looks good on her.”
“Well, yeah,” he agreed. “Never said it looked bad. It just don’t look right ta’ me. I mean it’s Firehair. She’s s’posed ta’ have red hair.”
“I guess you’ll just have to call her something else for a while.”
“Yeah. I’m workin’ on that, but I got a feelin’ she ain’t gonna like Blackhead.”
“I think you’re probably right about that.”
I took a puff off my own cigar then rolled the smoke around on my tongue before blowing it out in a long stream on the cold air. The cloud of condensed breath quickly dissipated, leaving behind only the thin, blue-white haze lofting on a gentle breeze.
Looking out into the night, I stared at the neighborhood. It was relatively peaceful and pretty much always had been. Up until a few years ago, that is. But, everything that happened to shatter that quiet seemed to center around this house-and me. We’d never had any sort of close relationship with any of our neighbors, but these days they weren’t even interested in waving to us from across the street.
I sighed as thoughts of pulling up stakes and moving crossed my mind once again. Finally, I looked over at my friend and asked, “Do you really think Annalise is going to come here?”
“Dunno,” he grunted after a moment of thought. “But, she’s been here at least once already.”
“You don’t know that for a fact,” I countered.
“Gut feelin’,” he told me. “She was here.”
I didn’t refute what he said. I’d learned to trust his instincts just as much as he trusted mine. After a moment I mused aloud, “Why does this sort of thing always get so out of hand?”
My friend huffed out what passed for an apathetic chuckle then replied, “Just lucky, I guess.”
I was getting ready to tell him that his answer didn’t make me feel any better, but as I opened my mouth to speak, I heard a distant echo that sounded almost like my name being called. I left my comment unspoken and cocked my head to the side, listening intently.
A second later, I heard it again, louder. This time it wasn’t only my name but Ben’s too. And, the voice was recognizable, even through the panic in which it was encased. I looked up at my friend whose expression was a mirror image of my own. A heartbeat later we were both in motion. The only reason we didn’t collide was that I started for the door a split second sooner than he.
Felicity was already topping the basement stairs and coming into the hall as we entered through the front door. The look on her face instantly bolstered the rush of anxiety that was already tightening my chest.
“What’s wrong?!” I asked, continuing toward her.
“She called,” she replied, her eyes wide and face even paler than usual.
“Devereaux?” Ben asked.
“Aye,” she replied. “Just now.”
“You talked to her?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. She called my business line, and I just let the answering machine pick it up.”
“Did you save the message?” Ben pressed.
“I was sitting there when she called. I haven’t played it back yet.”
My friend pressed past us and headed downward. We followed only a step or two behind. Hitting the bottom of the stairs, we veered immediately left, past Felicity’s darkroom, and then hooked around the corner into her actual office. The answering machine was perched on the corner of her desk, where it always sat, and the message light was winking on and off, demanding attention.
Ben reached over and pressed the play button. The device was digital, so it instantly chirped and an electronic voice announced, “You have one new message. Received… December four…teenth… at… nine thir… ty- two P. M…”
The machine-generated voice was then replaced by the hiss of telephone static and the sound of a single, heavily exhaled breath. On the heels of the sigh, a sweet, Southern-accented voice issued from the speaker.
“Hello, Felicity,” it said. “I’m so sorry I missed you. I was just calling to see if you enjoyed the gift. You know, mat was just dying to be under them.” The voice snickered as if amused at the sick joke. A second later it continued, a stern tone affecting its cadence, “He never should have called me by your name. But, I don’t guess we need to worry about him making that mistake again, do we?”
There was a thick pause, and we could hear her breathing, then Annalise spoke again, her words harsh and demanding, “It isn’t yours, chienne! It belongs to me, and I won’t let her give it to you!”
With that, the line clicked and went dead, only to be replaced a moment later by an electro-mechanical announcement saying, “End new messages.”
We all stared at the machine for what seemed like a full minute, none of us saying a word. Finally, Ben sighed then reached up to massage the back of his neck.
Leveling his gaze on my wife, he said, “Wanna reconsider your decision ta’ stay here now?”
CHAPTER 34:
“It would appear the call originated from a payphone at a gas station in Northwest County,” Special Agent Constance Mandalay said, folding her cell and slipping it into her pocket for what seemed like the hundredth time since she arrived. “The local cops checked it out, but the attendant doesn’t remember seeing anyone use it, much less anyone who fit Devereaux’s description.”
“Yeah, figures,” Ben grunted.
Almost two hours had passed since the call from Annalise. The clock was just starting its uphill climb toward midnight, but none of us were particularly interested in sleeping at the moment. None of us except Felicity, that is, who was lying down in the bedroom. I suspected, however, she was really doing more hiding from reality than actual resting.
Ben had called Constance after we listened to the recording a second time, since at this point, the FBI was just as deeply involved in this investigation as the Major Case Squad, if not more so. She had arrived shortly thereafter, but until now any conversation with her had been sparse since she was spending the majority of her time on her cell phone conferring with other agents and law enforcement personnel.
“That’s always the way,” Constance replied. “To be on the safe side, we put a tap on all your phone lines just in case she calls again.”
“She will,” I offered. “She’ll keep trying until she gets Felicity on the line.”
“That’s typical,” she agreed. “I just didn’t want to say it.”
“You know you don’t have to pull any punches with me, Constance.”
“You’re right,” she replied with a shallow nod. “Force of habit. Put the victim at ease.”
“I don’t think there is going to be any ease around here until this is over, but thanks for trying.”
She smiled briefly before slipping back into her serious facade. “So, obviously we expect her to call again. The real question is when.”
“I don’t think we’ll have to wait long. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t tried again already.”
“Well, a delay is typical too,” she told me. “Stalkers use it to instill fear in their victims. They draw their power from terrorizing their chosen subject, and the waiting game tends to be very effective where that is concerned.”
“I know, but Annalise isn’t your average stalker.”
“None of them ever are, Rowan,” she said with a nod. “But, what she has done so far fits the basic profile.”
“So far,” I said. “But, I’m sure that will change. Soon.”
“One of your feelings?” she asked, no skepticism in her voice whatsoever. She was among the few who had come to readily accept without question the intangible evidences provided by my curse.
“That, and something she said,” I replied with a shrug. “Her last comment was ‘I won’t let her give it to you.’”
“The ‘it’ being the sexual gratification you’ve mentioned before, I assume?”
“That would be my theory. I’m certain she’s livid about Miranda using Felicity as a horse. But, projecting the
