‘er.”
“I’m sure he is,” I agreed. “She was the subject of his first obnoxious message.”
“But, what if she contacted ‘im?”
“I doubt it, besides, he wouldn’t be calling me if she did.”
“Don’t sell the man short, Row.”
“Have you ever met him, Ben?”
“No, not actually.”
“Okay then. Just trust me, I’m the last person Shamus O’Brien would call if he knew where she was.”
“How can you know that?”
“It comes with the territory.”
“One of those Witch things?”
“Kind of,” I harrumphed. “Me Witch, him good Christian.”
“But surely he would…”
“No, he wouldn’t,” I cut him off. “He’s just calling to scream at me for corrupting his daughter and to blame me for whatever trouble she’s in right now.”
“But I thought you two still got along.”
“Yeah, well, that was awhile ago. He used to just not care for me, but over the past few years that’s pretty much turned into hate.”
“Yeah, but even so, I don’t see how he can blame you for this.”
“He’ll find a way.”
“Jeezus.”
“Yeah, him too.”
“Well, you still oughta answer it.”
“Too late,” I said. “It’s not ringing anymore.”
“Then you should call ‘im back.”
“I’d rather not.”
“You should work it out, white man.”
I looked across at my friend, and I know the expression on my face had to be a mix of surprise and disbelief. He shot a glance my way then did a double take as I continued to stare at him mutely.
“What?” he finally asked.
“Just getting a good look at the hypocrite behind the wheel is all,” I replied.
“Do what?”
“You,” I continued. “I can’t believe that you of all people are telling me how to handle my personal relationships.”
He caught on immediately to my inference. “That’s different. You don’t know the whole story.”
“And neither do you.”
“Fine. Fuckit,” he spat. “So don’t talk to ‘im.”
“I don’t plan to.”
“I was just sayin’ it might have somethin’ ta’ do with Firehair.”
I didn’t respond. Getting into an argument with him wasn’t going to help the current situation, and besides, I simply didn’t feel like it. The earlier funk hadn’t fled; in fact, in light of the conversation, it seemed like it might even be getting worse. It was rattling around inside my head as if waiting patiently for me to return to its fold. I tried to tell myself to run from it, but to be honest I didn’t see any chance of escape.
And, of course, the more I fought it, the sicker I felt.
“What happens now?” I finally asked.
“I guess we burn a lotta gas,” my friend replied. “Unless I can talk ya’ into waitin’ at home until we hear somethin’.”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Maybe.”
“Did you just say maybe?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Okay, so now I know somethin’s fucked up,” he returned. “You aren’t seriously sayin’ you’d be willin’ ta’ go home and wait, are ya’?”
“I don’t know, Ben,” I replied. “I just don’t know anymore.”
“What gives, Row?”
“I’m tired.”
“Me too, white man,” he said. “But, somethin’ ain’t right with you, and it’s not because you’re tired.”
The nagging doubt bubbled to the surface, and I found suddenly that I could no longer contain it. “What if I’m wrong?” I blurted.
“Wrong about what?”
“About Felicity.”
“You’re not.”
“You’re the one who questioned me about where she was…”
“I’m the one who repeated something because I had no choice, Rowan,” he snapped. “Don’t read anything into it.”
“But you said you weren’t so sure you didn’t agree with them.”
“So I fucked up,” he replied. “I didn’t mean it.”
“But…”
“But nothin’,” he returned. “Is that what’s botherin’ you? You’re doubtin’ yourself?”
I didn’t reply.
“Answer me!”
“Yes, dammit!” I spat. “Obviously, I’m not as in tune as I used to be. Maybe I’ve lost it. Maybe I’m wrong about all of this!”
“That shit at the crime scene was Voodoo stuff. You’re sure about that, right?”
“Yes.”
“Firehair was talkin’ with a Southern accent, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Shut up! She’s not actin’ like herself at all, right?”
“Yes.”
“You ain’t wrong then.”
“I just don’t know anymore, Ben,” I appealed.
“You got a headache?”
“Why?”
“Just fuckin’ answer me. You got a headache?”
“Yes.”
“Is it one of those la-la headaches?”
“I think so.”
“There ya’ go.”
“There I go what?”
“Somethin’s fuckin’ with you, Row.” His voice was filled with unshakable confidence. “Just like it’s fuckin’ with Felicity. Now don’t let it win.”
The first strains of the “William Tell Overture” began chirping through the cab of the van, and my hand went into my pocket out of reflex. The minute I wrapped my fingers around the cell phone, however, I started shaking my head.
“It’s probably my father-in-law again,” I said aloud.
“That was pretty quick for a call back,” Ben replied. “Maybe it really is important.”
I pulled the phone out and looked once again to the LCD, but this time I was greeted with a wholly unfamiliar number. The first thought to go through my head was that all I needed right now was a client with a software problem. I considered letting it go to voice mail but then thumbed the answer button anyway and pressed it against my ear.
