a complete stop for fear of becoming stuck. He gave me an animated nod and spared only a quick glance in my direction as he spoke.
“I believe ya’, and apparently so do a few people in important places. Not that anyone is happy ‘bout the theory, mind you. At any rate, word came down from on high while you were gettin’ patched up. The chief wants ya’ involved… Every step of the way.”
“I can think of a lot of other things I’d rather be involved in,” I said. “But it’s nice not to be considered a crackpot for a change.”
“I’ll be honest with ya’, Row. I told ‘im I’d ask ya’, but I also let ‘im know I wasn’t all that keen on it and…”
“I thought we had this conversation this morning, Ben.” I cut him off with an exasperated sigh and prepared to refute another episode of his self-imposed guilt.
“Yeah, well that was before ya’ ended up bein’ some kinda mystical carvin’ board,” he shot back. “But lemme finish, will ya’… Like I said, I told ‘im I wasn’t keen on the whole idea and that I ‘specially didn’t like bein’ put in the position of askin’ you just because we’re friends…” Before I could voice another objection, he drew in a deep breath and continued. “Then, I told ‘im that knowin’ you like I do and considerin’ what you’ve seen so far today, I figured we’d be hard pressed to keep ya’ out of it without lockin’ ya’ up.”
After a short pause, he added, “The decision is still yours to make, though. Ya’ don’t have to do this.”
“Well, since I’m the one that wanted to head down to the morgue in this mess, I guess you already know what that decision is,” I said. “So that’s a moot point. If it would make you feel any better though, tell him that next time he can ask me himself.”
“I already did.”
“I guess I should have known you would.”
Ben tacked the lumbering van down the snow-packed avenue and fell in behind a city maintenance dump truck. In the hard swaths of the headlights, we could make out the attached salt-spreader spewing bluish granules of chemical deterrent in tired, jerky bursts. If the temperature fell to the lows predicted for later this night, the corrosive sno-melt would be well beyond its threshold of usefulness, and Mother Nature would be winning this skirmish. Considering the current conditions, my money was on her.
Visibility had dropped to zero, and we tracked the plow by the evenly spaced flares of yellow brilliance emitting from the pulsing warning lights. A twenty-minute long half mile later, Ben suddenly cranked the steering wheel hard to the left, and the rear end of the van fishtailed in an oblique arc.
“Shit! Almost missed it!” he exclaimed.
The tires spun with a raspy crunch until they chewed through the loose ice and bit into pavement. With a short squeal of rubber against asphalt, we were launched forward over a small snow dike and bounced our way once again into the near-deserted parking lot of the Saint Louis city morgue.
Once Ben parked the van in what he declared to be a valid space, we braved the cold wind and deepening drifts to hurry inside. We both took a moment to shake off in the outer foyer before pushing through the second set of double doors and embracing the welcome warmth of the building’s interior.
Ben had just unzipped his coat and was about to display his badge to the receptionist when she spoke up. “Was that you that just pulled in the lot?”
“Yeah, that a problem?” he responded as he held the gold shield up for her to see.
“Haven’t you been listening to the radio?”
Ben looked at me then back to her and raised an eyebrow. “Should we have?”
“The snow is coming down at over an inch per hour,” she explained with mild exasperation in her voice. “All city and county streets are closed to traffic except emergency vehicles and road crews until further notice.”
“So, did the body make it in from the county?” Ben queried, dismissing what he had just been told without acknowledgement.
“About two hours ago,” she returned. “Doctor Sanders is back there with her now.”
I looked at the clock on the wall behind the young woman’s desk and then drew in a deep breath. It was already approaching seven p.m.
“Excuse me,” I addressed her politely, “but could you direct me to a phone I can use? If we’re going to be stuck here, I need to call my wife.”
“I just saw you on television,” Felicity told me as soon as I had finished explaining where I was, along with the fact that I wouldn’t be home anytime soon.
“Wonderful. I hope they got my good side,” I returned without even trying to hide the sarcasm. “What are they saying?”
“A lot of speculation for the most part,” she answered. “The popular theory at the moment is that a cult is getting their revenge for that whole thing last year.”
“Cult, huh? They just love that stuff, don’t they?”
“Row, what’s really going on?” I could hear mild concern in her voice. “And what was all that about you being wounded?”
“That? It was nothing.”
“Rowan…”
“Seriously, just a minor cut. No big deal.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes, honey,” I assured her. “A doctor has already looked at it.”
“Okay,” she conceded. “But you still haven’t told me what’s really going on.”
“Well,” I exhaled the word heavily. “It’s not something I can get into over the phone except to say that it’s pretty bad.”
“As bad as last summer?” she prodded.
“Worse… Potentially, a lot worse.”
I could hear her measured breathing on the other end of the line and knew she was digesting what I had just said. I suppose I could have told her more, but I saw no reason to subject her to the same fears I was barely holding at bay this particular moment. Especially not while she was alone.
“You can tell me about it tomorrow then,” she said, realizing fully that I was simply trying to protect her. She allowed the subject to drop for the time being, but I knew she would expect a full explanation soon enough. “Oh, by the way, I was cleaning up around here and I found a note you left next to the phone. Did you need to keep it?”
“Note?” I echoed in a puzzled tone.
“Well, I guess that’s what it is,” she explained. “It’s mainly just scribbling, except for a number. Two-two- one-eight.”
All that happened today had managed to push the haunting, senseless number out of my mind. Now, it returned with a vengeance, tattooing itself across the front of my grey matter and refusing to be ignored. Demanding my full and absolute attention, of this I was certain, for I had thrown that note away.
“Where did you say you found it?”
“Next to the phone,” she replied. “It looked like it had been crumpled up and then smoothed back out. Like maybe you decided not to throw it away or something.”
A Wiccan poem known as The Rede scrolled through my brain as I mentally weighed what Felicity had just said. Without realizing it I mumbled aloud the snippet of verse that had parked itself in the forefront, “When the wind blows from the west, departed souls will have no rest…”
“What was that?”
“Huh? Nothing. Nothing… Just… Just hang on to it for me, okay?” I said hesitantly.
“Rowan, is something wrong?” Her earlier troubled tone embraced the words. “Does this mean something?”
“Yes… I mean no…” I stumbled over the answer. “I mean I’m fine. Everything’s just fine.”
“Rowan…”
“Really. I’m okay… Listen, I’ve got to get off the line here. I’ll explain it all to you in the morning, okay?”
