“I can’t, Helen. It’s all that’s keeping me afloat right now.”
“In the short run, I would say that is a good thing. However, I know you, Rowan. You will not let this subside, and you will continue feeding it. If you do that, then it is no longer a good thing. It becomes unhealthy.”
“Well, we all have our addictions, don’t we?” I replied, making a veiled reference to her chain smoking. “I guess this one will be mine for the time being.”
I was sorry I made the stab as soon as it came out of my mouth, but what was done was done. I’m certain she caught my meaning, she was too smart and far too quick not to. Still, she graciously ignored it. I suppose she was used to people lashing out when under stress.
“If so, then I suspect you will again be needing my services when you finally sink,” she told me in an almost purely clinical voice. “Because trust me, you are going to be hitting the bottom very fast and very hard. I am serious, Rowan. Very hard.”
“Then I suppose I’ll just have to hope you can dredge me up and put me back together when the time comes.”
“I believe we will both be hoping for that,” she offered and then paused. I could hear her let out a small sigh before continuing, “You are a very stubborn man, Rowan. I hope you realize that I did not call to argue with you.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. For the first time in the past few hours, the motion didn’t cause me excruciating pain. My headache had mellowed down to a dull thud for the moment, but I wasn’t expecting it to stay that way for long.
“I know, Helen,” I told her. “I’m just not in a very good place right now.”
“I know. And trust me, Benjamin is truly concerned for your well being right now. As am I.”
“Join the club. That seems to be the order of the day.”
“Did you have the nightmare again?” she asked, momentarily switching the subject.
“Yeah. Three times last night.”
“And, how did you feel?”
“Scared.”
“Yes, but what about the other issue. The one involving your wife.”
“It’s a non-issue.”
“Good. Your faith in Felicity is going to be monumentally important in the coming days, Rowan.”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Tell me about it.”
I happened to look up toward the stairs as I made the comment and noticed a crime scene technician on his way down, arms filled with books.
He called past me to another tech in the living room, “Looks like we’ve got something here.”
I could see that the “something here” he had in hand was every text on Voodoo and Afro-Caribbean Mysticism I had purchased, or checked out from the library, in the past week.
“Those are mine,” I called out to him.
He continued down the stairs, ignoring me completely.
“I said, those are mine,” I stressed. “I just bought them.”
Helen was calling to me from the earpiece, “Rowan? Rowan, what is wrong?”
The technician finally shot me a glance and shook his head. “Sorry sir. Now they’re evidence.”
My hand was already moving to hang up the phone even as I spoke. “Helen, I’ve got to go.”
CHAPTER 6:
“Exactly which part of ‘I just bought those’ are you having trouble understanding?” I barked. “And, if you’ll look closely you’ll see I got a few of them from the library as well.”
My objections had gone unheeded for the most part, and me simply being angry was starting to become me being flat-out, livid pissed. Even as I spoke, the stack of books was being placed in a paper evidence bag.
“Dammit! You aren’t taking those!” I almost shouted.
“Calm down, Mister Gant.” The lead crime scene technician tried to soothe me as his subordinate continued the process of securing the evidence, tagging it, and adding a description to the log.
“Calm down? My wife’s been arrested, you’re tearing my house apart, and now you’re going to take something that belongs to me and has nothing to do with this, all so you can use it against her? Calm down my ass!”
I would have simply pushed the man aside and gone after the technician who was actually bagging the books, but the situation had recently taken on a new layer of complexity. That layer came in the form of two uniformed Briarwood police officers who were presently standing in very close proximity to our heated disagreement. They had arrived at the house within a scant few minutes of the evidence technicians and had been quietly surveying the goings on from the middle of the dining room ever since. Until now, that is.
When they originally showed up, I assumed it had something to do with cooperation between jurisdictions. Keeping each other in the loop, professional courtesy, that sort of thing. While that was probably true to a large extent, they were now quite obviously providing security for the team that was legally ransacking my home.
“Mister Gant, I’m sorry but the books clearly fit the description of items listed on the warrant.”
“Listen to what I’m telling you,” I stated once again then exaggerated the enunciation of my following sentences as if speaking to a small child. “They. Do. Not. Be-long. To. Her… They. Be-long. To. Me.”
“I’m sorry.” He ignored my patronizing comment and splayed out his hands in surrender to some higher power as he made the apology one more time. “But, we have to take them.”
“No. You don’t.”
His tone became harder and he shot back, “Look, the warrant has been served, and it’s my job to execute it per the instructions of the court. The books fit the description on the list, so the books go with us. It’s that simple and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Sure there is. You can stop spouting this Nuremberg nonsense about following orders, engage your brain, and give them back to me.”
“Okay, now listen to what I’m telling you,” he instructed. “Because this is the last time I’m going to say it. You aren’t getting the books back. As of this moment they are evidence. Now, up till a few minutes ago, you’ve been cooperative and we definitely appreciate that. But, if you’re going to start interfering, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”
I shook my head and stared back at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Bullshit. I have the right to be present during the search.”
“As long as you aren’t obstructing the search, that’s true. But, you’re getting very close to crossing that line.”
“So, just because you and your crew can’t use a little common sense, you’re going to kick me out of my own house?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Gods! What is it with you people?! Does the fact that I just bought those books have no bearing on this at all?”
“Look, if that’s true, and you have receipts to prove it, you can take it up with Major Case and the prosecutor.”
“Maybe so, but right now I’m taking it up with YOU,” I returned.
In reality, I’m sure he was correct. If I could provide receipts, which I could, at the very least Jackie should be able to negate the effect of the books as evidence. In fact, she could probably get them thrown out altogether before it even went that far. But, I wasn’t willing to take that chance because with the situation as it was, our attorney’s ability to accomplish that feat was by no means guaranteed.
Ominous shadows were lurking somewhere in the background of all this. Someone, or maybe even something, was trying very hard to stack the deck against Felicity. That much had become painfully apparent over the past hour. I certainly wasn’t about to let anything I was holding in my own hand be used in that process if I could help it.
“That’s it, I’m done with this,” the crime scene technician replied with a wave of his hand before looking over to the Briarwood cops. “I have a job to do, and this man is preventing me from doing it. Would you guys like to take it from here?”
“Sir,” one of the uniformed officers spoke up. “Why don’t you step
outside with me for a bit?”
The tech had turned back to face me, and I was now holding him locked in a stare down, so I snapped an acrid reply without breaking my gaze. “Why? Because I don’t want to.”
“Sir, that wasn’t a question. It was a strong suggestion.”
“Your suggestion is noted.”
“Sir, it was a very strong suggestion. Under the circumstances I can make it an order.”
“What? You people aren’t happy with just arresting my wife? Now you’re arresting me too?”
The officer replied, “No sir, you aren’t being arrested.” After a short pause he added, “Not yet, but if you keep going the way you are, it’s a very good possibility. So, why don’t you do like I suggested, and just step outside with me where you can cool off for a few minutes?”
Before I could manage to formulate another snide remark, I flashed on the recent conversation with Jackie. The words “don’t do anything stupid” rang through my head at full volume and made me take pause. As much as I wanted to lash out at all of them, to just go stark raving berserk, the fact remained that getting myself locked up wasn’t going to help Felicity at all.
I dwelled on the realization for a moment then huffed out a resigned sigh and ended my unblinking glare at the technician. With an agitated shake of my head, I looked over at the officer and grumbled, “Yeah, fine.”
“Good call,” he replied.
He was standing close enough to me that when he’d spoken I’d easily been able to pick up the odor of burnt tobacco on his breath.
“You smoke, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, why, I got bad breath?”
“No, because I need a cigarette.”
I hadn’t really given much thought to the comment, any at all, really. It just came tumbling out of my mouth in place of something far more caustic. Still, all I could manage to do was give an internal shrug when it dawned on me what I had just said.
As we headed for the door, the officer pulled a pack from his pocket then tapped it across his index finger before holding it out toward me.
Whether it was out of reflex or because I truly did feel like I needed one, I don’t know, but I reached over and pulled the proffered smoke from the pack and stuck it between my lips.
“You want to grab a jacket?” the officer asked.
A sarcastic quip escaped before I could subdue it. “Why would I want to do that? I’m supposed to be cooling off, right?”
“Yeah. Right,” he returned.
Without another word I pushed the door open and headed through with him on my heels. As I’d suspected, neighbors had positioned themselves to watch the show. Since it was still early enough in the afternoon, there weren’t as many peeking from behind curtains or lethargically walking dogs as there could have been. But, it was a good bet that phones were buzzing with news of yet another incident involving the police at “the Witch’s house”. I’m sure my ears should have been burning.
It was only a few moments later that a van emblazoned with the logo of a local television station pulled up and parked on the opposite side of the street. As usual, I wasn’t going to be immune from the jaundiced spotlight of the media either.
“Damn TV people,” the cop muttered and then offered, “We can go out back or sit in the car if you want.”
“That’s okay,” I replied with a slight shake of my head. “It’s not the first time they’ve pointed their cameras at me, and I doubt it will be the last.”
“Guess the neighbors are having a field day,” he grunted.
“Yeah, probably,” I agreed. “You’d think they’d be used to it by now.”
I didn’t expand on the history of flashing lights and news vans that had been positioned in front of my house over the years, and he didn’t ask. He probably already knew all about it anyway. In fact, it was entirely possible he had been one of the many cops to have graced my doorstep in the past. After a quiet moment I pulled the cigarette from my mouth and inspected the still pristine paper and tobacco on its end.
“Got a light?” I asked before tucking it back between my lips.
He dug in his pocket then withdrew a disposable lighter and handed it to me. I gave it a quick flick with my thumb and touched the flame to the business end of the smoke then handed the stubby metal and plastic device back to him.
As we stood on the porch, and I took the first drag on the nicotine and menthol laden tobacco, I simply yielded to the idea that I was once again re-adding an old vice to my list.
If circumstances were different, given my earlier jibe, I suspect Helen would have found it thoroughly amusing.
CHAPTER 7:
The crime scene unit had been gone for something on the order of fifteen minutes now, and I was still trying to figure out how they could possibly manage to lay waste to someone’s home as quickly as they had in this case. All in all, it had taken them just under two hours to accomplish what I can only imagine would have taken a busload of sugared up toddlers an entire day to do.
The emotional response to the specter of the destruction even seemed to transcend the boundary between human and house pet, as evidenced by our cats-Dickens, Emily, and Salinger. At the moment, they were sitting in a loose semicircle on the coffee table, perusing the mess. Earlier, they had found places to hide away, as they always did whenever we had unfamiliar visitors, and had only ventured back out now that the commotion was done and gone. Watching them from across the room, it looked for all the world like they were having an impromptu emergency meeting. It was as if they were trying to come to some conclusion about the scene before them that would make sense to their feline brains. Every now and then they would look at one another then at me, nervously twitch their tails or ears, and then go back to swiveling their heads around the room, yellow-green eyes open wide with a glaze of curiosity and perhaps even fear.
I couldn’t blame them. Our house was, in a word, trashed. The only way I can explain the spectacle that greeted me upon re-entering my home was that it looked as though everything had been the victim of a very strong, but somewhat considerate earthquake. I say considerate because nothing appeared to have been broken, at least not that I could see. However, no matter where I looked, there was obvious visual evidence of the search.
Furniture had been moved out from walls and instead of being put back was simply left sticking out at odd angles. Books were piled on the floor instead of resting in their rightful places on shelves. Even DVD and videocassette cases created a haphazard mound on a chair after having been opened, inspected and discarded.
That disaster was merely the living room, and I knew for a fact that they hadn’t contained themselves there.
Now I was getting angry all over again. Although standing on the front porch with the Briarwood officer had calmed me considerably, I couldn’t quell the renewed surge of rage as I looked at the mess and realized that not only had the books been pulled from the bookcases but so had all the items we kept on the shelf we used as our altar. I tried to keep telling myself that they most likely had no idea that they were desecrating objects of religious significance-literally violating what was deemed by our faith a sacred space. But, no matter how many times I repeated it to myself, it wasn’t an easy sell, mostly because I had recognized a couple of their faces. They were people I had worked with at crime scenes before. People, who knew who I was, knew that I was a Witch, and had heard me speak about such things before.
And, even if that wasn’t enough, I knew for certain that one of them had attended a class I had taught for the police department on recognizing the difference between religious activity and cult coercion. A portion of that workshop had specifically addressed altars and their importance to practitioners of alternative religions. At the very least, he should have known better.
Of course, if I were the paranoid type, I would bet that Albright had something to do with that as well. The fact is, whether my suspicion was born of paranoia or not, she probably did.
When I finally manag
ed to dampen my newly inflamed rage, I left the cats to their huddle and moved toward the back of the house to continue my own assessment of the chaos. In retrospect, I probably should have waited a little longer because what I found only served to ignite my smoldering temper once again.
My heart all but skipped a beat, and I felt a hot rush of blood fill my face the moment I saw our bedroom. If the front of the house had been the victim of an earthquake, this room had been pummeled by its big brother as well as every other disaster imaginable. The contents of the dresser and chest of drawers now resided in a scattered heap on top of our bed, and along with that was anything that might have been stored away in the matching nightstands. While the majority was carelessly piled, a small portion of it actually sat in something remotely resembling stacks. I had a feeling these existed only because it had been easier for them to take those particular items out of the drawers that way.
The clothing that had once occupied the walk-in closet was tossed in crumpled heaps across the footboard of the waterbed. Garments that had once been methodically arranged by Felicity according to color, length, and a number of other factors that fit her personal system of organization, were now nothing short of a giant pile of laundry.
Everything else from the closet looked as if it had been vomited out across the floor. This included every pair of shoes my wife owned, and trust me there were more of them than I wanted to count. Those, along with several rectangular boxes where some of them had once made their homes, formed a colorful debris field expanding out from the mirrored doors which were themselves hanging wide open. It looked much like a disastrous accident had occurred in the middle of a shoe store stockroom.
On the far wall, through the bathroom doorway, I could see that the medicine chest had pretty much been ransacked. Judging from the terrycloth mass I spotted on the floor just in front of the double vanity, the linen closet hadn’t been spared either.
Standing here surveying the blatant deconstruction of our lives, I didn’t even want to think about what the office, or even worse, my wife’s darkroom and files, looked like right about now. There was so much strife here on the main floor that I wasn’t entirely certain I could stomach going upstairs or downstairs just yet.
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