Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  Soon after that, darkness would seep in, and harsh nightmares were never far behind. Unfortunately, all of them seemed to feature a perplexing visit from Ariel Tanner and would end with me drowning. I still had no sense that anything had changed on an ethereal level. No voices, and no feelings from the other side. No indication that the door between the worlds had been reopened for me. Therefore, I was relatively certain the nightmares were simply that, nightmares. No hidden meanings, just my subconscious unloading on me at the behest of the drugs. Because of that, I was very quickly developing an intense hatred for the apparent side effects of morphine.

  “What time is…” I began.

  “Jeezus, Row,” Ben cut me off in a huff as he snapped the magazine against his knee. “It’s been less than a minute. You’re worse than a damn kid. I think maybe the drugs are screwin’ with your concept of time.”

  “Maybe…but…I just need to see her, Ben…” I replied.

  “I know ya’ do. I’m the one who argued your case with the fuckin’ doctor, remember?”

  “Yeah…yeah, I know… I’m sorry… How did you manage to get him to agree anyway?”

  “Less anyone knows, the better,” he grunted. “Trust me.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Let’s just say I happen ta’ know his teenager can’t afford any more tickets, and we’ll leave it at that.”

  “Yeah…thought it might be something like that… Okay… Well, thanks.”

  “Don’t sweat it. But I’m tellin’ ya’ man, you really just need ta’ relax. She’ll be here soon enough.”

  “Soon enough has already come and gone,” I replied.

  “Jeezus…” he mumbled and gave his head a shake.

  I waited for what seemed like several minutes but in reality was probably once again only a handful of seconds. I lolled my head to the side, so I could see my friend and asked, “How was she when you saw her earlier?”

  He sighed heavily, and the resigned look on his face told me he was finally giving up on finishing the article he’d been trying to read. He laid the magazine aside then shifted in his seat and shook his head at me. “Pretty much like I said, Row. She just stares off inta’ space. Kinda like she’s…” he stopped mid-sentence and then craned his neck to the side as he appeared to spot something out the window wall. With a quick nod he said, “Looks like ya’ can see for yourself. Here they come.”

  I turned my head and out of reflex tried to push myself upward on my elbows, not that I had enough strength to get very far. It had only been a little over twenty-four hours since I’d been rushed into surgery, so my body was still rebelling against sudden movements. The pain in my gut immediately erupted from a smoldering ache to a violent conflagration of agony. I stifled a groan as I lay back then fumbled for the bed controls and used them to slowly raise myself farther into a sitting position.

  Through the windows and to the side of the nurses’ station, I could see a uniformed police officer. Next to him was a wheelchair. Due to its position at the desk, I couldn’t actually see the occupant, but I knew who it was. On the opposite side of the chair, Ben’s sister, Helen Storm, was nodding and chatting with a nurse.

  As my heart began to beat a little faster, the fresh twinge in my abdomen started settling toward a dull but very prominent ache. I could tell by the way it lingered I would be reaching for the morphine button in the not too distant future, no matter how much I hated the inevitable nightmare that would be sure to follow.

  By the time I had adjusted myself into something resembling an upright position, the door was already open and Helen was maneuvering the wheelchair into the room. She bore the same angular Native American features as her younger brother, and looking at them side by side there was no denying their familial ties, even though she stood quite a number of inches shorter than he. While her face still retained a youthful look, her long hair had gone almost completely grey just in the years that I had known her.

  Once she was through the opening, she finessed the chair around Ben, who was already looking for a place to stand where he would be out of the way. Almost immediately behind her was the nurse who had been assigned to me for the shift.

  “How are you feeling, Mister Gant?” she asked while Helen pushed the wheelchair close to the side of the bed and parked it.

  “I’m fine,” I told her in an absent tone. My attention was focused on the occupant of the rolling seat.

  “The doctor says you have about ten minutes with your visitors,” she explained. “Okay?”

  “Yeah…” I muttered, still not tearing my eyes from Felicity.

  “I’ll come back when it’s time,” the nurse reminded us as she exited, carefully closing the door behind her.

  My wife was arranged in the wheelchair with what had been obvious care, but even so, she was now slumped to one side like a crumpled rag doll. She was dressed in a hospital gown with a soft restraint loosely encircling her mid-section, apparently to hold her upright in the seat. A blanket was tucked in around the lower half of her body, covering her from the waist down, and her hands rested atop it in her lap, palms turned slightly upward and fingers curled in a relaxed posture. Her head was canted to the right, and Helen or someone had positioned a small pillow beneath it and against her shoulder for support.

  I continued to stare at Felicity without saying a word. She was pale even beyond her usual ivory complexion but from what I could tell had not yet slipped into an obvious unhealthy pallor. Still, her face was slack, lips parted slightly, and her half-lidded eyes stared vacantly into space, just as Ben had described. Now and again she would slowly blink, and if one watched closely, there would be the barest hint of movement in her neck, and she would appear to swallow.

  “How are you doing, Rowan?” Helen asked.

  “I’ve been better…” I whispered.

  “That is certainly understandable,” she replied, genuine sympathy in her voice.

  I tried to reach for Felicity, but the side rail of the hospital bed proved to be an insurmountable barrier in my present condition. Without any prompting other than my obvious distress, Helen immediately stepped forward and lowered the rail. When I reached again, she lifted my wife’s hand and slipped it carefully into mine.

  “Thank you,” I said softly.

  Felicity’s fingers were cold and felt lifeless, but I held tight and squeezed as much as my own lethargic muscles would allow. I watched as she stared, looking through me at nothing.

  “How is she?” I finally asked, still not taking my eyes from her expressionless face.

  “Physically, she seems to be in good shape, especially considering the circumstances,” Helen told me. “She is presenting in a state of catatonic stupor, the most prominent symptoms being mutism and immobility, quite obviously. However, she does appear to maintain a strong degree of reflexive and occasionally volitional motor control. For instance, she responds to being fed orally. If her condition persists for any length of time, as long as she can be fed, there will not be a need for a feeding tube. That is a very good thing.

  “She has also been observed suddenly changing position of her own accord, but the movements are neither frantic nor labored, which is a good sign. Still, she displays little or no response to other external stimuli.”

  “Hey,” I murmured in my wife’s direction while slowly stroking my thumb against the back of her hand.

  I already knew that right now the body in front of me was for all intents and purposes nothing more than an empty shell. In my mind, that much was a given. The consciousness, the memories, and everything else that made Felicity who she was, had been forced into a dark void, and they were being held captive there by Miranda. Still, that didn’t stop me from seeing the woman I loved right there in front of me.

  Helen cleared her throat and said, “There is something else I need to tell you, Rowan. Due to the violent outburst that culminated in Felicity’s attack on you, her tentative diagnosis made by the doctor on staff was catatonic schizophrenia.�
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  “But that was before you arrived, right?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I turned my face toward her and tried to shake my head. “Well, you of all people know that isn’t what this is,” I objected.

  Helen was more than just Ben’s older sister, and more than a psychiatrist as well. She had known my wife and me for years and was intimately aware of the preternatural events that were my bane. She had even seen Felicity through her original possession by Miranda, so I trusted her with the truth, as bizarre as it was.

  She nodded. “I know what Benjamin told me. And, I know what I have seen. I also know that I have never known you to be wrong, Rowan. However, what I know and believe is not at issue here.”

  “What is then?”

  “The beliefs of others. I am here because you requested me to be,” she replied. “However, there is opposition. Because of your own current status as a patient in intensive care, Felicity’s parents are taking legal steps to assume guardianship over her and wish to begin the hospital’s recommended course of treatment with anti-psychotics.”

  “Jeezus,” Ben spat. “That was quick. When the hell did this happen?”

  “They arrived upstairs at the mental health center with the paperwork and their attorney just as we were preparing to come down here.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. I should have expected something like this. Felicity’s father was definitely not in any danger of starting a Rowan Gant fan club, and this wasn’t the first time he’d tried to intervene in our marriage.

  I concentrated for a moment and then opened my eyes. “Would those drugs have any negative effects on her?”

  “In all likelihood, no,” Helen explained. “However, given the unique situation, I cannot say how they might affect your ability to reunite her consciousness with her corporeal form.”

  The words weren’t exactly something you expected to hear from someone who made her living via the scientific method. But then, Helen was different, and she definitely understood what was at stake.

  I glanced toward Ben, grimacing as the news brought a new stress to bear—one that only served to negatively enhance my already growing pain. “Do me a favor and call Jackie,” I said, instructing him to contact our attorney. “She should be listed in my cell. Tell her what’s hap…”

  He was already digging through my personal effects for my phone as he cut me off, “I’ll take care of it, Kemosabe. Don’t worry. We’ll get this straightened out.” He extracted the device then gave me a nod. “Can’t turn it on in here ‘cause of the monitors. I’ll take it out ta’ the lounge in a minute. It’s all good.”

  Helen added, “Rowan, I am not sure if it matters to you, but I should note that your mother-in-law was largely responsible for keeping their attorney from attempting to stop today’s visit with you from happening at all.”

  “I’m not surprised. Maggie has her faults, but she’s not a hothead like Shamus,” I said, steeling myself against a wave of abdominal pain as the last word tumbled from my mouth.

  “She also asked about you and seemed genuinely concerned for your well-being,” she added.

  The door to the room opened and the nurse followed it in. As she skirted quickly around Ben, she asked, “How are you feeling, Mister Gant?”

  “I’m fine,” I told her, tensing in order to hide a grimace that was threatening to erupt across my face. “My ten minutes aren’t up yet.”

  “We had an alarm on your monitors,” she replied, checking the stats on display next to the bed as she pressed two fingers against my wrist.

  As if on cue, an electronic buzzer chirped, so she reached out and pressed a button with her free hand while continuing to check my pulse. Felicity’s hand suddenly twitched against mine, and I rolled my head quickly to the side. Her motion was barely noticeable, but I was certain of what I had felt.

  However, my wife was still staring into space, and her position in the chair hadn’t changed.

  “Felicity?” I whispered.

  I waited several heartbeats, watching her intently, but there was no response. I squeezed her hand, still to no avail. Her small, almost unnoticeable spasm had probably been nothing more than a random signal firing along otherwise empty nerves.

  I closed my eyes and swallowed hard as a burst of pain ripped through my abdomen on a mission to remind me just how vulnerable I was at the moment. The only thing keeping me from reaching for the button on the morphine pump was Felicity. However, given that she wasn’t really here, I was beginning to wonder how much more I could take. The universe, or whoever happened to be piloting it at the moment, apparently wondered the same thing as well.

  In that moment, it decided that not quite enough turmoil had rained down upon my particular piece of real estate. A quick knock came against the still open door of my room, and a uniformed police officer leaned in through the opening. “Detective Storm?”

  “Yeah?” my friend grunted, glancing toward him.

  “Sorry to bother you, but Lieutenant Sheets from the Major Case Squad is out in the lounge,” he said. “He wants to talk to you right away.”

  “Sheets? L. T. is here?” Ben made a demonstrative gesture at the floor with his index finger as he spoke. “Did ‘e say why?”

  “He said it’s urgent. Something about another victim in the bloodsucker case.”

  “Aww Jeezus, fuck me…” Ben spat and immediately turned to leave. As he stepped past Helen, he handed her my cell phone and began to say something.

  “I will take care of it,” she told him before he could even get the first word off the end of his tongue.

  “Thanks,” he told her.

  I called out, “Ben…”

  He stopped, “What?”

  “You’re coming back to fill me in, right?”

  “Jeezus fuckin’ Christ… You’re layin’ there in… Fuck!” He replied then shook his head and started out the door. “Forget about it, Row,” he barked back over his shoulder. “This is my job, not yours. Not anymore. You’re fired.”

  Adding to the ever-increasing tumult, the nurse announced, “Mister Gant, it’s time for your visitors to go.”

  “No,” I objected.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “She is correct, Rowan. I think it would be for the best,” Helen told me, shifting around to unlock the brake on the wheelchair.

  “Wait!” I yelped.

  Continuing to hold tight to Felicity’s hand, I gritted my teeth and twisted my body so that I could roll closer to her.

  “Mister Gant, what are you doing?!” the nurse protested, taking hold of my shoulder as I almost rolled myself out of the bed.

  Leaning off the side and bringing my face as close to my wife’s as possible, I struggled out a whisper between labored breaths, “You hang on, Felicity… You hear me? Hang on… I’m coming to get you soon… I promise…”

  CHAPTER 29

  Panic spreads through my chest.

  Dark water rushes up toward me…

  Or am I rushing down toward it?

  The muddy surface roils with tight eddies that appear then disappear.

  The pain rips into me as I strike.

  The water is hard like brick.

  I am being pulled under.

  The current has me now.

  I need to breathe.

  I gasp.

  The silty water makes me gag as it rushes down my throat…

  And then into my lungs…

  I feel heavy now…

  I’m sinking…

  Darkness is coming…

  I felt myself tense and then suddenly gasp. My eyes were still closed, but the narcotic haze that was ruling my existence off and on as of late finally seemed to be clearing once again. Images still played inside my boggy skull, and I knew immediately that I had dreamt of New Orleans cemeteries and drowning once again. I had expected it, but as usual that didn’t keep me from being startled awake by the inevitable ending. I still wasn’t quite sure why my subconscious had picked
this particular nightmare to dwell upon. I assumed it had something to do with how Miranda had originally died back in 1851, but if there was some deeper meaning behind it, my rational brain wasn’t getting the message. One thing I did know for a fact, however, was that the repetitious aberration was starting to get very old, and I was ready for it to go away.

  As the haze continued to dissipate, I found my voice and mumbled, “You in here, Ben?”

  Prior to the onset of the nightmare, I had been laying here adrift in a comfortable drowse, existing somewhere between wake and sleep. I had been able to hear everything around me with an unfettered clarity—magazine pages as they turned, footsteps that sounded lightly against the floor, and even the soft rush of air as the door opened and closed. But, none of it had truly made any sense in the fuzzy darkness that surrounded my world. It was all just an underlying soundtrack to which I’d grudgingly become accustomed. Apparently, so accustomed that it had lulled me back into a deepening sleep, where a darkened dream lay in wait.

  Flowing into the quiet lull behind my voice, a new jumble of noises tapped out a rhythm against my eardrums. The medley began with the light rustle of fabric against fabric and the dull slap of a magazine carefully dropped against a flat surface, both happening in the near distance. Those sounds were soon followed by footsteps coming toward me and then quiet breathing close by.

  Although my olfactory sense had been assaulted by the antiseptic smells of the hospital, which were less than pleasant in and of themselves, the smell of muddy water currently lingered in my nose—an illusion carried with me into wakefulness after each episode. Fortunately however, it appeared that a much more pleasant scent was now pushing it out as I picked up the barest hint of sweet vanilla.

  “It’s Constance, Row,” Agent Mandalay told me. “You’re on my watch now.”

  “Constance…” I began slowly. “If you’re here…”