“Detective Storm!” the other man said.
“Fuck off,” my friend barked, shooting a hard stare at the other cop.
Thick silence filled in behind the outburst, and he turned back to Felicity. His voice slipped into an official tenor, droning through a flat monotone.
As he spoke, his words bit into my skull, raping my ears with the vile reason for their existence.
“You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Do you understand?…”
Saturday, November 19
10:05 A.M.
Saint Louis, Missouri
EPILOGUE:
The man hadn’t slept in better than twenty-four hours. Not since he had awakened early Friday morning. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face sagged with exhaustion, but sleep simply wouldn’t come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face.
Her face as it grew even paler than her ivory skin could possibly be…
Her eyes as she looked to him for salvation he was unable to give…
Her lips as she plead with him, calling his name even though they were beginning to tremble…
Her mask of fear as she was placed in restraints and hastily led away from him…
He sighed heavily and felt the pain well deep within once again. The sadness was overwhelming, and all he really wanted to do was sit and cry. But, he couldn’t. There were no more tears left. He had already used them all.
Besides, crying wasn’t going to do any good, and he knew that. He just wasn’t sure what would.
Sharp sound split the silence. The phone was ringing, rattling through the house with a haunting echo. After three repetitions, there was a click, and the outgoing message from the answering machine spilled into the room.
“You have reached the Gant and O’Brien household, please leave a message…”
There was a short pause, and it was then followed by a high-pitched electronic tone. On its heels came an angry male voice affected with a harsh Irish accent. “You damn bastard!… I know you’re there!… Pick up the phone!… This is all your fault, Rowan Gant! You and your Godlessness!… Damn your eyes, you bastard! Look what you’ve done to her! Look what you’ve done to my daughter!”
A heavy click came immediately behind the angry words as the phone at the calling end was slammed down. This wasn’t the first message of that sort that had been left, and it was sure not to be the last.
Even so, the man ignored it just like all the rest.
He continued moving through the seemingly empty house, trudging about with no particular mission in mind. The place was an absolute wreck. Emptied drawers, upturned cushions. Visible carnage where the police had executed their search warrant, seizing everything from articles of her clothing to some of the books that he had checked out of the local library.
Through it all, a man he called his best friend stood watching, an unspoken apology obvious in his eyes.
Once again, the telephone began to peal, interrupting the man’s anguish with its unwanted bid for attention. The last bell in the trio of rings ended, and the machine burped its greeting once again. This time, in the wake of the tone, a wholly different voice issued from the speaker. One that was authoritative, feminine, and possessed of a heavy Southern accent.
“I am calling for a Mister Rowan Gant,” the woman announced. “I picked up a message from my office that he was trying to reach me. My name is Doctor Velvet Rieth, and I can…”
The man had the phone off the hook before she could complete the sentence.
