“You wouldn’t believe…” I started immediately but caught myself before I could finish the sentence.
I suppose Detective Fairbanks was correct. The phrase really had become my personal mantra while I was in New Orleans. In the matter of only two days, I had become accustomed to hiding what I knew and, more importantly, how I knew it. All for fear of being seen as a lunatic, and now, because of that fact, the sentence seemed to tumble from my mouth at the slightest provocation.
And, apparently my brain was too occupied at the moment to adjust to the fact that I was back on familiar ground, talking to someone who wouldn’t think I was completely nuts. Of course, standing here now and forcing myself to consider this new reality didn’t necessarily change my mode of thinking. I wasn’t so sure this was something I was ready to tell Ben either. Even if he wouldn’t think I was insane, I wasn’t certain I wanted to waste time explaining right now.
I sighed, “Look, Ben, I just need to get home. There’s something very important I have to take care of.”
“What?”
“I’d really rather not say.”
“Rather not, because it’s somethin’ stupid and ya’ think I’ll stop ya’, or rather not somethin’ else?”
“Something else.”
“So ya’ aren’t about to go get yourself inta’ some more shit?”
“No,” I replied with a shake of my head. “If anything I’m planning to get out of some.”
He stared at me for a moment, searching my face. I’m sure he was looking for some physical indication as to whether or not I was lying.
“This way,” he finally said, giving my arm a tug. “I’m parked on the upper level of the garage.”
Ben’s driving didn’t bother me for a change. In fact, given that speed limits, in his way of thinking, were more a suggestion than anything else, I actually welcomed it because we arrived at my house quicker than I would have by taking a cab.
I was out of the van before he even had it in park, intent on my single-minded task. It had been cold when I left Saint Louis, and that hadn’t changed a bit. Snow had even visited the city, leaving an inch or so of white covering the landscape. My coat was hanging open, and a stiff wind was snaking into it as I strode up the driveway, but I ignored the chill.
I could hear footsteps behind me as Ben broke into a short jog to catch up.
“Yo! White Man… Where’re ya’ goin’?” he called out.
I didn’t respond. I simply unlatched the gate and continued on, first passing by the back deck then the detached garage with a determined stride. Ben was alongside me now, but other than the fact I was aware of his presence and could feel his concern, I wasn’t paying any attention to him whatsoever.
Pressing on, I stalked across the pristine blanket of my back yard, my breath condensing in opaque clouds as I huffed the cold air quickly in and out. The dull thud in my head had never left, but it now morphed beyond the chronic throb and burst into acute stabs at the base of my skull. The sickening ache increased with each step and began spreading through my body like electricity seeking ground. My stomach was starting to churn, and I fought back a wave of nausea that was creating a bitter tickle in the back of my throat.
The onslaught continued, and by the time I made it three-quarters of the way across the yard, it had grown so intense that I literally stumbled. Unable to maintain my balance, I fell to my hands and knees. A sharp lance of pain shot up my wounded arm, and it buckled, sending me face first into the snow.
“Jeezus, Row… Are you okay?” Ben asked, fresh concern rimming his voice as he reached down to help me up.
Though I knew he was right next to me, his voice sounded hollow and distant. I started pushing myself up, but as the pain phased through my body, the nausea took hold, and I pitched forward again, expelling the remnants of my hospital breakfast in a steaming lump. I gagged a second time but only vomited a small stream of bile for my trouble. I could feel myself hovering dangerously close to slipping across into the world of the dead, and I knew Miranda was standing on the other side waiting for me with ill intent. The worst part, however, was that I knew for certain this whole thing was my fault and no one else’s.
I steeled myself and sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a moment as I sought my mental footing once again in the corporeal plane.
“Holy shit…” Ben exclaimed. “Rowan… What’s wrong?”
His voice sounded normal once again, but the pain wasn’t letting up. I pushed against the ground and lifted myself to my knees. I felt my friend slip a hand under my arm to help as I climbed to my feet and began my march toward the back of the yard once again.
“Dammit, Row! Talk to me,” Ben demanded.
I still didn’t respond. I had to remain focused; otherwise, I feared I would succumb to the force that was now attempting to stop me. I picked up my pace and covered the last several yards with Ben still holding my arm as if he feared I was going to fall again. Arriving at the door of Felicity’s potting shed, I shrugged away from him and grasped the handle with my good hand. I gave it a quick tug, but it only moved outward a pair of inches before resisting my attack. Looking down, I saw the padlock seated firmly in place.
I knew the key was inside the house, but I didn’t feel as though I had time to go in after it. I needed to do this now. I pushed the door inward then yanked it hard, leaning all of my weight back with the motion. I heard the sound of the wood beginning to splinter as stress took hold of the screws anchoring the hasp. The door came out another couple of inches and stopped. I pushed it in and yanked again, and then a third time. On the fourth try, the aging boards splintered and the door swung open wide with a loud crack.
Stepping in through the doorway, I grabbed a shovel then immediately turned and came back out. Continuing around my dismayed friend, I waded out into the decorative garden at the very back of the yard and set my sights on a large mound of snow-covered rocks.
I was just slipping the point of the shovel beneath one corner of the largest of the sponge rocks when Ben grabbed my arm. I looked up at him and could see the concern in his eyes had turned to something almost resembling fear.
“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on here?!” he demanded.
“When I’m done,” I managed to croak. I could feel hot tears beginning to stream down my face.
“Dammit! You’re actin’ like ya’ lost your friggin’ mind, White Man,” he pressed.
“I’m trying to save my wife, okay?!” I shouted. “Now, either help me or get the fuck out of my way!”
Before I finished the sentence, I was already looking back down and shoving the business end of the garden implement deeper under the large rock then lifting. The decorative stone broke loose as I leaned my weight into the improvised lever, then it rose slowly upward, teetered for a second and rolled away with a heavy thump. I instantly began driving the point of the shovel against the frozen ground, breaking up the hard soil and scooping it away as fast as I could with only one good arm.
“Jeezus, I must be nuts,” Ben grumbled as he reached out and yanked the shovel from my hand and started about the process of digging. “What’re we lookin’ for? A quicker way ta’ hell?”
“A metal box,” I replied. “About a foot down.”
“A foot? Is that all?” he replied, heavy sarcasm in his words.
He continued to dig, ramming the shovel down hard and tearing at the earth. After several minutes, we both heard a hollow clunk as the spade struck home. He worked the point in beneath the box and pried one end up from the depths.
I was already kneeling next to the hole, tearing at the surrounding dirt with my hand. As soon as I could get a grasp on the unearthed rectangle, I wrenched it from the ground and fumbled with the clasp. Popping the latch on the small toolbox, I yanked it open.
There, just as it had been when I placed it there several weeks ago, was a fashion doll. Its ivory complexion and fiery red hair were visible through the clear cellophane that enveloped it. A dark purple ribbon criss-crossed around the poppet holding the plastic wrapping securely in place.
“You buried a fuckin’ doll in your back yard?” Ben asked, a mix of confusion and incredulity in his voice.
Looking up at Ben, I said, “It’s her.”
“Her who?”
