Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation
Page 33
I couldn’t say much for his choice of new topics, but I went along with it anyway. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else.
“Like I care?” I replied.
He nodded. “Yeah, I know. Guess it was to be expected, huh.”
“She making life hard on you?”
“A bit, but I’ll survive. I always do.”
“Yeah. You do.”
“By the way, talked to Mandalay this mornin’,” he offered. “She asked about ya’.”
“She okay?”
“Yeah. Needin’ ta’ talk. The shooting at the gas station was the first time she’d ever had to kill anyone.”
“And it was a kid.”
“Yeah.”
“She in trouble?”
“A little. She’s on administrative leave. They aren’t too hot on the fact that she left the scene, but considerin’ the circumstances she’ll come out okay.”
“Good.”
“They were brother and sister, you know,” my friend said, switching subjects again.
“Yeah, you told me.”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Guess I did.”
I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable. I wasn’t succeeding.
“They tested the brother,” he offered. “Got an IQ of fifty-two.”
“Too bad,” I murmured.
“Why do ya’ say that?”
I looked over at him, unable to muster an expression and simply said, “Because with an IQ that low, our judicial system will let the bastard live.”
“Yeah, prob’ly,” he answered, and then sighed before continuing. “The sister is the real sick one.”
“They’re both sick, Ben.”
“Yeah, but the sister is the one behind the whole mess.”
“Is she mentally challenged too?”
“No.”
“Good,” I replied. “Then they can execute her.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the prosecutor will push for it.” He paused and took a puff from his cigar, rolling the smoke around on his tongue before letting it out in a slow stream. He tapped the ash then looked back over to me. “Regular fuckin’ torture chamber they had down in that basement. Crime scene guys said they actually had some kinda current-slash-voltage regulator or somethin’ hooked up to the generator. Kinda like a homemade electric chair.”
“Yeah, they were real experts weren’t they,” I grumbled.
“I guess,” he replied, then added, “Apparently electrocution is pretty painful. The sister liked ta’ see how much the victims could take. That’s her kink. Inflictin’ pain.”
“You’ve got an odd view on changing subjects. Do we really have to talk about this right now, Ben?” I asked.
He frowned and looked away then muttered, “Yeah. I know. Sorry.”
After a short, uncomfortable silence, he spoke again. “So whaddaya wanna talk about?”
“Nothing.”
The heavy silence fell between us again as I puffed quietly on my cigar. I watched on as Emily continued creeping slowly toward the blissfully unaware flock of birds.
“So, what about the brother?” I asked, reopening the wound of my own accord.
“I thought you didn’t wanna talk about it?”
“I changed my mind.”
“Okay, so what about ‘im?”
“He was torturing the women too.”
“He was just doing what his sister told him to do,” my friend said with a mild harrumph. “Still doesn’t get that he was doin’ anything wrong.”
“What about the heads?”
“There were fifteen total,” he replied. “From four different states so far. They’ve identified all of ‘em except three. Missing women dating back six years. We’re still tryin’ ta’ get ‘em ta’ tell us where the rest of the bodies are buried.”
“I meant why did they keep them.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, it seems big brother thought they were pretty, so he wanted ta’ keep ‘em.”
“Gods…” I murmured.
“Yeah.”
“Any idea why the scattered grave sites?”
“Not yet.”
I turned my head slightly and watched Emily as her tail twitched and her hindquarters danced in preparation to attack. She suddenly uncoiled and sprang forward, missing her mark but sending the flock noisily into the air.
Ben huffed out a breath then asked, “So, what time are you going to the funeral home?”
“About three-thirty,” I replied.
“That’s comin’ up pretty quick.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You know, it ain’t your fault she’s gone, Row. You did everything you could.”
I didn’t answer.
“So… You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll make it.”
I thought I heard a noise and turned to see an auburn-haired vision standing in the open back door. Her hair was pulled up in a loose Gibson girl, neatly pinned in place. She was clad in a solemn black dress and pumps.
“Aye, Rowan,” she said softly. “Come in and change. We have to leave soon.”
“I’ll be right there,” I told her with a nod.
She looked back at me sadly. Her soft face looked like it had been brushed with a tasteful amount of makeup, but it still couldn’t hide the black rim around her eye nor the bruise on her cheek where she’d taken the punch. Fortunately, the burns on her opposite cheek had completely disappeared, as had mine. Would that all injuries healed as quickly and completely as the ethereal ones seemed to do. In that same vein, it was too bad that the emotional scars of the supernatural would never really fade.
I continued to watch as she turned and disappeared back into the house. When she was out of sight, I turned back to the yard and puffed on my cigar.
“Yeah,” Ben muttered again. “The Forest woman really seemed like she was gonna make it when they took ‘er outta that basement. I guess she’d just been through too much.”
“Yeah,” I replied quietly.
“Jeezus, Row, I know it sounds bad, but I’m glad it was her and not… Ya’know… And… And I hate ta’ say it, but I’m just glad she lasted until after the Twilight Zone thing fizzled out… Ya’know? And Firehair didn’t… Well… Ya’know…”
“Yeah, Ben. Me too,” I muttered. “Goddess help me. Me too.”
EPILOGUE:
He closed the door of the attic office then sat down at his desk and pulled out the lower drawer as far as he could. The twisted corner of a plastic shopping bag was peeking out from underneath a stack of paper. It had been tucked in the back of the file drawer for over a week now. Out of sight but never out of his mind. Now that the dark moon had come back around, he was ready for it.
He pulled the bag from its hiding place and shut the drawer, then he pushed his keyboard and mouse aside, clearing an area on the surface of his desk. He emptied the contents out onto the space and set about opening an oblong box. After a few moments of struggling with twist ties and string, he managed to extricate the toy from the package.
He sat the 12-inch fashion doll on his desk and propped her against the face of the computer monitor. Her plastic skin was pale ivory and her nylon hair a cascade of long, spiraling, red curls. He looked past the doll at a framed picture of a woman and was amazed yet again by the resemblance, just as he had been when he saw the doll in the store.
He shook his head and began to fiddle with the other items that had poured from the shopping bag. A packet of salt, a black candle, some clear cellophane wrap, and a spool of purple ribbon. He didn’t have long to do this. She would be coming home soon.
After quickly preparing his space, he lit the candle and began to meditate, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. He wanted his mind clear and focused, because for this to work, there was no room for even the slightest doubt. He dropped into a relaxed rhythm and eventually opened his eyes.
Reaching out, he lifted
the doll and began carefully wrapping it in the clear cellophane. Once he was satisfied, he began to weave the purple ribbon around the plastic-encased poppet, criss-crossing it as he went. With each lace, he murmured to himself, “Never again. With this shield, I bind you from harm, Felicity Caitlin O’Brien.”
When he finished trussing the doll, he gathered the trash and stuffed it into the shopping bag. Then, he picked up the doll and set out for a place to bury it.
With luck, he would put it in a place where she would never find it.
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)