I looked back up at her face and said, “Well then you damn well better kill me now, you fucking bitch.”
My intent was to antagonize her. Given past experience, I had no real reason to believe that I could, but I had to take the chance. Fortunately, or so I hoped, the gambit actually worked.
Miranda let out an unearthly scream and lunged forward, clawing as she literally climbed into the bed on top of me. In my weakened state and vulnerable position, I was hard pressed to fight back, so she had every advantage where this close quarters fight was concerned. As she scrambled up on top of me, she purposely tried to bring her knee down on my wounded abdomen, but out of reflex I had pulled my knees upward and thwarted her plan. Still, a searing pain ripped through me, and I howled as she continued her attack. As I buckled under her assault, she rammed her fist into my chest, and I felt the air explode from my lungs.
Half straddling me, she lunged forward again and brought her forearm against my throat, pressing hard. She slipped her free arm in behind my head and bore down in an attempt to lock me solidly into the chokehold.
Somewhere above my head, I heard the hard sound of something slamming into the tempered glass wall as before, but this time a high-pitched ping joined the hollow thud. A second later the heavy noise struck my ears once again and was instantly followed by the bright tinkle of shattering glass as it spilled into the room. The voices on the other side of the wall were much louder now, but even so, everything I heard seemed to be in the form of a ghostly echo.
The lights in the room appeared to be going dark. With the air already forced out of my lungs, I was fading even more quickly than I had imagined I would. I struggled against the weight pressing down on top of me. Miranda had managed to drop a knee across my left forearm to pin it down, but my right remained free.
I tried to swing the arm, but with the limited space I barely thumped it against her ribcage.
“She is mine,” Miranda growled directly into my face.
The comment sparked a renewed fury in my gut. Hooking my free arm beneath hers, I thrust it upward, slamming my fist against her chin. A small amount of blood from the back of my hand was trickling down my arm, and it smeared across her face. The force of my strike wasn’t enough to do any real damage, but it rattled her enough that she loosened her grip slightly. I gasped in the barest scrap of a breath before she leaned harder into me. But, it was enough to buy me the time I needed. I let my hand drop down to her neck and sent it searching. Groping with my fingers, I found the chain and slipped them beneath it as I began to pull. Miranda reared back with a shriek but continued to choke me. Her motion caused the pendant to pop out from behind the scrubs and into plain view.
With everything I had left, I twisted my hand through the chain and clasped it around the half coin and began to pull. The moment I closed my fist, an unbelievably harsh pain began chewing its way through my flesh. An unearthly fire was searing my palm, and it felt as if my hand was literally blistering, but I held fast.
The wisp of air I had been able to suck in was now beyond depleted. I could feel the brain numbness taking over and see the darkness slipping in to replace the light.
I heard Miranda screaming, “No!”
Then came other voices filling the room, barking out urgent, forceful demands.
The weight suddenly shifted off my chest, and I could feel a sharp tug on my arm, but I refused to release my grip, no matter how badly it hurt. As a hard shudder rattled the bed and a hollow crash sounded in my ears, cool air rushed into my lungs, but I was already slipping under.
When I regained consciousness several minutes later, they had still been unable to pry the necklace from my hand.
Saturday, April 29
12:17 P.M.
University Hospital Northeast
Room 312
Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 36
“Hey, white man,” Ben greeted me as he came through the doorway.
“Hey,” I returned as I looked toward him then grabbed the remote and muted the fuzzy television set.
Fallout from everything Miranda had done, or in truth, forced others to do, was still dominating the local news and even making a splash on the national scene. Unfortunately, the media was dragging Lisa Carlson through the proverbial mud, and the real story would never be told. In the end, the poor woman had lost more than just her life, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.
“Jeezus, white man,” Ben snorted as he drew up next to the bed. “That’s what they’re feedin’ ya’?”
“For now,” I replied, pushing aside the tray containing tasteless cream-of-some-unknown-item soup, along with other semi-liquid, semi-solid, mashed and blended foodstuffs. “The pudding actually isn’t all that bad. Most days, anyway.”
“Yeah, I’ll just take your word for it,” he grunted. “Want me ta’ sneak ya’ in a bag of sliders or somethin’?”
I shook my head and pointed toward my stomach. “As good as that sounds, which is odd in itself, I’m not so sure the staples would hold, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I hear ya’. They do that to me too. I think it’s the onions.” My friend sauntered over to a chair beneath the wall-mounted television and parked himself. Nodding toward the nightstand next to me he said, “Nice flowers.”
I glanced over at the arrangement. “Yeah. They’re from the staff in the ICU… Apparently I’m an unforgettable patient.”
“Yeah, no shit. Not every day they gotta bust through a wall.” He tapped out a short rhythm on the arm of the chair and waited. After a moment he said, “Stopped in ta’ see Firehair on the way here.”
“I’m going up to see her after lunch,” I said. “They insist I get up and walk, so I told them that’s where I want to walk. They’ve been good about letting me sit with her.”
“That’s good,” he grunted.
“Any word about the nurse? The one who…you know…”
He nodded. “Yeah, but it ain’t all that good. Forensics found her DNA on Lisa Carlson’s body.”
“I’m not surprised. The necklace had to be exchanged for Miranda to switch bodies. They had to come into contact with one another.”
“Yeah, well the question is whether or not they’re gonna try ta’ connect ‘er to the other crimes then charge ‘er with Carlson’s murder. Under the circumstances, it’d probably end up bein’ some sorta manslaughter deal, but she’d prob’ly see time. Especially after what she tried ta’ do ta’ you.”
“They can’t. She couldn’t have killed her. I was talking to Lisa Carlson when she jumped.”
“Row…you and I already talked about this… You know damn well you were talkin’ to that nurse, not Carlson. She pro’bly got all Mirandized and pushed ‘er off or somethin’.”
“I’m sorry, Ben, but I must have been under the influence of morphine or something because I don’t recall that conversation at all,” I replied. “And, I’ve already refused to press charges against her for what happened in that room.”
He cocked his head to the side and stared at me. “You’re tellin’ me you’d lie under oath?”
“I’m telling you I was talking to Lisa Carlson when she jumped.”
“They’re gonna ask ya’ how ya’ know it was Lisa Carlson.”
“Doesn’t matter. But it wasn’t that nurse. That’s all I know.”
Ben shook his head. “Jeez, you really are the Lone Fuckin’ Ranger, ya’ know that? I need ta’ get ya’ a box of silver bullets or somethin’.”
I looked down and stared at the bandages that still encircled my right hand where the necklace had blistered my palm. I had already been warned that there would be a significant scar. But that was something I could live with. An innocent woman losing everything because of me, I couldn’t.
I finally broke my silence and said, “That nurse lost her job, and from what I hear, she’s not coping with the psychological effects very well. She definitely doesn’t need to be charged with a crime she didn’t commit
on top of all that. Miranda has already screwed up too many lives as it is.”
“Yeah. Speakin’ of the bitch, Constance talked ta’ Jante this mornin’. Devereaux… Well, Miranda…is un-fuckin-controllable. They got ‘er locked down and pumped full of psych meds, not that they’re doin’ any good. From what they’re sayin’, she’s gone completely off the deep end.”
“I’m still alive and I have both of the necklaces. She’s trapped again. Annalise is her only portal into this world at this point. She’s angry.”
“Yeah, well that’s an understatement. Apparently she’s bouncin’ ‘er portal off the walls, the way I hear it.”
“I guess I’m not surprised by that.”
“I still don’t get why she came after ya’ when she did. She took a big chance.”
“I doubt she’d be interested in answering that question.”
“Yeah…I bet you’re right,” he grunted then asked, “Okay, so what about you?”.
“What do you mean, what about me?”
“You copin’ okay?”
“Taking it a day at a time,” I replied. “How about you?”
“Pretty much the same, but then I was on the outside lookin’ in,” he said with a nod. “By the way, your dog tore up another one of my towels. I still say the little shit doesn’t like me.”
“Might be the other way around. Maybe he likes you too much.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. Well, I’m addin’ it to your tab.”
“I figured you would. How are the cats?”
“Fine,” he replied. “I called that buddy of yours…RJ… He’s watchin’ ‘em.”
“Good.”
As the word faded, a heavy silence rolled in like a swiftly rising tide. I stared at the wall, Ben stared at me, and nothing more was said. Seconds folded into minutes, and eventually my friend cleared his throat.
“Okay, Row,” he said. “Are we done with the bullshit small talk?”
“Yeah. I guess we are.”
“Okay. So what’s up? You’re the one who needed ta’ talk ta’ me right away, remember?”
“Yeah, Ben, I remember.” I took in a deep breath and then exhaled heavily. “I know I already owe you more than I’ll ever be able to repay, but I need to ask a big favor.”
He shook his head and shrugged. “No prob, Kemosabe. Name it.”
“I need you to help me kill Miranda.”
Friday, May 12
4:32 P.M.
I-10 East
23 Miles Outside New Orleans, Louisiana
CHAPTER 37
“Exit’s gonna be comin’ up soon. Looks like we’re gonna be about an hour or so early,” Ben called over his shoulder.
“Good,” I replied.
“I know this is prob’ly a stupid question, but do ya’ still wanna go straight there?”
“You’re right,” I replied. “Stupid question.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “Just figured I should ask anyway.”
We had been on the road since before sunup, and the travel weariness was starting to take hold. My doctor wasn’t happy with me making this trip in the first place, but I told him I would take his opinion under advisement, which lasted about ten seconds. I’d been discharged from the hospital for less than a week, and the standing order was for me to take it easy. Even though Ben was doing all the driving, eleven hours in a vehicle was exhausting in its own way. At least we were in his van, so there was plenty of room to stretch out.
I looked over at Felicity. She was belted into the seat next to me, head resting on a pillow as she stared into nothingness. Occasionally she would blink, and earlier when we had stopped for lunch, she had eaten out of reflex and even changed position of her own accord. But that was it. Nothing more. I reached out and took hold of her hand then simply held it in mine.
My wife’s parents were as dead set against this trip as my doctor. Shamus more so than Maggie, but neither of them was happy about it. So far, they hadn’t given up their attempts to assume legal control of her care, but our attorney had stonewalled them pretty well. Now that I was out of the hospital, they were fighting a losing battle for the most part. And if things worked out as I hoped, an unnecessary one as well.
“How is she doing, Rowan?” Helen Storm asked, turning in the passenger seat to glance back at me.
“The same,” I said.
“What about you?” she asked. The tenor of her voice told me she held even more concern for my personal well-being.
“I’m fine, Helen… I’ll be okay…”
She twisted a bit more to look at Felicity then smiled and turned back around in her seat.
The hospital had recommended an in-home nursing service. Someone to look after my wife until such time as my strength returned, and then they could train me in the finer points of indigent care. They told me I was in denial when I explained that she wouldn’t be in need of it for much longer. Of course, they were always sure to add that if I continued refusing to allow treatment with the anti-psychotic meds, she might never recover at all.
Fortunately, Helen was her doctor of record, and she was no stranger to how things worked in my world. That was why she had come along on this excursion to help with Felicity instead of a stranger who simply wouldn’t understand.
A bright chirrup blipped through the interior of the vehicle, low at first then gaining in volume. Ben dug out his cell phone, glanced at it, flipped it open, and then tucked it up against his ear.
“Yeah, what’s up?” he said. He paused and listened for a second then spoke again. “We’re about twenty minutes out, prob’ly. Depends on traffic. Yeah… Yeah… I’ll tell ‘im… Yeah, I’ll call ya’… Bye.”
He closed the device and dropped it back into the console. “That was Constance,” he said over his shoulder. “Just checkin’ in. Wanted you ta’ know the dogs and cats are fine.”
“That’s great,” I replied then looked back over at Felicity.
Glancing out the windows, I could see that on our left, the choppy waters of Lake Pontchartrain were slipping past. On the right was a marshy landscape of the shoreline. I pressed my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. We continued the rest of the trip in silence, save for Ben’s occasional grumble about other drivers. I ignored him and simply kept holding Felicity’s hand.
Just over two hours later, we were on the deck of a riverboat and pulling away from the dock to head upstream.
* * * * *
We watched the New Orleans skyline slide slowly by as the engines beneath us thrummed and churned the brown waters of the Mississippi, kicking up a foamy wake. Ahead of us, looming in the distance was the Crescent City Connection Bridge, where the Pontchartrain Expressway spanned the muddy river.
“So what now?” Ben asked.
I sighed and looked around. Most of the passengers were inside for the Jazz Dinner Cruise. While there were still a few other tourists on the deck, fortunately we were standing in a pocket of isolation. My guess was that it most likely was a product of the socially repelling effect of a catatonic woman in a wheelchair. I wasn’t happy about that societal norm, but for our purposes it was actually useful. We didn’t really need an audience for what we were about to do.
Turning back to Ben, I recited a better than one hundred-fifty year old notice from the New Orleans Bee that had become etched in my memory over the last two weeks. “Found Drowned. The coroner held an inquest yesterday on the body of a woman named, Miranda Blanque, sister of Delphine Lalaurie, aged forty-three years, who was found floating in the Mississippi opposite the third municipality. It appears that on Sunday night last, she was seen to have jumped into the river. Verdict accordingly.”
“Yeah,” my friend replied, although I hadn’t really answered his question, and his tone more than betrayed that fact.
I wandered closer to the rail and pointed at the shore on the opposite side of the river, which was slowly receding behind us. “Over there is Algiers,” I said. “In eighteen fifty-one, that was pretty
much directly across from the third municipality, so she likely went into the water somewhere upstream, and her body eventually surfaced around that area.”
“But ya’ don’t know where she went in,” Ben replied.
“It doesn’t really matter,” I said. “This is where she died. This is where she has to die again if Felicity is ever going to be free of her.”
I reached into my pocket and withdrew two small glass bottles. Inside each rested one half of the cursed jewelry that had sent us down this path. Each was swimming in salt and could only be seen whenever I slowly twisted the containers and watched for the glint of light from metal.
“How’s your arm?” I asked my friend.
“I got ya’ covered,” he said with a nod.
I carefully uncapped the first vial and poured the necklace and salt into my palm. A tingle began rolling through my body as the metal came into contact with the still healing burn that scarred my flesh. I handed Ben the other vial then nodded toward my outstretched hand. He twisted the cap from the glass container and then hesitantly began to pour it into my palm.
“Go ahead,” I urged.
He turned it up, and the second necklace fell on top of the first, riding in a cascade of white crystals.
Now my hand began to prickle as if it had been asleep. The hair on the back of my neck danced, and an explosion of pain arced through my skull.
“NO!” I hear a woman scream.
“Row?” Ben asked. “You goin’ Twilight Zone?”
“Just a little,” I breathed. “But I’m okay… Let’s do this.”
My friend held out his hand. “This gonna burn me like it did you?”
“It shouldn’t,” I told him.
“Doesn’t matter if it does,” he replied. “I just wanna know what ta’ expect, so I don’t drop ‘em and all.”
“Thanks, Ben.”
Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 30