“I don’t use all this fancy ass shit like you, Kemosabe. How much do ya’ put in for extra strong?”
“Just fill the grinder up to the rim,” I called over my shoulder. “Then put the cap on and hold the button down for ten or fifteen seconds until it looks like what you would normally get out of a can. Sound doable?”
“Y’okay. Full, cap, button, can. Got it.”
By the time Ben set about the task, I already had my head partially buried in the opening of the deep cabinet, inspecting bottles as I shuffled them around in the dark interior. Even so, behind me I could hear an initial hesitant clinking, eventually followed by an all out dull rattle as he poured the roasted beans into the device. I continued working on the task at hand, and when I finally hit upon what I was after, I wrapped my hand around the neck of the bottle and pulled it out. It was at just about that same moment when I was closing up the pantry that my friend finished replacing the cap and leaned on the grind switch.
The screaming whirr of the blades was joined by the sharp clatter of the java beans being violently crushed. The blended clamor instantly bit into my ears and ricocheted around the inside of my skull. Unfortunately, as the coffee was ground, the blades began to move faster, and as they did, their pitch increased. In direct proportion, so did my agony. When he finally released the button, even though I could barely see straight, the relief of the relative silence was almost overwhelming.
I let out a heavy sigh then hooked around the island as he emptied the fresh grind into the filter basket and swung it shut. While he was filling the reservoir on the coffeemaker with water, I was in the process of rummaging through a nearby cabinet for a tumbler. Finding one in short order, I pulled it out then uncorked the bottle of bourbon I currently had death-gripped in my other hand. After pouring roughly the equivalent of a shot and giving it a quick glance, I turned the bottle up once again and didn’t stop until I’d counted to five.
I set the still open bottle to the side and glanced over at Ben while pointing past him at a basket on the counter. “Do me a favor. Could you hand me that bottle of aspirin?”
He pulled the bottle out and gave it to me. I popped the cap and shook five or so into my palm while he watched.
“Think maybe you oughta take it easy with those?” he asked.
I tossed them into my mouth without answering and twisted the cap back onto the bottle. Settling it on the counter, I picked up the tumbler of bourbon.
“You ain’t really gonna wash those down with booze, are ya’?”
I didn’t bother to answer that question either. I simply placed the glass against my lips then tilted my head back. When the tumbler touched the surface of the counter again, it was drained.
“You’re fuckin’ nuts,” my friend grunted.
“Want one?” I asked.
He glanced at his watch. “Thanks, but I’ll wait for the coffee. I still got some time yet before I hafta go.”
I could already feel the first twinge of the alcohol rushing into my system. It seemed a bit quick for that to be happening already, but by the same token I also knew I was downing it on an empty stomach. At any rate, I wasn’t worried. In fact, I began to wonder if maybe bourbon was a better catalyst for the aspirin than java.
I turned the bottle up and began filling my glass once again.
“You sure you wanna do that?” Ben asked.
I ignored him again and kept pouring. When it was at about the same level as before, I lifted the tumbler, but this time a large hand slipped in and clamped onto my wrist. I shot an annoyed glance at my friend but didn’t fight him.
“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” I said. “I’m not the one planning on driving anywhere.”
“Yeah, maybe so, but have you asked your liver how it feels about what you’re doin’ to it?”
I half chuckled. “So when did you become the health police?”
He shook his head. “I keep tellin’ ya’ that I’m just bein’ concerned about ya’, Row. If what I just saw is any indication, you’re eatin’ aspirin like breath mints, and ya’ know damn well you ended up poisoned and in the hospital last time ya’ did that. An’ if that ain’t enough, I haven’t seen ya’ drink like this in forever… Not since Eldon Porter was on the loose at the very least.”
“That’s because I’m pretty sure I haven’t hurt this bad since then. Hell, to be honest I’m pretty sure I’ve never hurt this bad at all.”
“Well ain’t there somethin’ else you can do ta’ help with that? Some kinda hocus-pocus or somethin’?”
“That’s what I was doing until you grabbed my arm.”
“Yeah, right. I meant Witch stuff… you know…”
“I’ve been down that road already…” I shrugged. “I guess I could go out on a limb and try Voodoo.”
“Okay. So how do ya’ do that? There some way I can help?”
“Sure. You can put the bourbon away and get me the rum instead.”
“Dammit, Row, get serious. You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do, but I’ve exhausted all those other options, Ben.”
“Well crawlin’ into a bottle ain’t gonna help.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’ve said yourself that booze doesn’t fix it.”
“Yeah, right. When did I say that?”
Before he could answer, a higher pitched and softly accented voice interrupted. “Several times that I can remember, then.”
There was certainly no mistaking to whom the Celtic lilt belonged. I looked past my friend as he was turning toward the source himself and found Felicity standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. Obviously she’d been there long enough to hear at least the most recent exchange in our conversation. Her eyes were fixed on me, and she definitely didn’t look happy.
“Why didn’ju come in the back?” I asked, as much out of curiosity as to divert the conversation.
“Someone’s van is blocking the driveway, so I couldn’t drive around,” she replied then looked over to Ben. “How much has he had to drink?”
Obviously it didn’t escape her notice that my tongue was no longer in complete synch with my brain. I couldn’t honestly say that I was oblivious to that fact either, but given the analgesic effect the bourbon seemed to be having on my migraine, I didn’t really care.
Ben held his hands up in front of himself as if surrendering. “Listen, Firehair, before this get ugly, he called me. I’m innocent here…”
“Thangs a lot, Sheef,” I mumbled.
“You’re just pissed ‘cause I said somethin’ first,” he replied.
“Yeah, well whad I actually thing is pritty funny that you’re ‘fraid of ‘er.”
“Cac capaill,” my wife almost snarled the words. “Will you two just stop? You’re both acting like a couple of little boys caught stealing from the liquor cabinet.”
“Like I said, it was his idea,” Ben quipped.
“Damnú, don’t even go there,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.
“I’m just sayin’ he’s the one who’s snockered, not me…”
“Obviously. So stop worrying about passing blame around. I don’t doubt that he called you, but that doesn’t make you innocent either, and it definitely doesn’t explain what’s going on then.”
“I’m self medicaning,” I slurred.
“I see that,” my wife snipped. “Why? What happened?”
“Headaig,” I said.
“Is that all?”
“An’ the swans…”
“Swans?”
“Yeah, the den swans.”
As fast as I had thought the alcohol was working a few moments ago, it seemed to have shifted into high gear now. My face was actually beginning to feel numb, and for the first time since this all started, my head didn’t hurt in the least. Of course, the apparent tradeoff was the fact I was no longer able to focus my eyes or successfully convey a complete thought to anyone but myself, and even that was suspect.
Out of reflex I raised the fresh tumbler of bourbon, but before I could get it anywhere near my lips I heard Felicity yelp “stop!” followed by something else.
My brain didn’t really register the rest of the sentence, but it seemed as though Ben understood without question because he quickly snatched the glass from my hand and upended it over the sink.
I simply watched him pour the liquor down the drain, then looked at my hand, then back to the drain. For some reason I flashed on the fact that Ben had referred to me as snockered. He was correct. I was flat out drunk and I knew it. However, for some reason the word he had chosen to describe my state of inebriation now struck me as hilarious. I started to giggle and soon found that I couldn’t stop.
“Gods,” Felicity spat. “How much has he had, Ben?”
“Just one,” my friend replied, taking my arm and leading me over to the breakfast nook where he guided me into a seat. “It was stiff, yeah, but still just the one, and I’ve seen him drink a hell of a lot more without gettin’ like this.”
Even though I was almost completely unable to communicate with them, I still seemed to be able to understand what they were saying, but only if I made it a point to pay close attention, which was getting harder and harder by the second. I doubted I would remember any of this in the morning, but for now, I was convinced that I was at least following along, be it a half step or so behind.
“Something else is wrong then…” my wife muttered.
“Listen,” Ben said. “Since he’s obviously in no shape to tell ya’ I guess I’d better. He told me he did the bleedin’ thing again today.”
“Again?” she barked. “Like last night?”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.”
“And you let him drink alcohol?”
“What am I, his goddamn babysitter? How is this my fault all of a sudden?”
She ignored the question and aimed her gaze back in my direction. “Gods, Rowan! Why didn’t you call me?”
I heard the question clearly, but even if I had been able to make my mouth work, I couldn’t answer because I was too busy passing out.
CHAPTER 12:
I held my head between my hands and imagined that if I stayed that way, maybe, just maybe, my brain wouldn’t burst through my temples and try to escape. The one semi-comforting thought that kept going through my head was that I had a very good imagination. Now, I just needed to remember where I put it.
I was squeezing my eyes tightly shut in a bid to keep out the unnatural glare from the overhead track lighting of the kitchen, but it still shone through with a vengeance. In truth, the level of brightness was nowhere near what my retinas seemed to believe it was, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I were sitting in a pitch-black room. I would still be overwhelmed. That was just part of the price one paid for stupidity.
“Rowan?” my wife’s voice blasted into my ears.
The last time I had chanced opening my eyes, she was sitting across the table from me at the breakfast nook, and judging from the relative direction of the sound she hadn’t moved. I was fairly certain she wasn’t speaking any louder than normal, but once again my warped perceptions were starkly contrasting with reality. To me it sounded like she was yelling directly into my ear from no more than six inches away.
“What,” I grunted, wincing at the movement necessary to form the word.
“I’m just checking,” she replied. “You seemed to be drifting off again… Why don’t you drink some more coffee? It might help.”
She had already forced me to drink her family recipe hangover remedy followed by what seemed like a gallon of water before placing the cup of java on the table and demanding I down that as well. I had taken a sip, but that was about it. I wasn’t exactly thirsty at the moment.
I carefully moved my left hand around and pressed my index finger against the center of my forehead, right between my eyes. I spoke slowly and deliberately. “Bullet. Right here. Maybe. Coffee, I really don’t know…”
“Try it anyway,” she instructed. “I’m saving the bullet for when you really screw up.”
I wasn’t really in the mood for sarcasm, even if it was a joke, but I was also in no shape to argue. Of course, there was also the fact that as far as any sort of defense was concerned, I didn’t have a leg to stand on. So, rather than complain, I simply tried to respond in kind.
“Shoot me anyway,” I said. “You have my permission.”
“Aye, don’t believe for a minute I didn’t think about it,” my wife quipped. “But then I decided it would be better if you suffered for a while. Now drink some coffee then.”
Obviously I wasn’t going to be able to match wits with her in my present condition, so I figured I should just do as I was told before she decided to physically help me with the task like she had done with the family remedy. I opened one eye just long enough to wrap my hand around the mug she had placed before me several minutes earlier then carefully lifted it to my mouth. The coffee had cooled enough not to burn my tongue, but it was still to the high side of warm, which was a good thing in my book. I took a gulp and swallowed hard then took a second before settling the cup back onto the table.
“You absolutely sure we don’t need ta’ take ‘im to the hospital?” Ben asked from across the room.
“He’ll be fine,” Felicity replied.
“You sure about that?”
“Aye. He’s just hung over.”
“Well I gotta say it’s the worst hangover I’ve ever seen on one drink.”
“Have you ever given blood?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Remember how they tell you not to drink alcohol for at least twenty-four hours afterwards?”
“Yeah,” he replied. A second later when he spoke up, the spark of realization was instantly apparent in his voice. “Crap. I didn’t even think about that.”
“Obviously, he didn’t either,” she said then gave my leg a none too gentle nudge beneath the table with the toe of her shoe.
“I had other things on my mind,” I grumbled.
“I had a friend in college who would sell plasma, then take the money and go to the bar,” Felicity continued for Ben’s edification. “Cheaper, quicker drunk. But she would get so dehydrated that she’d have these massive hangovers. In this case, I’m sure the aspirin didn’t help much either.” Just to punctuate the statement she kicked me under the table again.
“You can stop that anytime you want,” I told her as I shuffled my legs back.
“I’ll let you know when I’m finished,” she quipped.
“And, for your information,” I added, “The aspirin helped my headache.”
“Really? I didn’t notice. I mean, since you’re sitting there holding your head and all.”
“It helped then. Not now.”
“That was only about an hour and a half ago, Rowan.”
“Okay, so they didn’t last.”
“Apparently,” she snipped, the sardonic bite still sharp in her voice. “I wonder if the bourbon had anything to do with that?”
“Give me a break, will you?” I appealed.
“You think I’m not?”
“Actually, now that you mention it, I did notice that you’re being pretty calm about all this. You haven’t screamed any Gaelic at me yet.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I’ll gladly do that while I’m beating you later. I’m just waiting until you can feel it, so I don’t feel like I’m wasting my time.”
“Yeah, that sounds more like you. Thanks for the reality check.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Okay, if you two are through with the pissin’ match, or foreplay, or whatever the hell,” Ben interjected, “I got a question.”
“What’s that?” Felicity asked.
“I understand about the hangover, but what about the whole bleedin’ thing? Shouldn’t we take ‘im to the hospital for that?”
“No,” I said. “It wouldn’t do any good.”
“Why’s that?
” he asked.
“There’s nothing they can do about it,” I told him. “In case you’ve forgotten, it doesn’t exactly have an earthly explanation.”
“Yeah, so?”
“As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right,” Felicity said. “That’s exactly how I felt yesterday, but then I had to face the facts… What would he tell them? He can’t exactly walk in and say he’s running low on blood. If he tells them he’s been bleeding, they’ll want to know from where, and he doesn’t have a wound to show for it. Give them the real reason and he’ll end up in a psych ward. Make something up and at best they would run a bunch of tests that won’t give them any real answers but would surely raise a few questions, which would just mean more tests with no answers.”
“Yeah, okay, I see what you’re sayin’. So then what do we do?” he asked.
“Not we, me,” I answered. “The bleeding is nothing more than a knock at the door. It’s a way for the spirits to get my attention. I just have to stop ignoring them and it will be all good.”
“I thought you already had.”
“After the second incident, yes, I did,” I explained. “And I haven’t bled since.”
“Yeah, well you’ll pardon me if I don’t take that as hard evidence that you won’t again.”
“I’ll be fine, Ben.”
“Jeezus, are ya’ listenin’ to yourself? It ain’t like we haven’t heard that one before, and look at ya’ now.”
“You know, I could do without this whole tag team beat up Rowan thing you two have going on.”
“Yeah, well get used to it. It’s for your own good.”
“You do realize there’s nothing I can do to stop all this, don’t you? I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve tried and it didn’t work, so why are you taking it out on me?”
“We’re just concerned,” Felicity offered, her voice actually taking on a bit of softness for a change.
“What Firehair said,” Ben agreed. “I’ve been tellin’ ya’ that all along.” He let out a heavy sigh before continuing. “Okay, so let me ask ya’ this. What if goin’ ahead and listenin’ to ‘em doesn’t work?”
Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 11
