Perfect Trust argi-3

by M. R. Sellars

  I watched on helplessly as my hand moved of another’s volition, guided by an invisible though firm and icy grip. As my fingers drew closer to the handle of the drawer, I fought to cry out for help. Still, my voice caught in my throat, and I managed nothing more than a weak, raspy gurgle that went unheard.

  “I said SHHHHHHHH!” Debbie Schaeffer admonishes me. “You have to trust me.”

  “A prayer,” Doctor Sanders stated flatly, her tone betraying her lack of belief in what she’d just been told.

  “Open it, Rowan. Open it.”

  My hand moved in a jerking parody of a mechanical appendage as it was forced to grasp the handle and then tug the latch open. A second later I was sliding the drawer smoothly outward on the heavy-duty rollers amidst their mild roar of friction.

  In an instant I was face to face with the pallid remains of Paige Lawson, and still my hand moved, guided by an invisible but wholly distinguishable force. My arm literally vibrated as I struggled against Debbie Schaeffer’s ethereal control. My palm hovered mere inches above the chilled corpse of the young woman.

  “Touch her, Rowan. You REALLY, REALLY, REALLY need to see this!”

  “Is there a particular…” Doctor Sanders started to continue her interrogation only to be interrupted by the sound of the opening drawer. “MISTER GANT! JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!”

  The sharpness of the medical examiner’s demand shattered the delicate pane of the trance like a baseball hitting a plate glass window. Unfortunately, it was too late.

  Debbie Schaeffer’s ghostly form drove my hand downward, bringing my latex sheathed palm against Paige Lawson’s cold flesh.

  Colors flashed in a riot of sparks, blooming to the absolute pinnacle of saturation then bleaching to dull shades of grey. An otherworldly electricity coursed through my body on a never ending quest to jangle every nerve, seeking out and destroying anything in its path. Light flickered before my eyes and then drained away in a chaotic whirlpool of luminescence, bleeding red then black.

  A rapid burn ripped its way along the side of my neck.

  Blinding pain erupted inward from the side of my skull and wrapped around to repeat the assault.

  My chest tightened and spasmed as I felt the breath chased from my lungs.

  My own words mixed with those of Doctor Sanders as the catch in my throat opened wide to release the escaping air in the form of a tortured scream, “HELP ME!”

  CHAPTER 10

  I had never really paid that much attention to acoustic ceiling tiles. Actually, I had never really had a reason to do so. At this particular moment in my life, however, the random pattern of decorative holes punched into their dull surfaces was occupying my full and undivided attention. I quickly discovered that if you stare at them long enough, the randomness of the indentations would become less and less chaotic. With little more than a spoonful of imagination mixed in, the dots became easy to connect and rallied themselves into complex pictures, complete with highlight and shadow.

  In my mind’s eye, I was just applying the final touches to a particularly intricate portrait when reality elected to position itself between my canvas and me. My carefully constructed image of a striking young woman with long, flowing hair exploded into a shower of bright red sparks that hesitated for a moment then fell slowly earthward, systematically burning themselves out along the way like the dying bursts of holiday fireworks.

  It really didn’t matter that the fantasy had been disturbed because the image was replaced in kind with a face of equal-if not superior-beauty, even though it was wrinkled with a mixture of anger and concern.

  “How’s your head, then?” Felicity asked as she peered down at me.

  With the artistic trance broken, I set about focusing my attentions on the question I’d just been asked. I took a quick mental assessment and discovered that my head was still throbbing somewhat. However, there was another sensation that overshadowed the mild pain in a big way-I wanted a cigarette and I wanted it yesterday.

  “Hurts a bit,” I croaked, trying without success to ignore the craving.

  “Aye, you kept mumbling something about that while you were out,” she said. “That, and cigarettes.”

  The proverbial cat was now on the loose. “How long?”

  “You mean how long were you out? A few minutes,” she replied. “Barely long enough for us to bring you in here, really.”

  From the looks of everything around me, “in here” was apparently one of the offices on the main floor of the morgue.

  “Great,” I mumbled. “Did I do anything besides complain about my head and cigarettes?”

  “You mean other than go off chasing after answers on your own?” She submitted the query with measured terseness born of her underlying anger with me, and the words themselves explained why.

  “Whoa, before you unleash that wrath on me, it wasn’t exactly my choice,” I protested. “Debbie Schaeffer was apparently on a mission.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She insisted on me touching Paige Lawson,” I said. “She kept saying there was something she needed to show me that I really, really needed to see.”

  “And that was?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me. I don’t remember much of anything after pulling the drawer open, and believe me, I did that under duress.”

  “So why didn’t you say something before going off on your own?”

  “I tried. But somehow Schaeffer’s spirit was actually in control of my body.”

  “Aye…” she nodded as the pieces fell into place for her. “And now do you understand why I’ve been so worried about you?”

  “Yeah.” I gave a slight nod myself. “The experience was definitely a wake up call.”

  “How ya’ feelin’?” Ben’s voice overtook the momentary silence as he followed the opening door into the room. He seemed tense, almost reserved, and businesslike.

  “Okay, I guess,” I answered as Felicity moved back and helped me to sit up. “Rattled.”

  “So who’s the bad guy?”

  “What?”

  “All the hocus-pocus you did.” He waved his hand around in the air. “Tell me ya’ figured out who the bad guy is.”

  “Well, no, I didn’t. Not exactly.”

  “Wunnerful. What’s not exactly mean? Ya’ got clues? Leads? Anything?”

  “Maybe… I’m not exactly sure. I saw… I saw…” I stumbled over what I wanted to say as I suddenly realized that I didn’t really remember what I had seen. “I think…”

  He didn’t allow me to flounder for long. “Yeah. Great. So you good enough ta’ travel?”

  “I suppose, but shouldn’t we…”

  “No but’s, no shouldn’t we anything’s, white man.” He shook his head. “We need ta’ leave. We can get some coffee down the road and talk about it there.”

  “But I’m not sure I’m finished here.” I wasn’t lying. I could feel that the memory of what I’d experienced downstairs was flitting around inside my head, just out of reach. I simply needed a trigger to bring it home to me. “There might be something else, Ben. We won’t know unless…”

  He cut me off. “Look, you got no idea what it took for me ta’ convince the Doc there wasn’t somethin’ really hinky goin’ on down there tonight. I wouldn’t count on gettin’ anywhere near those remains in the near future if I was you.”

  “I can talk to her…”

  He interrupted me again. “Leave it alone, Row. If I was ta’ visit a proctologist right now he’d have two assholes ta’ choose from if you get my meanin’. We gotta go. Now. That’s it. Do not pass go. End of discussion.”

  “Doctor Sanders chewed you out? But…” I let the remainder of the question hang unspoken.

  “She was just a warm up, my friend, and she wasn’t the only one who got dragged outta bed tonight.” He shook his head. “I just now got off the phone with my lieutenant.”

  “Oh, man, Ben… I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

  “Save it,” he
returned. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here while I still have a badge.”

  *****

  We walked in relative silence down the corridor and past the reception desk. The guard who had earlier been pushing cards around the computer screen in a hot game of solitaire was now just outside the glassed-in front of the building. He pulled open the outer door and held it for us as we exited through the small foyer.

  “Rough one?” he asked as the three of us came through the doorway. He seemed totally oblivious to what had been transpiring within the deeper recesses of the morgue.

  “Yeah, Joe.” Ben nodded. “But they’re never a cakewalk.”

  “Yeah. Damn shame. Sucks.” He nodded in return as he took a deep drag on the cigarette he held between his fingers and then let out a cloud of smoke. “Well, good luck finding the asshole that did it.”

  “Thanks, Joe.”

  The nicotine-laden cloud hung in the air and gently wrapped itself around me. The pungent smell was more than I could take. The stress of everything I’d experienced over the past hour combined with the guilt I was feeling at having gotten Ben into hot water. When conjoined they became an irresistible catalyst. The omnipresent and still unexplained craving instantly expanded beyond management to become a dire need.

  “Excuse me,” the words left my mouth before I even realized what I was saying, “but do you think I could bum one of those from you?”

  “Sure,” the guard answered with a quick grin of smoker camaraderie then warned, “they’re menthol.”

  “Perfect.” I nodded my head as I pulled a cigarette from the pack he held out to me.

  I hadn’t even realized that the craving had been for more than the nicotine, but the moment he had mentioned menthol, the need within me leaped another octave.

  “Rowan!” Felicity admonished as she suddenly realized what I was doing.

  She was too late. I’d already tucked the filter end between my lips and was touching fire to the other with the guard’s proffered lighter.

  Deeply inhaling I felt the volume of smoke surge into my lungs, cool and hot all at once. An immediate nicotine rush expanded just behind my eyes and flooded outward to every nerve in my body. Menthol giddiness warmed me from head to toe then became an icy tingle across my scalp and down my spine. I closed my eyes with a deep feeling of satisfaction as I reluctantly started to let go of the precious smoke.

  What should have come out as a simple exhale, sputtered then burst forth as a barking cough. I bent forward and brought my free hand to cover my mouth as I violently hacked for a moment then wheezed air in once again.

  “You okay?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered as I took another deep drag on the cigarette and expelled the smoke, this time without incident. “It’s just been awhile. But I’m much better now.”

  *****

  “Jeez, white man,” Ben exclaimed, waving with annoyance at the dense scud of smoke hanging around us. “Give it a rest, will’ya? You’ve hot boxed damn near half a pack already.”

  He was correct. In fact, I was working on number ten at this very moment, and the ravenous craving had only now begun to smooth around the edges. Upon leaving the parking lot of the city morgue, I had done no less than demand that he pull into the first open gas station we came upon. There followed a few tense moments of opposition from both Felicity and him, however, I won out. I celebrated my victory by purchasing an entire carton of menthol-tipped 100’s and a disposable lighter.

  I’d had no choice but to give in to Ben’s refusal to allow me to smoke in his van and, therefore, ended up quickly huffing a pair of the butts before climbing back into the vehicle for the short trip back around the block to our originally intended destination.

  We were now parked in an out-of-the-way back corner booth at Chuck’s, not that where we sat really mattered as we were the only patrons at the moment. The three of us were taking turns administering doses of sugar and creamer to coffee that was an hour or so beyond its expiration. Promises of a fresh pot were already reaching our ears as the coffee maker behind the counter audibly spewed hot liquid into a stained Pyrex globe.

  “Aye, slow down,” Felicity chimed in. “It’s bad enough you’ve started up with those nasty things again. You don’t have to chain-smoke as well.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Helen about this too, Row,” Ben offered. “She’s probably got some psychobabble to help you out with quitting.”

  “Yeah, maybe so,” I agreed if for no other reason than to hopefully get them to quit harping on me. I didn’t bother to point out that she was a smoker herself. “I’ll mention it.”

  Still, although I was embracing the practice for the moment, I was as disturbed as they were that I’d started up again. It had been almost two years since I’d quit, and it hadn’t been easy to do in the first place. I’d told myself that the occasional cigar was as far as I was going to venture into this realm ever again, and I’d stuck to it-until now. It was true that I’d been under some very severe stress, but I couldn’t see blaming it all on that. Something else was amiss. Some other factor was definitely at work here.

  “Were either Debbie Schaeffer or Paige Lawson smokers by any chance?” I asked as the thought rolled in from the back of my brain.

  Ben thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “Don’t think so. I can check into it, but I don’t recall either of ‘em havin’ cigarettes in their personal effects. Why?”

  “Are you thinking that you’re channeling impulses from one of them?” Felicity queried.

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “Even when I went through withdrawals back when I quit, I didn’t crave nicotine this intensely. There’s got to be something more to it.”

  “Well, I’ll check,” Ben told me. “I’m almost positive it’s a no on Schaffer, but I can’t be completely sure about Lawson. But like I said, I don’t remember any cigarettes with her stuff either.”

  “Maybe it’s someone else entirely,” I speculated.

  “What?” Ben furrowed his brow. “Like another murder victim?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well it’d hafta be another case entirely.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because we’ve already had our quota on serial killers this century.”

  I shrugged as I shook my head. “Just speculating.”

  “Well speculate somethin’ else,” he instructed.

  I stubbed the remaining couple of inches of the cigarette out in the small glass ashtray, and its smoldering carcass joined the other half dozen yellow-brown stained filters. I felt a need to immediately light another but resisted and hoped I’d had enough of a fix to hold me for a while.

  “So,” my friend directed us back onto the original topic we’d set out to discuss, “why don’tcha tell me what I just got my ass chewed for?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” I returned.

  “That’s not what I wanna hear, Row.”

  “I know, Ben, but that’s what I was trying to tell you back at the morgue. It’s all a jumble. I don’t really remember anything coherent.”

  He brought his hand up and massaged his neck then sighed. “Lemme cut ya’ a little slice of reality here. We all know that I’m not exactly one for goin’ strictly by the book, so I already walk a thin enough line as it is. Well, tonight just turned that thin line into a fuckin’ tightrope, so you’re gonna hafta give me somethin’. Anything.”

  “What if you just start with anything that you can remember,” Felicity ventured. “Maybe we can piece it together.”

  “Well…” I thought hard for a moment, trying to pick out something of consequence and settling for whatever I could grasp. “A lot of darkness, and a cheerleader with an attitude for starters.”

  “Whaddaya mean ‘attitude’?” Ben asked.

  “Exactly that.” I shrugged. “She seemed really cocky… And incredibly demanding. But she kept bouncing around, and she was kind of hard to keep track of.”

  “What makes
you say she was cocky though?” he pressed.

  “Well, she kept calling some guy a moron, I remember that pretty clearly. I seem to recall her referring to him as an idiot too.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the guy that killed her.”

  “Yeah, no shit. I kinda figured that part out myself. I wanna know who he is. Did’ya’ see ‘im?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t really remember seeing anyone other than her…” I thought hard for a moment. “Although there was this shadowy movement here and there and I heard a male voice.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He was angry. Something about her crying and her makeup running.”

  “What do you think that’s all about?” Felicity asked.

  “Search me.” I didn’t know what to say. “I told you I didn’t remember anything that made any sense. I suppose it might not have been the guy that killed her at all. Maybe it was some kind of latent memory. Argument with a boyfriend or something?”

  “Maybe her boyfriend is the killer,” she offered.

  “We’ve beaten that horse.” Ben shook his head vigorously then took a sip of his coffee. “Boyfriend’s clean.”

  “Ex-boyfriend?” I posed.

  “There isn’t one. You gotta understand,” my friend explained, “this girl was like right out of a fifties TV show. A regular Stepford kid.” He began ticking items off on his fingers. “Honor roll, cheerleader, never been in trouble, been datin’ the same guy since high school. She’s friggin’ unreal.”

  “That sure isn’t the impression she gave me when she was bouncing in and out of my head,” I told him.

  “What can I tell ya’?” he shrugged.

  “It doesn’t really matter.” I was shaking my head now. “Because you’re right, the boyfriend idea is the wrong track anyway. If it had been her boyfriend, then we’d be talking about a crime of passion, right?”

  “That ain’t a given, but it’s pretty likely. Why?”