He continued to repeat the passage with growing rabidity, clipping the sentence until the only words spoken were “Vengeance is mine.”
Three Hours Earlier
CHAPTER 1:
Graphical images of playing cards expanded in happy accordion patterns across the glowing screen of my notebook computer as the machine proclaimed me victorious in this latest game of solitaire. Unless I’d lost track, this one made six for me and something on the order of ten million for the machine, give or take. I wasn’t actually keeping count, though. Well, not of the computer’s wins, anyway.
I tucked my fingers back in behind my eyeglasses, forcing the frames to ride up on the bridge of my nose, then rubbed my eyes before directing my bleary gaze at the lower corner of the screen. I’d started this mindless activity at twelve and it was now 3:07.
That was a.m., mind you.
Of course, there wasn’t much else to do. Watch TV, surf the web, read a book. None of these options were particularly appealing to me, not even the endless games of solitaire. What I really wanted to be doing was sleeping, but the way my head was throbbing, that wasn’t about to happen.
The annoying thud that was pounding out a droning rhythm throughout the whole of my grey matter began early in the evening and had not subsided in the least. But, so far it hadn’t grown any worse, for which I was thankful. Of course, I knew that wouldn’t last. It would be getting much worse. I just didn’t know exactly when.
I’d had this kind of headache before, more times than I cared to count, actually. It wasn’t sinuses, and it wasn’t just your normal stress related “take two aspirin and lie down for a while” kind of pain either. This was an ache born of unnatural influences. It was the pure physical manifestation of fear and dread. The kind of headache I experienced every single time I knew something horrible was about to happen, and there was nothing in this world I could possibly do to prevent it.
Unfortunately, for me, I tended to be afflicted by these damnable things way too often.
I ran my hand across the lower half of my face and felt the rough crop of stubble that, by now, was certainly shading my jaw line. Then I tugged at my goatee for a moment. The action prompted me to remember that I’d recently noticed the dark brown was being infiltrated by grey and white like a quickly spreading fungus. I absently considered a dye job for a moment then dismissed the idea as silly. I’d never been particularly vain before, so there was no reason to start now.
I reached behind with both hands and massaged the back of my head for a moment, hoping that it might help quell the ache.
It didn’t.
Picking up my coffee cup, I took a swig of the remaining contents and noticed immediately that it had grown cold. I guess I’d been a little more caught up in solitaire than I’d realized. Oh well, it had kept my mind off the pain, at least a little.
I pushed back and quietly got up, then carefully hooked around the small dining table where I’d been seated. I aimed myself toward the orange glow of the light on the coffeepot, using it as a beacon in the darkness. Since it was presently residing on the counter in the closet-sized room that was supposed to pass for a kitchen, I gave little thought to this being a problem. However, since I still wasn’t used to the layout of this apartment, in my single- minded quest for fresh java I cut my entry through the doorway far too shallow.
There was a loud thump, followed by me quickly listing to one side, and then the ache in the back of my head was pushed aside in favor of a new sensation. Of course, that feeling was a sharp, and far more extreme, pain in my toe.
I caught my breath, quickly swallowing the yelp that I’d managed to stop midway in my throat, and then fought to stifle a groan that quickly followed on its heels. A pitiful sounding mixture of the two managed to escape anyway.
Just for good measure, I stuttered a few random selections from the big book of four-letter expletives, passing them as quietly as I could through clenched teeth. Finally, I half limped, half hopped into the kitchenette and leaned against the counter.
I’d been propped there for no more than a minute when my muffled swearing was interrupted by a sleepy voice at the doorway.
“Row? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I grunted with little conviction in my voice. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
I hadn’t heard her approach, not that I was surprised. I was a bit preoccupied to say the least, and besides, she was far more graceful than I would ever be. I grimaced, not so much from the pain, but because waking Felicity was exactly what I had wanted to avoid.
“What are you doing up?”
“Just attempting to break my toe,” I muttered, turning my head and looking back toward her.
“What happened?” my wife asked, her voice a quiet blend of two parts sleep to one part concern, all underscored by a faint Celtic intonation. “You’re sure you’re okay, then?”
Felicity was second generation Irish-American, and she had spent an enormous amount of time in Ireland throughout her life. She was never completely free of the lilt, though it was most pronounced whenever she was overtired, under stress, or as in this case, half asleep. It almost always came bundled with a rich and colorful brogue to match.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I told her as I focused on her slight form. “Just stubbed it, that’s all.”
She had propped herself in the doorway, using the back of her hand for a pillow as she rested it against the frame. In the dim light, I could see that her eyes were closed as she yawned. A loose pile of fiery auburn hair sat atop her head in a Gibson-girlish coif. Whenever she let the cascade of spiraling tresses hang free, it would easily reach her waist. Her pale skin seemed to almost glow in the darkness.
She let out a heavy sigh and stretched slowly. She was clad in an oversized t-shirt, but her tight figure still managed to tug it into varying degrees of eye candy as she languidly arched her back. How she managed to look this good even when she had just climbed out of bed was something beyond my comprehension, but I certainly wasn’t going to complain.
“Aye,” she said as she reached out and switched on the overhead light. “So tell me why you’re awake, then.”
“Because I couldn’t sleep?” I offered, squinting against the sudden infusion of brightness.
“Aye, don’t be a smart ass now. You know what I meant.”
“Would you believe I was trying to get some work done?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Getting a drink of water?”
“Rowan.” She cocked her head and shot me a frown as she paused-effectively impaling me with her I’m serious look. “I’m half asleep, but I’m not blind. You’ve coffee on, and you’ve been playing solitaire on your computer. Quit screwing with me, then.”
“Okay,” I answered with a defeated sigh. “I’m waiting for Ben to call.”
As absurd as it sounded, it was the truth.
It may be the middle of the night, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the telephone was going to ring, and Detective Benjamin Storm was going to be at the other end. For me, very simply, this was a foregone conclusion.
What’s more, it was not because he happened to be my best friend and that he just felt like talking at an odd hour. It was going to be something I didn’t want to hear but probably already knew. In any case, I knew it would be something that I had no choice but to deal with.
Felicity closed her eyes and let her head tilt forward, dropping her forehead into her hand.
“Nightmare?” she asked softly as she began massaging her brow. She was intimately familiar with the forms
