With everything that had been happening in that room, my attentions were obviously occupied. Even so, given the amount of noise I had made along with the various sounds emitting from my wife, it was a wonder the dogs hadn’t been trying to tear down the door. That was something I would have had no choice but to notice, preoccupied or not. But now, in a sudden flash of gut-churning retrospect, their presence was something I realized had been conspicuously absent. Still, due to the circumstances, it hadn’t even dawned on me that they were nowhere around until that very moment.
As if I wasn’t biting back enough fear to begin with, a new one added itself to my list. Even though there was no doubt in my mind that unless I could bring an end to this possession, my wife was going to do everything in her power to kill me, a fresh concern took to rampantly overtaking my mind: What had she done to the dogs?
I quickly twisted through the opening and slammed the bedroom door shut behind me, but the lock was on the other side, and I had no way to barricade it. I knew it wasn’t going to stop her if she came after me, which I was betting she would, but I hoped that it would at least slow her down. I immediately spun and lurched down the hallway as I was plunged into darkness, my eyes fighting to adjust as I bounced from the walls and tripped over my own panic-stricken feet. I wasn’t hearing any movement behind me-yet. However, I was certain it would be coming at any moment.
For some reason I still couldn’t stop thinking about the dogs. I suppose it was more comforting to be concerned for another being’s life instead of my own. Whatever the motive, it bounced between the forefront of my brain and the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know to exactly what extent Miranda ’s cruelty reached, except with regard to human beings of the male gender. Since killing animals is sometimes a part of a serial killer profile, I certainly wasn’t going to put it past her. All I could really do, however, was hope that I was getting ahead of myself.
As callous as it felt, I fought to put the fear out of my mind because right now my brain had no business doing anything other than figuring out a way for both Felicity and me to survive this nightmare.
My wife’s commandeered voice, still thick with the Southern accent and now filled with anger, was bellowing from the other side of the door, demanding that I stop. I wasn’t about to pay it heed. Of course, at this particular moment that was just about the only thing I knew for a fact that I was or wasn’t going to do. My next move was still a mystery, even to me. Her demand was followed by a shriek and a small crash, as if something had just been launched at the wall. I just kept moving.
The fresh blisters on my chest were still burning, sending hot pains inward through my flesh to join every other ache that was plaguing me. My hands were stinging and had grown sticky with the blood I already knew was seeping from the abrasions. The muscles in my arms throbbed from being stretched and overworked during my escape from the bonds. Tying it all together was the almost blinding pain in my skull. In the back of my mind, I knew grounding and centering would probably go a long way toward at least dulling that last angry stab, but I wasn’t exactly in a position for such an exercise.
Exiting the hallway, I immediately slammed into the corner of a chair, catching it with my hip and yelping as I careened from it before stumbling out into the living room. Going from the lighted bedroom straight to the darkness of the rest of the house was playing havoc with my sight, not to mention that my eyes were still blurred and watering from the torture I’d just endured. If that weren’t enough, my glasses were still on the nightstand.
I suddenly noticed that the atmosphere in the house actually felt warm against my skin. Since it was still dark, I knew the offset on the thermostat shouldn’t have caused the temperature to rise just yet. It was then I realized that the warmth was relative. The bedroom had simply been colder than the rest of the house as a side effect of its unwanted ethereal occupant.
I aimed myself to the right, heading through the dining room and crashing against the table then stubbing my toe on a chair leg. I knew it wasn’t only the darkness causing me to keep falling over myself; it was the rampant fear as well.
Quite the opposite of what Helen Storm had assured me when I had relayed my suspicions about my dream, I truly was afraid of my wife. Not just of her, but for her as well. Of all the horrors I had so far experienced in my life, and they were countless, this combination was the worst of them. So much so, that even my body had stopped responding to the signals from my brain.
I tried to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and managed only to foul them somewhat with the blood. I pressed forward, trying to control my wild frenzy and blinking hard as my eyes continued adjusting to the dimness. There was a dull light coming from the kitchen, so I headed for it, still totally unsure what my plan of action was to be other than putting distance between the two of us.
For a split second, I thought of simply bolting out the back door, climbing into my truck and leaving. That would certainly get me out of harm’s way. Of course, it would also mean turning around and getting my keys, but that wasn’t the worst of it. If I left, it would mean Felicity would then be alone, except for the Lwa inhabiting her. I knew from experience that wasn’t a stellar idea. The last time it had happened, she disappeared, and it had taken several hours to find her and almost cost a man his life. In reality, even finding her then had only been accomplished by the grace of pure luck.
My only option was to stay and face her down. Even with what she had done to me, I was still stronger than her and had both a height and weight advantage. Of course, the last time I had taken that particular path, she had fought back hard, and as much as I hated to admit it, she won. The simple fact that gave her the upper hand was that she had been perfectly willing to inflict damage. I, however, was not.
It was no different this time around. It didn’t matter what she had done to me so far, or would do in the coming minutes, because I knew it really wasn’t her. I simply couldn’t bring myself to harm the vessel I knew as my wife, no matter what the consequences for myself.
I half fell through the doorway of the kitchen, grabbing the frame and swinging myself around behind the wall where I finally stopped and waited. Listening intently, at first all I could pick up was my own pounding heart and heaving breaths. I reached for my chest and flinched as my fingers brushed the blistering burns. Then I continued to hug the wall as I strained to hear anything more than the sounds made by my own body.
I furtively glanced up toward the microwave and saw the large, luminous numbers on the digital clock. They read 3:47. Turning my head back toward the doorway, I pressed myself against the cool wall and watched the darkness as my breathing began to slow and my heart rate shifted down from overdrive and into the lower gears of panic. I kept listening, but still, I heard nothing.
My fear was still fully intact, but it had become a manageable burden as I concentrated on picking up auditory cues. However, as I stood there, a new hollowness filled the pit of my stomach. My revolver was loaded and resting in my sock drawer back in the bedroom. Felicity knew right where it was, and that meant so did the Lwa. While I suspected she wasn’t through torturing me for her pleasure just yet, she had also demonstrated a definite instinct for survival. I could easily conceive of a bullet shattering my future, and Felicity’s as well.
Still hearing nothing out of the ordinary, my mind started to race. If she actually had the gun in hand, she was liable to take one of two different paths. Either she would come around the corner at any moment and splatter me across the front of the refrigerator, or she would simply sit and wait for me to come to her. I suppose it all depended on whether or not she was afraid I would actually leave.
Either way, simply sitting here waiting wasn’t accomplishing anything.
“Think, Rowan, think!” I admonished myself in a low whisper.
Unfortunately, ridding oneself of malevolent spirits wasn’t as easy as it was made to look on television. Three drop-dead gorgeous sisters, clad in the latest fashions, whipping up a “potion” from ingredients they had lying about the attic, then vanquishing evil without mussing their hair or smudging their makeup was undeniably a spectacular visual. But, it was also flat out Hollywood fiction.
I knew there wasn’t much of anything in this kitchen that was going to help me in that respect. Or, was there? I quickly flashed on the last time Felicity had been inhabited by the Lwa when we were in her Jeep. My remedy that time had a stolen bit of spellwork, and I had attempted to force her to drink salt water. The basis was sound. Salt would purify and protect. The water as well, while also acting as a rapid delivery system. I hadn’t succeeded that time, so I had no idea if it would really work. However, I couldn’t help but remember how agitated the Lwa had been when she became aware of what I was trying to do, so apparently I had been on to something.
I looked over at the clock on the microwave and saw that it read 3:54. Seven minutes had passed while I stood there pondering a solution, and still nothing had happened. Shooting another glance at the dark doorway, I inched away from the wall and padded slowly toward the sink, keeping a nervous eye focused over my shoulder. It wasn’t until I was actually up against the counter and reaching for the cabinet that I took my gaze away, and then it was only for a second.
Rummaging about, quietly as I could manage, I wrapped my hand around a sport bottle bearing the logo of a local computer repair company. A promotional giveaway I had picked up at a convention some time ago. Unscrewing the top while shooting random glances toward the doorway, I began to fill the container with water.
The bottle had reached almost half full when I cast my eyes to the end of the room yet again. Finding it clear, I looked back to the faucet. A heartbeat later the sound of a soft thump hit my ears, coming from directly behind me. My heart instantly fluttered, jumping into my throat and staying there as my knees went weak, and the pit of my stomach tightened into a knot. My grip automatically went limp, sending the bottle to clunk down into the sink and begin spilling its contents. Whether out of reflex, fear, or my knees just stopped working, I cannot say, but I fell to the floor and stayed there.
I listened, waiting for the telltale click of the hammer on the revolver but none came. Finally, after a frightful pause, I heard a soft meow. Slowly rolling to the side and looking up, I saw Emily, our calico, perched on the edge of the island and looking down at me with feline curiosity in her expressive face. I focused my gaze on the door and saw nothing but darkness.
Under any other circumstances, I would have laughed at my own jumpiness. Right now, however, I didn’t find it amusing.
I dragged myself up from the floor and fished the sport bottle back out of the sink and started the process of filling it once again. This time, I managed to get it to three-quarters full, which is what I was after. Shutting off the water, I shuffled quickly over to the stove and grabbed the saltshaker. I gave the lid a twist then dumped the contents into the sport bottle. Replacing the top on the drink container, I made sure the spout was closed and began shaking it as I slowly made my way back toward the doorway to the dining room.
It was now just after four a.m., and she still hadn’t come after me which could only mean she was waiting for me to come to her. As much as I didn’t want to do it, I was going to oblige. It just wasn’t going to be on her terms, or so I hoped.
Still remaining cautious, I peeked carefully around the corner and saw nothing but dimness and furniture. I slipped quickly around the doorframe and kept close to the wall, skirting around the buffet and inching up to the archway that led into the living room. Another quick glance around the wall, and I stepped through and started into the hallway.
My heart was already climbing back up the scale, adding beats with each passing second. I was straining to listen for any noise out of the ordinary but still heard none. I took a pair of steps and waited then advanced once again, creeping slowly up to the bedroom door. Stepping quickly past it, I took up a station against the wall next to it. I was positioned such that if she opened the door, I would be in her blind spot.
I waited for what seemed like several minutes, desperately trying to work up the courage to do something other than stand here in the shadows. I still hadn’t heard a thing, and I was sure that another several minutes had passed by now. Taking in a deep breath, I forced myself to reach to the side and grasp the door latch with my left hand. Pressing it down slowly, I heard the gentle click and then pushed the door open before quickly yanking my hand back.
Light from the bedroom flooded into the hall, and I continued standing there, cocked and ready to jump while I allowed my eyes to readjust to the new influx of luminance. Letting out a quiet sigh, I dropped my head down and swallowed hard. I blinked as I grew accustomed to the oblique shaft of light spilling from the opening, and now, with my gaze angled downward, for the first time realized that I was stark naked. Yet another ridiculous moment that was less than amusing to me under the circumstances.
After several heartbeats with nothing happening, I shrugged into my thin cloak of bravado.
“Miranda?” I called out.
I waited for several seconds and heard nothing.
“Miranda?” I called louder.
Now, my ears picked up a thin whimper, but it sounded nothing like the distorted whines of pleasure I had heard from my wife earlier. On the heels of the whimper came a soft sob.
“Felicity?” I called out.
My ears were met only with a renewed combination of the whimper and sob.
Part of my brain kept telling me that this could very well be a trap. That I was going to step out from the wall, round the corner, and catch a very fast moving hunk of lead right about chest level. Another part, however, told me that the Lwa was gone and that Felicity needed me. As the two sides argued, I flashed on the fact that while my headache was still intact it was nowhere near what it had been earlier.
I decided to believe the hunk of grey matter that kept saying it was Felicity who was waiting for me, and not Miranda. Still, I slowly and cautiously peeked in around the doorframe before fully coming out of my hiding space.
“Felicity?” I called once again as I carefully stepped into the room.
A harder sob met my ears, followed by a blubbered pair of syllables that sounded remotely like my name.
The twist of sheets were still lying on the floor and were streaked with blood from my hands where I had fought to disentangle myself. There was a smear or two marring the sheets that remained on the bed as well. The cuffs were still dangling from the bedposts by their straps, and while my uncorrected vision couldn’t be sure, I was betting some of my skin was still attached to them.
I advanced farther into the room and worked slowly around the obstacles on the floor. After a few steps, I finally caught a glimpse of fiery auburn hair. The back of the top of my wife’s head was barely peeking over the footboard of the bed. Still cautious, I moved slowly toward her until I could see fully over the edge of the blonde wood.
There she was, huddled on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking as she cried. In one hand was the framed picture that had been sitting on the headboard, the very photo that several days before had sent me waxing nostalgic about our trust in one another.
I knelt next to her and gently placed my hand on her shoulder as I softly called her name.
She started, looking up at me as if she hadn’t realized I was there until just now. Her jade green eyes welled with even more tears while she quietly looked at my face and then my blistered chest.
“Oh Gods…” she whimpered, her voice thick with her Celtic lilt. It was a welcome sound.
“Shhhhh,” I soothed.
“I didn’t know…” she blubbered as the tears streamed down her face. “I saw the blood…I didn’t know…I can’t remember…”
“It’s okay…” I whispered.
She reached out with a trembling hand and gingerly touched my chest near the charred flesh and growing blisters. I winced as her fingers brushed the area.
“God…” she mewled. “Did…Did I do that to you?”
“No,” I reassured her, shaking my head. “Miranda did.”
“She was in me, wasn’t she?” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
She started shaking again as my silence filled in the blank.
I looked down and remembered the sport bottle in my hand. I pondered it for a moment then handed it to my sobbing wife.
“Here,” I said. “Take a drink of this.”
As she accepted the bottle she managed to choke out, “What is it?”
“Just humor me,” I replied.
She fingered the spout, unable to open it with her shaking hands. I popped it up for her then gently guided her hands, supporting the bottle as she placed it to her lips and took a swig. I gave it a light squeeze, and she swallowed a mouthful quickly, before sputtering and pushing it away. It didn’t matter though; one drink was enough.
“Salt water?” she asked between choked sobs.
“Yeah. Sorry. I just want to make sure you stay Felicity for a while.”
Thursday, November 24
Thanksgiving Day
9:53 A.M.
Saint Louis, Missouri