evidence wasn’t always going to be what triggered my involvement.
“Now, let me ask ya’ somethin’,” my friend continued. “Did’ya know someone who lived in this apartment?”
The shroud of disorientation was descending on me again, rendering my fleeting clarity a thing of the past. My scalp was starting to tighten, and the back of my head held fast to a dull throb that was threatening to increase exponentially. I still had no real clue what I was doing here, but the growing pressure in my skull told me that there was definitely a reason. I was just too mesmerized by the doorway to recognize what it was.
“Look, Rowan, you’re actin’ pretty weird. How ‘bout I call Felicity and get ‘er down here to pick you up.”
“I’m fine,” I said, looking past him and focusing on the door. Something unseen, but very powerful, was compelling me to move toward that oblong patch of light.
“No, man, you ain’t fine,” he told me, emphasizing the word. “It’s two-friggin’-thirty in the mornin’, and you just showed up outta nowhere at a crime scene. Uninvited mind you. Then ya’ ducked under the barrier tape and started walkin’ across the yard like some kinda zombie, completely ignorin’ the officers who told you to stop. I got news for ya’… not every copper in Saint Louis knows who you are. You’re damn lucky ya’ didn’t get hurt. I mean, Jeezus… Hey… Hey… HEY Rowan! Are you even listenin’ ta’ me?”
“What?” I asked in a distracted timbre. I’d only barely heard him talking and hadn’t actually registered any of the words. The only thing that mattered right now was the doorway.
“Have you been drinkin’?”
“What?” I stammered absently.
“Pay fuckin’ attention! Have you been drinkin’?”
“No…” I shook my head as punctuation. “Of course I haven’t been drinking.”
At least I didn’t think I had. The truth was, I had no earthly idea.
“Okay… So… Ya’ don’t smell toast or somethin’ do ya’?” he asked in earnest.
“What?” I shook my head, this time in confusion, and stared at him briefly. “Toast?”
“I read somewhere that ya’ smell toast when you’re havin’ a stroke,” he offered.
His words came to me in a random sputter of sound as my cognizance shifted in and out of phase with the rest of reality.
“What?” I mumbled, not sure I had heard him correctly.
“That’s it,” Ben said, sounding as much concerned as annoyed this time. “I’m gettin’ you to a hospital. There’s definitely somethin’ not right with ya’.”
Inside my skull I heard a loud electric snap and felt a burning sting along the side of my neck. The nasty tingling sensation that had been at the back of my concerns had now burst into searing flame through my entire side. I tried to reach upward but found my body was ignoring any instructions issued to it by my brain. I felt myself shaking violently and beginning to stiffen as my mind short-circuited into oblivious disorientation. My chest tightened and began to sharply spasm with the same intense pain that accompanies a nocturnal leg cramp.
My sight was taken over by a darkened tunnel of fading vision, and in a flash the ground leapt upward to meet me. On impact, a sharp hammer blow of agony peened the side of my skull and spread rapidly outward into a migraine-like ache that settled in for the long haul.
As I lay crumpled onto the cold lawn, I could just barely make out the distant sound of my friend’s frantic voice yelling, “Somebody get a paramedic! Now!”
The last thought I remember clearly was that I had a pair of red patent leather pumps in my closet that would go perfectly with my new dress.
I’m not sure which assault on my senses was the most disconcerting-the smell or the sound. I suppose it could have been either one, or even a combination of both.
On the one hand, there was no mistaking the antiseptic funk of a hospital emergency room. An odor that was the filtered medicinal smell of alcohol, gauze, and used tongue depressors dancing in an olfactory ballet with the stench of sweat, fear, and blood. Of course, all of that was underscored by the “can’t quite put your finger on it” smell of death, just to drive the point home. As a whole, it carried with it an easily recognizable signature that told you exactly where you were without even opening your eyes or hearing a thing.
Then on the other hand, there was the terse exchange going on between my wife and my best friend. A pair of hedged voices, both straining not to outwardly display the overabundance of the anger they were quite obviously holding back. From the sound of it, they were bickering somewhere just beyond the door of the treatment room where I was presently lying flat on my back.
Whichever of the two was responsible, the job was done. I was jarred back from the semi-conscious ledge of introspection I’d been tiptoeing along since the doctor had finished poking, prodding, and interrogating me.
“I asked you not to get him involved any more, Ben,” Felicity was stating in a flat tone. “At least not for a while. He still hasn’t recovered from what he went through the last time, and you know it.”
“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell ya’, Felicity,” he appealed. “He just showed up outta the clear freakin’ blue. I didn’t get ‘im involved this time.”
Their tones were hushed and muted by the hinged obstruction, but if I listened closely I could still make out what they were saying.
My mind had continued to replay the memories of recent events ever since I had come to in the back of an ambulance. I had quickly pieced everything together, but I was still at a loss to explain why I had suddenly “awakened” from what I could only explain as a trance, while at a crime scene in progress to boot. Two things I knew for certain were that my midnight wanderings were no longer going to be a secret and that I was now starting down a road toward an explanation for why they were happening in the first place. I only hoped that I would survive the trip.
The earlier fog that had been ruthlessly shrouding my brain had apparently lifted, though a dull ache still persisted in the back of my head. I knew from past experience that this wasn’t a good sign at all.
It was obvious to me that I was somehow connected to this crime. Ben had already verified for me that the victim was in fact a woman and that her name was Paige Lawson. This information at least seemed to explain the rogue thoughts I’d experienced. However, I hadn’t recognized her name at all, so to my knowledge I didn’t know her, and therefore, I seriously doubted that she knew me.
I remembered feeling a sharp stinging sensation on the side of my neck just before I blacked out. An active tingle still occupied the swath of flesh behind and below my left ear, so I slowly reached up and gingerly probed the area with my fingertips. There were no obvious welts or abrasions that I could feel, but the burning sensation continued. No big surprise there.
“Well what was he doing there then?” I heard Felicity almost hiss.
“I don’t know,” Ben answered as forcefully as he could without raising his voice. “Hell, when I asked him, he didn’t even know.”
I had been trying to ignore them while I concentrated, but I was failing miserably at blocking out their banter. Also, I was getting the impression that they were going to escalate if something didn’t alter their current course. I concluded that I had best intervene.
“He’s right,” I spoke loudly, casting my words in the direction of the door. “It’s not his fault, so will you two please quit arguing about it.”
Silence instantly replaced the tempered squabble. After a moment Ben and Felicity came sheepishly through the door and positioned themselves next to the bed.
“Row…” my wife sighed as she brushed my disheveled hair back from my forehead, “shouldn’t you be resting, then?”
Felicity gave the outward appearance of a fragile china doll standing next to Ben. Petite, with a milky complexion, her own hair was a pile of flaming auburn resting atop her head in a loose Gibson girl. Whenever she let it down, it was a rush of spiral curls reaching almost to her waist. Her green eyes held more than a hint of concern as she gazed back at me. Her normally smooth face was wrinkled with mild anguish. A second generation Irish- American, her voice usually held only the barest hint of an accent but could blossom fully into a thick brogue-at times liberally peppered with Gaelic-if she were tired, stressed, angry, or had recently spent time with certain members of her family. Right now, it was obvious that at the very least the first two options were weighing in,
