The End Of Desire argi-8

by M. R. Sellars

  “Well, it’s not my lens,” she replied, a semi-disgusted tone hugging her voice. “There was a card on top under the wrapping. Listen to this-‘Merry Christmas. I just wanted to say goodbye. Hope they fit. Forever at your feet, mat.’”

  “Hope they fit?”

  “I think the creep sent me a pair of shoes.”

  “Gods… Well, let’s hope he really means goodbye,” I returned. “So what would you like to…”

  I never got the chance to complete the question as it was unceremoniously cut off by a horrified scream. I started immediately, and the spatula I had been holding fell from my hand and clattered loudly on the floor. For the second time in as many days, I found myself racing from the kitchen with the acrid burn of fear churning through my stomach.

  This time, however, I somehow knew it wasn’t going to go away.

  *****

  “So, you just found it on the front porch?” Ben asked, staring at me intently, his pencil poised over his notebook.

  We had positioned ourselves in the kitchen, keeping out of the way of the crime scene technician as she worked. While the smoky haze had finally settled, the funk of our burned lunch still hung in the air. Felicity had taken the blackened remnants out to the trashcan a bit earlier, and she still hadn’t come back into the house.

  At the moment, she was standing on the back deck staring out across the yard, the skillet resting atop the railing next to her. I’d been keeping an eye on her through the window, and she hadn’t moved for several minutes. I knew I really needed to be out there with her, but I also wanted to keep as much distance between her and the current situation as possible. Since Ben needed answers, here I was, caught square in the middle. Unfortunately, it was probably an exercise in futility because he had already said he would need to talk to her as well.

  My mind flashed on the dish of soup still sitting in the microwave. A defense mechanism, I’m sure. Our brains have a way of seeking out the mundane and normal in the face of horror. Of course, anything resembling hunger was long gone, so my thought was that I really needed to get it out of there and put it in the refrigerator before I forgot about it.

  An explosion of light diverted my attention yet again. At random intervals a bright flash would illuminate the dining room as the tech took photos of the atrocity resting on the table. I glanced over out of reflex then looked back to my friend.

  “So?” he pressed.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Ya’ said ya’ found the box on the front porch? Is that right?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “It was there when I went out to get the mail.”

  “Did ya’ see anybody hangin’ around? Strange car? Anything like that?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “Okay, so what time was it that ya’ found it?”

  “Right at twelve thirty.”

  “Had ya’ been outside before that?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not since last night around ten.”

  He jotted a quick note then glanced into the dining room before looking back to me.

  “Well, there’s no postage on it, so I doubt the mail carrier delivered it.”

  I nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  “We’ll check it out anyway. But, I’m guessin’ Devereaux prob’ly put it there ‘erself.” He paused for a second then huffed, “Jeezus! If I’d just been able ta’ get a unit ta’ watch the house… Shit.”

  “She may have paid someone to deliver it, Ben.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but somethin’ in my gut says no. Either way I’ll get the locals to canvass and try to find out if anybody saw anything.”

  “Yeah,” I solemnly agreed. “You might want to check over the yard as well.”

  “For what?”

  “Bone fragments.”

  “You mean from the victim in Baton Rouge?”

  I nodded. “If she actually came here, she probably spread them around. That would be a typical use in a cross. Why not kill two birds so to speak.”

  “You got one of those headaches again?”

  “You could say that.”

  “You gonna be okay?”

  “As okay as I can be given the circumstances.”

  “Yeah… Lovely. I’ll get someone on it.”

  A fresh burst of light flickered through the room, and I found my eyes wandering back in the direction of the table. The shoebox was still sitting there on the corner, resting atop the torn remnants of the craft paper in which it had been wrapped. The lid was lying on the floor exactly where Felicity had dropped it.

  Under different circumstances, the contents, a pair of white, stiletto-heeled pumps, wouldn’t have elicited such a terror-stricken response from my wife. However, in this case, they weren’t simply a pair of white shoes. They were haphazardly smeared with rusted red. It didn’t take a close up inspection to know that the foreign substance streaking the patent leather was blood. But, even as disturbing as that was, it wasn’t the worst part. Skewered onto the heel of the right shoe was a limp hunk of pallid flesh that bore more than just a passing resemblance to a human tongue.

  I heard some unintelligible mumbling in my ears as I continued to stare. A moment later, I felt a hard poke on my shoulder and heard my friend calling my name.

  “Yo… Earth ta’ Rowan…”

  “What?” I stammered, turning back to him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Look right here,” Ben said, holding two fingers forked and waving them at his own face. “Look at me. Forget about that in there.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Yeah, I know, but stay with me on this. I need ta’ know if you touched any of it, or just Firehair?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Just Felicity. Well, except that I’m the one who brought the package inside.”

  “Was it still wrapped when you touched it?”

  “Yeah,” I replied with a nod.

  “Did you touch it after it was unwrapped?”

  “No.”

  “How about the card? You pick that up?”

  “No. I was more concerned with calming Felicity.”

  “Yeah. I can understan’ that.”

  His cell phone let out a muted warble, so he dug it out of his pocket and looked at the display. Flipping it open, he pressed it to his ear. “Yeah, this is Detective Storm. Whaddaya got?”

  While he was talking, I turned to watch Felicity. She had finally taken a couple of steps forward and was leaning against the railing, but other than what was obvious from her dejected posture, I couldn’t tell her current state of mind. Of course, even at a distance, I could feel the anxiety flowing around her. I heard my friend snap the cell phone shut, so I brought my attention back to him.

  “Had a unit from County go by and check on Lewis at his apartment,” he offered, his tone crisp and official.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he,” I remarked as much as asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied with a nod. “The copper that just called sounded pretty green around the gills. From the bloody shoeprints around the body and what’s sittin’ on your table, looks like she might’ve stomped ‘im ta’ death. Apparently, she made the job Firehair did on ‘im look like a minor scratch.”

  “Don’t say that around Felicity,” I replied. “I don’t know quite how she’d handle the comparison right now.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “Martin’s on ‘is the way over with a crew right now ta’ work it. Sounds like a real mess.”

  “She used him to find us,” I offered. “Now she’s using him to send a message.”

  “Yeah, I’m inclined ta’ agree with ya’. Yesterday coulda been a big coincidence, but this sure’s fuck ain’t. Brings it all inta’ perspective… Question is how’d she know ta’ go after him in particular, and that he could lead ‘er to ya’?

  “Miranda.”

  “The ghost bitch. Okay, how?”

  “Felicity’s connection to Lewis. The incident in the motel room. Everything that happened
when Miranda was possessing her is a part of the Lwa’s memory now.”

  “So ghosts got memories?”

  “Of course they do.”

  “That’s some screwed up shit, Row.”

  “It always is, isn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah… That’s a fact… Problem is, I can’t arrest a ghost.”

  “So you’ve said numerous times.”

  “Yeah, I have because it’s true. So…” he paused as he smoothed his hair back. “You still feel like you’re safe stayin’ here?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Okay, so now I’m not askin’ anymore, I’m tellin’. Get Firehair in here, pack a coupl’a bags, an’ come crash at my place. I’ll wait and you can follow me over.”

  “It doesn’t really matter where we go, Ben,” I told him. “As long as we’re dealing with Miranda, we’re not safe anywhere.”

  CHAPTER 29:

  I draped Felicity’s coat over her shoulders then slowly stepped around beside her. I had been standing at the door for better than a minute, watching her at the deck railing while trying to decide if I should intrude or simply leave her alone.

  “I thought you might be getting cold,” I said softly.

  She looked over at me with a weak smile as she pulled the garment tight around herself and held it clasped together at her neck. She didn’t say a word. Her gaze simply wandered back to some distant point in the patchy snow-covered yard.

  Her cheeks were flushed red from the chilly wind, and that made me even more concerned for her emotional state. She had been out here far too long without a coat, and given how much she hated the cold, I knew that could only mean she wasn’t handling this situation very well.

  “So… Want some company?” I asked.

  “She killed him, didn’t she?” she answered with her own question. Her voice was faint and strained. It was as if she was struggling to contain her emotions.

  I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to lie. I could tell she already knew the answer before she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  Ben was still in the house, and the crime scene technician had been bagging the evidence just before I came outside. At least she wasn’t trashing the place like the last crew when they had been dead set on finding something to implicate my wife in all this. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to check on the progress and saw my friend talking to the tech, so I knew things weren’t cleared out just yet.

  “Why, Rowan?” Felicity asked.

  “She’s sick, honey.”

  “But, why did she send that to me?”

  “I don’t have a good answer for that, other than I think the first one applies here as well. She’s a very sick person.”

  I waited for a moment, continuing to watch her as she stared out at the yard. Finally, I said, “It will probably only be another few minutes. The tech should be done in there shortly, and we can go back in.”

  “It doesn’t matter. That’s not why I’m out here,” she muttered.

  “Oh,” I said, unable to keep a mildly perplexed tone from attaching itself to the words. “I see.”

  “I’m out here because of the way I feel,” she explained.

  “I know, honey. I understand.”

  She remained silent for a long while. Even in profile, I could tell by her expression that she was deep in thought, wrestling with something she wanted to say but couldn’t.

  Eventually, she whispered, “No. I don’t think you do.”

  “Okay, I can accept that,” I agreed with a shallow nod. “I really can’t pretend to understand what it is you’re feeling. I can only imagine that it might be similar to how I feel.”

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  I tried to sum up the swirl of emotions in a few simple words. “Sickened. Horrified. Mournful.”

  “Yes,” she mumbled. “Like you’re supposed to.”

  “Honey, I’m fairly certain there’s no hard and fast rule with regard to how you’re supposed to react to something like this.”

  “Maybe not, but your reaction is normal.”

  “What makes you think yours isn’t?”

  “What would you say if I told you I don’t feel any of those things? None of them at all.”

  “If I also consider the fact that you’ve been standing out here in the cold without a coat for more than a half hour, I’d say you’re probably in shock.”

  “I wish I was.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure you are.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I was in shock then maybe I’d be numb,” she offered. “I wouldn’t feel anything.”

  “So…” I asked. “I assume that means you’re feeling something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anger?”

  She nodded. “Maybe a little. But, that’s not really it.”

  “Can you describe it?”

  “Aye, unfortunately I can.”

  I waited for her to continue, but after several heartbeats, it became obvious she wasn’t going to do so without prodding. “Would you like to tell me what you’re feeling?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “That’s perfectly normal, Felicity. So am I.”

  “No, Rowan.” She gave her head a shake then frowned. “I mean I’m afraid to tell you what I’m feeling.”

  “Why?”

  “Because… If I do you’ll think I’m insane.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “You say that now.”

  “And, I’ll say it again after you tell me.”

  She stewed for a moment, turning her gaze toward the activity at the bird feeders nearby. “The grackles have been eating all the food,” she stated, conspicuously diverting the subject. “The rest of the birds aren’t getting much.”

  “We go through that every year,” I offered in reply. I wanted to press her for an answer to her earlier cryptic comment, but I feared she might be too fragile at this point. As tough as I knew my wife to be, her current demeanor was worrying me.

  “I wish they’d just go away,” she mused.

  “We can always take down the feeders,” I said.

  “No,” she shook her head. “That wouldn’t be fair to the other birds… Besides, I suppose they serve a purpose. Before you came out, a hawk swooped in and had one of the grackles for lunch.”

  “Nature at work, I suppose.”

  Finally, she pivoted her head back toward me and said, “What if I told you I feel like he got what he deserved?”

  “The grackle?”

  “No. Lewis. ‘mat.’”

  I thought about her comment for a few seconds then said, “I’d still have to say shock. After what happened yesterday you were angry. I wouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t let go of that yet, even if you think you have. Your mind is probably dealing with all of this by rationalizing what happened to him as some form of cosmic justice.”

  “You sound like Helen.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “I guess I do. Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be. Maybe you’re right. At least, I hope you are. I don’t like feeling this way. It’s not like me at all.”

  “No, it isn’t. But, I can certainly understand it. You’ve been through way too much this past couple of months. You’ve been overloaded with a whole spectrum of emotions, and something eventually has to give. Sometimes our brains just have to take a breather, and that tends to make our psyche’s go a little off kilter.”

  “Is this how you feel? I mean, when you’ve finally had all you can take?”

  “We all feel things differently, Felicity.”

  “So, that’s a no?”

  “It’s a we all feel things differently.”

  “Aye, I thought so.”

  She turned back to face the yard. I stood there wondering if I should have simply said yes to the original question in order to help her reconcile what she was going through. Of course, hindsight i
s twenty-twenty, but at the moment even that seemed more than just a bit myopic.

  I looked over my shoulder and glanced through the kitchen window but saw no activity at all. I had to assume Ben and the tech were out inspecting the yard as I had suggested.

  Turning back to Felicity I said, “Looks safe in there now. Want to go in?”

  “Not just yet.”

  “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  I waited a moment, listening to the rise and fall of the wind as it hissed through the bare branches of the trees.

  “So, Ben is insisting we come stay at his place until this blows over,” I finally said. “I think that might be a good idea.”

  “We can’t leave the animals,” she said. “We’ve done that too much lately. They’re already traumatized enough.”

  “We’ll get RJ to take them.”

  “RJ is out of town.”

  “Then Joe and Terri. We’ll find somebody.”

  “That isn’t the point.”

  “I know it isn’t, sweetheart, but she knows where we live. It isn’t safe here.”

  “There’s magick involved, Rowan. Will it really be any safer elsewhere?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But, we can at least stack some of the odds in our favor.”

  “We could just ward the house again.”

  “Wards stop magick. They don’t stop people.”

  “If we stay with him, we’ll just have to ward there as well. What will he say when I start salting and smudging his house?”

  “Knowing him, probably something about hocus-pocus and la-la land.”

  She sighed heavily. “Aye, I suppose maybe you’re right. Staying here would be too big a risk.”

  I heard a knock behind me, and I turned to see Ben standing at the back window of the kitchen, rapping his knuckles on the glass. As soon as he had my attention, he waved me in.

  “It looks like Ben needs to talk to me,” I told Felicity.

  “Aye, I’m sure he needs to talk to me as well.”

  “I’m sure that can wait if you aren’t ready.”

  “No. I should get it over with.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  I ushered my wife in through the back door ahead of me then followed her through the atrium and into the kitchen. The warmth of the house made my cheeks tingle as the circulation resumed in my face.