Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “Pig. I ordered a BLT.”

  “Cow, pig, whatever,” he grunted before biting into his sandwich once again. “Bet you’re re-thinkin’ your order now, ain’t ya’?”

  “I’m definitely beginning to wonder,” I said.

  “Speakin’ of food,” Ben said. “You ain’t eatin’ much, Firehair. Ya’ maybe want some salt for that?”

  “I wish the two of you would stop trying to give me salt,” she snipped. “It’s bad for you.”

  The nostalgic chords of an electric guitar twanged overhead as a woman’s voice followed behind them in a haunting harmonization, repeating two simple words, “dead sound.” I looked upward at the speakers out of reflex then back down and glanced between Ben and Felicity.

  “Didn’t they already play this?” I asked.

  “Maybe she’s stuck,” Ben offered.

  “She?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, I think maybe that siren is too,” I complained, nodding toward the window.

  “Here you are, Rowan,” a voice drifted into my ears as a plate slid onto the table in front of me.

  I looked up and found Ariel Tanner staring back at me with a sad frown torturing her face. She shook her head and sighed, “I’m so sorry about the wait.”

  After that, pain was all I knew.

  And after that, there was nothing at all.

  CHAPTER 24

  I felt heavy.

  That was the only way I could describe it. It was like my muscles had turned to lead and I was slowly sinking into oblivion.

  My head was thick.

  It was dense, as if it had been emptied of its contents and then stuffed beyond its capacity with cotton, if for no other reason than to soak up any random thoughts even before I was allowed to have them. I reached for memories anyway but found none. Only the tightly packed nothing remained inside my skull, a solid void from which there was no escape.

  I wondered if this was what it was like to be dead. Then I tried to remember what it was I had been wondering. Then I gave up and stopped wondering altogether.

  One side of my face was hot and the other was cold. My neck was stiff and my shoulders felt tired. At least, that is what my body seemed to be telling me. How it was getting this message across in a coherent fashion I had no idea. The connection between the stuffing in my head and the rest of me didn’t appear to be on very good terms at the moment.

  I noticed an uncomfortable dullness was now burrowing beneath my skin. It was as if I was numb, but not numb. I was teetering somewhere in between. Physical sensations were still there, but they made no sense. They were a long time coming, and when they arrived, they were almost impossible to identify.

  It occurred to me that it was dark, so I tried to open my eyes. My eyelids fought that decision with everything they had, but I was determined. The struggle seemed to last forever, and by the time it was over I had forgotten why I even started, so I gave up.

  Then, my left eyelid opened without any prompting from me, and a bright light exploded in front of it. I wanted to blink, but I couldn’t. Just as suddenly as it had opened, it closed. But even as the residual starbursts began to fade, my right eye snapped open in much the same way, only to have the sun go supernova into it as well.

  Finally, the darkness returned. I decided not to try opening my eyes again. Apparently, there was nothing I wanted to see.

  “Can you tell me your name?” a voice filtered into my ears.

  I ignored it.

  Sometime later—how long I had no idea at all—I thought maybe I felt something pushing against my shoulder. The voice came again, “Sir, can you tell me your name?”

  Apparently, ignoring the voice was not an option. I worked my jaw and tried to force my thick tongue to move. My throat felt raw, and it burned as I slowly pushed air out of my mouth in an attempt to form words.

  “Rowmim Gahn…” I heard myself say. It didn’t make sense to me, but it seemed to mean something to the voice.

  “Good. Can you tell me what day this is, Mister Gant?”

  I took in a slow breath and then allowed my mouth to say whatever it wanted. “Money.”

  “Good,” the voice replied.

  I was starting to drift again, so the fact that the voice was pleased didn’t really matter to me.

  I felt pressure against my palm, and the voice droned on some more, but I had no idea what it said. It was just so much background noise.

  The heaviness pressed down on me again, and then it was gone. I was floating. And then I wasn’t. I was simply there. Now, I could feel myself breathing, or at least that’s what I thought. But that thought was fleeting as my cottony brain absorbed it and left me with nothing to think.

  I knew I didn’t like this. How I knew, I couldn’t be sure. I had no thoughts. At least, I didn’t think I had any thoughts. But if I didn’t have them, then how was I thinking? It confused me. But being confused required thought, and that just sent me into a deepening spiral. I stopped trying to think.

  At least the voice was gone.

  I realized I was breathing and chose to concentrate on that instead.

  Breathe in…

  Breathe out…

  Breathe in…

  Breathe…

  Now I was feeling heavy again. The troublesome dullness rolled through me like a sudden crashing wave and then ebbed slowly on a receding tide. In its wake it left only pain.

  I tensed in a reflexive answer to this new sensation. There was something both familiar and alien about it. As my muscles involuntarily tightened, my hands clenched, and I felt that something was clasped in my right palm.

  A rampant thought escaped the cotton and dripped into being.

  Felicity?

  I was holding her hand, wasn’t I?

  We were… somewhere…

  I couldn’t remember where…

  I squeezed and waited for her to squeeze back. The acknowledgement coursed along sluggish nerves, reaching dead ends before turning around and re-tracing the way back out. Eventually, the weakened signal reached what now passed for my brain, but the information it gave was completely unfamiliar.

  I squeezed tightly once again, hoping for a different message. My hope was rewarded, but not in the way I had wanted.

  A soft buzz drifted into my ears.

  A click followed.

  My hand relaxed of its own accord.

  The pain was no longer.

  The uncomfortable dullness gave way to a pleasant lack of any sensation whatsoever.

  The darkness grew darker.

  Then everything became nothing.

  Monday, April 24

  7:17 P.M.

  University Hospital Northeast

  ICU

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 25

  “Row?” A gruff but unmistakably familiar voice echoed in my ears. “Rowan… Come on, Row, wake up.”

  I wasn’t at all clear on what had transpired. Anything involving memories seemed to be staying just out of reach, although for some reason I knew who was speaking to me.

  I tried to concentrate.

  Something had to be in there somewhere. I vaguely remembered my head being stuffed with cotton. However, that’s not how it was feeling right now. At the moment it felt as if someone had replaced the cotton with dark, viscous mud. I couldn’t say that I liked this sensation any better than the previous; however, there did at least seem to be a little more feedback from the rest of my body making it through. Not that all of said feedback was particularly pleasant, mind you.

  I could tell that I was lying on my back, or at least that’s how it felt. For all I knew, my equilibrium was shot and I was hanging upside down. But, if I could believe the pressure against my spine, I was definitely laying on it. Of course, I wasn’t sure that it really mattered. Rather than wrack my lethargic brain over trying to figure it out, I just decided to rely on first impressions and leave it at that.

  As my body continued to file updated status re
ports—none of which were good—it came to my attention that my neck and shoulders were throbbing with a dull ache. The pain itself wasn’t exactly excruciating, but it made me uncomfortable enough that I desperately wanted to move in order to relieve some of the pressure. I gave in to the desire and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Unfortunately, the moment I began to tense the necessary muscles to affect the motion, a sharp pain arced through my upper abdomen and then into my chest. In response, I drew in a quick breath, which only served to send a second lance of pain to skewer along behind the first. I held the breath and then let it out slowly as I tried to force myself to relax.

  “C’mon, Kemosabe. Wake up…” the voice said again.

  After what seemed like an eternity, I carefully opened one eye and saw a face hovering a few feet in front of mine while staring down at me. The image was fuzzy, so I couldn’t fully make out his expression, but I definitely recognized the countenance as belonging to Ben.

  I groaned, “Am I dead?”

  My throat was still sore, and now it was dry too, so the three words hurt like hell on the way out of my mouth.

  “Yeah, you’re dead, and I’m a fuckin’ angel,” he replied.

  A woman’s voice instantly admonished, “Detective! He’s still dealing with the effects of the anesthesia. You shouldn’t make jokes like that.”

  “Trust me,” Ben said, glancing off in the direction of her voice. “Anesthesia or no, I’m the last S.O.B. he’d ask for confirmation if ‘e really thought ‘e was dead. He’d just know…” He looked back at me and added, “Right, white man?”

  “Fuck you,” I muttered. That pair of words hurt too, but they were worth it.

  His face disappeared from my view, and I heard him announce, “Yeah, he’s gonna be just fine.”

  I closed my eye and tried to remember, but the mud still caked my brain. I knew there was something just below its surface. Something important. If only I could seize onto what it was.

  I felt fingers pressing against the side of my wrist, and the woman’s voice came again, this time apparently directed at me. “Mister Gant, do you remember that you’re in the hospital?”

  “Do now…” I moaned. “Why?”

  “You just had surgery, but you’re doing fine. Are you in any pain?”

  “Yeah,” I croaked.

  A moment later I felt a coolness encroach upon me as a blanket was pulled back. Something snaked against me with a tickle. I felt my arm being lifted slightly, and then it was lowered once again. The blanket slipped back over me, and the coolness was replaced by warmth. I felt pressure against my palm, and then a hand closed my fingers around a small cylinder.

  “This is your morphine pump,” the woman told me. “You must have dropped it. Just press the button if the pain gets to be too much.”

  I remembered, at some point I had squeezed my hand and then passed out. I don’t know when it happened, but it seemed recent. Now I guess I knew why. On the heels of the memory, another more vivid recollection pushed through the mire of my confused brain.

  “Felicity…” I groaned.

  As disjointed thoughts of my wife flashed through my head, I felt my heart begin to race. A wave of panic rushed over me. I opened my eyes and began trying to push myself upward.

  Razor sharp agony ripped through me, just below my ribcage. I yelped and felt the pain ramp up for a second round.

  “Try not to move just yet, Mister Gant,” the woman ordered.

  “Listen to her, Row…” Ben told me, concern threading through his words.

  I ignored both of them, and the pain as well. Even as it twisted deep inside me, ripping the breath from my lungs, I struggled to pull myself upright.

  The nurse pressed gently against my shoulder and I fell back, gritting my teeth. “Just press the button, Mister Gant. It will help.”

  “Fel…” I tried to say my wife’s name again, but the pain caused it to catch in my throat, unfinished.

  Ben came back into view as he reached across me. I felt a large hand slip around mine and then squeeze, pushing down against my thumb. I heard a soft buzz then a click, and numbness began to spread through my body

  “Detective,” the woman admonished. “You can’t do that.”

  Ben replied, flat sarcasm in his voice, “Yeah, well it was an accident. Whoops.”

  “Felicity… Feliss…city…” I whispered.

  “Don’t worry, white man…” Ben’s voice said, but there was something about his tone that just didn’t sound right.

  Darkness slipped over me once again.

  Tuesday, April 25

  2:03 A.M.

  University Hospital Northeast

  ICU

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 26

  I was swimming up from an empty black void. With a painstaking slowness, the black became less black, until finally it spread into a deep dark grey. Noises, some recognizable some not, began to filter in through the murk, and though I couldn’t see, at least I could hear.

  “Somethin’ wrong? He okay?” Ben Storm’s drowsy voice drifted into my head with a languid echo. Although he sounded as if he’d just awakened, there was an air of alertness about the words; not to mention they were darkly tinted with concern.

  Assuming my ears were working the way they should, I guessed he was several feet away. From that same direction I could now hear movement, and it was starting to come closer.

  Immediately nearby, a calmer female voice replied to him in a half-whisper. “Just making the regular rounds, Detective. Checking vitals and such.”

  “How’s ‘e doin’?” my friend asked, his tone a bit less intense. His voice was louder, so I assumed he was much closer to me now.

  I was still swimming up through the greyness, groping for the light with each passing second.

  “He’s stable,” she told him.

  I heard my friend sigh heavily then shuffle in place.

  I could feel something tightening around my arm as the low hum of an air pump filled my ears. It felt as if my heart was beating in my hand as the constriction slowly started to subside between brief, evenly spaced hisses. Finally, the quiet whoosh of escaping air flowed past me, and the squeeze encircling my bicep was gone.

  My friend grunted. “Still a uniform out there, right?”

  “There’s an officer just outside the door, yes.”

  “Okay, good…” he huffed.

  There was a short pause, then I heard the woman say, “You can’t use that cell phone in here, Detective.”

  “Why not?”

  “It interferes with the monitors.”

  “Yeah, okay…” my friend breathed. “Any way we can get a phone temporararily hooked up in here then? ‘Cause we’re gonna need one.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” she replied. “But it won’t be until morning. You can use the phone out at the desk if you’d like.”

  “Yeah. That’ll work for right now.” There was another pause then he said, “Ya’ got any coffee around here?”

  “At the desk,” she told him. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back…”

  I could hear him turning to leave just as I broke through the surface of consciousness.

  “Me too…” I groaned softly.

  I heard him stop and turn back toward me.

  “Row?” he said.

  “Black,” I told him for an answer, my voice a little stronger. “And maybe some sugar.”

  “Mister Gant?” the nurse asked. “How are you feeling?”

  I allowed my eyes to flutter open. I was propped up slightly, but not necessarily comfortably. It was dark except for the subdued glow of vitals telemetry on the screen next to me and a small wedge of soft light streaming in from the partially open door. I could just make out their faces as they stood on either side of the bed looking back at me.

  “I hurt like hell,” I replied.

  “You have the morphine…” she started.

 
; “Don’t touch it,” I said, curling my hand in to guard the button, and then winced at the sharp pain my sudden action evoked.

  “Mister Gant…”

  “Talk,” I managed to say as I caught my breath. “I need to talk…to Ben…”

  “Yeah, Row?”

  “Felicity?”

  “Don’t worry. We’re keepin’ ‘er safe,” he replied. “Constance is with ‘er.”

  Like the foggy memory from before, something simply wasn’t right about his answer. I didn’t get the feeling he was outright lying to me, but something about the choice of words told me he was engaged in the sin of omission.

  “Where is she?” I pressed.

  “She’s here at the hospital.”

  “Where?”

  He huffed out a breath as he reached up to work his fingers against his neck. Shaking his head slightly, he replied, “In a different room, Row.”

  “Is she okay?” I demanded with as much intensity as my current state would allow.

  He remained silent and continued massaging the bundle of muscles right where his neck met his shoulder.

  “Answer me, Ben…”

  “Physically, she hasn’t got a scratch on ‘er,” he said.

  Anger was starting to brew inside me, and it helped me ignore the pain as I lifted my head from the pillow and glared at him. “You’re not answering my question.”

  He grimaced then blurted out, “She’s in some kinda coma or somethin’, Row.”

  I let my head fall back against the pillow as a cold terror flooded into my chest, pushing away the anger. I felt a burn down the back of my throat as it tightened. My eyes began to water and I blinked hard.

  After a moment I asked, “What the hell happened?”

  “You don’t remember?” he answered.

  I sighed and shook my head. “We were at the diner having lunch. She was upset about not being able to connect with…”

  “Whoa…” Ben interrupted me. “Diner? What diner?”

  “I don’t remember the name,” I snapped back at him. “We went there after she wasn’t able to connect with the victim at the morgue. You should know this. You were there…”