Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  In the wake of her question, a flash of memory played through my grey matter. To say it was familiar would have been the ultimate in understatements.

  “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…”

  A line formed between a pair of the unrelated dots then continued on to another. Unfortunately, the picture that was starting to be revealed was far from pretty.

  I nodded. “I guess I should have known it was you.”

  “If I had wanted you to know it was me, you would have.”

  I paused then picked up the bottle of water and drained it. Miranda watched me in silence.

  Several heartbeats thudded inside my chest before I finally asked, “So, now you’re offering me a bribe?”

  The corner of her mouth curled upward in a vile sneer. “I said that I could, little man. I never said that I would.”

  “That’s right. You didn’t, did you…”

  I looked over to the corrections officer in the corner and calmly said, “Okay. I’m done.”

  He came forward and set about disconnecting the handcuffs from the table. I remained seated, watching the process unfold.

  “You are not finished,” Miranda said. Her tone was flat.

  “Yes, I am,” I replied.

  “You still want to speak with Annalise,” she countered. There was no desperation or even urgency in her calm voice. It was simply a statement of fact.

  “Yes. You’re right, I do. But you won’t let me, and I’m tired of playing your game.”

  “You need me. You will be back.”

  “No, Miranda, I don’t. And, I won’t.” I shook my head to punctuate the words. “Not this time.”

  “Stand up,” the guard told her.

  She complied but never took her eyes off of me. As the officer proceeded to connect the handcuffs to the belly chain around her waist, Miranda twisted her mouth into a wicked smile.

  “Are you certain you want to do it this way?” she asked.

  “You aren’t leaving me any choice, are you?”

  “I suppose that is your perception,” she replied. “We will be seeing each other again soon, little man.” The comment was brimming over with innuendo, which she underscored with, “You know I will be coming for her.”

  I nodded. “What I know is that you’ll try.”

  “And I will succeed.”

  “And why are you so sure of that?”

  “Because, you no longer amuse me, and like you, I have tired of this game.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I will be coming to kill you first. Then, you cannot stop me.”

  “I see. Well, that’s definitely what it’s going to take to get to her.” I shrugged. “Just out of curiosity, I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me who you’re going to be when you come to do this?”

  “That would spoil the surprise, now would it not?”

  “I suppose that is your perception,” I repeated her words back. “But, I thought you were tired of this game?”

  “This is a new game.”

  “So…how will I be able to play if I don’t know it’s you?”

  “You will know,” she said. “But if it will help, I will wear something… or someone… special.”

  Sunday, April 23

  11:58 P.M.

  Lambert Saint Louis International Airport

  Baggage Carousel 3

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 15

  I could feel nothing.

  Well, nothing in a preternatural sense, anyway. On a physical level it was a different story, even though travel weariness had managed to numb me a bit in that arena too. While I certainly realized that exhaustion took a major toll, in the past it had never seemed to make any difference where the ethereal was concerned. If anything, it served to heighten my sensitivity to it by lowering my defenses. So, no matter what, I always felt something.

  Always.

  It was just an accepted part of my existence. Evil would seek me out, and I would always know it was there. Why? Because without fail, I would be able to feel it… But, right now, even while holding it in the palm of my hand, I could feel nothing.

  I twisted the small bottle in my fingers, spinning it slowly while I watched the white crystals cascade across one another like sand trickling into the bottom of an hourglass. With each turn, as the necklace inside tumbled, a shiny flash of its metal surface would peek through and then almost instantly disappear once again beneath the grains of salt.

  Ben had been waiting for us on the opposite side of the security gate at Concourse C, and the very first thing he had done was shove the bottle containing the cursed jewelry into my hand—before he even uttered a single word of greeting in fact. I could tell by the look on his face that he was three steps beyond mere relief just to be rid of it. Apparently, my reassurances that he was safe from its effects hadn’t been enough to allay his fears.

  My concentration was broken by an alarm sounding nearby, so I looked up from the distraction in my hands. The attention light over the baggage chute winked several times, and the delivery belt began to move. Seconds later an unseen motor began humming, and the metal slats of the time worn carousel itself jerked hesitantly. Once they shuddered and began sliding around the elongated oval, their unsynchronized rattling was punctuated by tinny scrapes as they proceeded to accordion in and out of one another around the semicircular ends. A full sixty seconds passed before the first suitcase finally appeared at the top of the conveyor; then, with a clunk, followed by a swoosh of nylon against metal, it toppled from the edge and slid onto the rotating carousel, ending with a dull thud against the lip at the bottom. A moment later it was followed by another and then another.

  However, thus far none of the luggage riding the horseless merry-go-round belonged to me.

  I glanced over to the status board and saw that our flight number was still listed, which ostensibly meant our carousel hadn’t been switched while we weren’t paying attention. Then I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost midnight. Whether by mere suggestion, from the exhaustion, or a combination of both, I yawned.

  We’d been on the ground now for better than thirty minutes, and the information on the lighted board had already been announcing the arrival of our luggage on this particular carousel for the last fifteen of them. The delay was par for the course in my experience, even at this late hour with the airport approaching deserted, save for overnight staff and the small clutch of passengers milling around this particular baggage claim. Still, typical or not, I couldn’t say I was overly excited about the wait—not that I could do anything to change it, of course.

  I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand. Wherever I wasn’t numb, I ached from the tension of the day. Still, I was feeling much better than I had been earlier. At least now I was back in Saint Louis and no longer sitting 700 plus miles away at DFW with a standby ticket in my hand, a crowd of confirmed passengers ahead of me, and an attack of anxiety so intense that it had me either calling or text messaging Felicity every half hour. Now, even as tired as I was, the drudgery of waiting for my luggage seemed almost normal in a sense, which was something I knew I should find comforting. But, right now normal was anything but. In fact, it was more along the lines of disconcerting.

  “That one yours, Row?” Ben asked, thumping my arm hard with the back of his hand in order to get my attention.

  I shot a glance toward where he was pointing and saw a dark green suitcase rumbling my direction on the slanted metal plates.

  I shook my head. “It’s close, but mine’s just a little smaller than that and should have a laminated tag on the top handle.”

  “Yeah, I thought so,” Ben grunted. “Just wanted ta’ be sure.”

  “All good. Thanks.”

  “Well, there’s mine,” Consta
nce said as a roll-around skidded down and then toppled onto its side and began moving our way. Her voice was a quiet drone as she slowly started forward to retrieve it.

  “Relax, hon. I got it,” Ben said as he stepped past her and quickly reached in with a long arm to scoop it up. Setting the luggage to the side and extending the pull handle up, he slipped his free arm gently around the petite federal agent’s shoulders while we continued to wait. She leaned into him and let out a long, weary sigh.

  My friend looked like he was probably just as tired as Constance and I both were. His angular Native American features were expressionless and sagging beneath his salt and pepper hair, a fact that served to accentuate some of the age lines that had started forming on his face over the last decade. Always one for a good cliché, he liked to say it wasn’t the years, it was the mileage. He’d go on to add that those lines were just his personal road map to prove he’d been there and that any scars were simply souvenirs from his stops along the way.

  Truth is, we had both racked up more than our share of miles and souvenirs, and our journey just seemed to get longer every day. Still, my friend remained on top of his game through it all, and even at this moment his dark eyes kept vigilant watch over our surroundings. Mine, on the other hand, ignored the outside world and drifted back to my hand to once again focus on the bottled jewelry.

  Since the twin of this necklace had been an integral part of some very intense blood magick on Miranda’s behalf, in my own way I suppose I was attempting to keep an equally vigilant watch out for a different kind of threat. Not only had the two pieces of jewelry connected her to my wife, the missing mate was now being used to provide her with an interim host that was allowing her to roam beyond the walls of Carswell. Her thinly veiled parting comment earlier today had confirmed that and had been just that much more evidence to support my belief that it was the key to ending this nightmare once and for all.

  My only question at this point was why she had not yet employed the free host to directly contact Felicity. In my mind, it seemed that would be the logical end run, as it would definitely be a way to get around me with much less effort. In retrospect, luring me to Texas should have provided the perfect opportunity to simply have the new horse walk up to our front door and ring the bell then pounce on my wife the moment she answered. The fact that this hadn’t occurred was a relief, of course, but at the same time it was troubling. What’s more, there was also the fact that until now I hadn’t foreseen another host besides Annalise as a possibility at all. That in itself just added another entire shot of anxiety to my already overflowing cup of worry.

  I kept trying to tell myself that the lack of direct contact meant that something else was stopping her. What it was, I had no idea, but if it was in fact true, and I could figure it out, maybe I could use it to my advantage. Unfortunately, I also knew that what it might really mean is that she had something else planned that I couldn’t even begin to imagine. After all, when you are dealing with an insane person, it is almost impossible to predict the next move she will make. And when you are dealing with an insane person who is also the very definition of evil, all bets are off. Yet, here I stood with my chips on the table, waiting for the wheel to spin and the ball to drop. Feeling helpless wasn’t doing my disquiet any favors.

  It also made me wonder if I was just as insane as she.

  “Here, Row,” Ben said to me as he gave my arm a bump once again. I heard the metal on plastic hiss of a suitcase pull handle being telescoped, followed by the click of it locking into place. Out of reflex, I looked toward the sound. It appeared that my friend had retrieved my bag while I was being held captive by my inner thoughts. Leaning it toward me, he added, “C’mon. You ready to get outta here?”

  “Yeah,” I grunted in agreement, my attention anything but focused.

  “You okay, white man?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Are you oh-kay?” he repeated, exaggerating the enunciation on each of the three words. “You’re actin’ a little more la-la land than normal, even for you.”

  “Oh…that…” I nodded, then took hold of the handle on my suitcase and followed along as he and Constance arced out and around the few passengers still waiting. “Actually it’s not that at all, believe it or not. I guess I’ve just got a lot on my mind. That and I’m worn out.”

  “Yeah, I can relate.” He glanced over at me as we walked toward the exit. “That bitch really got to ya’ down there, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, I guess so…” I replied. “I just wish I knew what she’s planning.”

  “Besides goin’ after Firehair, ya’ mean?”

  “Yeah, but really more of the how she plans to do it, I guess.”

  “Uh-huh, yeah, well you’n me both,” he replied.

  “I guess I should have seen this whole thing coming. Especially given my reservations about the resolution of that last case.”

  “You ain’t Superman, Row.”

  I grumbled. “Yeah, well sometimes I feel like I have to be.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I know. Been there.” He was quiet for a second then asked, “Do ya’ think you’re gonna be able ta’ end this?”

  “Superman or not, I have to. I don’t have any choice.”

  We continued for a moment in relative silence, save for the vibrating drone of the suitcase wheels clacking against the non-skid surface of the floor. As we approached the automatic doors at the bottom of the sloping ramp they slid open, and we exited into the terminal level of the parking garage. Compared to the dimness of the baggage claim area, the exterior lights around the entrance cast harsh, yellowish illumination down from above. I blinked several times as my eyes adjusted to the sudden glare.

  “To the left, next level up,” Ben said, pointing as he guided us toward the stairwell.

  The night itself was mild, with the temperature hovering somewhere in the low sixties. Cool, but not cold. A slight breeze wafted through, stirring the funk of old exhaust fumes and dirty concrete that forever permeated the structure.

  As we approached the stairs, Ben asked, “So you ain’t gonna do the Twilight Zone thing anytime soon, right?”

  “You mean right now?”

  “Yeah. Like right here or somethin’.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think I could if I wanted to, why?”

  “Just checkin’,” he replied. “When you get like this I start worryin’ ‘cause it usually means you’re about ta’ fall down an’ flop around on the floor or some shit. I don’t need your sorry ass rollin’ backwards down the stairs right now.”

  “It’s not always that bad,” I objected.

  He gave me a one-eyed stare. “Aren’t you the guy who just bled all over the place and shit?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get your point. But that doesn’t always happen.”

  “No, maybe not, but whatever does happen is always weird and kinda freaky.”

  “So you’re saying I embarrass you?”

  “Hell no,” he snorted. “You embarrass yourself. I’m just along for the ride.” Constance was already halfway up the stairwell, so Ben gestured and said, “After you, white man. Just in case and all, ya’know.”

  I huffed out a tired snort, hefted my suitcase by the grip, and then started upward. “You know, Constance didn’t give me this much grief. Maybe I should just work with her instead of you.”

  “Leave me out of it,” she called down at us from the landing. “Right now the only partner I want to work with is my pillow.”

  “I won’t argue with you there,” I said. “I just want to get home myself.”

  “So listen, Row,” Ben started. “On this whole…”

  Before he could finish the sentence, a syncopated warble began issuing from his belt, growing louder with each beat. He grumbled and said, “Hold that thought.”

  I had just stepped onto the landing next to Constance when my friend topped the stairs with his cell phone in hand. He held it up and waved the chirping device at us as he announced, “Spe
akin’ of home, I think McLaughlin must be gettin’ antsy…”

  Flipping it open, he answered with, “Yeah, Charlee, we’re on our way. I just picked ‘em up.” As he spoke my friend dipped his head in the direction of his van, and we started walking toward it while he listened to the caller. “Do what? Awww, Jeezus. You’n Firehair are okay, right?”

  Adrenalin instantly dumped into my bloodstream at the mention of Felicity, especially considering the apparent nature of his question to Detective McLauglin.

  “What’s going on, Ben?” I asked, concern tightening my throat and causing my voice to rise slightly in pitch.

  He shook his head to stave me off while he concentrated on the call. “But you’re both okay, right? Good…”

  His vehicle hadn’t been parked very far away, so we arrived at it quickly. He let go of Constance’s suitcase and hurriedly dug around in his pocket for his keys, which he immediately handed to her. She proceeded to unlock the van, but my attention never wavered from him.

  “You call it in ta’ Major Case? Yeah… Well don’t let the locals fuck with anything. Just have ‘em secure the scene until MCS gets there…” He continued. “Yeah… Good… Okay, so what about the vic? Are ya’ sure? Yeah, sounds just like the last one… What? Jeezus… Okay… Yeah, well hang tight. We’ll be there in twenty.” Ben folded the phone and slipped it back onto his belt. A look of distress now hardened his features, and his hand shot up to smooth back his hair.

  His silence was punctuated by a sharp click as Constance pushed down the pull handle on her luggage. We both stood watching him and waiting. However, I didn’t hold out for very long.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I demanded. “What happened?”

  His side of the conversation had been enough for me to figure out that Miranda apparently hadn’t waited to kill again and that somehow Felicity was involved. Obviously, that latter fact had put me immediately on edge, especially considering all the possible implications. However, it was my friend’s sudden switch in demeanor that disturbed me most. Something about it said there was more going on than just the discovery of a body.