Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  I had begun telling her what transpired behind closed doors back at Carswell as soon as we sat down, pausing only long enough for us to place our orders. I hadn’t actually told Doctor Jante I would keep her secret; therefore I wasn’t particularly worried about violating a confidence to which I’d never agreed. I came here for answers, not more questions, so I wasn’t about to play her game.

  I mulled over Constance’s earlier comment while chewing the mouthful of potato, then swallowed and asked, “So the FBI isn’t allowed to recruit?”

  “Sure we are,” she said. “We do it all the time, but not like this.”

  “Well, apparently you do.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I do.”

  Stabbing at her salad, she commented, “I know I’m changing the subject, but I have to say you sure seem to be in a lot better mood now.”

  “Actually, yeah, I am,” I said while turning my plate in a slow semi-circle as I looked for a suitable angle at which to attack the oversized cheeseburger that was competing for space with the equally massive pile of fries. “Not euphoric by any stretch of the imagination, but way better than I was. Don’t know why. I suppose just getting out of there helped.”

  “I’ve had days like that,” Constance agreed.

  After a quiet pause I confessed, “I’m actually feeling a little guilty about it.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not like this is done,” I said. “Miranda is still looming over us. I still need to make a decision about tomorrow. And, Felicity…”

  “Didn’t she say she was fine though?”

  “Yeah. Yeah she did…” I admitted. I had called her again while we were being driven to the hotel, and she had assured me everything was back to normal. In fact, she had sounded as relieved as I now seemed to be feeling.

  “Then let yourself relax for a change, Rowan,” Constance said. “You live under that dark cloud way too much. It’s not good for you.”

  “You’re probably right,” I agreed. “I just hope this isn’t some sort of calm before the storm type of thing.”

  “There you go again. The eternal pessimist.”

  “Sorry. It’s become a bit of a habit.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Not without good reason,” I reminded her. “Look at my track record.”

  “I know.” She looked up from her meal and watched for several seconds as I visibly struggled to figure out how I was going to get my lunch from the plate to my mouth without ending up wearing some of it. Finally, she shook her head and commented, “I still can’t believe you ordered that thing.”

  “Yeah, I’m beginning to feel the same way,” I replied with a chuckle. “But I’m really hungry and it looked good in the picture on the menu.”

  “So your mood is obviously better. What about your headache?”

  “Down to a dull roar. Actually, it’s even better than it was earlier this morning on the plane,” I answered while smashing down the top of the burger with my hand in an attempt to make it flat enough to fit my mouth. “So, still there, but much better than it was a couple of hours ago.”

  “Well that’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah, about as good as it gets for me. I’ve gotten used to living with the pain I guess. Unfortunately, the lull is just another one of those red flags that makes me wonder when the piano is going to fall on my head.”

  “I thought we were trying optimism this time?”

  “It’s kind of a foreign concept for me, but yeah, you’re right.”

  She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe food will help.”

  “Maybe. If I can ever manage to actually eat it.”

  She glanced at the monstrosity on my plate and raised an eyebrow. “I’m really thinking a knife and fork are in order for that thing.”

  “It’s a cheeseburger, Constance. I’m pretty sure they would revoke my membership to the man club if I did that.”

  She shook her head. “You really have been hanging out with Ben too much.”

  I decided that I was simply going to have to dive in and take my chances. Still, as a precaution I tucked my napkin into my shirt collar to form a makeshift bib, then finally managed to get my hands around the sandwich and haul it up from the plate.

  Constance chuckled as she joked, “Should I flag down the waiter and ask for extra napkins?”

  “Now you sound like Felicity,” I said.

  “Well, she did tell me to look after you.”

  “Did she teach you any Gaelic?” I asked. “Then I’d feel right at home.”

  “Maybe I should call her and ask for a lesson or two.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy to oblige.”

  I returned my attention to the mammoth burger. All of my smashing at least allowed me to take a bite but not without a significant amount of struggle involved in actually getting my mouth around it. Of course, a side effect of the manhandling also produced a bit of a mess, just as I’d expected, most of which I was able to contain over the plate. However, some of it still ended up accenting my shirtsleeve, not to mention my face.

  I laid the burger back onto the plate and began cleaning the catsup and such from my chin. Constance grinned at me, shaking her head before once again stabbing at her bowl full of healthful greens. I continued chewing while stifling my own urge to laugh.

  The cheeseburger actually did taste as good as it had looked on the menu. Unfortunately, my enjoyment of it ended with that first bite because when I swallowed I felt a quick stab of pain along the side of my neck. What made it even worse was the fact that the stinging sensation was too familiar for words.

  A swath of panic instantly rushed over me as I winced and reached upward, feeling around with my fingers. The burning sensation gave way to a tingling discomfort. When I pulled my hand away and looked, it was wet and smeared bright red. The light fixture over our table instantly bloomed, casting everything in a stark contrast of washed out colors and hard shadows.

  Constance’s voice echoed in my ears. “You missed some, Rowan.”

  I tried to look at her as a gelid chill penetrated my skin, leaching directly into my bones.

  “How did you manage to get catsup on your…” Her voice rattled in my head again but stopped with a sudden yelp, leaving the question to dangle, unasked.

  The room began to spin, and I pushed my hands against the edge of the table in an attempt to stop myself from sliding downward, but to no avail. I had already begun pitching sideways as darkness slipped in to replace the garish light.

  I could feel pressure against my neck as I heard Constance, shouting the command, “Call 9-1-1. NOW!” Her voice was no longer jovial. It was authoritative and controlled but still couldn’t hide the twist of fear that corkscrewed through its tone.

  As consciousness slipped away, I was certain I could hear Miranda laughing.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Have you traveled out of the country recently?” the paramedic asked as he took my pulse.

  “No,” I replied. The word was muffled by the oxygen mask covering my nose and mouth, so I shook my head for good measure.

  “Have you been in contact with anyone who has recently traveled abroad, or have you…”

  “No,” I replied again, cutting him off. This time I pulled the oxygen mask down away from my face. “And before you…”

  “Sir, you need to leave that on.” He interrupted me and tried to move the mask back over my nose and mouth, but I pushed his hand away.

  I continued with my objection. “Look, I know where you’re going with this, and I understand, believe me. But, you’re wasting your time. I haven’t contracted any virus, and I’m not contagious.”

  “Sir, you don’t have any visible wounds, and…”

  “…And I just bled all over the place, yeah, I know. Listen, just give me a minute here…”

  Leaning to the side and looking past him, I moved on to a more pressing issue as I directed my
self to Constance, “Do me a favor… Call Felicity and check on her…” I could hear the thread of near panic starting to unwind through my own voice, so I was certain she could too. “Make sure she’s still okay.”

  “I’m sure she is,” she said, shooting me a puzzled look.

  “Just call her and check for me, please?” I appealed. “Miranda has something to do with this, I’m certain of it.”

  She nodded as she pulled her cell phone from her belt. “Okay. But don’t worry, I’m certain she’s fine.”

  I nodded. “I know, but I just need to be sure.”

  “You realize she’s going to want to know why it’s me calling instead of you, right? What do you want me to tell her?”

  “The truth I guess. She’ll know if you’re lying to her.”

  “Great,” she mumbled as she stabbed in the number. Then she tucked the phone up to her ear while wandering a few feet to the side so as to be removed from the commotion surrounding me.

  I couldn’t hear what she was saying because her voice was drowned out by the paramedic once again insisting that I keep the oxygen mask in place. However, I watched her until she turned back to face me. Once she waved and gave me a vigorous nod, I relaxed as much as I could and allowed the poking and prodding to continue.

  We were still in the hotel restaurant, with me sitting in a chair at the center of the mess. The scant few patrons who had earlier been enjoying a late lunch were long gone. That was understandable, of course. After all, the sight of a man bleeding profusely all over a table tended to have a dampening affect where appetites were concerned. Since the dining area was temporarily closed by the management, the only gawkers present were the wait staff, and they were at least keeping their distance.

  “Follow my finger,” the paramedic instructed, holding his gloved digit in front of my face.

  I’d been down this road so many times I suspected I could conduct the examination for him. It seemed as though every time I became involved in an investigation, I ended up in the back of an ambulance or sitting in an emergency room, whether I needed treatment or not. Still, I complied with the instruction then continued to sit quietly while he took my vitals for the second time.

  “BP one-forty over ninety,” he called out to his partner.

  “See,” I mumbled through the oxygen mask. “I’m fine.”

  “That’s actually a little to the high side of normal, sir,” he replied.

  “Especially for a guy who just bled all over the place, right?”

  “There’s an explanation for…”

  “I know there is,” I interrupted, voice still muffled but taking on a harder edge. “It’s because I’m starting to get really annoyed with all this.”

  “Just calm down, Mister Gant.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “Right.”

  A few moments later I heard Constance say, “Rowan. Look up here at me.”

  I brought my face upward, and the deceptively bright strobe of the small flash on her cell phone flickered in my eyes. At the same time, the electronically produced noise of a clicking camera shutter sounded in my ears.

  I pulled the mask down again over the further objections of the paramedic and asked, “What’s that for?”

  “It’s a compromise,” she said, eyes focused on her cell phone screen instead of me as she rapidly thumbed the keypad. “I’m messaging it to your wife as proof that you’re okay, so she doesn’t buy herself a ticket on the next flight she can find.”

  “But she sounded okay, right?”

  “Other than worried sick about you, yes. She says she’s fine.”

  I glanced down at my blood-covered shirt and briefly tried to imagine what the photo she had just snapped must look like. The image I conjured wasn’t pretty. “You really think that picture is going to calm her down?”

  “Believe me, I mentioned that to her myself, but she insisted.”

  “Yeah,” I grunted. “Sounds like her. But I guess she’s seen me looking worse than this.”

  Constance nodded. “She said something to that effect when I gave her a description. You’re still going to need to call her though. She wanted to talk to you right this minute, but I convinced her to let them finish checking you over first”

  “Yeah, I know I will. Thanks.”

  “Sir, I really need you to put the oxygen mask back on,” the paramedic insisted yet again.

  “No,” I said, giving my head a shake as I pulled the mask up over my head before he could stop me, and then handed it to him.

  He took it but continued trying to convince me it was necessary. “You need to leave this on while we transport you to the hospital.”

  “I’m not going to any hospital,” I replied.

  “Sir, you’ve obviously lost a significant amount of blood for some unknown reason,” he pressed. “I would really suggest that you allow us to take you to the hospital.”

  “You should probably listen to him, Rowan,” Constance told me.

  “This isn’t anything new,” I told her. “Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

  “This has happened to you before?” the paramedic asked.

  “A few times, yeah.”

  “Then you should definitely let us take you to the hospital. They can run some tests to determine what caused this,” he pressed.

  “I can tell you exactly what caused it,” I replied. “The spirit of a hundred and fifty-year-old sociopath.”

  He furrowed his brow and glanced toward the police officer who had responded to the call with them then looked back to me, “I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying that you were attacked?”

  “Not like you think I mean…” I grumbled.

  “How then?”

  “It’s a long story with too many chapters for me to get into at the moment.”

  “But when you said spirit, did you mean like a ghost or something?” he asked.

  “She’s definitely an ‘or something,’ that’s for sure.”

  “Mister Gant, I need to ask if you are under the care of a psychiatrist, or…”

  I looked up at my friend then sighed heavily and spoke over the paramedic, “Constance? A little help here.”

  She shook her head as she extracted her credentials from her pocket and gave the case a practiced flip so that she could display them to both him and the police officer. “Special Agent Mandalay,” she said. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll vouch for him. Mister Gant is one of our consultants. He isn’t insane that we’re aware of. Just a little…” She paused thoughtfully then added, “Quirky would probably be the best way to describe it.”

  I shot her an annoyed look. She returned fire with a glare that said in no uncertain terms “shut up and let me handle this.” Since I had asked her to intervene on my behalf, I figured it best to comply. Besides, she could have easily told them something quite a bit worse and still been completely truthful.

  The paramedic objected, “Unexplained hemorrhaging isn’t ‘quirky,’ ma’am, it’s possibly a life threatening issue.”

  “Believe me,” she replied. “He knows.”

  He turned back to me. “Mister Gant, you really need to go to the hospital.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but my vitals are pretty much normal, right?”

  “Yes, but that…”

  I interrupted again. “And I have the right to refuse medical treatment, am I correct?”

  “Yes, sir, you do.”

  “Okay then. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Sir, if you still insist on refusing treatment then I would strongly advise that you call your personal physician as soon as possible,” he told me. “You might have a serious underlying condition.”

  “Trust me, I’m not the one with th…” I started but noticed Constance glaring at me once again before I could finish. Changing my tone midstream, I nodded and lied. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll make sure I do that.”

  * * * * *

  Once the paramedics had gone, Constance and I headed back up to our rooms. The restau
rant staff gave us a wide berth, which was fine as far as I was concerned. At this point, the light of my earlier brightened mood had officially been extinguished, so I definitely wasn’t up to the intrusion, no matter how well meaning it might be.

  Constance finally broke the silence as the elevator gave a slight jerk and started upward to the seventh floor. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I turned toward her and nodded. “Physically, yeah. Mentally, that’s a whole different story I’m afraid.”

  She leaned back against the side wall and crossed her arms. “So, is this whole incident about what I think it is?”

  I backed up and imitated her posture by resting against the opposite wall. “Guess that depends on what you’re thinking. I experienced spontaneous hemorrhaging just like this in connection with the case I worked last month.”

  “Ben told me about it, and yeah…that’s exactly what I’m thinking,” she said. “The guy the media was calling Count Dracula.”

  I gave her another nod. “Then yes, I’d say we’re probably on the same page.”

  The elevator stopped with a quiet thump, and then the brushed metal doors parted down the center, revealing the opposite wall of the corridor. Fortunately, no one was waiting on the other side, so for the moment at least, my somewhat gory appearance was a non-issue. If I could make it to my room without running into anyone else, all would be fine. I motioned Constance ahead of me and then followed her out and to the left.

  “But isn’t that investigation closed?” she asked as we walked down the hallway. “As I recall the suspect is dead, correct?”

  “Suspect, yes,” I replied. “But maybe he wasn’t the actual killer. Or maybe there was more than one… I don’t know… All I can say is something felt very wrong about the way that case ended.”

  “Wrong how?”

  “Wrong unfinished. Like it was some kind of a set up.”

  “Set up how?”

  “It was too convenient. Especially from my end with the visions and such. The answers came too easily.”

  “Okay, then set up by whom?”