With the exception of a few stray curls, her fiery auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing her pale ivory face. Her expression was hard, and I could see her lips moving as she spoke to the cop, but at this distance I couldn’t actually hear what she was saying. The moment I saw her I broke into a jog and yelled out, “Felicity!”
Several people on the scene turned and glanced toward me when I made the abrupt call, but my wife was the only one who mattered. The second she made eye contact she came bounding down the front stairs. Increasing my jog to a brisk run, I met her at the bottom.
“Damnaigh go saigh…” She growled the words softly in my ear as she fell into me and looped her arms around my neck. “ Damnaigh a, damnaigh a… ”
Not only was she slipping into Irish Gaelic, her normal background Celtic lilt had thickened noticeably. That was a sure sign she was either tired, angry, or both. Judging from the hour and harshness of the words themselves, my money was on the latter of the three.
“I know,” I soothed, slipping my arms about her waist and pulling her close. “I know… I said the same thing when I heard… Are you okay?”
“No,” she said, her heavy brogue wrapping itself around a voice sharply edged with sarcasm. “I’m not okay. And I won’t be okay until that ban-aibhistear is gone forever.”
“I understand…”
“I wish you’d just killed her then.”
Given our present company, I was glad that our conversation was taking place in close quarters and hushed tones, although I had no doubt we could still be heard.
I replied, “You don’t mean that.”
“Aye, but I do.”
“That wouldn’t stop Miranda, honey. You know that.”
“Aye…” she sighed heavily. “But this has to end, Rowan… It has to…” Her words were a staunch demand as opposed to a weeping lament.
“It will. It will…”
“Aye, but how?”
I sighed. Right now I was just trying to say the right thing, whether it was true or not. Unfortunately, I simply didn’t have a solid answer for her. “We’ll figure something out…”
“We’d better soon or I’ll just go kill her myself. I swear I will…”
I felt a tap on my shoulder then heard Ben’s questioning voice, “Hey… Row?”
“Yeah, Ben?” I replied, turning slightly though still holding tight to my wife.
“I…” he started hesitantly, giving us a careful once over. It was obvious he wasn’t sure quite what either of our emotional states might be at the moment, so he was treading lightly. “Look…I hate ta’ interrupt ya’… And, listen…Felicity…if ya’ still need some time or somethin’ I can back off… But…”
Hearing his comment, she immediately loosened her grip and pushed back from me enough so that she could look him in the eye. Shaking her head, she admonished, “Aye, Ben, get your fekking head out of your arse. You know I’m not some whining sap, then. I’m just pissed off.”
He huffed out a breath and nodded. “Yeah…s’pose I forgot who I was dealin’ with there for a minute… Guess I shoulda figured that out from the accent, huh?”
As usual, my wife retorted, “I don’t have an accent. You do.”
“Oh yeah, I can see you’re just fine,” he replied with a slightly relieved tone and then jerked his head toward the illuminated yard. “So, anyway, Row, ya’ wanna have a look at this before they haul the body off ta’ the morgue?”
I looked over my shoulder then reluctantly let go of Felicity and turned fully toward the horror. The crime scene investigator was still walking her grid-like search pattern around the involved section of the lawn. Thus far, not a single one of the numbered markers had left her hands, which wasn’t a big surprise. From all appearances, the dump had been quick, and since the ground was fairly dry, the chances of any collateral evidence such as shoeprints would be slim. Still, it was always a possibility, so they had to go through all the motions just in case.
Allowing my gaze to drift to the center of the tableau, I could see that a death investigator from the county medical examiner’s office had recently joined the fray. I didn’t think he could have been on-site very long because I hadn’t noticed him when we signed in. Of course, at this point there was little for him to do here, save for transport the body, which is something he appeared to be preparing to do. He had a rubberized body bag already spread out nearby, and at the moment, he was engaged in the process of paper-bagging the victim’s hands so as to protect any possible evidence.
I continued to watch in silence as the two of them worked independently of one another. Usually by this point on a scene, I would be all but blinded by a preternatural migraine, as the dead would be attempting to use my brain as a stage for an esoteric play. A disjointed horror drama, fraught with hidden messages I would then be forced to decipher. This was my unofficial job-to be a lightning rod and personal translator for tortured spirits with a story to tell. It was what I was used to doing.
But at this particular moment, I wasn’t being a very good employee.
All I could sense was a mind-numbing silence filling my skull. The constant din of voices was still squelched for the first time in many years, and in that quiet, it occurred to me that this really was what it was like to be “normal.” Then, as I stood there wondering why this was happening, a recent conversation rolled through my tired grey matter.
“Them,” she repeated. “The dead. I can make them leave you alone.”
At that moment I realized exactly who had control of the ethereal volume knob. Unfortunately, it definitely wasn’t me.
Ben gave me a verbal nudge. “Row?”
“I’m sorry,” I replied, my voice flat.
“Seriously, Kemosabe…ya’ sure you’re not goin’ Twilight Zone?”
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“Whaddaya’ mean, ya’ can’t?”
“I mean I can’t. Not anymore.”
“Are you okay?”
I sighed. “I guess that depends on what you mean by okay.”
“Dammit, Row… Don’t be difficult. You know what I mean.”
“I’m sorry… I’m not trying to be… But…they’re gone… I don’t think I can help you with this, Ben.”
“You still ain’t makin’ sense. Whaddaya mean gone? They who?”
“The visions… The voices… All of it…”
He shook his head. “No Twilight Zone?”
“No,” I replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes…I’m sure. I can’t help you with this, Ben… To be honest, right now I’m not even sure I can help myself…”
CHAPTER 17
Steam spewed from the gap around the small filter basket on the half-sized coffeemaker, alternating between light wisps and briefly pressurized jets, as the machine slurped the last of the water from its reservoir with a loud gurgle. Still caught up in a misty haze somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I watched it with quiet anticipation while standing at the counter and holding an empty ceramic mug cradled in my hand.
The machine heaved a final moist sigh, sending out a cloud of dissipating vapor as it sputtered and then wheezed itself into silence. I gave a languid glance to the side at the small microwave positioned immediately next to it. If the clock on its face was correct, it was pushing 7 a.m. That meant I was already more than an hour off my normal morning schedule. But then, I didn’t really have any place to be but here, so I don’t suppose it mattered all
