to rub my eyes and discovered my glasses were missing. I groped at my shirt pocket and found nothing, so I muttered a quick “dammit” under my breath and started feeling around in my lap for the fugitive spectacles.
“Here,” Constance Mandalay said, nudging me once again as she held the bi-focals out to me. “I rescued them earlier before they ended up on the floor.”
The petite FBI special agent was parked in the aisle seat next to me. She was my official escort for this emergency trip to FMC Carswell, the Federal Medical Center in Texas that housed female prison inmates in need of treatment, both mental and physical. The individual I was on my way to interview definitely fell into the mental category.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking the glasses from her and sliding them onto my face. “Anyone ever tell you that you have sharp elbows?”
“It’s been mentioned a time or two.”
Why I needed an escort was still a mystery to me, but I wasn’t about to complain. Fortunately for me, Constance was more than just a federal officer doing a job. She had been a good friend for several years as well, which made traveling with her far less stressful than it would have been with a stranger.
“Feeling better now?” she asked, augmenting the question with a quick smile.
“I’m not sure just yet,” I replied, rolling my shoulders and turning my head slowly side to side. “But I think the crick in my neck is saying no.”
“I’m not surprised. You really didn’t move the whole time you were asleep.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t out all that long was I?”
“Well over an hour,” she replied. “Pushing two, actually. We’re getting ready to land.”
“We are? Already?”
“Did you think the flight attendant was just picking on you or something?”
“Honestly, it didn’t even register. Guess I was still half asleep,” I told her with a shake of my head, then winced and mumbled, “Almost two hours? Damn…”
“Almost. You were out cold before the landing gear was even all the way up; and we’ve been circling for a bit because of a delay on the ground.”
“Man…” I sighed heavily once again. “Sorry about that. Guess I wasn’t very good company.”
“At least you didn’t snore.” She chuckled lightly then added, “Not too much, anyway.”
“Great…” I mumbled. “Well, in my defense, I didn’t really get any sleep last night.”
S
he nodded. “I figured as much, which is exactly why I didn’t wake you. Besides, it’s okay. It gave me a chance to finish a trashy romance novel I’ve been reading.”
“Well, at least you had…” I started then paused and scrunched my brow at her. “Wait… Did you just say you’ve been reading a romance novel?”
“No. I said I’ve been reading a trashy romance novel. There is a difference believe it or not.”
“I hate to tell you this, but adding that particular adjective just makes the sentence even more unbelievable.”
She shrugged. “We all have our guilty pleasures.”
“Yeah…” I agreed. “I just figured yours would be Guns and Ammo, or something of that sort.”
“That sounds like something Storm would say,” she countered.
The Storm to whom she referred was Detective Benjamin Storm of the Saint Louis police department’s homicide division. Ben and I had been friends for more years than I wanted to remember. He had even been best man when Felicity and I married.
Where he and Constance were concerned, however, the road to friendship had been paved with potholes and speed bumps. In fact, they clashed worse than plaids and stripes from the moment they met. To this day, the image of the petite federal agent going toe to toe with the six-foot-six Native American cop over a jurisdictional issue was not one I would ever forget—nor would most anyone else who had been there to witness it. Of course, with volatile chemistry like that to drive them, it was almost inevitable that they would end up in an on-again, off-again romance. Near as I could tell, as of last night they were still entrenched in an on phase of that seesawing dynamic.
“I guess after all this time he’s rubbing off on me,” I offered.
She shot me a quick grin then quipped, “I’m sorry to hear that. One of him is more than enough for society to deal with.”
The moan of active hydraulic pumps rumbled through the cabin, followed by the clunk of the landing gear locking into place. I turned to gaze out the window as the landscape below steadily grew from a miniature diorama to a nearly life-sized sprawl of buildings and streets. Moments later the passenger jet thumped and shuddered as the pilot dropped it onto the end of a runway at DFW and began braking.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Dallas Fort Worth International Airport, where the local time is 9:42 a.m.” A flight attendant’s voice issued from the overhead speakers as soon as the airplane had slowed. She was barely audible over the warbling turbines as we taxied toward our arrival gate. “The current temperature is seventy-eight degrees under clear skies with a slight breeze from the southwest. You may now use cell phones, however all other portable electronic devices must remain off and stowed. On behalf of your Saint Louis based flight crew, I would like…”
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked Constance, ignoring the rest of the attendant’s corporate spiel.
“Doctor Jante said someone from Carswell would be meeting us at baggage claim,” she replied.
“So they’ll be taking us to the hotel, and we don’t need to rent a car or anything?”
She shook her head. “We shouldn’t need a rental. But considering the rush Jante put on this for the flight and everything else, my guess is we’re heading straight to the facility, not the hotel.”
“No rest for the Witch, eh?” I grunted.
“My guess would be no,” she replied. “But if it’s any consolation I’ll make sure the bureau buys you a nice dinner this evening.”
“I’ll take you up on that if I’m not already asleep,” I replied as I dug out my cell phone and thumbed it on. “I might need a rain check though, depending on how all this goes.”
“We can do that,” she said as she imitated my actions with her own cell. “Maybe you can grab another nap on the way. Carswell is about an hour from DFW.”
“An hour, huh…” I grunted.
“A little over actually, according to Jante,” Constance added. “She tried to get us on a regional flight into Meacham since it’s closer, but DFW was the best she could do on short notice.”
“So we get the dollar tour instead.”
“Pretty much,” she answered with a nod.
“Lovely,” I sighed, watching my phone as the bars indicating signal strength appeared one after another. I shot a glance out the window then turned back and added, “Looks like we might be another minute or two getting to the gate. I’d better call Felicity and let her know we made it okay while I actually have the chance.”
“Good idea.” Constance nodded. “I need to call Ben too.”
I hit the speed dial for my wife’s number. Two rings later her mellifluous Celtic lilt poured into my ear.
“Row?”
“Yeah, honey, it’s me,” I told her. “Just wanted to let you know we’re on the ground at DFW.”
“Good. How was your flight?”
“Okay, I guess. I can’t really say. According to Constance, I slept through most of it.”
“Aye, that’s a good thing then. You needed it. But you still sound tired.”
“I am.”
She paused for a moment then pressed with, “Your headache is worse…isn’t it?” Her voice put audible quotes around the word headache to let me know exactly what she meant.
“It’s not that bad,” I told her.
“Don’t lie.”
My wife always seemed to know when I was holding things back from her, although she didn’t usually point it out unless she was truly worried. She was also far more aware of what was really happening with me on a preternatural level than she tended to let on, but then, she too was a Witch. The simple fact of the matter was that I knew better than to try sheltering her from my ethereal curse with a mundane lie. However, protecting Felicity was a hard habit to break, especially after everything we had just been through, combined with the fact that it wasn’t quite over yet. If it were that easy, I wouldn’t even be making this trip.
Fortunately for me, she understood my motivation.
“Okay,” I conceded. “You’re right. It’s bad enough, yeah… But I’ve had worse.”
“Will you have a chance to rest? I mean…before you have to…” Her voice trailed off leaving even the barest details of the impending meeting unspoken.
I shook my head out of reflex and regretted the action immediately as it only served to enrage the ache inside my skull. Stifling a groan, I let out a sigh then answered, “Probably not. Someone from Carswell is supposed to pick us up, and based on what Constance was told by Doctor Jante, she thinks they might be taking us straight to the facility.”
“They aren’t even letting you check into your hotel first?”
“We aren’t really sure. Just speculating at this point. But I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
“They should at least let you get some rest,” she said, concern making her voice rigid. “It’s not like this is your actual job. You’re doing the FBI a favor. You don’t owe them.”
“I know, honey, but in a way they’re doing us a favor too. You know that. Besides, it really wouldn’t matter,” I soothed. “I’m here now. You know I’m not going to be able to rest until this is over. I’m amazed I actually fell asleep on the flight.”
“Aye, I know…I know…”
“So, how are you doing?” I asked, changing the subject out of self-defense.
Felicity wasn’t going to allow it. “I’m fine. I’m just worried about you.”
“Well don’t. I’m doing okay.”
“We both know better than that, Rowan Linden Gant.”
She always invoked a maternalesque use of my full name whenever she wanted to make it clear that she was serious—especially if being relatively soft-spoken, as she was right now. Other than simply agreeing with the statement, I didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t be just another lie meant to protect her from the horrors that had become my world, so I said nothing.
After a healthy pause she demanded, “Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary chances then.”
“You’re lying again,” she sighed.
“Yeah…but in my defense, you knew I would.”
“Aye… I did…” She paused again before adding, “I have a bad feeling about this, Row…”
I told the truth this time. “Yeah… Me too, honey. Me too…”
“Very bad…” she whispered.
The airplane had finally stopped moving, tones had chimed, and seatbelts signs had gone dark. Passengers both ahead of and behind us were crowding the aisle to wrestle carry-ons from the overhead bins, compounding the already claustrophobic atmosphere of the passenger jet’s cabin.
I hated for the call to end, but at the same time I knew if I stayed on the line with Felicity any longer, it was only going to make us both worry that much more. I had the distinct impression she was feeling the same way but simply couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye.
Noticing that the travelers ahead were actually beginning to move toward the exit, I seized the opportunity for a mutual escape and told my wife, “Listen, sweetheart, we’re at the gate. I’m afraid I need to go.”
“Okay… Be careful.”
“I will.”
“You’ll call me later then?”
“As soon as I’m settled in.”
Her voice softened even more as she cooed her Gaelic pet name for me. “Caorthann…”
“Yes?”
“I’m loving you right now…”
“And I’m loving you right back.”
I knew her parting comment was heartfelt, but it still couldn’t mask the trepidation in her voice. I doubted mine was any better.
As planned, someone from Carswell was waiting for us at our baggage carousel holding a small pasteboard rectangle, which boasted R GANT in hastily scribed block letters. I can’t say it was welcome news, but having been forewarned I wasn’t at all surprised to discover that Agent Mandalay’s suspicion was dead on—a stop at our hotel was definitely not on the immediate itinerary.
Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 2