probably by Felicity; and to top it off the dull ache in my head had chosen this moment to ratchet up the scale yet again.
Sensory overload was kicking in, and I was losing ground very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that I wasn’t entirely sure that I shouldn’t just surrender and give myself over to it.
Having little choice but to follow the officer’s lead, I turned away from the activity behind me and looked toward the living room. Now that I was focusing in that direction, I noticed that the area seemed more dimly lit than usual, and I looked upward. The overhead lights were on full and reflecting down from the vaulted ceiling. I caught a quick glimpse of Dickens and Salinger, who were safely perched on the exposed rafters, peering down at the goings on with curious eyes while their tails twitched nervously. Emily, our calico, was far too skittish for such activities and was probably hiding someplace upstairs as usual.
I looked back down at the room, and it still seemed dark to me. For a moment I thought it might simply be the ethereal pounding in my skull, especially considering the fact that my ears were buzzing and colors were starting to flare and bloom as my sight shifted in and out of focus.
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to find a decent ground. It hadn’t been that long ago that I was wishing to slip across the veil as I’d done so many times before, but now I found myself fighting against it.
When I eventually opened my eyes, the flares of color had faded, but nothing else had changed. The lighting in the room still wasn’t right. As I continued to stare, however, a far more mundane reason for the dimness became apparent. The torchiere lamp that normally stood next to the front doorway was no longer there. I allowed my gaze to pivot farther downward, and I saw that it was now scattered across the hardwood floor where it had fallen and shattered into countless pieces.
Intermixed with it was the base of a small antique end table, which had apparently been toppled over as well. Its marble top was now broken into two distinct pieces. Completing the jumbled mess were the remnants of something I couldn’t readily identify but looked vaguely familiar.
“Excuse me, sir,” a voice filtered into my ears.
I didn’t respond. I simply stared at the shattered pieces of the unidentified object, trying to get a handle on where I’d seen them before. In my head I treated them as a jigsaw puzzle, mentally flipping them over and shoving them together in different ways until I formed an image that made sense. The exercise actually had a side benefit in that it gave me something on which to concentrate; that helped me remain grounded in this plane, for the time being at least.
After a moment it finally dawned on me that the ivory-colored chunks were the remains of a good-sized, ceramic faerie statuette that had once graced a recessed shelf on the wall of our dining room.
“Excuse me, sir,” the voice came again. It was still calm but this time much more insistent.
I blinked and looked up to find the officer looking at me questioningly. “Sir, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may?”
“Where are the dogs?” I asked absently, seizing on the fact that I could still hear them barking and growling somewhere in the house.
She pointed. “They’ve been pawing at the first door down the hallway over there.”
“That’s the basement. Did you put them down there?”
“No sir, that’s where they were when we arrived,” she replied.
I started toward the hallway to head for the basement door, and she took hold of my arm once again. “Leave them where they are, sir. They’ll be fine for now.”
“But…”
“Trust me, sir. It’s for their safety as well as ours. They’ll be fine.”
I turned my attention back to her and nodded as I said, “Okay.”
“Do you think you can answer some questions for me?”
“Sure. I’ll try.”
“Are there any friends or relatives that Miz O’Brien might attempt to contact?”
“Her parents, I guess,” I said with a shrug. “We have quite a few friends too, but I don’t think she would contact any of them. Her parents either… She’s not exactly herself right now.”
“Can you give us a list of names and phone numbers anyway, sir?”
“I suppose. I’ll have to look them up.”
“All right,” she told me with a nod then continued. “Other than friends or relatives, do you have any idea where she might go?”
“At the moment, no.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital!” Mandalay’s voice raised a pair of notches to be heard over everything else.
I turned away from the officer who was questioning me, so I could see what was happening.
Constance was still sitting in a chair at the table but now had a wad of gauze affixed to the side of her head. A paramedic was looking into her eyes as he flashed a penlight to and fro.
“Listen to ‘em, Connie,” Ben ordered.
“I’m fine,” she spat in return. “And, don’t call me Connie. You know better.”
“Detective,” one of the paramedics addressed Ben. “Please. You aren’t helping.”
“Agent Mandalay.” The other medic was talking directly to Constance. “You’ve sustained a serious blow to the head. You most likely have a concussion and you really need…”
“…Sir? Sir? Mister Gant?” The officer was prodding for my attention.
I turned back to her. “What?”
“I need for you to focus, sir, and answer some more questions.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said with an impatient shake of my head.
“Now, is Miz O’Brien a substance abuser? Alcohol? Drugs?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head again as I screwed up my face. “Not at all. I mean, she has a few drinks every now and then, but…”
“Has she been drinking today?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Sir, we were informed that Miz O’Brien is suffering from a mental disorder. Is she currently taking, or is she prescribed any anti-psychotic medications?”
“No. She’s not on any medication. What you were told… Well…” I stuttered. “That’s not… It’s… Well, it’s not entirely accurate.”
“Not entirely accurate how, sir?”
“She doesn’t have any mental disorders,” I replied, knowing full well that in one sense I was telling the truth, but in another I was lying through my teeth.
She looked back at me with a flat expression then continued into the next query. “Have you been having any marital problems?”
“No.”
“You’re certain? Everything is okay here at home as far as you know?”
“Yes.”
“Does Miz O’Brien have a previous history of violent behavior?”
“No,” I replied with a puzzled shake of my head.
“How about yourself, sir?”
“What? No,” I snapped.
“We could really use your cooperation here, sir.”
I didn’t know quite how to reply. There was no way for me to tell her the whole truth and not look like I was in need of medication myself. Why I hadn’t simply played along with Ben’s story I don’t know. Maybe it was an inherent need to protect Felicity from a social stigma or perhaps even the fact that I was still feeling overwhelmed by everything that had happened in such a short span of time. Whatever it was, I got the feeling I hadn’t done myself, nor my wife, any favors.
I looked back at the cop, and I could tell by the expression on her face that she had already decided that I was lying to her. After a moment she looked down and scribbled a quick note then sighed and paused before looking
