In the month following the incident on the Old Chain of Rocks Bridge, I’d had the system upgraded. Every window in the house had been equipped with sensors and cell technology had been added to avoid the alarm being disabled by simply cutting the phone lines. There were additional motion detectors and even secondary panels added to main rooms to allow for quick access to panic buttons. It all seemed so terribly paranoid to me at times, and Felicity had definitely thought it to be overkill, which she had told me in no uncertain terms. But I did it anyway. I wasn’t going to take any chances. I knew that Eldon Andrew Porter was still out there no matter what anyone else believed, and I had no doubt that he would eventually be coming for me.
Now that I was inside and secure, my first order of business was to go in search of a piece of nicotine gum. I hadn’t even tried to hide my withdrawal-like symptoms from Felicity since I had at one time been a smoker. Of course, I’d recently discovered that I hadn’t succeeded in hiding anything else anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered. At any rate, I didn’t have to get the gum from a secreted stash. However, I did have to remember where I’d last put it. Once I found the box and quelled the immediate crisis level desire for a cigarette, I set about finding anything I possibly could do in order to waste time.
After a round of behind the ear scratches for the boisterous canines I disabled the back door sensor long enough to let them out-then back in once they’d discovered that the weather was not what they’d expected. Our three felines, Emily, Dickens, and Salinger, were nowhere to be seen, so I simply filled their food bowls and moved on to something else.
There were a few dishes in the sink, left over from the night before, so I took my time washing, drying, and putting them away. I could have simply loaded them into the dishwasher, but that wouldn’t have taken near as long.
I thumbed through the mail that had occupied the box along with my keys, discarding several pieces of poorly targeted direct market advertising in the process. After extracting those items pertinent to my consulting business, I tossed the remainder into the basket next to the front door.
Before starting up the stairs to my office, I took a moment to listen to the messages on our personal answering machine. Two hang-ups and one quick hello from a friend who was inquiring about what to bring to the Yule ritual we’d planned for a few days hence. I started to jot a note down as a reminder to call him but found that the notepad, which normally lived by the phone, had apparently gone AWOL. A quick search through my pockets for a scrap to write on rewarded me with two things-the pad containing the repetitious morbid rhyme and the business card of Doctor Helen Storm.
I rubbed my bearded chin absently with the back of my free hand while I stared at the simple calling card. I’d very consciously been putting this moment off, but I’d made a promise, and there definitely wasn’t anything pressing at the moment that should keep me from making the call. Nothing I hadn’t purposely produced for that very reason at least.
With a resigned sigh I snatched up the handset and punched in the phone number from the upper right corner of the card. Even in my tired fog, my mind began calculating, and I latched on to the idea that it was probably going to be at least a week or two before she’d be able to get me in. That might very well give me enough time to prove I was correct about Paige Lawson, although even I wasn’t entirely sure what I was being correct about.
After six rings the phone was answered by a pre-recorded message announcing that I had reached Metro Counseling and that the offices were currently closed for lunch. I felt a wave of relief as the voice continued on, telling me that if this were an emergency I should call the doctor’s exchange, otherwise I should leave a message and someone would get back to me as soon as possible.
Following the high-pitched tone at the end of the message I began to speak, “My name is Rowan Gant and I need to see about making an appointment with Doctor Storm. My number is…”
I was cut off by a burst of squelchy feedback, combined with the fumbling knocks of someone rushing to pick up the phone. A female voice barely overrode the squeal, telling me to hold on for a second. Various warbles and clicks followed then fell quiet as the person at the other end managed to stifle the recorder.
“I am very sorry about that, Mister Gant,” the woman’s soothing voice apologized. “This is Helen Storm. Benjamin told me I should be expecting your call.”
My earlier relief turned to instant surrender when she told me that she wanted to see me late tomorrow morning.
CHAPTER 4
D-E-A-D-I-A-M!
D-E-A-D-I-A-M!
What’s that spell?
Dead I am!
Louder!
Dead I am!
One more time!
DEAD I AM!
I awoke in darkness.
I really wasn’t all that surprised. Nightmares and darkness tend to go hand in hand. I’d grown relatively used to the cycle by now.
The bizarre Seussian chant was still echoing inside my head with a frighteningly excited edge to its morose verbiage. I laid completely still, letting the imagined sound fade to crisp silence, only to have the quiet replaced by a low, repetitious rumble. I slowly turned my head and found myself face to face with one of our resident felines. The paws outstretched to touch me and incessant purring, as my shoulder was being kneaded, led me to believe it was most likely Dickens, since this was the norm for him.
The familiarity of my surroundings was a relief. For once, I wasn’t at a loss for the how’s, where’s or why’s of my situation; and, I also wasn’t forced to deal with the nauseating sense of violation I had come to know so well. I knew exactly where I was-safely tucked in my bed, more or less under a blanket, with one arm hugging a pillow against the side of my head. My other arm, however, had gone thoroughly numb from the uncomfortable angle it was crooked into beneath my body. I shifted the appendage, and circulation instantly took hold full force. I winced as an astronomical number of pinpricks began traversing up and down its length.
In addition to knowing where I was at the moment, I also had a fair recollection of how I’d gotten here. These simple facts may seem obvious and mundane to virtually everyone else, but to me they were comforting revelations.
As to the why I was here, well that was obvious-it was the middle of the night and I was trying to sleep. Unfortunately, there was a perverted mantra running around inside my head that was insisting that I do otherwise.
I rolled to the side, upsetting Dickens in the process, and sleepily scanned the face of the clock. The digital readout showed it to be almost a quarter past four. For all intents and purposes that simply meant 4:00, since my wife kept the timepiece set fifteen minutes fast to avoid being late. The self-imposed mind trick didn’t actually work for her, but that’s another story entirely.
My arm was beginning to regain its feeling, and every moment that passed was bringing me closer to being fully awake. The eerie echo reverberating inside my skull had been absent for a good number of minutes now; however, it had been replaced by my own inner voice repeating the rhyme over and over.
D-E-A-D-I-A-M!
D-E-A-D-I-A-M!
What’s that spell?
Dead I am!
Louder!
Dead I am!
One more time!
DEAD I AM!
