All acts of pleasure argi-7

by M. R. Sellars

  At this point, however, there was no doubt in my mind that someone, whether it was Albright or not, had instructed the crime scene technicians to lay waste to our home. I’d been involved in far too many investigations and had seen how these things were normally done. What I saw staring back at me now definitely wasn’t an example of standard procedure.

  My rising anger eventually gave way to a cold swell of depression, and I simply hung my head. After a moment I pushed a pile of shirts aside with a distracted swipe of my hand then slowly settled myself onto the edge of the bed.

  I couldn’t begin to say exactly what all had been taken, with the exception of the books and a handgun that was registered to me. The only reason I knew about the weapon was because they had seen fit to tell me they were going to confiscate it for the time being. I didn’t know why, but I had already discovered that arguing with them over the books didn’t do any good, so I didn’t bother to object.

  I also knew for a fact that some of Felicity’s clothing and shoes had been removed because I saw them being loaded into evidence bags while I was standing on the outside looking in. From what little I overheard, intimate garments had been of particular interest and in fact, were even specifically listed on the warrant. I’m sure the reasoning for that probably had everything to do with the sexual nature of the crimes.

  Even though I knew my wife wasn’t one to be easily embarrassed, I certainly didn’t know how she would react to a handful of strangers looting her lingerie drawer. For some reason, the fact that they had encroached upon this particular sanctity made me feel more violated than any of the other things they had manhandled and then absconded with. Surprisingly, even the desecration of our altar no longer mattered in the face of this. Odd, considering that they weren’t even my undergarments, but I was in a very protective mode right now. Anything that violated Felicity was, to me, patently unforgivable.

  I heard a damp snort and looked over to see our English setter staring at me with sad eyes. Taking a tentative step forward, he nudged my hand then nuzzled in and brought his head to rest on my thigh. I absently stroked his crown and gave him a half-hearted scritch behind the ears. Usually, Quigley the Australian cattle dog was hot on his heels, but last I’d seen him he was sitting in the dining room looking just about as confused as the cats.

  Our animals were as close as we had to children-not that we hadn’t tried for one of our own species. Unfortunately, Felicity’s only pregnancy to date had been abruptly terminated by a physical altercation between her and a murder suspect who was making a getaway attempt. Since then, even though everything checked out for both of us according to doctors, we hadn’t had much luck in the conception department.

  In truth, it was probably a good thing that we didn’t have children because I had the feeling that right now I would be completely lost. I could easily comfort a dog with a few pats on the head even if he could still sense that something was amiss. On the other hand, I had no clue what I could possibly tell a child that would quell his or her fears in a situation such as this.

  “Mommy is going to go with the nice policemen for a while,” just didn’t seem to me like it would do the trick. And, right now, saying something like “Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay” could very well be a flat-out lie. Primarily, because I wasn’t so sure that it was going to be okay. On top of that, I knew that my own mental state wouldn’t be particularly healthy for a child to endure either.

  I looked down at the dog, only to find his large brown eyes peering back up at me. As he watched, the small sprigs of hair that passed for eyebrows began rocking back and forth on his expressive face then his tail began slowly thumping against the side of the bed.

  “Kind of a mess, isn’t it, buddy?” I mumbled, turning my head and looking around the room while my hand continued automatically stroking his fur.

  My brain was more or less chasing itself around in a circle at this point. What I felt like I wanted to do right now was to jump in my truck and head down to the police station. But, that was just the surface reaction. What I truly wanted more than anything else was Felicity back home, safe and free of this insanity. Short of “busting her out,” there wasn’t really much I could do to make that happen. At least not by showing up there and causing a scene, anyway. Since Jackie had told me to stay put, I had no choice but to fight back the urge to make a beeline for Clark Avenue downtown.

  Our attorney was certainly right about one thing. I would definitely cause more trouble than anything else, and I knew that. I just had to trust her to take care of this, but that was becoming harder to do with each passing moment. A quick glance at the clock told me that better than two hours had passed since she had told me she was on her way to the police station, and I still hadn’t heard anything from her. I suppose that in the grand scheme of things, two hours isn’t really that much time, but for me it had already been an eternity.

  As I continued looking around the room, my eyes fell on a picture frame resting in a niche on our headboard. From all outward appearances, it was apparently the only thing that hadn’t been touched by the uncaring hands of the crime scene technicians. The frame was small but intricately designed-the kind of heirloom that readily evokes sentimentality at first glance. Centered within its rectangular border was a semi-candid shot of Felicity and me.

  I stared at the photo, studying it to the exclusion of everything around me. Though I had pretty much forgotten that it was there, I remembered the snapshot well. It had been taken at a party some years before. My petite wife was perched on my lap with her arms around my neck, and mine were encircling her waist, hugging her close. We were both grinning, obviously filled to overflowing with the happiness of the moment. The vivid memory played back inside my skull as I recalled the gathering. What stood out most of all was the fact that only moments before that particular photo had been snapped, we had all been playing the “trust game”. In essence, it was an old pseudo-psychological exercise where you demonstrate your trust in your partner by falling backwards into their arms. We had all really just been clowning around, but in truth, there was an underlying seriousness to the results.

  Almost all of the people at the get-together had faltered to some extent, much to one another’s chagrin. However, Felicity and I had fallen freely into one another without hesitation and without so much as a flinch of doubt. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, as it simply seemed natural, but in the final analysis these were acts of absolute, blind faith. We both knew that neither of us would allow any harm to befall the other. I trusted her, she trusted me.

  Trust. A concept I had only recently been forced by my overactive psyche to revisit. Fortunately, the reminder had taken hold and flourished.

  I trusted in the fact that I knew Felicity was innocent, and moreover, I trusted her. Just as, even at this moment she was trusting me. Trusting me to take care of her, to get her out of this mess. But, instead of honoring that trust, here I was perched on the edge of the bed, feeling sorry for myself because she wasn’t here.

  I’m not sure how long I had been sitting there staring at the photograph. To be perfectly honest, it could have been a minute, or it could have been five. My perception of time was so far off kilter that I probably wouldn’t have known the difference between the two even if I had been watching the clock instead of the picture.

  However, when my epiphany finally forced my reticent gaze to loosen its grip on me, I slowly turned back to the canine using my lap as a pillow and looked into his eyes again.

  I shook my head and muttered to him, “Dammit…What the hell am I doing here? Watch the house. I’ve got to go.”

  I had already shrugged into my coat and tapped in the code to set the house alarm when the phone began to ring.

  CHAPTER 8:

  “Hello?” I barked into the phone, stretching the handset’s cord almost to its breaking point while I spoke.

  The warble of the alarm system’s countdown tone was speeding up as it approached its armed state.
I knew if I let it get that far I’d end up setting off a motion detector, and then I’d have cops crawling all over my house yet again. Extending as far as I could I leaned across the chair and quickly stabbed in the master code then punched the off button, sending the raucous electronic beeping into silence.

  Unfortunately, as annoying as the tone was, I would have preferred it to what I heard coming back at me across the phone line.

  “You bastard!” An angry, heavily accented voice struck my ear with the insult. “What have you done?!”

  This was absolutely the last thing I needed at the moment, but I couldn’t say that I hadn’t been expecting it all along. I just wished that I’d checked the caller ID before snatching up the handset with such haste because now I was committed to the call even though this definitely wasn’t the time for it.

  My father-in-law Shamus O’Brien had never made a secret of his dislike for me. Ostensibly it was due to my religious beliefs, and given his tirades, I had no reason to doubt they truly were the cause. In fact, he had stated on more than one occasion that he was firmly convinced that it was I who had corrupted his only daughter. The fact that she was already following a Pagan path long before I met her didn’t seem to have any bearing on his conviction either.

  With my public identity as a Witch having become even higher profile over the past few years because of my involvement with the police, what had long been at least an outward tolerance of me on his part had slowly and surely waned. Given his staunch, though distorted views, I wasn’t at all shocked that he would blame me for Felicity’s current predicament.

  I tried not to let myself react to his immediate attack and instead fought to remain composed, answering with a simple, “Calm down, Shamus. Believe me, I’m just as upset about this as you are.”

  “Why should I calm down, then, you bastard?! Felicity is all over the news. They’re callin’ her a murderin’ psychopath.”

  “I know they are.”

  “And then what do I see? You, you bastard. Just standin’ there chit-chattin’ with the police and smokin’ a cigarette. Standin’ there for the whole world to see, just like it’s another day. Just like nothing’s happened!”

  Suddenly my decision to remain on the front porch instead of hiding out on the back deck away from the news cameras didn’t seem very prudent. I had probably known subconsciously that it would come back around to bite me, I just hadn’t given any thought to which set of teeth were going to be sinking into my flesh. Of course, I suppose that mystery was now solved.

  My gut reaction was to snap back at him, but I forced myself to offer an explanation instead. “I think you’re misinterpreting what you saw. I had a half dozen crime scene guys tearing this place apart, and I’d just been ejected from my own house for fighting with them. I was trying to calm down before they arrested me too.”

  “Cac capaill! They should have arrested you instead of my daughter!”

  “No, they shouldn’t have arrested either of us.”

  “Damnu ort! What did you do to her?!

  The Gaelic curse wishing damnation upon me wasn’t unfamiliar. Felicity was prone to slipping into the old language whenever she was angry, just like her father was doing now. In fact, her personal list of favorite vulgarities mirrored his, so I’d heard most of them before. Of course, the imprecations usually weren’t directed at me as they were in this case.

  “I didn’t do anything to her, Shamus. You know that.”

  “Aye, I don’t believe it. You and your godless cult did something to my colleen. You brainwashed her and forced her to do some Satanic sacrifice or something, didn’t you!?”

  He didn’t even give me a chance to respond to the ludicrous accusation before starting in again.

  “ANSWER ME, YOU BASTARD! THAT’S WHAT YOU DID, ISN’T IT?!”

  “Listen to me, Shamus,” I interjected sharply. “Number one, she didn’t kill anyone, much less get forced to do anything against her will. Number two, you sure as hell aren’t going to help her situation if you go around telling everyone that she did do it but only because I forced her to.”

  There was a brief pause, and I hoped that I had managed to get my point across to him. When he finally spoke again, he was somewhat more reserved, though you could tell the anger was still seething behind his words, just waiting for a chance to escape.

  “Why didn’t you call me? Why did I have to hear about this from the television, then?”

  “I’ve been just a little busy, believe it not.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my tone. “As you noted, my wife just got arrested.”

  “Well, what are you doing about this?” he demanded without actually acknowledging what I had just said.

  “I’m trying to find out what’s going on myself. Our lawyer is already at the station…”

  He interrupted, “Aye, is he any good, this lawyer of yours?”

  “He’s a she and yes, she’s good.”

  “Aye, well it doesn’t really matter. I’ll be sendin’ my own then anyway.”

  “Shamus, don’t turn this into a bigger circus than it already is. If Jackie doesn’t think she can handle this, she’ll be the first one to say so. Then, if I need to, I’ll hire another attorney.”

  “I’ll be sendin’ mine,” he repeated flatly.

  I started to object again but decided against it. At least he seemed to have calmed a bit and was apparently trying to be constructive instead of just placing blame and swearing at me.

  “Fine,” I told him. “Just tell your attorney to get in touch with Jacquelyn Hunt. She’s got the lead on this, and we don’t need any confusion causing problems.”

  “I’ll tell him your girl is there, but I’ll be wanting him to take over.”

  “Shamus… Dammit…Can’t you…Sheesh!” I stammered out a halting mish-mash of verbiage as I tried to beat down the desire to climb through the phone line and throttle the man. I knew he wasn’t going to listen to me, and this whole conversation was about as futile as trying to empty an ocean with a teaspoon and a paper cup, so I decided it was time for it to end. “Listen, I’m going to have to get off the line here. When you called I was just heading out the door to go down to the police station myself.”

  My bid for a quick exit did nothing more than set fire to his temper once again.

  “Don’t you dare!” he snapped. “You stay away from my daughter. You’ve done enough to her already!”

  It had become a violent internal struggle for me to keep an even temper during this conversation. I thought I had been more than reasonable with him, even if we had been under the best of circumstances. There was no doubt, however, that the current conditions were a far cry from the best.

  I simply couldn’t hold my tongue any longer, and my own anger rose to the surface, “Dammit, Shamus. She may be your daughter, but she’s also my wife!”

  “If I have anything to say about it, she won’t be for much longer!”

  Confusion filled my voice. “Excuse me?!”

  “Don’t play stupid. I’ve figured you out. I know you’ve brainwashed my daughter and turned her against me. I’ve already talked to someone about taking care of it!”

  It only took a fraction of a second for his words to sink in. “You’ve got to be fuc… Deprogramming? Is that what you’re talking about, Shamus?! Deprogramming?!”

  “They call it exit counseling and thought reform therapy.”

  “They call it that when it is done by an ethical, licensed therapist and the subject is willing,” I spat. “If you kidnap her and do it against her will, it’s deprogramming, pure and simple.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you call it.”

  “It sure as hell matters that she doesn’t need it,” I countered. “Not to mention that it’s also illegal.”

  “I don’t care about that. She needs to be rescued.”

  “From what? Who? Me?”

  “Aye.”

  “Have you lost your goddamned mind?”

  “No, but apparently
you’ve taken my daughter’s from her, and I’m going to get it back. And then once she’s in her right mind, she’ll be getting you out of her life, of that you can be sure.”

  That was it; I’d had enough. “Listen up you son-of-a-bitch, don’t you even think about doing this!”

  “Go hifrean leat! ”

  “You want me to go to hell, Shamus?” I returned, quickly translating the epithet he’d just screamed at me. “Well I’ve got some happy freaking news for you, I’m pretty much already there, and you just helped with the trip. I’ve got to go. Bye.”

  I could hear his voice screaming from the handset even as I slammed it back onto the base. What I picked up of the stream of Gaelic was yet another condemnation I’d heard before, and it roughly translated into him wishing “scorching and burning” upon me. Well, I sure wasn’t going to call back to break the news to him, but he definitely wasn’t the first to offer up that curse, so he could just stand in line.

  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, huffing it back out angrily as I tried to settle myself. Lashing out, I slammed the heel of my fist against the underside of one of the empty bookshelves. The impact generated a hollow thud followed by a resounding crash as the shelf lifted off the adjustable pegs then slammed back down. For some reason, the wooden rectangle skewed downward and slid out onto the floor, narrowly missing my foot. The resulting clatter startled the cats and made them jump, which in turn caused them to knock a stack of books from the coffee table and onto the floor. The clamorous chain reaction sent them skittering throughout the house to their secretive hiding places. The dogs, however, took the opposite tack and both came to investigate the small crashes but more or less took it in stride.

  I picked up the shelf and tried to re-install it, and that’s when I discovered that the reason it had fallen was that the impact had sheared off one of the forward adjustable pegs on the uprights. I reached up and slid it onto the empty shelf above for the time being then shook my head and turned, starting back toward the alarm keypad on the wall across the room. Before I could take the first step, however, the peal of the telephone’s ringer filled the room.