worked. While the smoky haze had finally settled, the funk of our burned lunch still hung in the air. Felicity had taken the blackened remnants out to the trashcan a bit earlier, and she still hadn’t come back into the house.
At the moment, she was standing on the back deck staring out across the yard, the skillet resting atop the railing next to her. I’d been keeping an eye on her through the window, and she hadn’t moved for several minutes. I knew I really needed to be out there with her, but I also wanted to keep as much distance between her and the current situation as possible. Since Ben needed answers, here I was, caught square in the middle. Unfortunately, it was probably an exercise in futility because he had already said he would need to talk to her as well.
My mind flashed on the dish of soup still sitting in the microwave. A defense mechanism, I’m sure. Our brains have a way of seeking out the mundane and normal in the face of horror. Of course, anything resembling hunger was long gone, so my thought was that I really needed to get it out of there and put it in the refrigerator before I forgot about it.
An explosion of light diverted my attention yet again. At random intervals a bright flash would illuminate the dining room as the tech took photos of the atrocity resting on the table. I glanced over out of reflex then looked back to my friend.
“So?” he pressed.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Ya’ said ya’ found the box on the front porch? Is that right?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “It was there when I went out to get the mail.”
“Did ya’ see anybody hangin’ around? Strange car? Anything like that?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Okay, so what time was it that ya’ found it?”
“Right at twelve thirty.”
“Had ya’ been outside before that?”
I shook my head. “No. Not since last night around ten.”
He jotted a quick note then glanced into the dining room before looking back to me.
“Well, there’s no postage on it, so I doubt the mail carrier delivered it.”
I nodded. “You’re probably right.”
“We’ll check it out anyway. But, I’m guessin’ Devereaux prob’ly put it there ‘erself.” He paused for a second then huffed, “Jeezus! If I’d just been able ta’ get a unit ta’ watch the house… Shit.”
“She may have paid someone to deliver it, Ben.”
“Yeah, maybe, but somethin’ in my gut says no. Either way I’ll get the locals to canvass and try to find out if anybody saw anything.”
“Yeah,” I solemnly agreed. “You might want to check over the yard as well.”
“For what?”
“Bone fragments.”
“You mean from the victim in Baton Rouge?”
I nodded. “If she actually came here, she probably spread them around. That would be a typical use in a cross. Why not kill two birds so to speak.”
“You got one of those headaches again?”
“You could say that.”
“You gonna be okay?”
“As okay as I can be given the circumstances.”
“Yeah… Lovely. I’ll get someone on it.”
A fresh burst of light flickered through the room, and I found my eyes wandering back in the direction of the table. The shoebox was still sitting there on the corner, resting atop the torn remnants of the craft paper in which it had been wrapped. The lid was lying on the floor exactly where Felicity had dropped it.
Under different circumstances, the contents, a pair of white, stiletto-heeled pumps, wouldn’t have elicited such a terror-stricken response from my wife. However, in this case, they weren’t simply a pair of white shoes. They were haphazardly smeared with rusted red. It didn’t take a close up inspection to know that the foreign substance streaking the patent leather was blood. But, even as disturbing as that was, it wasn’t the worst part. Skewered onto the heel of the right shoe was a limp hunk of pallid flesh that bore more than just a passing resemblance to a human tongue.
I heard some unintelligible mumbling in my ears as I continued to stare. A moment later, I felt a hard poke on my shoulder and heard my friend calling my name.
“Yo… Earth ta’ Rowan…”
“What?” I stammered, turning back to him. “I’m sorry.”
“Look right here,” Ben said, holding two fingers forked and waving them at his own face. “Look at me. Forget about that in there.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Yeah, I know, but stay with me on this. I need ta’ know if you touched any of it, or just Firehair?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just Felicity. Well, except that I’m the one who brought the package inside.”
“Was it still wrapped when you touched it?”
“Yeah,” I replied with a nod.
“Did you touch it after it was unwrapped?”
“No.”
“How about the card? You pick that up?”
“No. I was more concerned with calming Felicity.”
“Yeah. I can understan’ that.”
His cell phone let out a muted warble, so he dug it out of his pocket and looked at the display. Flipping it open, he pressed it to his ear. “Yeah, this is Detective Storm. Whaddaya got?”
While he was talking, I turned to watch Felicity. She had finally taken a couple of steps forward and was leaning against the railing, but other than what was obvious from her dejected posture, I couldn’t tell her current state of mind. Of course, even at a distance, I could feel the anxiety flowing around her. I heard my friend snap the cell phone shut, so I brought my attention back to him.
“Had a unit from County go by and check on Lewis at his apartment,” he offered, his tone crisp and official.
“He’s dead, isn’t he,” I remarked as much as asked.
“Yeah,” he replied with a nod. “The copper that just called sounded pretty green around the gills. From the bloody shoeprints around the body and what’s sittin’ on your table, looks like she might’ve stomped ‘im ta’ death. Apparently, she made the job Firehair did on ‘im look like a minor scratch.”
“Don’t say that around Felicity,” I replied. “I don’t know quite how she’d handle the comparison right now.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Martin’s on ‘is the way over with a crew right now ta’ work it. Sounds like a real mess.”
“She used him to find us,” I offered. “Now she’s using him to send a message.”
“Yeah, I’m inclined ta’ agree with ya’. Yesterday coulda been a big coincidence, but this sure’s fuck ain’t. Brings it all inta’ perspective… Question is how’d she know ta’ go after him in particular, and that he could lead ‘er to ya’?
“Miranda.”
“The ghost bitch. Okay, how?”
“Felicity’s connection to Lewis. The incident in the motel room. Everything that happened when Miranda was possessing her is a part of the Lwa’s memory now.”
“So ghosts got memories?”
“Of course they do.”
“That’s some screwed up shit, Row.”
“It always is, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh. Yeah… That’s a fact… Problem is, I can’t arrest a ghost.”
“So you’ve said numerous times.”
