“Fine,” I spat. “So what now? Am I under arrest?”
“If I had my way, you sure as hell would be,” he barked in return. “But apparently Storm isn’t the only friend you have in high places, so technically you’re in protective custody.”
“Constance?” I asked.
“I have no idea who,” he replied with a shake of his head. “But, based on the call we received, somebody at the FBI has a vested interest in you for some unknown reason. Hell, we’ve actually been looking for you for them since this morning.”
“Looking for me?”
“That’s right. Apparently, the feds would like for you to come home.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, as much as we’d like to bury you under the jail right now, we aren’t going to. But, as soon as the doctor cuts you loose, I’m personally sticking your ass on a plane back to Saint Louis and letting them deal with you.”
CHAPTER 16:
Initially, I was adamant that I had no intention of allowing them to admit me to the hospital. However, my argument didn’t last long. To his credit, Detective Fairbanks did give me a choice, limited as it was. The way he explained it, my options were to get on the first airplane bound for Saint Louis, to stay at the hospital until the doctor released me, or to spend the remainder of my time here in New Orleans inspecting the inside of their lockup. Since I was already dwelling on his bad side, I had no doubt he was serious.
Unfortunately, after a short exchange with Doctor Miller, he retracted the option of immediate travel home, which had been my preferred choice. And, since I was technically in police custody, there was no room for me to negotiate that point. Apparently, disliked as I was, they were still intent on me not dying until they were in the clear. I had no doubt this was based solely on an issue of liability rather than any true concern for my continued well-being.
So, while I was no fan of hospitals, the idea of spending the night in jail was even less appealing; therefore, the decision became an instantaneous no-brainer. At least I was going to have a clean bed in which to sleep for a change.
I was also told that my rental car had been impounded, which I’m certain wasn’t going to sit well with the company that owned it, but there wasn’t much I could do. And, of course, it didn’t stop there. They took the key to my room at the Airline Courts in order to collect my luggage and anything else I had felt comfortable with leaving there unattended. I was, however, assured they would be returned to me, as well as the rest of my personal effects, upon my release and once I had been escorted to the airport.
Since the police had already taken Velvet’s statement, and they didn’t see her as the threat they saw me, she was free to leave. She had graciously offered to hang loose for a while once I was settled in, however I was well aware she still had an hour or so drive ahead of her to get back to Baton Rouge. As much as I would have appreciated the company, I felt as though I had disrupted her life more than enough already, so I urged her to go home. Eventually, she gave in, though only after I promised to contact her if I needed any further help. It seemed I had made at least one friend while I was here.
Now, to occupy the void, I had been trying to watch TV. I managed to catch the last half of a re-broadcast episode of Firefly on a cable station, but after that, all I seemed to be able to find were so-called “reality shows” that were worse than a waste of time. After running up and down the gamut of channels, I switched it off. Dragging myself out of the bed for the third time since arriving in the room, I made my way to the bathroom to empty my bladder. They were still running IV’s into me at full bore. While I had insisted after my second trip to the toilet that I must be fully re-hydrated by now, I was informed that I was being flushed out. A catheter was offered if I felt the repeated trips were too annoying, but I declined, promising instead to fill the sample cups each time I went. Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy them.
I finished executing my duty and had just rolled the IV stand back into place next to the bed before sitting down when a nurse came into the room.
“How are you feelin’, Mistuh Gant?” she asked.
“About as good as can be expected,” I grumbled. “By the way, I just left you a present in the bathroom.”
“For me? Why, thank you. Ya’ shouldn’t have,” she replied in a bubbly voice.
“You’re way too cheerful,” I told her.
She ignored the statement and went about checking my IV then my pulse and blood pressure. When she was finished, she asked, “Do ya’ need anythin’?”
“Not that I can think of,” I replied.
“All right then, my name is Adrienne, and I’ll be takin’ care of you this shift. If you need anythin’…”
I held up my hand and interrupted her, my voice somewhat astringent. “Just press the call button, yeah, I know…” When I finished the comment, I sighed heavily then said, “Look, Adrienne. I apologize. That was rude. This just hasn’t been a particularly wonderful day for me, so my mood isn’t what you would call good.”
“I understand,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks.”
“Besides, dawlin’,” she added, grinning. “Dawn already warned me you were a grouch.”
“Yeah, making friends and influencing people. That’s me.”
“I’ll just pick up your specimen an’ I’ll be back ta’ check on ya’ later. Okay?”
“Looking forward to it,” I told her as I twisted around and lay back on the bed.
She headed out, stopping by the bathroom as she went. When she came out I called over to her, “Hey, Adrienne. You wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?”
She glanced at her watch. “Ten to eight.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
When she was gone, I sat back up on the bed and reached over to the telephone. I dialed for an outside line then started punching in the toll free line and pass code of my calling card. Once I heard the fresh dial tone, I stabbed in a number I’d come to memorize over the past week. After a pair of rings, the operator came on the line.
“Felicity O’Brien’s room, please,” I asked.
“Whom should I say is calling?”
“Her husband, Rowan Gant.”
“Mister Gant, please hold,” she replied.
After a short wait the line was picked up.
“Rowan?” Instead of hearing Felicity’s voice, I was greeted with Helen Storm’s issuing from the handset. She seemed calm, but her tone held an underlying note of concern. “We have been trying to reach you for hours.”
“Is something wrong?” I asked immediately, my own concern rising to the surface. “Is Felicity okay?”
“At the moment, she is fine. However, earlier today she experienced a somewhat bizarre psychotic episode.”
“Miranda?” I asked.
“I am not certain. All I can tell you is that for a period of several minutes, she believed someone was chasing her, and she was doing everything in her power to get away. At one point she actually bit one of the staff. Afterwards, she was frantic, asking repeatedly to speak with you.”
I sighed heavily as I hung my head. “It was me.”
“You? What do you mean?”
“I mean she was trying to get away from me,” I said then explained further by filling her in on the details of the afternoon.
“At this point I would say the question is, are you okay?” she said when I finished.
“I’ll be fine,” I told her. “But, unless I find a way to stop all this, Felicity isn’t.”
