The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “Her husband, Rowan Gant.”

  “Mister Gant, please hold,” she replied.

  After a short wait the line was picked up.

  “Rowan?” Instead of hearing Felicity’s voice, I was greeted with Helen Storm’s issuing from the handset. She seemed calm, but her tone held an underlying note of concern. “We have been trying to reach you for hours.”

  “Is something wrong?” I asked immediately, my own concern rising to the surface. “Is Felicity okay?”

  “At the moment, she is fine. However, earlier today she experienced a somewhat bizarre psychotic episode.”

  “Miranda?” I asked.

  “I am not certain. All I can tell you is that for a period of several minutes, she believed someone was chasing her, and she was doing everything in her power to get away. At one point she actually bit one of the staff. Afterwards, she was frantic, asking repeatedly to speak with you.”

  I sighed heavily as I hung my head. “It was me.”

  “You? What do you mean?”

  “I mean she was trying to get away from me,” I said then explained further by filling her in on the details of the afternoon.

  “At this point I would say the question is, are you okay?” she said when I finished.

  “I’ll be fine,” I told her. “But, unless I find a way to stop all this, Felicity isn’t.”

  “You do not know that, Rowan.”

  “Yes I do, Helen,” I replied. “This connection between her and Miranda…or her and Annalise…or both…I don’t know…whatever it is, it’s getting stronger.”

  “But, this is the first episode she has experienced in several days.”

  “Maybe so, but just look at what triggered it.”

  “The chase?”

  “Not exactly. The fear.”

  “A strong emotion.”

  “Exactly. I think that is what’s driving all of this. I just don’t know what’s making the connection, other than the fact that Annalise and Felicity are related.”

  “Do you think that could be it?”

  “I’m positive it has something to do with it, but if it was the only factor then I think Felicity would have started experiencing this before now. If the evidence in all of the unsolved murders adds up, Annalise has been at this for at least two years, maybe more.”

  “Perhaps what triggered the connection was her visit to Saint Louis,” she suggested.

  “Proximity? Maybe so, but then why hasn’t the connection faded now that she’s no longer there?”

  “Maybe once the connection was made that was all it took.”

  “I’m not willing to entertain that option.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if it’s true then there’s nothing I can do to save my wife.”

  “You cannot be certain of that, Rowan.”

  “Helen, I’ve read everything about Voodoo and hoodoo I can get my hands on. I’ve even had lengthy conversations with a published expert on the subject. But, I still don’t know enough about how it works to be sure of anything.”

  “What did Doctor Rieth have to say about this?”

  “Pretty much the same thing she said before I ever came down here. She agrees with me for the most part. While the familial tie is almost certainly fueling this, something from the outside has to be working on Felicity as well. It isn’t completely unheard of for a Lwa to jump from one horse to another, but it isn’t typical or even common. The faithful invite them in, which is what allows the possession to take place. Popping into someone uninvited isn’t their preferred method of corporeal manifestation. And, that’s not even taking into account that a devout practitioner of Vodoun can go an entire lifetime without ever being a horse. So, for this to be happening to a non-practitioner, something external almost has to be involved.”

  “However, you have stated yourself that Miranda is not a typical Lwa.”

  “That’s true, but she’s still a spirit. She’s going to take the path of least resistance. If they didn’t, everyone would hear them…” My voiced trailed off at the end of the sentence, then I added, “Just like me.”

  “And, Felicity,” Helen reminded me. “She is a Witch as well, and she has demonstrated her own propensity for communicating with the dead.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I breathed. “But we both know that isn’t the normal way of things. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s my fault that she’s been cursed with that affliction.”

  “You cannot constantly take blame on yourself for the things over which you have no control, Rowan,” she admonished. “We have had this discussion before.”

  “We’ll have to save my therapy session for later, Helen. Right now I have to figure out why my wife is being randomly possessed by a sadistic dead woman.”

  “Were you able to find anything at the cemetery?”

  “Besides Annalise? Actually, I didn’t even get a chance to look at the tomb. I had it in my head to go back and check it out, but that’s pretty much not happening at this point.”

  “Can someone check for you?”

  “I’m sure I can get Velvet—Doctor Rieth—to do it,” I said. “But, I really hate asking her to do that even though she’s offered. I’ve imposed upon her enough as it is.”

  “She might be your only option.”

  “True. But, to be honest, I’m probably grabbing at straws anyway. Felicity didn’t know about Annalise until recently, and by all indications, Annalise has only recently become aware of Felicity—although I’m fairly certain it is only cursory. I don’t get the impression she knows any specifics. So, the odds of her being responsible for any intentional gris-gris directed toward her are pretty low.”

  “Who would be responsible then?”

  “That’s the big question, Helen. People don’t work magick on someone without a reason. I’m not saying that the reasons are always pure, by any means, but just picking someone at random and working magick on them isn’t terribly effective.”

  “So, what other options are there?”

  “Just what Velvet mentioned originally. Felicity has something that belonged to Miranda, or possibly Annalise. Something like a piece of jewelry maybe, or it could even be the other way around. Of course, we can obviously rule out Miranda being in possession of any corporeal items falling into that category, so if that were the case, it would have to be Annalise who has something of Felicity’s.”

  “And, you have had no luck in that area of investigation?”

  “Not really. One would think it would have to be something obtained recently, but Felicity can’t remember purchasing or selling anything over the past few months. Of course, that doesn’t mean that Annalise didn’t somehow come by a piece of jewelry that Felicity sold on an auction website or something in the past. These things do change hands.”

  “Could it have been a gift Felicity received, perhaps?”

  “Thought of that too. No luck there either.”

  “Well, Rowan, if your theory is correct, there has to be something that has bound the two of them together.”

  A fresh stab of pain struck deep inside my head, as an all too obvious word echoed in my ears. But, it wasn’t an agony borne of the chronic ache to which I had grown accustomed. It was an emotional pain brought about by a truly horrific realization.

  “Rowan? Are you there?” Helen asked.

  “I have to go,” I said quickly.

  “Rowan? Is something wrong?”

  “I’ll explain later,” I replied, rushing to get the words out. “Take care of Felicity. I’ll be there soon.”

  She was still talking to me when I hung up the phone.

  Twisting left then right, I located the control pendant on the bed and stabbed the call button with my thumb. I was already up out of the bed when Adrienne came through the door.

  “What can I do for ya’ Mistuh Gant?” she asked.

  “I need to speak with Doctor Miller.”

  “She’s not on duty this evenin’. I can get the physician on call. A
re you feelin’ okay?”

  “Get her on the phone then,” I instructed, ignoring her question. “And, tell her she needs to get Detective Fairbanks over here right away too.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, there is,” I replied, my voice rushed. “Very wrong. But it’s something I can’t fix here. I have to get back to Saint Louis right now.”

  CHAPTER 17:

  I was escorted directly to my gate at New Orleans Louis Armstrong International Airport. The only problem I had with that fact was that it happened ten hours later than I wanted. The delay, however, wasn’t for a lack of me trying to get out of town; that much was certain.

  As I suspected would be the case, Detective Fairbanks turned out to be the least of my problems. He was in as big a hurry to be rid of me as I was to go, so he took next to no convincing where my being allowed to leave was concerned. He didn’t even ask why I was in such a rush. Of course, I had a feeling he knew the answer I was likely to give and simply didn’t want to hear it again.

  Still, he insisted Doctor Miller make the final call, and she was definitely the hard sell, especially since I was doing this all by phone. Unfortunately, by the time she grudgingly agreed to my release, it was too late. There wasn’t a single Saint Louis bound flight to be had, no matter what I was willing to pay, where I was prepared to sit, or how many connections I was content to make.

  Once again time was presenting itself as my enemy; but for this skirmish my luck no longer held, and I was unable to beat the clock. The best I could manage was to change my existing reservation, and since the airline with the earliest departure time happened to be the one for which I already held a ticket, that was easy enough done. Beyond that, I was still stuck in New Orleans for the rest of the night, which didn’t sit well with me at all, a fact I was all too happy to share.

  In response to my severe agitation, the physician on duty insisted on prescribing a sedative. I didn’t want it; however I was told that my wants weren’t the issue, but my obvious needs were. I suspect the needs to which he referred were less mine and more theirs, as I wasn’t being shy when it came to making my displeasure with the entire situation somewhat vociferously known.

  Therefore, much to my chagrin, whether I liked the idea or not, I ended up sedated. The only choice I was given was whether I wanted to take it orally of my own volition or be held down for an injection. I opted for the pill. I’ll admit it was probably a good thing he forced the issue because the fact that I was trapped here wasn’t helping me cope with the personal demon I had only recently loosed upon myself. I sincerely doubt it would have allowed me to sleep otherwise. What little I did manage, however, certainly wasn’t restful. Even a drug-induced slumber couldn’t stave off the all too real nightmare that was now raging inside my head.

  The next morning, true to his word, Detective Fairbanks intended to see me off personally, so he showed up at the hospital early. I was already showered and having fresh dressings applied when he arrived. As it was, the paperwork for my release took longer than anything else.

  Our ride to the airport was conspicuously silent, and it really didn’t change much after reaching our destination, save for an occasional grunt to direct me here or there. Fairbanks saw me through the check-in process step by step. He didn’t physically turn over the bulk of my personal effects until my bags were checked and he had my boarding pass in hand. I don’t know if he did it for dramatic effect or if he really believed I might bolt and wreak more havoc in the city. I decided knowing the answer wouldn’t accomplish anything for either of us, so I didn’t bother to ask.

  At the security gate, he handed me off to a uniformed officer and instructed him that I was to be his sole duty until I was in the air and heading north. Then, with only a scowl in my direction to serve as a farewell, he was gone.

  The officer walked me through security and dutifully waited until I was on board the aircraft. If he followed his orders, he probably also continued to stand there until the airplane had taxied out to the runway at the very least. I’m betting he did—because the instruction hadn’t sounded at all like a joke.

  According to my watch, we were wheels up right on time at 7:40 A.M. I still had a little over two hours ahead of me before I was going to have my chance to grapple directly with a monster of my own making.

  I just hoped that it wouldn’t be too late.

  Saturday, December 3

  9:43 A.M.

  Lambert Saint Louis International Airport

  Concourse C, Security Gate

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 18:

  Impatience had ruled over me for the entire trip, and it was only getting worse now that I was on the ground. Since my flight had arrived at one of the farthest gates it possibly could, I had been faced with plenty of distance to cover on foot. Any other time that wouldn’t have bothered me a bit, but in this instance I viewed the walk with nothing but disdain. Of course, it wasn’t so much the walk itself as the added delay because it had taken almost fifteen minutes for me to jog up the crowded concourse. I was absolutely certain I could have made it in half that time had it not been for constantly becoming stuck behind people who were more interested in window shopping and visiting than actually moving.

  “Rowan!”

  The voice issuing the call was unmistakable. Ben was only a few feet ahead as I started through the exit on the security checkpoint, and while I really hadn’t expected to see him here, I also couldn’t say I was terribly surprised. I’m sure he wanted his turn at chewing me out and simply couldn’t wait to get started.

  I had actually caught sight of him even before he called my name over the flow of moving bodies. He was hard to miss. Standing six-foot-six tends to make you stick out in the crowd. Being an exceptionally tall Native American even more so. Throw in the fact that he had his badge displayed on a cord around his neck, he may as well have been waving a flag. My intention had been to slip through with the rest of the crowd, hoping to pass by unnoticed. Unfortunately, he saw me before that could happen. What’s worse, my reflexes betrayed me by making me look up in his direction at the sound of my name.

  Now, I really had no way to avoid him. I was just going to have to keep moving so that he couldn’t derail me.

  When I neared, he let out a quiet exclamation. “Holy fuck…”

  As his voice trailed off, he reached up with a large hand and smoothed his salt and pepper hair, sliding the paw down to the back of his neck where he allowed it to rest. His dark eyes were wide as he stared at me, and I had a feeling whatever admonishment he had originally intended to hurl my direction was momentarily on hold.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, switching my backpack to the opposite shoulder as I continued walking past him at a brisk pace while veering to the left.

  “Fairbanks called an’ said you were on your way,” he replied, catching up in a single, long-legged stride and falling in step with me.

  “Figures,” I said with a shake of my head then glanced over and added, “I guess he was afraid I’d turn around and come right back, so he’d better send a welcoming committee.”

  “What the fuck happened to ya’?” my friend asked, ignoring the comment.

  “What? Didn’t he fill you in?”

  “He had plenty ta’ say about ya’, yeah. Other than the stuff I won’t repeat, he said ya’ went a couple rounds with some woman then chased ‘er across traffic and caused a coupl’a friggin’ wrecks… But he didn’t tell me ya’ actually got hit by one of the cars.”

  “I didn’t,” I told him. “And, it wasn’t just some woman. It was Annalise.”

  “Wait a minute… Are you sayin’ Devereaux did this to ya’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You mean a five-foot-nothin’ woman kicked your ass?”

  “Yeah, Ben, she did,” I replied, voice cold. “Then she got away, and your buddy down there didn’t seem all that interested in finding her. So, do me a favor and save the jokes. I’ve got so
mething kind of pressing I need to take care of right now.”

  I was angling toward the exit, so he grabbed my arm and tried to guide me to the right. “She kick ya’ in the head too? Baggage claim is this way.”

  I pulled away and continued toward the far exit, which led out to the taxi stands. Without looking back I said, “I’ll get it later.”

  I hadn’t made it a full step before his hand clamped down on my shoulder, and he stopped me dead in my tracks. “Whoa… What the fuck? Where’s the fire?”

  “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.