as big a hurry to be rid of me as I was to go, so he took next to no convincing where my being allowed to leave was concerned. He didn’t even ask why I was in such a rush. Of course, I had a feeling he knew the answer I was likely to give and simply didn’t want to hear it again.
Still, he insisted Doctor Miller make the final call, and she was definitely the hard sell, especially since I was doing this all by phone. Unfortunately, by the time she grudgingly agreed to my release, it was too late. There wasn’t a single Saint Louis bound flight to be had, no matter what I was willing to pay, where I was prepared to sit, or how many connections I was content to make.
Once again time was presenting itself as my enemy; but for this skirmish my luck no longer held, and I was unable to beat the clock. The best I could manage was to change my existing reservation, and since the airline with the earliest departure time happened to be the one for which I already held a ticket, that was easy enough done. Beyond that, I was still stuck in New Orleans for the rest of the night, which didn’t sit well with me at all, a fact I was all too happy to share.
In response to my severe agitation, the physician on duty insisted on prescribing a sedative. I didn’t want it; however I was told that my wants weren’t the issue, but my obvious needs were. I suspect the needs to which he referred were less mine and more theirs, as I wasn’t being shy when it came to making my displeasure with the entire situation somewhat vociferously known.
Therefore, much to my chagrin, whether I liked the idea or not, I ended up sedated. The only choice I was given was whether I wanted to take it orally of my own volition or be held down for an injection. I opted for the pill. I’ll admit it was probably a good thing he forced the issue because the fact that I was trapped here wasn’t helping me cope with the personal demon I had only recently loosed upon myself. I sincerely doubt it would have allowed me to sleep otherwise. What little I did manage, however, certainly wasn’t restful. Even a drug-induced slumber couldn’t stave off the all too real nightmare that was now raging inside my head.
The next morning, true to his word, Detective Fairbanks intended to see me off personally, so he showed up at the hospital early. I was already showered and having fresh dressings applied when he arrived. As it was, the paperwork for my release took longer than anything else.
Our ride to the airport was conspicuously silent, and it really didn’t change much after reaching our destination, save for an occasional grunt to direct me here or there. Fairbanks saw me through the check-in process step by step. He didn’t physically turn over the bulk of my personal effects until my bags were checked and he had my boarding pass in hand. I don’t know if he did it for dramatic effect or if he really believed I might bolt and wreak more havoc in the city. I decided knowing the answer wouldn’t accomplish anything for either of us, so I didn’t bother to ask.
At the security gate, he handed me off to a uniformed officer and instructed him that I was to be his sole duty until I was in the air and heading north. Then, with only a scowl in my direction to serve as a farewell, he was gone.
The officer walked me through security and dutifully waited until I was on board the aircraft. If he followed his orders, he probably also continued to stand there until the airplane had taxied out to the runway at the very least. I’m betting he did-because the instruction hadn’t sounded at all like a joke.
According to my watch, we were wheels up right on time at 7:40 A.M. I still had a little over two hours ahead of me before I was going to have my chance to grapple directly with a monster of my own making.
I just hoped that it wouldn’t be too late.
Saturday, December 3
9:43 A.M.
Lambert Saint Louis International Airport
Concourse C, Security Gate
Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 18:
Impatience had ruled over me for the entire trip, and it was only getting worse now that I was on the ground. Since my flight had arrived at one of the farthest gates it possibly could, I had been faced with plenty of distance to cover on foot. Any other time that wouldn’t have bothered me a bit, but in this instance I viewed the walk with nothing but disdain. Of course, it wasn’t so much the walk itself as the added delay because it had taken almost fifteen minutes for me to jog up the crowded concourse. I was absolutely certain I could have made it in half that time had it not been for constantly becoming stuck behind people who were more interested in window shopping and visiting than actually moving.
“Rowan!”
The voice issuing the call was unmistakable. Ben was only a few feet ahead as I started through the exit on the security checkpoint, and while I really hadn’t expected to see him here, I also couldn’t say I was terribly surprised. I’m sure he wanted his turn at chewing me out and simply couldn’t wait to get started.
I had actually caught sight of him even before he called my name over the flow of moving bodies. He was hard to miss. Standing six-foot-six tends to make you stick out in the crowd. Being an exceptionally tall Native American even more so. Throw in the fact that he had his badge displayed on a cord around his neck, he may as well have been waving a flag. My intention had been to slip through with the rest of the crowd, hoping to pass by unnoticed. Unfortunately, he saw me before that could happen. What’s worse, my reflexes betrayed me by making me look up in his direction at the sound of my name.
Now, I really had no way to avoid him. I was just going to have to keep moving so that he couldn’t derail me.
When I neared, he let out a quiet exclamation. “Holy fuck…”
As his voice trailed off, he reached up with a large hand and smoothed his salt and pepper hair, sliding the paw down to the back of his neck where he allowed it to rest. His dark eyes were wide as he stared at me, and I had a feeling whatever admonishment he had originally intended to hurl my direction was momentarily on hold.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, switching my backpack to the opposite shoulder as I continued walking past him at a brisk pace while veering to the left.
“Fairbanks called an’ said you were on your way,” he replied, catching up in a single, long-legged stride and falling in step with me.
“Figures,” I said with a shake of my head then glanced over and added, “I guess he was afraid I’d turn around and come right back, so he’d better send a welcoming committee.”
“What the fuck happened to ya’?” my friend asked, ignoring the comment.
“What? Didn’t he fill you in?”
“He had plenty ta’ say about ya’, yeah. Other than the stuff I won’t repeat, he said ya’ went a couple rounds with some woman then chased ‘er across traffic and caused a coupl’a friggin’ wrecks… But he didn’t tell me ya’ actually got hit by one of the cars.”
“I didn’t,” I told him. “And, it wasn’t just some woman. It was Annalise.”
“Wait a minute… Are you sayin’ Devereaux did this to ya’?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean a five-foot-nothin’ woman kicked your ass?”
“Yeah, Ben, she did,” I replied, voice cold. “Then she got away, and your buddy down there didn’t seem all that interested in finding her. So, do me a favor and save the jokes. I’ve got something kind of pressing I need to take care of right now.”
I was angling toward the exit, so he grabbed my arm and tried to guide me to the right. “She kick ya’ in the head too? Baggage claim is this way.”
I pulled away and continued toward the far exit, which led out to the taxi stands. Without looking back I said, “I’ll get it later.”
I hadn’t made it a full step before his hand clamped down on my shoulder, and he stopped me dead in my tracks. “Whoa… What the fuck? Where’s the fire?”
