imagination mixed in, the dots became easy to connect and rallied themselves into complex pictures, complete with highlight and shadow.
In my mind’s eye, I was just applying the final touches to a particularly intricate portrait when reality elected to position itself between my canvas and me. My carefully constructed image of a striking young woman with long, flowing hair exploded into a shower of bright red sparks that hesitated for a moment then fell slowly earthward, systematically burning themselves out along the way like the dying bursts of holiday fireworks.
It really didn’t matter that the fantasy had been disturbed because the image was replaced in kind with a face of equal-if not superior-beauty, even though it was wrinkled with a mixture of anger and concern.
“How’s your head, then?” Felicity asked as she peered down at me.
With the artistic trance broken, I set about focusing my attentions on the question I’d just been asked. I took a quick mental assessment and discovered that my head was still throbbing somewhat. However, there was another sensation that overshadowed the mild pain in a big way-I wanted a cigarette and I wanted it yesterday.
“Hurts a bit,” I croaked, trying without success to ignore the craving.
“Aye, you kept mumbling something about that while you were out,” she said. “That, and cigarettes.”
The proverbial cat was now on the loose. “How long?”
“You mean how long were you out? A few minutes,” she replied. “Barely long enough for us to bring you in here, really.”
From the looks of everything around me, “in here” was apparently one of the offices on the main floor of the morgue.
“Great,” I mumbled. “Did I do anything besides complain about my head and cigarettes?”
“You mean other than go off chasing after answers on your own?” She submitted the query with measured terseness born of her underlying anger with me, and the words themselves explained why.
“Whoa, before you unleash that wrath on me, it wasn’t exactly my choice,” I protested. “Debbie Schaeffer was apparently on a mission.”
“What do you mean?”
“She insisted on me touching Paige Lawson,” I said. “She kept saying there was something she needed to show me that I really, really needed to see.”
“And that was?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. I don’t remember much of anything after pulling the drawer open, and believe me, I did that under duress.”
“So why didn’t you say something before going off on your own?”
“I tried. But somehow Schaeffer’s spirit was actually in control of my body.”
“Aye…” she nodded as the pieces fell into place for her. “And now do you understand why I’ve been so worried about you?”
“Yeah.” I gave a slight nod myself. “The experience was definitely a wake up call.”
“How ya’ feelin’?” Ben’s voice overtook the momentary silence as he followed the opening door into the room. He seemed tense, almost reserved, and businesslike.
“Okay, I guess,” I answered as Felicity moved back and helped me to sit up. “Rattled.”
“So who’s the bad guy?”
“What?”
“All the hocus-pocus you did.” He waved his hand around in the air. “Tell me ya’ figured out who the bad guy is.”
“Well, no, I didn’t. Not exactly.”
“Wunnerful. What’s not exactly mean? Ya’ got clues? Leads? Anything?”
“Maybe… I’m not exactly sure. I saw… I saw…” I stumbled over what I wanted to say as I suddenly realized that I didn’t really remember what I had seen. “I think…”
He didn’t allow me to flounder for long. “Yeah. Great. So you good enough ta’ travel?”
“I suppose, but shouldn’t we…”
“No but’s, no shouldn’t we anything’s, white man.” He shook his head. “We need ta’ leave. We can get some coffee down the road and talk about it there.”
“But I’m not sure I’m finished here.” I wasn’t lying. I could feel that the memory of what I’d experienced downstairs was flitting around inside my head, just out of reach. I simply needed a trigger to bring it home to me. “There might be something else, Ben. We won’t know unless…”
He cut me off. “Look, you got no idea what it took for me ta’ convince the Doc there wasn’t somethin’ really hinky goin’ on down there tonight. I wouldn’t count on gettin’ anywhere near those remains in the near future if I was you.”
“I can talk to her…”
He interrupted me again. “Leave it alone, Row. If I was ta’ visit a proctologist right now he’d have two assholes ta’ choose from if you get my meanin’. We gotta go. Now. That’s it. Do not pass go. End of discussion.”
“Doctor Sanders chewed you out? But…” I let the remainder of the question hang unspoken.
“She was just a warm up, my friend, and she wasn’t the only one who got dragged outta bed tonight.” He shook his head. “I just now got off the phone with my lieutenant.”
“Oh, man, Ben… I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”
“Save it,” he returned. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here while I still have a badge.”
We walked in relative silence down the corridor and past the reception desk. The guard who had earlier been pushing cards around the computer screen in a hot game of solitaire was now just outside the glassed-in front of the building. He pulled open the outer door and held it for us as we exited through the small foyer.
“Rough one?” he asked as the three of us came through the doorway. He seemed totally oblivious to what had been transpiring within the deeper recesses of the morgue.
“Yeah, Joe.” Ben nodded. “But they’re never a cakewalk.”
“Yeah. Damn shame. Sucks.” He nodded in return as he took a deep drag on the cigarette he held between his fingers and then let out a cloud of smoke. “Well, good luck finding the asshole that did it.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
The nicotine-laden cloud hung in the air and gently wrapped itself around me. The pungent smell was more than I could take. The stress of everything I’d experienced over the past hour combined with the guilt I was feeling at having gotten Ben into hot water. When conjoined they became an irresistible catalyst. The omnipresent and still unexplained craving instantly expanded beyond management to become a dire need.
“Excuse me,” the words left my mouth before I even realized what I was saying, “but do you think I could bum one of those from you?”
“Sure,” the guard answered with a quick grin of smoker camaraderie then warned, “they’re menthol.”
“Perfect.” I nodded my head as I pulled a cigarette from the pack he held out to me.
I hadn’t even realized that the craving had been for more than the nicotine, but the moment he had mentioned menthol, the need within me leaped another octave.
“Rowan!” Felicity admonished as she suddenly realized what I was doing.
She was too late. I’d already tucked the filter end between my lips and was touching fire to the other with the guard’s proffered lighter.
Deeply inhaling I felt the volume of smoke surge into my lungs, cool and hot all at once. An immediate nicotine rush expanded just behind my eyes and flooded outward to every nerve in my body. Menthol giddiness warmed me from head to toe then became an icy tingle across my scalp and down my spine. I closed my eyes with a deep feeling of satisfaction as I reluctantly started to let go of the precious smoke.
What should have come out as a simple exhale, sputtered then burst forth as a barking cough. I bent forward and brought my free hand to cover my mouth as I violently hacked for a moment then wheezed air in once again.
“You okay?” Joe asked.
