Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation

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Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 12

by M. R. Sellars


  The darkness is replaced by grey.

  I’m standing in the center of a small room.

  The walls are close.

  Too close…

  Claustrophobia claws at me.

  I close my eyes, but when I open them again nothing has changed.

  The discordant unharmony of silence is suddenly replaced by quiet sobbing.

  I turn toward the sound.

  An ivory skinned woman is huddled in the corner.

  She is nude, which makes the fact that she is emaciated even more obvious and pronounced.

  Her body is bruised and covered with weeping abrasions.

  I cannot even imagine the abuses she has suffered.

  A long cascade of hair falls around her, matted and filthy. Here and there, a wisp of its original fiery red can be seen.

  I kneel in front of her.

  She continues to sob.

  I reach out and gently touch her.

  Slowly, she brings her face up and stares at me with vacant eyes.

  She looks familiar.

  Too familiar…

  The recognition frightens me.

  “Felicity?” I ask, not wanting to hear the answer.

  Terror burns through my stomach, and I can no longer breathe.

  The darkness is gone.

  This time it is the light that comes for me.

  The first thing I felt was a sharp sting against my cheek.

  The second thing I felt was my body spasming as it drew in a quick breath.

  The third thing I felt was bile rushing up my throat.

  I heard a woman’s yelp filter into my ears, followed by a quickly muttered, “Dammit.” The latter belonged to the same voice.

  A moment later I was pushing myself up from the floor, groaning as my head resumed its earlier intimate relationship with a near blinding migraine.

  “I think he’s coming out of it now, Felicity,” Constance said, a mix of relief and disgust in her voice. “He just threw up on my shoes.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “At least it was a different set of paramedics this time,” Constance said as she pushed open the door and walked into my room. On her way through, she reached up and flipped the security latch out of the way so that the door would now be able to fully close. Advancing farther inward she continued the verbal observation, “I really don’t think the pair from this afternoon would have bought my story that this was just a false alarm.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right,” I agreed. “Thanks for taking care of that. I really wasn’t up to another argument.”

  “No problem.” She stepped over to the side of the bed where I was perched and thrust a plastic bottle of sports drink into my hands. “Here. Felicity told me to make sure you drank at least one of these right away.”

  “Yeah, she said she gave you care and feeding instructions for the wayward Witch,” I replied, absently giving the cap a twist to break the seal. “Thanks.”

  I had spoken briefly with my wife once I was back to something resembling lucid. As I expected she was no happier about the current situation than she had been about the earlier one, but she took it somewhat easy on me anyway. It really wasn’t as if this was anything new. The big difference was that she was too many miles away to do much more than worry. Of course, she claimed she tried to make good on her earlier threat but was unable to find a seat on a flight out until the next afternoon. Had it been earlier in the day, I wouldn’t have put it past her to make the eleven-hour drive; although, knowing Felicity and her lead foot, she probably would have done it in nine.

  Constance frowned and gave me an obvious once over before announcing, “I still really wish you would have let the paramedics check you out anyway. Just to be sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, Rowan, you’re the poster boy for fine,” she snorted, making no attempt to hide her sarcasm. “In the past twelve hours you’ve dealt with a constant headache, hemorrhaged all over a restaurant, and experienced some kind of unidentified seizure that had you curled up in a ball on the floor. You just can’t get any better than this.”

  “It’s not like you haven’t been down this road with me before, Constance.”

  “True, but I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to it,” she countered. “Do you know the night manager asked me three different times if they needed to worry that a housekeeper might find you dead in the morning when she comes in here to clean the room?”

  “What’d you tell…”

  “Him,” she finished for me. “I told the truth. I said that right now I don’t know. I mean, let’s be honest. If Ben hadn’t called me when you didn’t answer your phone, you’d probably still be laying there.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. Hard to say.”

  “It’s the maybe part that bothers me, Rowan,” she spat. “It bothers all of us.”

  “I understand,” I replied. “It takes its toll on me too, Constance. And, just in case you forgot, it’s not like I have any control over it. I wish like hell I did.”

  Her voice took on a more soothing tone. “I know. It’s just… I don’t know…”

  “Freakish?”

  She nodded vigorously. “I guess that’s as good a word as any. Even Ben thinks so, and he’s more used to it than I am.”

  “Well, I can’t say that I disagree with either of you…but if it makes you feel any better, you don’t need to worry… They won’t…find me dead that is. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but the events of the day aren’t really inspiring much confidence in that statement.” She sighed heavily then stepped over to the nightstand and parked an extra bottle of the sports drink before simply standing there and watching me. After a long moment she motioned and said, “Go on. Drink it.”

  I eyed the bottle then glanced up at her, “It’s blue, Constance.”

  “Sorry, but that was the only flavor they had in the machine. And blue usually means it’s raspberry.”

  “Raspberries are not electric blue.”

  “I don’t care, just drink it,” she ordered.

  “I’d really rather have Scotch,” I complained in a half-hearted voice.

  “Felicity told me you’d probably say that,” she replied. “Besides, they don’t sell Scotch in vending machines. Now will you just drink the damn thing before I have to pin you and pour it down your throat?”

  I wasn’t going to force the subject any further. I’d seen her take down bigger guys than me without breaking a sweat, and she was obviously intent on carrying out my wife’s instructions. The truth is, I didn’t know why I’d even argued in the first place, except that maybe it helped keep my brain occupied so I didn’t have to think about what I’d recently witnessed with my mind’s eye. Giving in, I took a long gulp of the cold liquid and then loosely screwed the cap back onto the plastic mouth.

  “Good enough?” I asked.

  “It’s a start,” she grumbled.

  Momentarily satisfied, she wandered away from me, stepped over the freshly scrubbed spot on the carpet, and then parked herself in the desk chair. Once she was settled she unscrewed the cap on the bottle of water she was still carrying.

  “Actually, I happen to have…” I started.

  She immediately finished the sentence for me. “…some Scotch miniatures in your luggage. Felicity told me that too.”

  “I see. Should I even look or did she also tell you to hide them from me?” I asked.

  She took a drink then shook her head and pointed at the plastic bottle in my hand. “No. She just told me to make sure you drank all of one of those before I let you have any alcohol.”

  “Well at least there’s that,” I said. I removed the cap and took another swallow then added, “Even if she is mothering me by proxy.”

  “She’s just worried about you. Like I said, we all are.”

  “I know.” After a short pause I nodded toward her now unshod feet and added, “By the way, sorry about your shoes.”


  “Don’t worry, I’m putting them on your tab.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What? I already owe Ben. I have a tab with you now too?”

  “I’m not Ben, so whatever you owe him doesn’t help me a bit,” she replied then nodded and gave me a half smile. “And to answer your question, you started a tab with me this afternoon. That was a brand new blazer you bled on.”

  “Oh,” I grunted. “Well, for the record that wasn’t actually my blood.”

  “Not my point,” she replied.

  “So I guess my credit card will be tagging along the next time you and Felicity go shopping.”

  “We’ll work it out,” she replied. “No hurry.”

  “Yeah…”

  An uncomfortable quiet flowed in behind the conversation, which was actually no big surprise. There had been a palpable tension running between us for the past half hour, and it had nothing at all to do with me ruining her wardrobe or even my arguing with her over the drink.

  Although we’d worked together on numerous occasions, and she’d seen me go through similar events, usually it was Ben sitting where she was now. And, more often than not, even he would be playing second chair to Felicity. Sometimes there were just things that only another Witch could understand.

  For all intents and purposes, Constance was navigating somewhat unfamiliar territory. It was one thing to witness my bouts with the supernatural; it was something else entirely to be charged with reaching into one and pulling me back from the brink. I think she was still adjusting to playing the part of my handler.

  Of course, it also didn’t help that I wasn’t being all that forthcoming. What’s worse is that I was reticent on purpose. The instant replay of what I’d seen in the vision was still looping inside my head—just as it had been ever since I’d regained consciousness. Unfortunately, instead of becoming desensitized to the images, I was experiencing much the opposite. Since it already wasn’t getting any easier for me to watch, talking about it was several slots down from the top of my to-do list.

  I took another long pull on the bottle of blue liquid. Then noticing that not much was left, I went ahead and finished it with a final pair of gulps before capping the empty bottle and tossing it aside. Sighing, I allowed my head to hang while I endeavored to massage away the painful movie that was being featured on the main screen inside my skull.

  Apparently Constance finally grew tired of waiting because without provocation, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “About what?”

  “What you saw when you were face down on the floor having that seizure. That’s what.”

  “Nothing to talk about,” I grunted. “Like I told you earlier. It wasn’t really much of a vision. Just a lot of disjointed, meaningless imagery… Sometimes it just happens like that.”

  “Uh-hmm, so you said,” she mumbled. After a short pause she pushed harder. “What disjointed imagery did you see that you’re so afraid to tell Felicity?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked in return. “I just told you I didn’t see anything important.”

  “You saw something, Rowan,” she pressed. “Or felt something. I don’t really know how it works. But whatever it was, it scared you, and for some reason you’re afraid to tell your wife about it.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  “Okay, but that makes two of us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Felicity knows you’re holding something back, and she’s not happy about it,” she chided. “Just in case that makes any difference to you.”

  “She tell you that?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, she did.”

  I slowly blew out a breath through puffed cheeks while continuing to work my fingers against my scalp. My pause was long, and when I finally replied, my words were unconvincing, even to me. “Well, you’re both wrong. There’s nothing to tell. So if you don’t mind, I’d prefer we just drop it.”

  “Fine,” she replied. “But do yourself a favor, Row. Don’t ever turn to a life of crime. You’ve got to be one of the worst liars I’ve ever met.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  A short lull intervened then Constance said, “It’s a little after eight. Do you want to see about grabbing some dinner?”

  I gave up on the fruitless massage and looked over at her. “Actually, I need to call Ben. He was working on something…”

  “It’s already taken care of,” she said, cutting me off. “Detective McLaughlin is already on her way to your house.”

  “But she wasn’t…”

  She didn’t let me finish. “After what happened tonight, Ben thought it might be a good idea to cover all the bases.”

  “Yeah… He’s probably right. Then I guess I need to…”

  “That’s taken care of too. Felicity is on board with it and is expecting her.”

  “Well…” I mumbled. “I guess I should say thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. So…dinner?”

  “Honestly, I’m not all that hungry,” I replied. “I know it’s still early, but since I didn’t really get any sleep last night, I think maybe I’d just like to turn in.”

  “That sounds like a good plan,” she agreed. “It’s been a long day for both of us.”

  Standing up, she walked over to the closet, slid the door open, and then pulled the extra pillow and blanket down from the shelf. I watched in silence as she headed back over to one of the more comfortable chairs in the corner of the room. After unfolding the blanket and spreading it out, she extracted her Sig Sauer and laid it on the table next to the chair. The firearm was followed a moment later by her handcuffs, credentials and room key.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  She looked over at me. “Getting ready to turn in.”

  “Something wrong with your room?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s just fine.”

  “I take it you’ve decided that you’re spending the night in here with me.” My words were more a statement than a question.

  “Obviously.”

  “Why?”

  “Can you promise me you aren’t going to have another episode of some sort during the night?”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  She parked herself in the chair and settled in. “Like I said, Rowan. You’re just about the worst liar on the planet.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I objected.

  She pulled the blanket over herself and said, “Goodnight, Rowan.”

  Sunday, April 23

  9:17 A.M.

  FMC Carswell / Carswell NAS JRB

  Fort Worth, Texas

  CHAPTER 13

  “I spoke to the assigned officer personally,” Doctor Jante told me then shook her head to underscore the statement that followed. “Unfortunately, she said that Devereaux was sleeping during the period of time in question.”

  As was the case the day before, Constance and I had been hastily escorted onto the grounds of the Naval Air Station where FMC Carswell was located. I had felt a bit self-conscious as we were brought forward and checked through ahead of the other visitors who were obligated to wait en masse. However, the feeling was quickly overshadowed by everything else that was weighing on me.

  I finished shoving my belongings into a personal effects locker once again, and then as I rechecked my pockets I asked, “So the guard is certain she was asleep?”

  “As certain as she can be under the circumstances,” she replied. “So I’m afraid there’s really no way to answer your original query.”

  “Actually, I think you just did. If she was sleeping then she was Annalise…or what’s left of her, anyway.”

  “I’m not sure I follow your logic. Would you care to enlighten me?”

  “By your definition of what’s going on with her, I can see where you might not,” I explained. “But, if you’re willing to accept the fact that you aren’t dealing with a fractured personality here and that you’re actually up against
a parasitic spirit that’s using Annalise’s body, then it should make perfect sense.”

  “How so?”

  “Simple deduction. Miranda doesn’t need sleep. Annalise does.”

  “Actually, Mister Gant, a similar argument could still be made in the case of dissociative identity disorder. The manifestation of a given personality can easily trigger the release of stress hormones, which can in turn inhibit the ability to sleep. And to be honest, whenever the Annalise personality is in control, she always displays far more agitation, which would effectively counter your theory. Therefore, what you are saying doesn’t prove your claim that this is a spirit possession at all, nor does it accurately indicate which personality was truly in control at the time.”

  I held up my hands in mock surrender. “No problem, Doc. I’m not here to argue the point. Feel free to rationalize it any way you want, that’s fine by me. But whether you agree or not, as far as I’m concerned if she was sleeping, then Annalise Devereaux was the one in the cell, not Miranda.”

  “Aren’t you making a rather large assumption?”

  “I prefer to call it a necessary leap when science fails,” I said, parroting back to her the words she’d used earlier to describe why the FBI was taking such a vested interest in me of late. I purposely refrained from making a point of that fact since Constance was standing nearby; I didn’t want to cause her any undue trouble by possibly bringing to light that I’d told her everything I was supposed to have kept secret. Fortunately, it was apparent from the doctor’s expression that no explanation was necessary and that the verbal jab had landed directly where it was aimed.

  Jante raised an eyebrow and gave me a stern look. “An interesting choice of words. Still, even if you are correct, what does this prove? Why is it so important?”

  “It tells me that Miranda wasn’t here. And if I’m right, that means she was using someone else’s body to commit another murder.”

  “A murder? Where?”

  “My best guess, Saint Louis.”

  “Best guess?” She cocked her head to the side. “So this is just part of your theory then? You don’t actually know that a murder has been committed, correct?”

 

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