The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation
Page 33
“Yeah. Pretty simple stuff really. I’m not sure what you were s’posed to get off ‘em to be honest.”
“So what were they?” I pressed.
“Bunch of stars. Kinda like the one you wear,” he replied and then started in on his coffee again.
“Pentacles?” I asked with a note of disbelief. “Pentacles? Pentagrams? Are you sure?”
“Well, they weren’t exactly like yours,” he told me, shaking his head and shrugging. “They had eight points, and yours only has five, right?”
“Right,” I nodded as I spoke. “But his had eight?”
He rolled his eyes up and looked like he was searching his memory. “Yeah, eight.”
“Protection Hex,” I muttered.
“Come again?”
“That would be a symbol of protection,” I explained. “Something commonly referred to as a Hex Sign. Used most often by the Pennsylvania Dutch and other persons of Germanic descent. They were painted or placed over the doors of barns to protect against bewitching and evil magick among other things.”
“Kinda fits with the jar full of piss then, doesn’t it?” he returned.
“That’s my point,” I told him. “The page from Hexen un Hexenmeister, a Witch jar, a Hex Sign…”
“Yeah, what?” he looked at me expectantly.
“There just seems to be a lot of ties to Germanic folklore,” I answered as I mulled the information over. “Something just feels hinky about it.”
“You mean like hinky ha-ha or hinky hocus-pocus?” he asked.
I bypassed his question. “Did they ever figure out what was up with that flash-boom thing?”
“Flash-bang,” he corrected. “Not yet. There’s still a lot of finger pointin’ goin on. It could be a while before they figure it out. So what about this hinky thing?”
“Why did that go off at that exact instant, Ben?” I asked.
“Who the fuck knows?” he shrugged. “That’s what they are investigating.” He cocked his head to the side and gave me a serious look. “Are you thinkin’ it was on purpose?”
“To create a diversion so I would go in there,” I answered.
“That would mean a dirty cop, Row, and I know you’re thinkin’ Albright.”
“Did you know that Albright is actually the Americanized version of the German surname Albrecht?” I asked.
“Row.” He shook his head slowly. “I see where you’re goin’, and believe me, I think she’s a loon myself but helping a serial killer? That’s some serious shit to accuse someone of, white man.”
“I know, Ben.” I gave my head a quick shake. “But it adds up.”
“For you, yeah,” he told me. “But I dunno what IAD would say.”
“Have you talked to them yet? About the other stuff, I mean?”
“Yeah, they’re lookin’ into it,” he replied then took another quaff of his java. “Good thing I’ve got a friend in there, otherwise it might have been just another cluster.”
“Are you going to tell them about what I just told you?”
“Lemme think on that, Row.” He shot me a wincing look. “Like I said, that’s some deep shit to pile on.”
“I know, but it feels right,” I replied.
“You’re sure it’s not just because you hate each other?” he asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Well…” He paused for a moment. “Like I said, lemme think on it and see where everything goes.”
“Okay,” I replied. I’d spent enough time arguing my point over the past few days. I didn’t have the energy to press it. At least not right now. “So we should get loaded up. Felicity is just going straight to the house.”
He pushed away from the counter and headed for the boxes on the table. “Lead on, Kemosabe.”
* * * * *
“Missed a spot.” Ben pointed at the floor as he made the comment to Felicity.
She was just making the last of her third pass through the house with a bundle of straw that was bound tightly to a gnarled, old tree branch. The broom normally hung on the wall in our kitchen, positioned over the back door, but right now it was clasped in her hands as she moved fluidly throughout the entire house.
“Shhhh, Ben,” I admonished as I shuffled past him.
I was following behind my wife with a large bunch of white sage that had been tied into a smudge bundle. The end was a glowing red coal, and a healthy cloud of pungent smoke was billowing up as I waved the sage about.
Ben coughed slightly then continued to watch us from his seat at the breakfast nook in our kitchen without further comment.
Felicity ended at the back of the house with a strenuous flourish of the broom out the open door.
As she shook it, she held her free hand up, three fingers pointing toward the sky, then began to speak. “Lord and Lady, hear my plea, keep us safe from things unseen. Protect these walls from evil deeds, but allow good spirits to plant their seeds. This cleansing now I do complete, ye things unwelcome must retreat.”
As she finished the recitation, she scribed a pentacle in the air with her fingers then pressed them against her lips and thrust her hand outward as if throwing a kiss. She stepped aside, and I tucked the burning sage between the fingers of my cast-encased hand. With my good appendage now free, I reached into my pocket and withdrew some salt, which I immediately sprinkled across the threshold.
Ben was staring at us with a bemused look when we reentered the kitchen. I had tamped out the sage bundle and left it on a plate in the atrium to cool, so I went over to the sink and brushed the excess salt off my hand.
“So what was that all about?” my friend asked.
“Cleansing,” Felicity told him. “This place felt very weird when I came in.”
“You’ve been gone for almost three weeks. Whaddaya expect? It always feels weird to come home after bein’ away.”
“Not this weird,” I told him. “Something strange was here.”
“Yeah, about ten different coppers that I know of.” He nodded. “And several of them are pretty strange.”
“My point exactly,” Felicity explained. “They brought something in with them.”
“Do you know if Albright was ever here?” I asked.
“Yeah, probably,” he replied. “Yeah, I think she was. Why?”
“That would explain a lot of the negativity,” I replied.
“Yes, it would,” Felicity agreed.
“What was that? A ‘yes’?” Ben jibed and then affected a bad Irish accent. “What happened to ‘Aye me good laddie boy and then and such.’”
Felicity just looked back at him as he sat there grinning. “I got some sleep, Ben. And, I don’t say ‘laddie boy,’ so give me a break.”
The phone rang, and I looked up with what had to be a startled expression on my face. I don’t know why, other than the fact that almost every time I had answered a phone in the past few days it had been unpleasant.
“You want me to get that?” Ben asked, leaning toward the device.
“No,” I shook my head as I started across the room. “No, I’ll get it.”
I had covered the few steps by the third ring. The caller ID read all zeros with the word “UNAVAILABLE” below them. I frowned and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
There was no answer at the other end. “Hello?” I said again.
I was certain that I heard the heavy breathing of someone on the line issuing from the earpiece as the hairs instantly rose on the back of my neck. A stab of pain bit into my shoulder and my scalp tightened as the dull thud of a headache began to tap out its rhythm on my grey matter.
There was something that sounded like a heavy sigh then the line clicked and went dead.
Five Months Later
EPILOGUE:
The television set tossed light out into the room as the picture flickered and changed. The logo of the news station sat prominently in the corner, proudly displaying the network affiliation along with the current time.
It was 7:32 in the morning.
The picture suddenly switched to a shifting, bright background overlaid with an artistic shot of a hovering helicopter, complete with the slow motion blur of its rotors blending into the gradient of colors. The words BREAKING NEWS slashed in bold letters across the screen, and a fanfare of syncopated beats underscored the image.
The screen switched again to a fresh-faced, young reporter holding a logo-adorned microphone. Behind him was a lush scene; leafy trees and dense vegetation disappeared into the unfocused depth of field. It was immediately obvious that he was in a rural or wooded area somewhere.
As he held one hand to his ear, presumably listening in for a cue, he began to speak.
“Thank you Chloe and Russ, I’m on the scene at Rafferty Park overlooking the Missouri River where last evening a jogger made a gruesome discovery. Mike Rickman was coming down this path when he stumbled upon what appeared to be a badly decomposed human arm.
“Authorities were called to the scene and after a thorough search have confirmed finding more remains in a shallow grave well off the path.
“While there has been no confirmation as yet, there has been speculation that the body may be that of Tamara Linwood, the grade school teacher who disappeared from the parking lot of Westview Shopping Mall back in January of…”
The man watching this particular television set this morning might have had an interest in the story had he been able to hear or see it. Unfortunately, he was sprawled on the hardwood floor, face down in a puddle of coffee where his cup had shattered.
He convulsed and postured as the sudden seizure ravaged his body, forcing him to bite his tongue and writhe as if holding the bare end of a live extension cord.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An active member of the HWA (Horror Writers Association), M. R. Sellars is a relatively unassuming homebody who considers himself just a “guy with a lot of nightmares and a word processing program.” His first full-length novel, Harm None, hit bookstore shelves in 2000 and he hasn’t stopped writing since. He says that the biggest adjustment he has had to make with his writing career is coping with the time spent away from his family while traveling on promotional tours. Still, he approaches it with the same humorously deadpan and occasionally acerbic wit that he applies to life in general.
All of the current novels in Sellars’ continuing Rowan Gant Investigations saga have spent several consecutive weeks on numerous bookstore bestseller lists as well as a consistent showing on the Amazon.com Horror/Occult top 100.
Sellars currently resides in the Midwest with his wife, daughter, and a host of what he describes as “rescued, geriatric, special-needs felines.” At home, when not writing or taking care of the household, he indulges his passions for cooking and hanging out with friends.
M. R. Sellars can be found on the web at:
www.mrsellars.com
Brainpan Leakage the M. R. Sellars Satire Blog
www.brainpanleakage.com
OTHER BOOKS BY M. R. SELLARS
The Rowan Gant Investigations
HARM NONE
NEVER BURN A WITCH
PERFECT TRUST
THE LAW OF THREE
CRONE’S MOON
LOVE IS THE BOND
ALL ACTS OF PLEASURE
THE END OF DESIRE
BLOOD MOON
MIRANDA
(Available in both print and e-book editions)
Other
YOU’RE GONNA THINK I’M NUTS…
(Novelette included in Courting Morpheus Horror Anthology)
MERRIE AXEMAS: A KILLER HOLIDAY TALE
(Novella)
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE:
CHAPTER 1:
CHAPTER 2:
CHAPTER 3:
CHAPTER 4:
CHAPTER 5:
CHAPTER 6:
CHAPTER 7:
CHAPTER 8:
CHAPTER 9:
CHAPTER 10:
CHAPTER 11:
CHAPTER 12:
CHAPTER 13:
CHAPTER 14:
CHAPTER 15:
CHAPTER 16:
CHAPTER 17:
CHAPTER 18:
CHAPTER 19:
CHAPTER 20:
CHAPTER 21:
CHAPTER 22:
CHAPTER 23:
CHAPTER 24:
CHAPTER 25:
CHAPTER 26:
CHAPTER 27:
CHAPTER 28:
CHAPTER 29:
CHAPTER 30:
CHAPTER 31:
CHAPTER 32:
CHAPTER 33:
CHAPTER 34:
CHAPTER 35:
CHAPTER 36:
CHAPTER 37:
CHAPTER 38:
CHAPTER 39:
CHAPTER 40:
EPILOGUE:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR