The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “Yeah, a lotta people think like that. Of course, then there’re the ones that think they’ve been assaulted if someone looked at ‘em cross-eyed. But this ain’t one of those situations. It was assault any way you slice it… But, technically you’re right. As assaults go, it was minor. No more than a misdemeanor… You could probably throw trespassing in on ‘im if ya’ wanted. But, anyway… Firehair’s gonna be pressin’ charges I assume?”

  “Under the circumstances, I’d like for her to at least get a restraining order, but it’s a touchy situation since he could still file charges against her for the incident at the motel… And, I think that would qualify as something a bit worse than what you were just talking about.”

  “Yeah. That’d be more like aggravated assault with intent.”

  “Yeah… Exactly… So… There it is…” I let my voice trail off without saying anything further.

  “Uh-huh,” my friend grunted. “I know what ya’ mean. At least they’re gonna hold ‘im for a bit, what with the mark on ‘is chest an’ all. Ackman and Osthoff are on the way over ta’ ask ‘im a few questions.”

  “There is that,” I finally said. After another lengthy pause, I added, “But, I get the feeling that really wasn’t the ‘fucked up’ you were talking about, was it?”

  “No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Not really.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “That ya’ can’t get away from it.”

  I sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

  “That doesn’t keep me from feelin’ for ya’.”

  “Yeah. I suppose it doesn’t… Thanks.”

  “Not a problem.” He waited for a measured beat then added, “I guess we got our answer.”

  “What answer?”

  “What Annalise was gonna do if she couldn’t off ya’ with the hocus-pocus.”

  “Oh… That.”

  We sat in silence for a minute. I absently spun my coffee mug in place on the table, fiddling with it for no other reason than to expend the nervous energy I had pent up inside. I could feel Ben watching me, and I was fairly certain I knew what he wanted to say. It wasn’t very long before he proved me correct.

  “You wanna talk about it now? The case I mean.”

  “Do I want to? No,” I replied with a shake of my head. “But, obviously she isn’t leaving me much choice in the matter.”

  “Yeah, guess not,” he grunted. “So… Ya’ done any Twilight Zone since we last talked?”

  “No, actually. A few nightmares, but nothing of consequence.”

  “What about that headache ya’ had? That still with ya’?”

  “It pretty much went away.”

  “Ya’ lyin’?”

  “No.”

  “Whatcha do? Burn a candle or somethin’?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So then her kung fu ain’t as good as yours?”

  “I’m reserving judgment on that at the moment.”

  “You’re still here.”

  “The war isn’t over yet.”

  “Yeah. Wunnerful… Okay… So, back to the land of normal people… Ya’ got any theories? Like what she might do next?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Now I know you’re lyin’ on that one, ‘cause I got a theory myself. Since that hocus-pocus didn’t work, she’s gonna try ta’ kill ya’ the way regular fruitcakes do.”

  I gave him a barely perceptible shrug. “Maybe.”

  “Ain’t maybe, Row. It doesn’t take a trip inta’ la-la land ta’ figure it out. Why else would she come back here?”

  I just shook my head in response.

  “Ya’ think this is about what happened in New Orleans?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged again. “That was my first thought, but after mulling it over for a bit I think it’s probably more likely to be about what I did when I got home.”

  “What? Ya’ mean the thing with the doll?”

  I nodded.

  “How the fuck could she know about that?”

  “Miranda. If she’s really here to come after me, it has to be because of her. I don’t think Annalise would chance it on her own. She really doesn’t have a solid reason.”

  “Nutcases don’t need reasons, Row. Do ya’ think she’s got a logical reason for what she’s been doin’ so far?”

  “In her mind, yes. I think that in her view of reality, she sees what she is doing as perfectly logical.”

  “‘Zactly. In her twisted-ass mind. So, what’s ta’ keep ‘er from havin’ some fucked up reasoning tellin’ ‘er ta’ come after you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean… Yes, you could be right, but I really don’t get the feeling Annalise is particularly stupid. She knows it would be dangerous for her to come here looking for me, even if she does have a vendetta. Miranda has to be behind it. Controlling her. Making her do it.”

  “Well, I dunno about that, but you’re right about one thing. She ain’t stupid.”

  “Is that just an opinion, or do you know something I don’t?”

  “Besides the fact she’s got a doctorate in psychology? Yeah, a little.”

  “She has a doctorate?”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, as he reached into his pocket and dug out his notebook then flipped it open. “Got some background on ‘er if ya’ wanna hear it. I’ve had it for a while, and I tried ta’ tell ya’ about it the other day but you said you didn’t wanna talk about the case anymore.”

  “Mea culpa.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” he said as he flipped through the pages then settled on one. “So, anyway, here it is in a nutshell. Near as we can figure from what we’ve been able ta’ piece together, Devereaux started out life as Mary Kathleen O’Brien. But, about two months after birth those records suddenly stop. It’s like she never existed…”

  “But, if the records stop…”

  “Hang on, I’m not finished. Ya’ see, that’s just all part of the big soap opera. Apparently the birth mother had a friend try ta’ adopt ‘er. When they caught on to what was up, they changed ‘er name ta’ Cynthia Anne Smith and shipped ‘er outta state to a different orphanage in Mississippi.”

  “How’d you figure that out?”

  “I didn’t. The Feebs did.”

  “Well, how did they manage to make the connection?”

  “Dunno. Maybe they leaned on a nun or somethin’. So anyway, she bounced around foster homes for about six years, startin’ from when she was just a few months old until she eventually ended up in yet another orphanage.”

  “That had to be rough on a kid. Any idea why she wasn’t adopted out as a baby?”

  Ben shook his head. “No one’s sayin’. Rumor has it that as she got older she was in and outta trouble here and there though. At least, that’s what they managed to pick up from the files, such as they were. Anyhow, she finally got adopted by the Devereaux’s when she was around eight.” He flipped through the pages of the notebook. “Yeah, here it is, Scott and Andrea Devereaux. Older couple from Tupelo, Mississippi. Old enough to be more like grandparents, actually.”

  “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, a little. But, they wanted a kid and they had money. A lot of it… Big numbers followed by lotsa zeros if ya’ know what I mean. An’ apparently they donated quite a bit to the orphanage where she was livin’.”

  “So, after they adopted her, they changed her first name as well as her last? That seems like a cruel thing to do to an eight-year-old kid. That’s had to screw with her sense of self identity.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Guess it’s no wonder she’s so fucked up.”

  “So, have you been able to contact them?”

  “Nope. Both deceased. Have been for quite a few years. And, there weren’t any other livin’ relatives, so they left the whole shootin’ match to guess who?”

  “Annalise.”

  “Bingo. Speakin’ of that, it seems the address she
used for her driver’s license might’ve been kinda bogus. The place actually exists and all… Or, it did before the flood… And, she even owned it… But accordin’ to one of the neighbors NOLA PD managed ta’ track down, they don’t think she actually lived there. A lawn service came by and kept the place up, and the guy said he noticed a car there a couple of times late at night, but he never saw anyone actually livin’ there.”

  “Do you think she was planning ahead for the eventuality of getting caught?” I asked.

  “Possibly. That, or she was usin’ it in the middle of the night or somethin’. Who knows? Doesn’t really matter much ‘cause since the flood, it’s totaled. If there was any evidence there, it’s gone now.

  “So, anyway, on the doctorate thing… She attended three separate colleges. Not sure why the moving around, but in the end she did her post-grad work at George Washington University in DC, which is where she got the doctorate. She didn’t really put it to use though. Not professionally anyway because after she got it, she worked as a VP for her dad’s company. But, that only lasted about a year.”

  “What happened?”

  “Dunno. Apparently she just up an’ quit. But, after the parents kicked, she sold off a lotta property as well as the family business. Been a lot of turnover there, so nobody really remembers much about ‘er. However, after that, even though she didn’t need the money, she spent some time working as a pro-dominatrix.”

  “That really doesn’t come as a big surprise.”

  “No, it doesn’t. She even owned one of those fetish clubs for a while ‘till it got shut down.” He flipped a page in the notebook and scanned down the page. “Yeah, here it is, Gwendolyn’s Keep.”

  “Another pseudonym…”

  “Yeah… Back then she was callin’ ‘erself, Mistress Gwen. Regular identity crisis with this one.”

  “Any idea why she was shut down?”

  “Yeah, actually. That took some diggin’, but it seems one of ‘er clients filed assault charges. Said she took the ‘game’ a bit too far. Accordin’ to the police report, she fucked ‘im up good. Lessee… Yeah… Whole lotta stitches, a broken hand, broken nose, and several bad cigarette burns.”

  “I guess there’s no surprise there either.”

  “Yeah, well her contention was expressed consent, which didn’t necessarily fly. So, the club got closed down and there was a big stink. Almost went ta’ trial, but she had the money ta’ make the whole situation go away. The nasty rumor is she not only paid off the client but a coupl’a local officials as well because they were lookin’ real hard at criminal charges. Anyway, after that she pretty much just dropped off the map. Not even a parkin’ ticket since. Pulled a Garbo. Total recluse. No friends or acquaintances ta’ speak of. She just pays ‘er taxes, donates to a coupl’a charities for the write-off, and that’s about it.”

  “Well, I think we know better than that.”

  “True story.”

  “Of course, with all that money, I suppose it isn’t hard to disappear if that’s what you want.”

  “Yeah, that’s a fact… Of course, right now ‘er bank accounts and credit cards are bein’ tracked, but somethin’ tells me she’s prob’ly got a stash we don’t know about… Maybe even whole ‘nother identity or two… Hell, I’d bet my paycheck on it.” He flipped the notebook closed then stowed it back in his pocket. “Okay, I showed ya’ mine. Your turn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this whole Miranda thing. You seem ta’ think she’s the real reason evil sis-in-law would come back… So, explain it to me. Why would this dead chick be after you?”

  “Oh, that… Well, it’s simple really. When I severed the binding, I took Felicity away from her.”

  “So she’s really after Felicity, not you?”

  “Probably. But, my bet is that Miranda wants Felicity alive and well so that she can continue using her as a horse. Annalise, on the other hand, based on what I picked up from that vision, would rather that not be the case. So, she’s going to be severely conflicted.”

  “Could be good for us if she is. Might cause ‘er ta’ make a mistake that’ll let us get a bead on ‘er,” he offered then thrust his chin toward me. “So technically, you’re safe.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’m a roadblock for both of them. I’m the one who took Felicity away. I know that didn’t sit well with Miranda at all. And, since I’ll also protect my wife at all costs, Annalise isn’t going to be terribly happy with me either. Neither of them will.”

  “So you’re pissin’ em both off.”

  “Essentially, yes. That would be my guess. Therefore, I’m expendable as far as both of them are concerned.”

  “So, ain’t you worried about Firehair out runnin’ around by herself?”

  “At the moment, no.” I shook my head. “Miranda exercises too much control over Annalise. She isn’t going to let Annalise come after Felicity. If anything, she’ll probably attempt something magickal again. I’m just not sure what.”

  “Somethin’ with the bones?”

  “Possibly, although that would be more curse oriented and more likely directed at me. If I had to speculate, I’d say she’ll probably try to re-establish the bond between them.”

  “How?”

  “At this point your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Well, I hate ta’ say it, but there ain’t much I can do about the Twilight Zone shit, Row.”

  “I know.”

  He sat staring off into space for a moment then exhaled heavily. “Okay. I’m gonna call and see if we can put somebody on the house. Then I’ll check with Constance and see if the Feebs can put you two up in a safe house.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Ben,” I said. “Besides, we tried that before, and if you recall it didn’t end very well.”

  “That was a different situation.”

  “Maybe. But I still don’t think it’s necessary, and even if it is, I’m not willing to take that chance. I need to stand my ground.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I’m not going to argue the point, Ben.”

  “Jeezus… Well, why don’t you an’ Felicity at least come crash at my place ‘till we can get a handle on this.”

  “I need to stay put. But, maybe I can talk Felicity into getting out of harm’s way.”

  “Yeah, right. Like she’s gonna go for that.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “Ain’t no prob’ly to it. I’ve been down this road with you two before. She’s more stubborn than you if that’s possible.”

  “Believe me, that’s already on my mind.”

  Ben’s cell phone began trilling, so he fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Yeah. Storm… Uh-huh… Yeah… Hold on, he’s sittin’ right here. I’ll ask ‘im…”

  “What?” I asked as he cupped his hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Has Felicity got a necklace with a half a coin or somethin’ like that on it?”

  “Yeah,” I replied with a nod. “It’s an heirloom she got from her mother.”

  “Was she wearin’ it today?”

  “Probably. She almost always is.”

  “Yeah. That’s what Lewis just told ‘em.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “He’s still insistin’ it was Felicity he was with. Swears he can’t be makin’ a mistake ‘cause she was wearin’ the same necklace last night when he hooked up with ‘er.”

  “Dammit, Ben, we aren’t going there again, are we? Felicity didn’t…”

  He cut me off. “Calm down, Row. It’s all good. I just had ta’ ask. We know the guy’s a wingnut.”

  He removed his hand and returned his attention to the phone. “Yeah, Row says ‘e thinks she wears it all the time, so she prob’ly had it on this mornin’ when the fruitloop showed up… Yeah, that’s my thought too… Wait, hold on… What, White Man?”

  I had been waving at him to get his attention.

  “I
f you’re looking for something to distinguish them from one another, ask him if the woman last night had any tattoos. Annalise has a triskele on her back, near her left shoulder.”

  “How do ya’ know that? Wait… Forget I asked…” He moved the phone back up to his mouth. “Ya’ catch that? Yeah, left shoulder. Yeah… I’ll hold…”

  “So?”

  “So cool your jets,” he told me. “We ain’t comin’ after Felicity. The guy’s certifiable and we know it. Ackman’s gonna ask ‘im about the tatt.”

  After a moment he repositioned the phone and said, “What’s that? Yeah. Thought so… Okay, I’ll be over in a few. Later.”

  I watched him as he folded the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket.

  “You were right. Lewis says she had the BDSM tatt on ‘er shoulder. That somethin’ you got from a visit to the Twilight Zone?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, odds are he’s just so fixated on Firehair that he’s sayin’ anything ‘e can to make us believe there’s a relationship there, so I wouldn’t worry about it. So, look… I gotta run. I need ta’ hook up with Ackman ta’ go check out that club.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “What I want is for ya’ ta’ pack a bag, grab your wife, and hightail it over ta’ my place. I can give ya’ my spare key.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that happening.”

  “Yeah, I know. So, we go for number two on my wish list instead. You stay right here with the door locked, and call me if any ooga-boogas pop in and give ya’ a message.”

  Other than a particularly angry resurgence of my chronic headache, the rest of the day passed without incident. But, as they say, all good things must come to an end. Unfortunately, for me, the good things always seemed to reach that end far too quickly.

  Wednesday, December 14

  1:17 A.M.

  Unit 103

  Blue Moon Apartments

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 27:

  “Why?” Annalise asked aloud.

  “It is not for you to ask…” Miranda told her.

  “But, I’ve had this all my life.”