Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  Personally, I wasn’t excited about the situation, but the nagging wonder in the back of my head was getting the better of me. I wanted to know just exactly what they were after and why. I turned toward my wife and wrestled with the momentary indecision.

  After a heartbeat or two I abandoned the struggle and chose a different path. I would allow Felicity to be the barometer. As curious as I was, I knew she would be pragmatic. She always was. If she wanted to leave now, we would. If she wanted to hear them out, then I would just be sure to pay even closer attention to my gut. If my inklings grew any stronger, I figured I could just pull the plug then and there. At least, that’s what I hoped.

  I shrugged. “I’ll leave it up to you unless you want me to decide. Just say the word.”

  She looked at me and gave a shallow nod then absently chewed at her lower lip. A thick quiet filled the room, underscored by the low whirr of the cooling fan on Doctor Jante’s notebook computer as it kicked on for a moment.

  “Maybe I can help with your decision,” the doctor finally said, breaking the silence and taking advantage of the fact that my wife had not yet said no. “May I show you something, Miz O’Brien?”

  “What?” Felicity asked.

  “It’s a short clip from a video recording of an interview with Devereaux.”

  “Why do you want me to see it?”

  “I think that after you do, you’ll have a better understanding of why we are so interested in your apparent connection with Miranda.”

  Felicity looked over at me again then back to Doctor Jante. She closed her eyes and sighed, then gave a quick nod to the affirmative as her eyelids fluttered open. “Okay. I’ll watch it.”

  Jante skillfully fingered the computer keyboard then twisted the whole unit so that it was aimed in our direction.

  “This particular clip is from an interview conducted last week,” she told us as a simple introduction then reached around and tapped the touch pad to start it playing.

  As the image opened on the screen, I experienced an excruciating moment of déjà vu. Annalise Devereaux was almost a dead ringer for Felicity. There were differences to be sure, but they were subtle enough that even I had to do a double take. What made this worse for me, though, was the fact that the woman in the video was clad in a prison issue orange jumpsuit and wearing handcuffs. When my wife had been arrested and accused of the murders, I had visited her at the Justice Center where she had been held. The image before me now was almost like a snapshot taken directly from my memory, and it brought a phantom wave of the emotional pain flooding back without warning.

  I watched as the video doppelganger settled back in her chair, regarding the person seated across the table from her with a curious expression. While the camera was primarily focused on Annalise, I could make out enough of the interviewer’s profile to reasonably assume that it was Doctor Jante herself. As the clip moved forward, audio began to stream from the computer.

  “Actually, she reminds me of how Annalise was in the beginning,” Devereaux said, her voice a sweet Southern drawl even through the tinniness of the small speakers. “But, better. Much better.”

  Judging from the third person reference, it was apparent that Miranda was in control.

  “Miz O’Brien, you mean?” the half image of Doctor Jante on the screen asked.

  “Felicity, yes,” Miranda replied.

  “How is it that you know her?”

  “Serendipity.”

  “Would you like to explain?”

  “No.”

  “I see. So, what is it that makes her better than Annalise?”

  “Her spirit, of course,” she said, shaking her head and smiling. The tone of her voice made her reply sound as if the answer was so obvious that the question itself was wholly unnecessary. “She fights her desires, and that just makes them all the sweeter when they are realized. For the both of us.”

  “And those desires would be?”

  “To accept their love completely and without hesitation.”

  “Love?”

  “Yes.”

  “By ‘accept their love’ exactly what and who do you mean?”

  “Accepting their love by giving them what they want.”

  “‘They’ being men?”

  “Of course.”

  “So what you really mean is torturing and killing men for your own sexual gratification?”

  “No.” Miranda shook her head. “I mean exactly what I said. Loving them.”

  “I’m not sure I comprehend how what you do to them equates to love.”

  Miranda flashed her wicked smile. “Of course you don’t. You don’t have the capacity to understand.”

  “Perhaps if you explained it to me.”

  “That would be like trying to explain algebra to a flea, now wouldn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m a little smarter than your average flea. Why don’t you give it a try and we’ll see?”

  Miranda leaned forward and adopted a serious visage. “Do you have children, Ellie?”

  “Do you?” the doctor countered without missing a beat.

  Miranda smiled and leaned back. “Of course you don’t. You’re far too wrapped up in yourself to have had time for a partner, much less children.”

  “That’s an interesting observation.”

  “No it isn’t.” She shook her head. “I’m merely stating the obvious.”

  “I see.”

  Miranda looked her over then leaned back in the chair once again. “Or maybe you’re a lesbian. Is that it? Do you prefer the company of women, Ellie?”

  “I really expected better from you,” the onscreen Doctor Jante replied, her voice even and unfazed. “That’s exactly what Virgil Leroy Belton asked when I interviewed him. I even wrote about it, so I would have to assume you’ve read my book.”

  “Actually, that isn’t exactly what he said. Belton asked if you were a ‘pussy licking dyke.’ I’m not that crude.”

  “Yes, you are correct. So obviously you did read it.”

  “No, but Annalise did.”

  “I see. What did she think?”

  “She thought it was sophomoric and speculated that your PhD came from a box of caramel corn.”

  “Still trying insults? Isn’t that ploy a bit common?”

  “No more common than the questions you’ve been asking me, Ellie. I’m merely slumming. As distasteful as it is, I’m bringing myself down to your level to help you understand what you couldn’t otherwise. You should really show some appreciation for the sacrifice I am making on your behalf.”

  Video Jante remained silent. Eventually Miranda cocked her head to the side and grinned.

  “Do you know why I wanted to know if you have children?” she asked.

  “I have my own theory, but I’m fairly certain you would say I’m wrong if I were to tell you.”

  “That’s because you are. I don’t even have to hear it to know that.” Miranda sighed. “I suppose I should just tell you. I asked you about children because it might help you better understand. You see, Ellie, the bond between a mother and child is unlike anything else. No love runs as deep, even the love I feel for them, and they for me. And, I imagine that when a mother sees her child take its first step, she must feel just exactly like I did that night.”

  “Which night would that be?”

  “The night in the motel with Felicity,” she replied. “That’s what you really want to know about, now isn’t it?”

  “Motel?”

  “Don’t pretend to be any more stupid than you already are, Ellie. It’s unbecoming. Obviously you don’t have breeding, so at least try to live up to your supposed education.”

  “Humor me.”

  Miranda sighed. “You bore me.”

  “Then let me speak to Annalise.”

  “You bore her as well.”

  “Really.” Jante said the word more as a statement than a question.

  Miranda answered it anyway. “Yes, of course you do. Unfortunately, Annalise
is too damaged to know better.”

  “And why is she damaged?”

  “Because she’s weak, of course.”

  “So you damaged her?”

  “No, she damaged herself.”

  “How?”

  The two of them sat staring at one another in silence as the progress bar on the video player crept along and seconds ticked off on the digital counter.

  “That isn’t what you are here to talk about, Ellie. You know that.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Don’t play games.”

  “I’m not. You know exactly why I’m here. You’ve been directly linked to seven brutal murders, maybe even several more. I’m here to find out why.”

  “That answer is so simple you should have seen it by now, which simply proves my point.”

  “The answer is rarely simple in cases such as these.”

  “This one is. I did it for Felicity.”

  “Are you saying that Miz O’Brien told you to kill those men?”

  Miranda cocked her eyebrow. “See. I give you the answer and you still miss it entirely. Try thinking before you open your mouth. What makes you think anyone could tell me to do anything?”

  “I never said anyone could. I merely asked if someone did.”

  “You still want to know about the motel, don’t you?”

  “I think you want to tell me about it, or you wouldn’t keep bringing it up.”

  An almost wistful look seemed to pass across Miranda’s features. The struggle for control between the two women had been gently teetering like a carefully balanced see-saw on a still summer day. But now the imaginary wind picked up, and the nudge it provided seemed to dip matters in Jante’s favor.

  “I’m talking about the motel where Felicity took the man Annalise used for revenge,” Miranda finally said.

  “Brad Lewis? Your last victim?”

  “I suppose that was his name. What they call themselves isn’t important. All that matters is that they love and are loved.” Miranda shook her head again. “But, as usual, you’re wrong. He wasn’t my victim. None of them are my victims.”

  “You murdered him. That makes him a victim in my book.”

  “I never said he wasn’t a victim. I simply explained he was not my victim. Annalise murdered him, not me. She did it out of spite because she is jealous of Felicity. I, on the other hand, would have loved him.”

  “Semantics. He’s still dead.”

  “See. I told you that you were too stupid to understand.”

  “All right, since I’m so stupid, educate me. What is it about that night you want me to know?”

  Miranda let out a contented sigh and stared into the distance with a pleased smile on her lips. The yearning look remained on her face as she began to talk. “It was a very special night. It was when Felicity first started to understand her true capacity to love.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We both loved him. Together. And, when I left she was still loving him.”

  “You mean torturing.”

  “Loving. She was giving him what he wanted and needed. And, in return, she was accepting his love.”

  “I see. What do you mean, ‘when you left’? Were you there with her?”

  Miranda continued to stare off into space. “I should have stayed longer to make sure she didn’t stumble, but Annalise was being needy and I had to leave. I should have ignored the bitch and stayed where I belonged. I blame myself for not being there for Felicity. If I had I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.”

  “Where would you be?”

  “Where I belong, of course. And where I will be soon enough. With her.”

  The video clip ended, and the player automatically paused on the last frame. Staring back at us, frozen in two-dimensional space, was the image of Annalise wearing Miranda’s almost frightening smile twisted across her lips.

  The flesh and blood Doctor Jante reached over and carefully spun the notebook computer back around before leveling her gaze on my wife. “Miz O’Brien,” she said, her voice even. “I think perhaps now you can see our situation a bit more clearly.”

  Felicity sighed and gave her a shallow nod.

  Jante continued. “I’m afraid I need to ask you a somewhat disturbing question. Was Annalise Devereaux in the motel room with you that night before the police arrived?”

  CHAPTER 16:

  From the sound of Doctor Jante’s question, it appeared that I should have stuck to my guns about drawing this interview-turned-witch hunt to an immediate close. Hindsight being what it was, my earlier curiosity-induced myopia had me feeling incredibly stupid for allowing it to continue even though I’d left the decision up to my wife. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it now without making Felicity look just as guilty as Annalise. Of course, it seemed they had already come to that conclusion without my help.

  “Not that I recall,” Felicity replied.

  Cliché though they were, I knew she had chosen the words carefully. Even if Annalise had been at the motel with her, she wouldn’t have known because, for all intents and purposes, Felicity had been there in body only. Her consciousness had been elsewhere, and her memory of that night had a several hour gap. But Annalise wasn’t the real issue here anyway, Miranda was, and she had most definitely been present. Just not the way they meant.

  “Are you absolutely certain?” Hanley pressed.

  “Exactly what are you implying?” I asked, issuing the demand before my wife could respond to his question. “What happened to the part where no one is accusing her of anything?”

  “We aren’t implying anything,” Doctor Jante interjected. “And we certainly aren’t making accusations. We’re merely trying to find the truth and establish how Devereaux came to know these facts.”

  Even though I knew the real answer, unbelievable as it was, I objected in the only way I could, waving my hand at the computer as I spoke. “What facts? That was just vague rambling. If anything she got lucky telling you what you wanted to hear. Not to mention the fact that I’m sure her attorneys have subpoenaed the same police reports you’ve been reading. They could have told her everything she just said.”

  “Agreed,” she replied. “I think maybe you are misunderstanding our intent.”

  “From where I sit it sounds to me like you’re trying to paint my wife as her accomplice. Is that the intent you’re talking about?”

  “Actually, it’s just the opposite,” Agent Hanley offered. “We’re working to rule out Miz O’Brien completely.”

  “Oh please.” I let out an abbreviated harrumph. “Do you really think I’m going to believe you aren’t lying through your teeth right now? Ten minutes ago you hit us with a purposely transparent good cop-bad cop routine. Why, I haven’t quite figured out, but it’s obvious you’re trying to run a game down on us. I sincerely doubt we can believe anything you’ve said since you walked through the door. You probably aren’t even with the BAU at all.”

  “I can assure you we are with the BAU,” he replied. “And what you choose to believe is up to you, but you do need to calm down. The simple truth is we’re on your side, whether you realize it or not.”

  Doctor Jante directed herself toward me. “We’re gathering information for a criminal analysis, Mister Gant. The supposed Miranda personality has recited various other facts about Miz O’Brien, all of which we have been able to corroborate.”

  “Corroborate how?”

  “Primarily through public records.”

  “Since you’re the FBI I suppose I shouldn’t bother to ask if it occurred to you that she, or again her attorneys, did a bit of research via those same public records?”

  “Of course it did,” she replied, shaking her head. “In fact, it’s our working theory.”

  “You keep saying ‘supposed Miranda personality’,” Felicity interrupted. “What do you mean by that?”

  “We aren’t exactly sure what to call it,” she answered. “To put it
simply, it all comes back to what I mentioned before. In cases of Dissociative Identity Disorder, the psyche splits as a defense mechanism. It compartmentalizes the effects of severe psychological trauma but will then act out when subjected to triggering stressors. Since the origin of the disorder can usually be traced back to a recurring trauma such as extreme abuse or sexual molestation, generally the fracture focuses on a childlike personality where the individual can create what they perceive as a safe space. There may be other identities, yes, but the childlike aspect is a dominant and driving force. As I told you before, Annalise has no such fracture. She simply has Annalise and Miranda. Both of who are wholly aware of one another and appear to have some type of symbiotic relationship, although that seems to be disintegrating rapidly. I’ll admit that initially I believed her to be faking the disorder, however, if that is the case she is very adept. If she is for real, then she is a very unique case indeed.”

  Felicity and I looked at one another briefly but remained tight-lipped. Puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place, and the picture they made was less than pretty. However, it wasn’t the image I’d been conjuring in my mind’s eye over the past half hour. Instead, it was an updated version of the one I’d feared all along.

  I don’t suppose any of this should have come as a surprise to me. After all, I had always been of the belief that Miranda would continue to use Annalise until she could find a way to reconnect with Felicity, and she was obviously doing just that. She knew full well my wife wouldn’t come to her willingly, so she needed a way to make it happen, and establishing complicity seemed to be her plan.

  “So why am I really here then?” Felicity asked with a quick shake of her head. “What is it you want from me?”

  “For exactly the reason we told you in the beginning,” Hanley said. “So we can gather information.”

  “But it’s not just for your database, is it?” I asked.

  “Admittedly, there is another need for the information, yes,” Jante answered. “Everything we gather will be provided to the prosecution. But, at this point, we don’t know what her attorney might try, and we have to be absolutely certain of our facts where this case is concerned. Given what we have learned so far, it is a near certainty that you’ll be brought into court to testify, Miz O’Brien.”