“Row…” my friend began, shaking his head. “We never went to a diner.”
“What do you mean?”
“You really don’t remember what happened?”
“Dammit, Ben…”
The pain in my abdomen was now arcing from the left to the right and then back again. It bored deep and felt like my insides were on fire.
“I’m sorry, Row… Sorry…” He apologized. “Maybe you should just rest now.”
“That would be best,” the nurse interjected.
“What happened?” I demanded again.
Ben took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Shooting the nurse a glance, he said, “Wanna give us a minute?”
“Detective Storm… Mister Gant needs to…”
“Please,” I appealed, cutting her off. “Just give us a couple of minutes, okay?”
She looked to the monitors and stared at them for a moment. My eyes were adjusted to the ambient light in the room, so I could see that she pursed her lips as she frowned and watched my vitals spike on the display. It was apparent that she was weighing the options. After a few heartbeats she turned to Ben.
“How do you take your coffee?” she asked.
“Black, why?”
“I’m going to go get you some,” she replied. “I’m not going to be gone very long, and when I come back you need to be finished with the talking.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ben said with a nod. “Just don’t hurry.”
“I’m serious,” she replied as she started out.
“Yeah, I got it,” he called after her. “Me too.”
Once she had vacated the small room, Ben turned back to face me. “Whaddaya remember from the morgue, Row?”
“I don’t know…” I muttered. “We got there, met with Doctor Kingston. I had a minor meltdown…”
“Yeah, anything else?” he asked.
“She brought in the body and Felicity tried to make a connection.”
“That it?”
I sighed and concentrated on the event, searching for the next part of the story, but came up blank. Finally, I said, “Yeah, I guess.”
My friend gave me a slight nod and said, “Well, you’re all good up to there, but you’re missin’ a big ass piece.” He paused and took in a deep breath before continuing. “It all started out just like ya’ said. Usual Witch stuff like you’ve done before. You’n Firehair were standin’ there doin’ the Twilight Zone thing. Doc Kingston and I were watchin’. It was quiet, nothin’ goin’ on. Hell, I was startin’ ta’ think maybe it wasn’t workin’.”
“You mean it did?” I asked.
“Well, somethin’ sure as fuck happened,” he said. “One minute everything was calm, the next minute Felicity was screamin’ bloody murder. Any of that ring a bell?”
“No…” I replied.
“Yeah… Prob’ly a good thing, I guess,” he grunted.
“Why?”
“‘Cause it went downhill from there… Fast… When she started screamin’, she went berserk. You had hold of ‘er, tryin’ ta’ calm ‘er down…” He stopped and puffed out a long breath. The pained look on his face was a good indicator that he was reliving the story even as he told it. After a short pause, he started speaking once again, outlining the events in short, fragmented sentences. “Looked like you had it under control… She was startin’ ta’ settle. It got all quiet again… You were across the room…” He paused again, staring off for a second. “Dammit… If you just hadn’t been all the way across the fuckin’ room…”
“What happened?” I pressed.
He sighed again. “You let go of ‘er and pulled out one of those salt packets…and that was it. Like it was some kinda trigger or somethin’…” He shook his head. “Next thing I knew she had an autopsy knife off’a one of the trays in ‘er hand…one of the big ones… Jeezus… You were all the way across the room… And the stiff was between us… I just couldn’t get to you in time, Row… She managed ta’ stab ya’ twice before I could tackle ‘er.”
A flash of memory rolled through my grey matter.
“You will know. But if it will help, I will wear something… or someone… special.”
I swallowed hard. “That wasn’t Felicity, Ben. She didn’t do this. Miranda did. Somehow she managed to get in…”
“I know that…” he said. “I know… I could tell just by the look on ‘er face that it wasn’t Firehair… And don’t worry. I already talked ta’ Doc Kingston about it. She’s freaked, but I don’t think she’ll be a problem. I got ‘er ta’ erase the tape that was runnin’, so Felicity ain’t gonna get charged with anything. Not if I can help it.”
“Thanks...”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Where’s the necklace?” I asked.
“Right here,” he said, pulling the small bottle out of his pocket and holding it up where I could see it. “Ya’ made me take it right before ya’ passed out.”
I sighed. “Okay…good.”
“Ya’ want it back?”
“No. Not yet. Hang on to it for me, okay?” I could tell he wasn’t excited by the prospect.
“Yeah… Okay,” He nodded and then glanced warily at the vial before shoving it back into his pocket. With a sigh he added, “Feel like I’m carryin’ the goddamn nuclear football.”
Silence fell between us as the sound of his voice trailed off. I closed my eyes and lay there, trying to find even an inkling of remembrance that connected with what I’d just been told. But there was nothing there. My mind had apparently shifted into self-preservation mode and was blocking out the trauma.
Finally I asked, “What about Felicity? How did she end up in a coma?”
“I dunno,” he said. “It just happened outta the blue. I pulled her off ya’ and managed ta’ get ‘er cuffed before she could stab ya’ any more. She kept screamin’ and kickin’… The doc was with you… Jeezus… There was blood everywhere, and you were just layin’ there… But ya’ kept tryin’ ta’ tell me somethin’.”
“You needed to give her salt.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Ya’ still had it in your hand, and ya’ kept tryin’ ta’ hold it out to me. So I pulled out one of the ones you gave me, held Firehair down and poured it into ‘er mouth. She kept fightin’ right at first, but it didn’t take long, and all of a sudden she just went limp. A few minutes after that it was like she was unconscious or somethin’.”
“She’s not unconscious, Ben,” I said with a soft lament. “She’s gone.”
“Whaddaya mean gone?”
“Miranda pushed her out,” I said. “And then you pushed Miranda out. Now she’s holding my wife hostage.”
“How?”
“That’s what I have to find out,” I said, starting to lever myself up. “I need to see her.”
“Whoa, Kemosabe, I get what you’re sayin’, but you ain’t in any condition ta’ do anything right now.”
“I don’t care,” I growled between clenched teeth as a fresh wave of pain ripped through me.
He put a large hand on my shoulder and carefully pushed me back. It didn’t take much because I didn’t have enough strength to fight.
“Row,” he said. “You were in surgery for almost six friggin’ hours. Hell, I thought ya’ were gonna bleed ta’ death before we even got ya’ here.”
The door pushed open and the nurse walked back in. “Okay, time’s up,” she said, placing a Styrofoam cup onto the rolling tray at the end of the bed as she passed it by. “There’s your coffee, Detective.”
She continued up to the head of the bed and fiddled with my IV for a moment. “I just spoke with the doctor and he ordered something for you as well, Mister Gant,” she announced and then withdrew a hypodermic from her pocket, uncapped it, and slid it into a port on the tubing.
I didn’t give what she had said much thought. Instead, I continued pressing my friend. “Ben, I need to see her.”
“You will, Row,” he told me. “But right now ya’ need ta’ rest.”
&
nbsp; “The detective is right,” the nurse echoed as she recapped the needle on the now empty syringe. “Just relax. This should take effect in just a minute or two.”
“Was that a sedative?” I asked.
“Uhm-hmmm.”
“No…” I objected. “I have to see Felicity.”
“That will have to wait,” she said.
“You bitch!” I spat with everything I could muster.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that, Mister Gant,” she replied. “Now like I said, just relax. I’ll be back in to check on you in a bit.”
It wasn’t long before the darkness came to take me again.
CHAPTER 27
“Some people just don’t want to stay dead, Rowan.”
The voice coming from behind me was familiar and under the circumstances not entirely unexpected, so I didn’t turn around. Instead, I kept my gaze focused straight ahead on the remnants of the inscription in the weatherworn stone before me. There was actually very little of it still visible, but that didn’t matter. The particular mystery surrounding the missing letters had already been solved, and though only a few fragments of the letters remained, I knew exactly what it was supposed to say—Miranda Blanque 1808 - 1851.
I was standing near the back of Saint Louis Cemetery Number One, not far from the French Quarter in New Orleans. Shafts of pale light were stenciling my surroundings in not-so-random patterns, all courtesy of the jagged template of tombs and monuments that formed the immediate skyline. Grey shadows filled the areas in-between, laying a darkened patina across aged masonry, narrow pathways, and me. The air was still, and other than the voice and the sound of my own breathing, there was nothing in my ears but silence.
I had been here before, but that time I had been chasing Miranda. Now in a very real sense, she was chasing me. I suppose it made a poetic statement of sorts that her tomb would once again be the center point of it all.
“Does anyone really want to be dead?” I finally asked aloud, responding to the comment.
“There are a few.”
I turned around to face Ariel Tanner’s ghost. “Like maybe you for instance?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re still dead,” I told her. “You died almost ten years ago.”
“That’s true.”
“And?” I asked.
“And what?”
“And shouldn’t you have moved on by now? Been reborn into a new life? Or is Summerland and the whole reincarnation thing just a pipe dream after all?”
“Don’t over think it, Rowan,” she replied. “You’ll find the answer when the time is right for you.”
“Pretty typical non-committal answer, don’t you think?”
“You just need to…”
“You aren’t going to tell me I just need to believe, are you?” I asked, cutting her off before she could finish. “Because I’m running a little short on faith these days.”
“Actually, I was going to say wait. But would it help revive your faith if I said believe?”
I ignored the question and held her gaze for a long while before finally speaking again. “I’m not really used to this, you know.”
“Used to what?” she asked.
“Well, for one thing, up until very recently you’ve been non-existent. I haven’t even seen you for several years. I just assumed that when I solved your murder you had moved on.”
“To Summerland?”
“Or life. Knowing you, I figured you were probably a precocious kid somewhere, making life hard on some parents.”
“No over thinking,” she replied.
“Yeah. I suppose I should have known you would say that,” I replied with a shrug. “But, I guess what really has me perplexed at the moment is that I’m actually carrying on a conversation with you. In the past you would just point me at things and say something completely off the wall. Then I would have to give myself a migraine figuring out what you were trying to tell me.”
“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
“So, you’re saying that this conversation has a hidden meaning?”
“I love autumn, don’t you?”
“Well, at least that part is,” I muttered, punctuating the comment with a low snort. “Staying the same, I mean.”
“Which part is that?”
“The cryptic answers, within non-answers, within hidden answers that make my head hurt.”
“Did you expect it to be any different?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t suppose so. To be honest, I didn’t expect much at all.”
“I love autumn,” she repeated.
“Since I’m having this unique opportunity to actually talk, mind if I ask how this is even happening?” As I spoke I twisted back toward the tomb and gestured. “I was fairly certain Miranda had somehow revoked my visiting privileges to your side of the fence.”
“Did she?”
“Help me out here, Ariel,” I said, turning back to her. “Am I answering that question for you, or for myself?”
“For whom do you usually answer them?”
I gave her a nod. “So…class is once again in session, I see.”
“You learn quickly.”
“Seems I used to say that about you.”
She smiled. “I had a good teacher.”
“And now you want to return the favor?”
“Have you ever imagined how you will die?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. Way too many times.”
She stared back at me without saying another word. I held her eyes with mine, waiting for the next non sequitur to fall from her lips.
A moderate breeze began to blow, seemingly from nowhere. I looked at my surroundings and watched as it kicked its way through the cemetery. Fallen leaves tumbled over one another, caught up on the rising current of cool air, making a dry sound in the midst of the quiet. Slowly, the wind tapered off and silence cascaded around us once again.
I glanced back at Ariel. “You aren’t even really here, are you?”
“Perhaps I should ask you the same thing,” she replied.
I snorted and shook my head. “We both know I’m not.”
“Do you?”
“I know I’m in a hospital bed and pretty well drugged up. I also know that a seriously nasty spirit has managed to shut the door between the worlds for me. So, I have to assume that either I conjured you from recent memories and this is just a really screwed up dream, or I just went ahead and died,” I announced, holding out my arms and twisting in place. “I don’t feel dead, at least I don’t think I do. So, my guess? All of this is drug induced. Just a bad trip is all.”
“Are you sure?”
I settled my focus back on her and said, “Yes.”
Ariel shrugged. “If that’s what you want to believe.”
“Can you give me a reason why I shouldn’t?”
Instead of answering verbally, she simply reached out, placed her palm against my chest and gave me a gentle push. I stumbled back and then went into freefall.
As darkness folded in around me, I heard her say, “Some people just don’t want to stay dead, Rowan.”
I heard a woman scream.
Her scream was my scream.
I felt pain as she struck the hard surface of the water.
Her pain was my pain.
I felt panic as the swift current pulled her under.
Her panic was my panic.
I felt death as the silty river flowed into her lungs.
Her death was my death.
CHAPTER 28
“What time is it?” I asked.
“‘Bout thirty seconds past the last time ya’ asked me,” Ben replied. He didn’t look up from the folded magazine in his hands. He just kept intently scanning the column of text then said, “Hey, did’ju know Isaac Newton was obsessed with the occult? Bet he woulda just loved hangin’ out with you.”
“Seriously, Ben.”
“Yeah, seriously.”
<
br /> “I mean seriously I was talking about the time.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “So was I.”
“Ben…”
“Really, Row.” He glanced at his watch and then returned his attention to the magazine. “Now it’s been a whole minute. Why don’t we see if ya’ can make it five before ya’ ask again, okay?”
“Dammit…” I mumbled. “What’s taking so long?”
“Nothin’. You just think it is ‘cause you’re an impatient patient.” He chuckled to himself at the pun.
“Not really funny,” I said.
“‘Scuse me for tryin’ ta’ cheer you up a bit.”
I ignored him and bemoaned my original train of thought once again, “It’s definitely taking too long.”
“Will ya’ just try ta’ relax, white man.”
I pressed my head back into the pillow and puffed out my cheeks as I exhaled a long sigh. Directly in front of me, the curtain was open on the floor to ceiling windows that formed the wall, but there really wasn’t anything unique to see beyond the panes. I already knew the routine on the other side of the glass by heart because I had been watching the activity for the better part of the day. It was like an endless, boring television show marathon where all of the episodes were exactly the same. Doctors and nurses would come and go, and then they would come and go again, and again, and so on. Obviously, I couldn’t change the channel, but the anti-drama was interrupted here and there by random commercial breaks whenever I drifted off to sleep, as the occasional self-administered bolus of morphine would tend to push me over the precipice into fitful slumber.
I actually wasn’t all that excited about being drugged into a brain sucking stupor, so I would wait until I simply couldn’t take the pain any longer before finally mashing my thumb down on the button of the pump’s control pendant. Of course, whenever such a moment would come around, my body would wonder why I had waited so long. My mind, on the other hand, would curse me for being weak and giving in—right up until the moment when the opiate would make me forget why I even cared, which didn’t take very long at all.
Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 23