matter. I simply wanted to watch from one point of view or the other. It really didn’t matter which it was, just as long as I could stay immersed enough to once again take a cue from Helen, and “face my fear.” I needed to see who this mystery woman was, if that was even possible.
Unfortunately, I’d have to dwell on that exercise a bit later because right now there was very little room for it inside my skull. I had plenty of things to deal with at the moment, and the list didn’t seem to be getting any shorter. But, that was only one of the reasons for my lack of focus. The biggie was the fact that at this given moment in time my head felt like it was about to split open and spill its contents unceremoniously onto the desk before me.
I had already tossed down a handful of aspirin in an attempt to dull the throb. That had been almost an hour ago, and I was now considering adding some more to the mix. The problem was that while the first dose hadn’t touched the pain in my skull, it had done an excellent job of making my stomach churn. Of course, my stomach had already been twisted into a knot to begin with, most likely because I knew this type of headache all too well.
It wasn’t normal. It went far beyond off-kilter brain chemistry, sinuses, or even the immobilizing cranial thud of a bad hangover. In fact, I was pretty sure that even a deeply sickening, hangover-induced headache might have felt better right about now.
Like a fool in denial, however, I still kept trying to convince myself that it was nothing more than lack of sleep and eyestrain brought about by the numerous hours I’d been spending in front of my computer. The cold truth was, I knew better. The constant ache was just as ethereal in nature as the recurring nightmare, and it was another prime indicator that something unpleasant was going to happen. I just didn’t know what or when, and no one on the other side was talking.
I shook my head gently, regretted the action, and then wondered for a moment at my own thoughts. Whenever they were talking, I wanted nothing more than for them to go away. But, when they fell silent, I practically begged them to say something, anything-especially at times such as this. It was a typical love-hate relationship between not so typical partners.
Of course, I often thought that what would make the most sense was for me to have never heard their tortured voices at all. To have never pierced the veil between the worlds, effectively becoming a conduit for the dead. It’s not like it had ever brought me anything but grief.
But, there was nothing I could do about that now. I’d tried shutting the imaginary door several times, but its latch was broken and it wouldn’t stay closed. Apparently, the dead were going to be waltzing in and out of my head right up until I permanently joined them on their darkened side of the threshold. Maybe then I would get some peace. Who knows? Maybe once I died it would be my turn to annoy some poor bastard back here in the land of the living who also happened to share my particular vexation. Of course, if that happened it would pretty much mean I had met a violent end, just like all of the spirits who chose to speak to me. I really couldn’t say I was able to find any sort of positive spin hidden anywhere in that thought.
I pushed the unsavory musing aside and struggled to bring my attentions fully upon the task at hand, that being research. Running the computer cursor down a list of menu items, I settled upon the one I was looking for and clicked. After a moment I sat back and waited, as even though I had a fast Internet connection, the remote server doling out the requested page didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry to comply.
Ever since Felicity’s episode with the Lwa possession, I had been trying to find out everything I could about Voodoo-as well as anything related to it-and there were still a good number of questions for which I needed answers. I suppose for that reason the process had actually become more than mere research. In its own way it was a ruthless obsession. If I wasn’t working or taking care of some chore around the house, I could be found reading, searching the web, or making calls to purported authorities on the subject in hopes of gathering more information. With both Felicity and me cut out of the loop on the Wentworth and Hobbes homicide cases, as well as her being a subject of that ongoing investigation, it was all I had left that I could do.
I certainly understood why we had been shut out, but that didn’t mean I had to like it or like that my friend was now ignoring my calls. In fact, even though Helen had reassured me on that point, I still found it very disturbing.
Of course, it only stood to reason that we would be more or less disavowed given that the microscope was now aimed at my wife. They couldn’t very well have us being privy to what they might be looking for to use as evidence against her. Not that I believed there really was anything for them to find, mind you, and I was certain their legwork would soon prove that out. Still, I simply couldn’t sit idly by and wait for them to finish because I also wasn’t necessarily willing to trust the police in this specific endeavor.
The fact is, there were some serious underlying issues at play. I had begun consulting for the Greater Saint Louis Major Case Squad somewhere around five years ago. Ever since the first time the tortured spirit of a murdered young woman had chosen to slap me across the back of the head with an ethereal two-by-four and beg my help. It hadn’t been easy getting someone to listen, even my close friend, Ben. But, eventually he had come around, as well as a few others within the local law enforcement community. Since then, I’d racked up more than my share of unwanted press clippings, but that was something that came with the territory. Headlines like “Self- Proclaimed Witch Solves Serial Murder Case” tend to sell papers. Unfortunately, it got to be my not-so-smiling face displayed beneath the bold type.
The real problem, however, was that while there were those who realized I could be a benefit, I also had some extremely vocal detractors. There were more than a few who felt my ethereal visions were just parlor tricks and bids for attention. Others literally claimed it to be the work of Satan. Those were the ones who even went so far as to publicly denounce me purely because of my chosen religious path.
Under different circumstances I would have just tried to ignore them like I usually did, but this was a completely different situation. It was largely because of the fact that some of these individuals held fairly high- ranking positions that I wasn’t convinced of a fair and impartial investigation. In my mind, finding the real killer was the best way to be sure Felicity wouldn’t get railroaded as a way of getting to me. I tended not to voice that too much because I knew that it sounded like the convoluted plot of a Hollywood conspiracy thriller, but the truth is that it was pretty much my life in a nutshell.
On top of it all, my need to clear Felicity hadn’t completely overshadowed the fact that a terribly sick sociopath was still out there. A sexual sadist none of whose games were safe, sane, or consensual. It didn’t take an advanced degree to surmise that she was going to kill again. Since I knew for a fact the police were looking in the wrong place and were showing all the signs of continuing to do so, it fell to me to do something about it before she produced another victim.
Adding up everything I already knew, it seemed that finding out all I could about Voodoo would be the best course of action under the circumstances. I hoped that the knowledge would provide the clues necessary to track down the person responsible, and some of the primary leads I was following were the symbols, called veve, which were left behind at the second scene.
I’d had no trouble identifying two of them as belonging to generally accepted figures within Voodoo practice, those being Papa Legba and Ezili Danto. The third, however, remained as elusive as a real steak in a vegetarian restaurant. The best I’d been able to determine was that it had been patterned after a symbol widely used within the bondage community. Not surprising, I suppose, given the mind-set of the killer, even though her version of the lifestyle was twisted and grotesque. Still, that didn’t give me the name of a Lwa, and that missing bit of information just fueled my need to know. If the veve didn’t belong to a generally accepted spirit, then there had to be more to it. There had to be something special about that ancestor that might lead me to the killer.
Certainly, something else I wanted to know was whether or not Felicity’s preternatural incident had actually been her body being used as a horse by the Lwa. I was almost certain that it was, but there was still a small, nagging doubt. What if it was something else entirely? I couldn’t imagine what that might be; however, I couldn’t deny that she had been known to channel both the dead and the living herself, just like me. Her brush with that affliction was something for which I blamed myself because she had opened herself up to the other side of the veil when trying to protect me. And, as I had discovered, once they had their foot in the door, it was all over. They were unwanted houseguests with no intention of ever leaving.
Still, channeling was one thing. In this case what she had done was completely out of the park, at least in my experience. Either way, the thing that troubled me even more was whether or not it was going to happen again, whatever the cause turned out to be.
Therefore, it was for those reasons, and a number of others, that I once again found myself sitting in front of my computer, books piled about me, and the contact page of a university’s website glowing on my screen.
