She gave me a thin smile. “It isn’t your fault, Rowan. It had been dredged up anyway. Don’t worry about it.” She bobbed her head toward the necklace. “In retrospect I really should have taken it to a jeweler or pawnbroker years ago, then I would actually have been rid of it. But I didn’t and that is my fault. Felicity found it in my jewelry case when she was borrowing something.” She shrugged then added, “She was just so taken with it that I gave it to her. I regret the decision every time I see her wearing it.”
I nodded. “I can understand that.”
“My turn for a question then. Why do you have a sudden interest in this particular necklace?”
I glanced at the bottle as I turned it in my hands, then stuffed it back into my pocket and cleared my throat. “It’s hard to explain, Maggie. And I don’t mean to sound secretive. Really. Let’s just say I’m trying to get something straight in my head is all, and the necklace is a part of it.”
“I see,” she replied. “And this something would in some way make Felicity worry?”
“Yes, I’m certain it would.”
“But she isn’t already concerned that you are carrying the necklace around in a bottle of salt?”
I sighed. “Like I said, it’s hard to explain.”
She let out a flat chuckle. “Actually, I understand… Your motivation at least… I know it hurt Felicity to find out what her father had done. If she knew the story behind that necklace…”
“I won’t tell her,” I said as her voice trailed off. “I promise.”
“I won’t press you about your reasons then,” she said. “I may not believe the same things you and my daughter apparently do, Rowan, but I know that you love her just as she loves you. And I believe that you are convinced that you are doing what is best for her.”
“Thanks, Maggie,” I said with a smile. “I appreciate that. And, you’re right. On all counts.” I paused for a second then continued. “So, I only have a couple more questions, I promise. Since the necklace was an antique, do you know if Shamus received any sort of paperwork with it? Something that might have given a history or identified the original owner?”
“None that I am aware,” she replied, shaking her head. “If he did I never saw it.”
I frowned. I hadn’t expected a yes, but there was always that little glimmer of hope. Until now, that is. “Okay, last question. I know this is a long shot, but since the pendant is a half coin, do you remember if he mentioned the jeweler happening to have a mate to it?”
She nodded. “Actually, yes. There was definitely a mate. Shamus bought both of them. He gave the one in your pocket to me, and we gave the other to my sister. He thought it a fitting birthday gift since we were twins. It was after that when their story began to unravel, and I found out the truth.”
My heart skipped and I swallowed hard. “Do you by any chance know what might have happened to the other necklace?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” she said. “I don’t recall seeing it after Caitlin died, but that was so long ago. I simply assumed that she had either lost it, or maybe even sold it. I suspect her memories of the whole incident were as tainted as mine. Maybe more so given what happened with her daughter.”
I was fairly certain I had an idea where the necklace had ended up, and it wasn’t either of the options she mentioned. The fact that Maggie hadn’t come across it in her sister’s personal belongings all but confirmed it for me. The police investigation into Annalise’s background had turned up the fact that Caitlin had made multiple attempts at recovering her from the orphanage only to be stopped at every turn. She had then fallen into deep despair and eventually took her own life. Something told me one of Caitlin’s final acts of defiance against her family and the system had been to somehow get that necklace to her infant daughter. When I included the fact that the night Annalise was taken into custody, she had ripped Felicity’s necklace from her neck, claiming that it was hers, the final pieces of that puzzle slipped together with no effort.
Maggie glanced at her watch then back to me. “I hate to rush off, but if you don’t have any more questions I should really get home before Shamus decides to get in the kitchen and make himself a snack or something. Otherwise, I’ll be cleaning up forever.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at the candid observation. “I understand. And, Maggie… Thanks. Believe me, you’ve helped more than you realize.”
* * * * *
I walked my mother-in-law out to her vehicle and bid her goodbye, then watched as she pulled from the parking lot. With what she had just told me, my working theory had not only been confirmed but expanded as well. While I had suspected the existence of the other necklace ever since the incident the night Annalise had been taken into custody, I hadn’t dreamed it would have as deep a connection, and on as many levels, as it obviously did. Because of that, my resolve to find the hardware behind the spell and put an end to it was re-doubled.
I started to head toward my truck but stopped after only a few steps. The dull pounding in my head seemed to be getting worse. In fact, it was now moving beyond hard to ignore and right into semi-blinding. I knew I had some aspirin in my vehicle, and with a little luck a quick dose might take the edge off, at least until I could get home. But it was going to take awhile to get into my system. At the rate the ethereal ache was ramping up, I felt I might need something to help it along. Since caffeine always helped speed up the analgesic effects for me, I did an about face and headed back into the coffee house.
After a short wait in line, I placed my order for a large specialty latte, peeled off a five to pay for it, then dumped the resulting change into the tip jar on the counter. While I was waiting, it occurred to me that I would be facing some traffic between here and home and the possibility that it might take longer than I expected to arrive at my destination. I’d already downed one large coffee and was about to start on another. A pre-emptive pit stop suddenly made an enormous amount of sense.
“Excuse me,” I called to the young lady preparing my drink. I pointed in the direction of the restrooms and said, “I’ll be right back.”
She smiled and nodded that she understood my gesture.
Fortunately, the facilities weren’t occupied so I was able to take care of business fairly quickly. As I was washing my hands, however, the migraine suddenly elected to ramp up several notches at once, sending a sharp lance of pain through the back of my head. Semi-blinding became near total, as light bloomed throughout my field of vision and I squeezed my eyes shut. I stumbled then caught myself and leaned against the basin for support as I gasped in response to a sudden repeat of the attack.
The side of my neck had been stinging, and it now erupted into an agonizing burn. Dizziness started creeping in, and a wave of nausea undulated through my gut. I reopened my eyes in hopes that focusing on something would help. Unfortunately, the first thing I saw were the stark splatters of bright red on the edge of the sink, trickling across pristine white porcelain as they formed spidery rivulets. I watched as the blood languidly intermixed with the still running water, tingeing it with overblown color before spiraling down the drain.
The sound of the faucet roared as if amplified down a long tunnel. It was punctuated by the chaotic thump of my heart as it pounded out an erratic cadence against my eardrums.
A familiar weakness started to overwhelm me, and I could feel myself begin to crumple where I stood. A moment later the floor came up and slammed painfully against my knees. I gripped tighter on the edge of the sink with my right hand then brought the left up to my neck. As I expected, I didn’t feel any sort of wound, but I also wasn’t surprised that when I pulled my hand away, bright red blood was smeared across my palm and fingers.
I heard my own echoing voice as I muttered, “Dammit. Not again… Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Another sharp wave of nausea washed over me, and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut a second time. But, instead of darkness, I found myself staring at the moonlit lake I had seen in my nightma
re. As before, the water was smooth and still, without even the faintest ripple. There was, however, a pronounced change to the landscape as I remembered it. No longer was there the corpse of a black swan on the shore.
Now, there were two.
“Help us…” a young woman’s plaintive voice begged deep inside my ears.
The image slowly faded, and with it the nausea began to subside. I opened my eyes and stared at the water rushing from the tap in front of me. The bloom of light collapsed in upon itself, and the appearance of my surroundings slowly returned to normal. A half second later, sound lost its unnatural tone as the auditory spectrum fell back into sync with reality as well.
My mind flashed on the fresh avian corpse alongside the lake. I let out a heavy sigh and rested my forehead against the cool surface of the basin.
I couldn’t say that I was particularly surprised by the event. For me, hearing voices was obviously nothing new. But I had to admit that there was something about this one that went beyond many of the others. It was a kind of insistence that carried with it a cold sharpness. And it had that keen edge that cut straight to my core then slowly and deliberately began to twist.
When added up, I knew all too well what everything meant. In that instant, the nausea returned in force. Only this time, it was born of the earthly realization that I had no choice but to surrender.
With a tired groan, I pulled myself back to my feet then slowly started ratcheting the towel dispenser at my right. After a few cranks I tore off the length of rough brown paper and stuffed it beneath the spigot to soak up some water while I carefully slipped out of my jacket.
It took several minutes for me to clean up, during which time my luck held out and no one else needed the restroom. After finally gathering myself, a quick look in the mirror told me that I still wasn’t anywhere near presentable. My shirt was wet where I had attempted to wash it out, and my light jacket still had enough blood on it to raise eyebrows at the very least. Fortunately, the restroom itself didn’t look any worse for wear, unless you went rummaging through the waste can and found the bloody paper towels, of course. I didn’t have to do a double take to decide it would be best to simply forego picking up my coffee order and just head for the exit, which is exactly what I did.
When I reached my truck, I went ahead and downed some aspirin dry and hoped that I already had enough caffeine in my system to do the trick. My head was throbbing more than I could ever remember, and it was a struggle just to see straight. Reaching to my belt, I pulled out my cell phone and stabbed at the keys. After three tries I managed to get the number in and press the send button. My call was answered on the second ring, and I started talking before Ben even finished his greeting.
“Black swans, Ben,” I said, holding my forehead in my palm as I leaned forward. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Yeah, actually it does,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice even and tone matter-of-fact. “Our Jane Doe had a tattoo of one. Why?”
“There’s more to it than that,” I replied. “It has some kind of significance. I just don’t know what.”
“Well, maybe I do. We found some shit on the computer about ‘em. Some crap about a swan society or somethin’ like that. Apparently they’re a group of wingnuts who let the other wingnuts drink their blood. Pretty fucked up, huh? Anyhow, we’re already chasin’ down some leads in the local freak community. No offense, Row, but you’re a little late to the party on this one.”
I let out a heavy groan.
“You okay, white man?” my friend asked, concern edging his voice. “You don’t sound so good.”
“Tell me about it,” I sighed. “Listen, Ben, I may be late, but this party is just getting started.”
“Whaddaya…” he began, then his voice lowered to a mumble. “Jeezus, Row… Twilight Zone?”
“Yeah.”
After a pause he asked, “So are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”
“Yeah, Ben,” I replied. “There’s another victim. The body just hasn’t been found yet.”
“Fuck me… Okay, so since you’re callin’ and tellin’ me this, should I assume you’ve officially fallen off the hocus-pocus wagon?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” I told him. “And right now it seems there’s no point in even trying to get back on.”
“So, what now?”
“I don’t know. I guess you wait for someone to report a body. I’m going to hope this aspirin kicks in soon, so I can try to get home before this headache gets any worse, if that’s even possible.”
“Home? Where the hell are ya’ right now?”
“Not far away. I had a meeting. I’ll be fine.”
“Ya’ sure? You need me to come and pick you up?”
“Really, Ben, I just need a few minutes and I’ll be fine. But, I do have a bad feeling I’m going to need a bigger bottle of aspirin before this is all over.”
CHAPTER 10:
The dogs were yipping as the garbled notes of the front doorbell echoed through the house in a rapid staccato. I tried not to think about it, but the racket definitely had a different idea in mind. A vague memory flitted through my brain, and I remembered hearing a very similar combination of raucous noises a bit earlier. At least I think it was earlier. I couldn’t be sure about the actual passage of time, not that it really mattered much.
At any rate, I was fairly certain the original clamor was only a dream, so I had ignored it. Just like I had ignored the telephone—both my cell and the landline—when they intruded on my slumber as well. Eventually, the earlier cacophony had faded into nothingness and simply went away, which seemed to prove out my theory that it was all in my head.
Or so I thought.
Now, the ignoring didn’t seem to work as well. Instead of a few evenly spaced tones and a handful of random barks, the obnoxious chime was assaulting me as a neverending non-rhythm of dings, dongs, and pings—not necessarily in any recognizable order. And based on the yelping, the dogs weren’t exactly pleased by this development at all.
I dragged the pillow up and clamped it over my head with one arm. My new theory was that if I couldn’t hear it then it wasn’t real.
“Go…the fuck…away,” I groaned out of frustration.
The insane din finally stopped and I let out a sigh. However, before I even finished expelling the air from my lungs, I heard the phone in my office begin to ring. The muffled bell pealed four or five times before eventually falling silent. A moment later the William Tell Overture began to warble through the bedroom. I tossed the pillow to the side and opened one eye. My cell phone was dancing in a vibrating semicircle atop the nightstand as the tune spewing from it rose through the scale, starting at mildly audible and arriving somewhere near flat out blaring.
With a heavy grunt I gave in and rolled myself up into a sitting position and reached for the device. Before I could wrap my hand around it, however, it stopped jittering and fell silent. I allowed my chin to fall against my chest then reached up and rubbed my face. Twisting around, I squinted at the digital clock and saw that it was pushing 4:30 in the afternoon.
Rocking forward, I stood up, then stumbled around the bedroom. As I found my bearings in the semi-darkness, I began moving on some sort of automatic pilot. Somewhere along the line I must have snatched up a shirt, though I didn’t remember doing so. All I knew was that I noticed it in my hand sometime after my haze-filled brain figured out how to open the door. Lumbering forward on pure instinct, I decided maybe I should put it on and managed to slide one arm into the wrong sleeve after three tries.
My head still felt like it was going to explode. I didn’t think it was any worse than it had been earlier, but it definitely wasn’t any better. Of course, I hadn’t really noticed the pain until a few moments ago when the person at the door found it necessary to roust me from the relative comfort of sleep. For that very reason, I was already displeased.
By the time I staggered up the hall and through the living room to the fr
ont door, the insane rattle of the bell had been replaced by the sound of someone pounding on the wooden barrier. I started to yell but quickly decided against it because I had a sneaking suspicion doing so would only add to my agony.
Out of reflex I squinted and put my eye up to the peephole as the door vibrated under the hammering fist. I wasn’t surprised to find Ben on the other side. After all, my cell had been chirping the ring tone I had assigned to his numbers, and it was pretty unmistakable. The phantom memories I had been trying to pass off to my subconscious as mere dreams were now solidifying somewhere in the back of my head, so even in my foggy state I was able to make the obvious connections between the back-to-back calls coupled with the frantic knocking.
I took a couple of steps away from the door and shot a quick glance at the pendulum clock hanging in our dining room, just to double check myself. It read closer to quarter past four, which meant I’d forgotten to account for the intentional fifteen-minute time warp on Felicity’s alarm clock. In any case, if my addition was correct, only a little more than four hours had gone by since I had last talked to my friend. Of course, it had been my experience that a lot could happen in four hours, most of it not necessarily good.
I sighed heavily, slipped my arm out of the now upside down shirt, then managed to twist it around and drag it partially back on before unlocking the door and swinging it open.
“Dammit, Ben, just stop, will you?” I said as I squinted at him. “Even the dead can’t sleep.”
The look on his face might have been amusing under different circumstances, but right now I didn’t care.
“Jeezus fuck, Row,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been out here for fifteen minutes. You okay?”
“Do I look okay?” I grunted, a highly detectable bristle in my voice.
“Not really.”
“Well then I guess that’s your answer.”
I finished wrestling my way into the shirt and began fumbling with the buttons as I stepped aside to allow him entry. A moment later I looked up to see that he was still standing in the doorway. Near as I could tell, he hadn’t budged.
Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 9
