Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  “He didn’t leave on very good terms I take it,” I coached.

  “We banished him. He had been straying from the path for a while, and he started talking about ritual magick a lot. It was like he was trying to get us involved too.”

  “Ritual magick isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

  “His idea of it was.”

  “Okay, go on,” I told him, glancing up to look at Ben who met my gaze quietly and continued scribbling.

  “We didn’t know how long he had actually been practicing Black Arts, but he really got a big head about it.” R.J. squirmed a little more against the biting handcuffs then continued. “He started bragging about an invocation rite and even showed us where he had done it.”

  “What did he sacrifice?” I asked, knowing what the ritual implied.

  “A dog,” R.J. spat, showing a flash of disgust. “He said he got it from the pound. It made all of us sick, but Ariel took it the worst. She felt like she had failed or something.”

  “That’s a Pisces for you,” I told him. “I remember how she used to beat herself up over what she considered her own failings.”

  “It wasn’t long after that when we held our Full Moon meeting. Devon was unanimously cast out of the coven.” He looked back to Ben as if a sudden rush of anger had displaced his fear of his own current situation. “He told us we would regret it.”

  “So ya’think Devon is the one who did this to Ariel?” Ben interjected.

  “It has to be,” he replied. “He was mad at all of us but especially with Ariel. If what Rowan said is true about her murder being connected to The Craft...”

  “What’s his last name?” Ben cut him off.

  “Johnston. Devon Johnston. He lives over in South City.”

  Ben wrote down the information as R.J. relayed it to him and then looked up from his notebook. I caught his eye and motioned for him to step out of the car with me. He nodded and shoved his door open wider.

  “We’ll be right back,” I told R.J. as I pushed against my own door. “I know this hurts man. I know it’s tearing you up inside... I’m feeling it too. Ground and center, you’ll feel better.”

  He nodded, and even as I exited the car, he began to consciously slow his breathing just as he had been taught.

  “What do you think?” I asked Ben over the roof of the vehicle, keeping my voice low.

  He squinted and held up his notebook to shade his eyes. “I think there’s somethin’ he’s not tellin’ us,” he answered me in his own quiet tone. “He was kinda hesitant when I asked him about where he was Wednesday night... Not ta’ mention the fact that he has a key. What about you?”

  “I picked up on that too, but honestly I think he’s just a scared kid. What about his story on that Devon Johnston guy? If he actually did sacrifice an animal then a human could be the next logical progression.”

  “Yeah, I definitely wanna have a chat with Mister Johnston.”

  “If you’re game,” I submitted after a moments pause, “I’d like to try something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to talk to the rest of the coven members.” I continued, “Get an idea of their feelings about Devon. And,” I added, “THEIR stories about what happened at that Full Moon meeting.”

  “You think the kid’s makin’ it up?” Ben asked. “You’re startin’ ta’ sound like a copper.”

  “I don’t really think that he’s making it up, but I think his judgment may be a bit left of center,” I answered. “Actually, what I do think is that he was in love with Ariel Tanner.”

  “Where the hell’d you come up with that?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “Well, I’d actually like to talk to them anyway, so I guess we can get their names from him and call them downtown,” he suggested.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I think that might make them a little too uncomfortable, and they’d just clam up. Remember, you’re dealing with a group of Witches here. We’re already persecuted enough.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “I want to let R.J. make the calls and get them over to my place,” I recited my idea. “A nice, informal atmosphere where we can talk Witch to Witch.”

  “I don’t know...” Ben started.

  “I want you there too,” I added, stopping him before he could finish his objection. “I just don’t want to spook these people. I’m pretty sure that I know their type a little better than you do. Remember, I’m one of them.”

  Ben paused then smoothed his hair back, letting his hand rest at the back of his neck, his telltale physical manifestation of intense thought. I knew that he was concerned about what he considered to be an unorthodox approach to the investigation, but it had lost its normalcy the moment he asked for my advice. I also knew that he was still skeptical about the entire concept of WitchCraft, even with what he had witnessed so far today.

  “Okay,” he finally told me. “When do ya’ wanna do this?”

  “Tonight if at all possible,” I replied.

  He nodded and then frowned. “Yeah. Sooner the better. Shit! Allison’s gonna have my ass.”

  “So what’s new about that?”

  I opened the door to the patrol car and squatted down next to it. R.J. looked over at me, as the sound had apparently startled him.

  “Do you think you can get in touch with all of the coven members pretty quickly?” I asked him.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “I want to get everyone together over at my place this evening if we can.” I continued, “We really need to talk about what’s happened, and the more information we can get, the quicker the cops can catch whoever killed Ariel.”

  “But...” R.J. started.

  “I know, R.J.,” I interrupted. “I know you think that Devon did it, and what he’s getting himself into is some sick shit, I agree. But, right now there’s no proof it was him. Believe me, they plan to pick him up and question him.” He settled back in the seat as I talked. “We have to help the police, man. Not fight against them. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he nodded after a short silence and then hung his chin down to his chest.

  “We’re on,” I told Ben as I stood up.

  My friend nodded and stepped to the driver’s door of the squad car. He opened it and reached in to the controls near the dash. He punched a button and the light bar atop the roof blinked to life. The pre-arranged signal quickly caught the eye of the officer belonging to the vehicle, and he was soon making his way back toward us from the coffee shop across the street.

  After signaling the patrolman, Ben got in the back seat momentarily and unlocked the handcuffs that were restraining R.J.

  “I’m gonna have the officer drop ya’ off at your car,” he told him. “You’ve got a real friend in Rowan here, so don’t fuck it up and pull any shit this time.”

  R.J. nodded quietly and rubbed his wrists where the restraints had bit into his skin.

  “Here.” I held out a business card to him. “This is Detective Storm’s card. My number and address are on the back. Tell them we’ll have sandwiches and the like so they can eat there. Say we set everything up for about seven tonight? Sound good?”

  “Okay,” he nodded.

  “Stay grounded.” I smiled at him. “We’ll work this out.”

  Ben returned the handcuffs to the patrolman and instructed him to return R.J. to his vehicle. We both thanked him for his time and watched them pull away before making the short trek across the parking lot to the van. It was coming up on noon, and I was starting to fade. Exhaustion, not only from the lack of sleep but from the mental trauma of channeling Ariel’s murder, was taking its toll.

  “You really think the kid’s gonna show?” Ben asked me, looking quickly each way then nosing the van out into the traffic.

  “Yeah.” I slumped in my seat. “He’ll show. I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he told me as we entered the flow and came to a halt at a signal that had just winked to crimson.
“Ya’know, Rowan,” he said after a pause, still looking straight ahead. “If I didn’t know ya’ better, I’d have ta’ consider ya’ a suspect.”

  “Because of everything I told you this morning at Ariel’s apartment,” I stated matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “Ya’know I’m gonna have ta’ check out your alibi with your dad.”

  “I figured you would. In fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

  He looked quietly out his side window and then turned his eyes back to the front. It was apparent that he was wrestling with something other than my whereabouts Wednesday night. “Ya’know, I’m still kinda weirded out about this stuff,” he finally admitted.

  “I know.”

  He looked over at me. “For your own sake, keep this between us.”

  “I will,” I told him.

  The dull background noise of the city was sharpened momentarily as a horn blared to our rear, angrily alerting us to the fact that the traffic light had changed. Ben pushed the van into motion, and we rolled on through the intersection and down the street in the general direction of my suburb.

  “Mind if I use this?” I asked, picking up his cell phone.

  “Go ahead. Gotta call the little woman?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, punching in my number. “She should be home by now.”

  After a pair of trilling rings, the phone was answered by my wife’s tranquil voice. The evenly spaced, rattling noises in the background told me she was in the darkroom, probably processing the film she had shot on her outing. We exchanged greetings, and then I relayed a sketchy outline of the morning’s events before filling her in on the plans for the evening. I had gingerly talked around the incident involving the table lamp and my forehead but knew that I had better warn her before she saw me. I had to pull the phone away from my ear quickly to protect my hearing as soon as I uttered the words x-ray and stitches. A moment or two later, I held out the handset to Ben.

  “She wants to talk to you,” I told him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Fortunately, Ben knew Felicity well, and as a cop, had dealt with distraught individuals a number of times before. He allowed her to decompress and simply listened as she vented her feelings regarding the circumstances of my injury. Just as fortuitous was the fact that Felicity was not one to hold a grudge and worked through her anger very quickly. By the time we pulled into the driveway of my Briarwood home, they had both apologized to one another, and the entire incident had somehow become my fault for having my face in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Ben dropped me off and headed, I assumed, to his own home in order to spend what little time he could with his family. He planned to return for the meeting somewhat earlier than the rest and had told me he was still trying to figure out how to make it up to his wife and son. Something told me he would be taking time out to visit my father along the way. After a quick wave, I ambled up the stairs to my front porch and was greeted by Emily, our calico cat, who leapt lithely down from the window ledge and began weaving herself about my legs, purring madly.

  “Yes, I missed you too,” I told her as I stooped to pick her up.

  Emily continued her throaty trill as I allowed her to drape herself across my shoulder, then lifted the lid on the mailbox and retrieved the contents. There was the usual mix of bills and junk mail, as well as a yellow pickup slip for a package that had needed a signature—most likely one of my client’s software in need of modification or repair. Felicity had probably been in the darkroom ever since returning from her photo expedition and had missed the postal carrier. I resigned myself to picking it up at the branch office on Monday since it was already after noon. Besides, my evening was already booked, so working was out of the question anyway.

  I twisted my key in the deadbolt lock of the heavy, oak front door and pushed it open, following it inside then closing it behind me. I lifted the rumbling ball of fur from my shoulder and gently placed her on the arm of the couch then tossed the mail in the small wicker basket Felicity kept by the door for just such a purpose. Fatigue washed over me, and the sofa was all but screaming my name. I sat down and within moments became horizontal on the soft cushions. Emily remained perched on the arm, near motionless, her ears at full attention, as if she were a small furry gargoyle watching over me. Scarcely had I reclined that I heard my wife’s footsteps as she came up from the basement and into the living room.

  “I thought I heard you up here,” she said softly, seating herself on the edge of the sofa next to me.

  I looked up to see her lightly freckled face, framed by her auburn hair wrapped loosely in a Gibson Girl about her head. It never ceased to amaze me how this woman I had married could easily slide from hippie activist to china doll in the blink of an eye. Her bright green eyes stared back with concern as she reached out and lightly touched my forehead near the stitches.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Physically or spiritually?” I asked, weakly smiling back at her.

  “Both.”

  “Physically,” I told her, “like I’ve been hit by a truck. Spiritually...drained, but still grounded.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do these things to yourself,” she gently admonished, lightly placing her hand over the wound on my head. “A person can only take so much.”

  “I’ve got to be honest with you.” I relaxed, feeling the healing energy she was directing through her hand. “I lost control today. When I channeled those last few moments of Ariel’s life, I couldn’t keep myself separated. She kept breaking through and taking over. I know it scared the hell out of Ben.”

  “Oh, Rowan,” she whispered. “It scares the hell out of me too.”

  Felicity was filled with an inherent desire to make everything well and at the moment, she wore a deeply empathic grimace. I watched her close her eyes and felt her ground and center, directing a cool wash of energy over me that appeared in my mind as a soothing green light. Soon, my dull headache subsided, and the last knots of tension uncoiled from my neck and shoulders.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked me.

  “No,” I answered. “Not yet.”

  “I’ll go make you something.” She leaned forward and lightly kissed me on the forehead. “You just relax.”

  I vaguely remember the smell of corned beef hash and eggs wafting into the room as I drifted into tortured sleep.

  Screaming.

  Screaming forever with no pause. Distorted noises. Sounds of ripping and tearing. The forever tortured banshee wail. I am in Ariel Tanner’s apartment. The kitchen. I am standing in the kitchen. The room is bathed in a surreal wash of white. I shade my eyes against the stark brightness.

  Silence.

  Clear, unbroken silence.

  My heart pounding. Thump thump, Thump thump, Thump thump. Louder. Fighting to escape from my chest. Blood rushing in my ears, pushing back the silence.

  Fear.

  Pure, unadulterated terror.

  “Please come in,” a voice.

  I turn to face the direction of the voice. Ariel Tanner is standing before me, radiant and lovely in a white lace gown. She smiles at me.

  “Rowan, how nice to see you.” Her voice floats mellifluously, displacing the rushing in my ears. “It’s been so long.”

  “Ariel?” I question.

  She jerks spasmodically, and the smile flees her lips. Her eyes grow wide and she looks down. A spot of crimson appears on the high neck of the lace gown and begins growing. Spreading. Her mouth falls open in shock, and she looks back at me with questioning eyes. The vermilion stain waxes unceasingly, covering her chest.

  “Why, Rowan?” she mouths. “Why?”

  Darkness.

  Falling. Wind rushing past. Faster, faster, faster...

  An unearthly sound. A demonic chord growing stronger.

  Impact.

  I’m standing in Ariel Tanner’s bedroom. Everything is cast in an eerie blue light. Her body is spread across the bed, her dead eyes staring at me. I walk towa
rd her, and they follow me. The bloodstains appear black in the supernatural light. A sound at my back, slow and rhythmic, but unintelligible. I turn. A figure in a robe is there lighting candles.

  “Who are you?” I ask, but my voice is drowned out by the muffled chant.

  I take a step forward and the figure disappears. There is a sound like a crashing wave, recorded on tape and played in reverse. The murmur is behind me now. I turn again, and the robed figure is on the opposite side of the bed. The figure is pointing at me. The chant becomes louder, and though disjointed in its cadence, clear.

  “All...Is...Forgiven. All...Is...Forgiven...”

  “Why?” a voice drifts over the chant.

  I look down to see Ariel’s mutilated corpse. Her lifeless eyes glare back at me and her mouth slowly animates.

  “Why, Rowan, why?”

  An endless scream.

  I awoke with a start, my hair and clothes drenched in a cold sweat. Felicity was once again sitting next to me on the edge of the sofa, deep concern creasing her brow and sad tears clouding her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her, immediately worried by the expression on her face.

  “Yes,” she sniffed. “I’m all right. The question is are you going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I think so.”

  “You kept saying ‘Why, Rowan, why’, over and over,” she told me as she intertwined her fingers with mine, then wiped away a tear with her free hand. “All I could feel from you was fear, and I couldn’t wake you.”

  “How long was I out of it?” I asked with a sigh.

  “About half an hour,” she returned. “What’s going on? You’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “I don’t know. Probably just a bad dream.” I reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “The things I’ve seen in the past twenty-four hours would give anyone nightmares.”

  “It’s more than that,” she told me. “You and I both know it.”