Among my least favorite feelings was that of deja vu, yet it seemed like a constant in my life no matter how hard I tried to deny it. Like right now.
I was just beginning to drift off when a noise struck my ears. In that netherworld between sleep and wakefulness, it seemed like a megaphone was pressed up against the side of my head. I felt myself jump as my muscles tensed, and of course, that immediately brought the headache I’d been trying to forget right back into the forefront.
I was lucid enough to realize that the noise was actually Felicity’s voice, but I hadn’t caught enough of it to decipher what she had said, so I grunted, “Huh?”
“I said, how’s your head?” she repeated.
“Still there,” I mumbled.
“What? Your head or the pain?”
“Both.”
“Ha, ha” came her humorless reply. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Unlike the morning’s supernaturally propelled romp, this time we were in bed solely for the purpose of sleep. Or, at least that is what I thought we had intended. We’d been lying here for better than an hour now, and neither of us had been enjoying much success in that department. Until recently, that is, when I had finally managed to relax enough to begin nodding off. Obviously, the same had not been true for my wife.
I was exhausted, and I suspected she was too. Considering the early wake-up call along with the various extracurricular activities, there was no way to avoid it. Of course, after she had finished with her errands for the afternoon, she had taken a nap. I suppose I should have done the same.
Still, the reality was that we’d probably have gotten to bed earlier had it not been for the fact that we were both worried about Ben. Before his harried departure, he had made it a point to ask if we would be available later. Felicity had been gone less than four hours, and I hadn’t left at all, making sure to hang loose in anticipation of his return or at the very least, his call.
However, later came and went without so much as a word from him, and in our minds that was troublesome.
After what I considered to be a reasonable wait, I had tried contacting him myself-several times in fact. I had alternated between his cell, his apartment, and his work number. From the cellular, I was greeted only with a full voice mailbox, which wasn’t a big surprise considering his disdain for all things computerized. To be honest, I was still amazed he even had the mailbox set up at all.
His work number at the homicide division had shifted almost immediately to voice mail itself, and his home phone hadn't been any better. There, the answering machine had provided a terse, recorded demand to “leave a freakin’ message if ya’ feel like ya’ gotta.” At least neither of them told me they were full, and after a number of aborted attempts, I did as they instructed, leaving messages in both places. It was pretty much all that I could do.
I’m sure that the worry over our friend combined with the overtiredness hadn’t been helping matters for either of us. And of course, in my case I still had the nagging throb inside my skull to contend with as well. Still, I’d finally managed to ignore it for just long enough to actually feel sleep coming my way. That is, until Felicity put a halt to that idea.
Since there didn’t seem to be a follow up question forthcoming, I tried to relax again and let my mind drift. Unfortunately, like it had earlier, it kept coming back around to the crime scene, the heart shape, and then the pain. I flashed on a memory of watching a program about neurosurgery, probably all because of that unrelenting thud inside my head. It had been some years back on one of the educational cable channels, and I recalled that something was mentioned about the grey matter itself not feeling pain.
I considered the memory for a moment then decided that while it may well be true, you certainly weren’t going to be able to convince me of the fact. Not right now, anyway.
As if reading my thoughts, Felicity broke the dark silence once again. “Is it getting worse?”
I was still awake enough to catch it on the first go around.
“Not yet,” I told her.
“Did you take anything for it?”
“It’s not that kind of headache. You know that.”
“That’s not what I asked,” she pressed.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I took something.”
She paused for a long while, and once again, thinking the impromptu interrogation was over, I started trying to relax.
My wife, however, decided to prove my assumption wrong again and suddenly asked, “What did you take?”
I grumbled, “Does it really matter?”
“No. Not really I guess.”
“Okay then.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So, what did you take?”
I sighed heavily then rolled to the side and fumbled for the switch on the reading lamp next to the bed. After a quick grope, I located the thumbwheel and flicked it on then rolled the opposite direction to face the redheaded chatterbox curled up next to me.
“Okay, what’s up?” I asked.
She twisted beneath the covers and snuggled in close. “I can’t sleep.”
“No kidding,” I replied with exaggerated sarcasm. “So I guess if you can’t sleep, nobody else is going to either?”
“You weren’t asleep,” she told me.
“I almost was.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Sure I was.”
“No. You weren’t.”
“How do you know?”
“When you’re asleep you snore. You weren’t snoring.”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
“Aye, what’s it matter? You’re awake now.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So… Do you think Ben is all right?” she asked.
“Probably,” I told her, not wanting to let on that I was probably even more worried than she. “He’s a big boy. And besides, he’s got a gun.”
“He just seemed a bit…” She hesitated. “I don’t know… Scattered, when he left.”
“Yeah,” I agreed then added, “But he did say it was something personal.”
“I hope nothing’s wrong, then,” she said.
“Me too,” I replied.
“You don’t think something happened to Ben Junior, do you?” she asked with a mild urgency suddenly overtaking her voice.
“I doubt it,” I returned. “He would have told us if it was something like that.”
“Aye, I suppose he would have.”
She grew quiet again, and I contemplated her spate of concern over our friend. Considering how calm she usually remained, with the exception of her occasional display of stereotypical Irish temper, I found her change in demeanor to be somewhat out of character. The more I dwelled on it, the more I wondered why.
“You’re awfully concerned about Ben all of a sudden,” I stated.
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Just doesn’t seem like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, then?”
“Just making an observation.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Do I need to be?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you answered your own question, didn’t you?”
“I’m just worried,” she said after a moment. “That’s all.”
Something in the back of my head told me that while I knew she had a genuine concern for Ben’s well being, vocalizing it was just a smokescreen. It was a surrogate for what was truly worrying her. And, I was pretty sure I knew what it was that had her in its grip. While it was something she’d never had a problem talking about before, the fact that she was hiding from it told me her concern had grown and now went even deeper than it ever had in the past.
I took a chance that I was correct and slipped my arm around her as I said, “It’s okay, Felicity. I’m going to be okay.”
I felt her shoulders fall as she slowly let out a heavy breath, confirming my suspicion.
“How did you know?” she finally asked.
“What? That I’m the one you’re really worried about, you mean?”
“Aye.”
“Just a feeling.”
She sighed heavily again and then snuggled in even closer. “I don’t want this to start again, Row.”
“I don’t want it to either, but I don’t really think we have a choice, honey.”
“Maybe we should move,” she offered.
“Where?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she told me. “Away from here.”
“That won’t change anything, Felicity,” I said softly. “What you’re trying to run away from isn’t just here. It’s part of me… Part of us… This is who we are.”
“I’m not so sure I want to be us then.”
“Yes, you do.”
She didn’t reply right away. She simply remained still, curled against me, her face buried against my chest. I gently stroked her hair and listened to her breathe as I closed my eyes, trying to relax once again myself. Unfortunately, my brain would have none of it. My mind was racing, and sleep wasn’t going to come anytime soon.
“I need a drink,” Felicity finally said.
“Now?”
I felt her nod slightly. “Aye. Maybe it will help me relax.”
“Maybe so,” I agreed.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
She was already unfolding herself from the cuddle and tossing back the sheet and comforter. “A drink might help you too.”
I rolled back, pushed myself up on my elbows, and paused before answering. “Maybe just some more aspirin I think.”
“Sit with me then?” The tone in her voice was almost pleading.
I had already figured out that she was more disturbed about this than she’d ever been before, but from the sound of her words, it became apparent that it went even deeper than I had realized. The two-year hiatus had led us both into complacency, but she had obviously harbored a real hope that my connection with the dead was over. I, on the other hand, had always known it would never be done. Not until I myself joined their ranks, and then, who knew? It may not even be over then.
“Yeah,” I told her with a nod. “I’ll be in there in a minute.”
She finished wrapping herself in a thick bathrobe and headed off to the kitchen. I made my way into the bathroom and fumbled through the medicine cabinet until I found a bottle of aspirin then popped the cap and poured a couple into my hand.
I gazed down at the white tablets in my palm and even though I knew full well that they weren’t going to help, poured another pair out to join them before snapping the cap back on the bottle. I popped the pills into my mouth and then bent down over the sink to get a mouthful of water.
When I stood back upright, I felt a sharp stab behind my eyes, and a sudden rush of dizziness overcame me. I grabbed the basin and steadied myself, giving my head a shake then looking up to the mirror.
A flash of brightness filled my eyes, and as it faded I saw the afterimage of a heart-shaped outline floating in the air before me. Protruding from it was a thin dagger with a simple handle. There seemed to be something streaming outward from the apparition or perhaps even floating behind it.
I blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the image, but I only caught intermittent flashes of bright red as the outline faded quickly away.
I shook my head again, feeling the dizziness ebb and my sight return to normal. After a moment I let go of the basin then retrieved my own bathrobe from the back of the door and slipped into it.
I trudged through the dark house on automatic pilot, almost tripping over our English setter who had elected to sleep in the middle of the hallway. After skirting around him, I hooked through the living room, then the dining room, and into the illuminated kitchen.
I shaded my eyes against the brightness, waiting for them to adjust as I slid into a seat opposite my wife at the breakfast nook.
I heard the ice tinkling in her glass as she tilted it up and took a drink then brought it back down to the table. Even after resting it there, however, she never took her dainty hand from the tumbler.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Aye,” she returned simply as she picked up a bottle and refilled the glass.
My eyes were beginning to adjust, and I looked up at her sullen features. I wasn’t entirely sure that alcohol was the best thing for her, given the circumstances, especially if she had already downed one and was starting a second, but at least she wasn’t sitting here drinking alone.
“So something just happened back…” I started.
Before I could complete the sentence, however, something caught my eye. The bottle she had just set back on the table between us was of a different shape than I had expected it to be. I was used to my petite wife drowning her sorrows in Irish whisky, but that definitely wasn’t what she was drinking at the moment.
I reached out and turned the bottle to face me. Since I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I pulled it close so that I could read the label. Even though the word only had three letters, I read it twice just to make sure I had it correct and then looked up at her with a puzzled expression.
“You were saying?” Felicity urged.
I ignored her question, replying instead with “Rum?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head to indicate she didn’t understand either. “I’ve been craving it all day.”
“But you don’t even like rum.”
“I know,” she mumbled then took another drink. She looked down at the table and then back up at me with a mix of puzzlement, and even what might have been fear, in her eyes before adding, “I don’t smoke either.”
“Well yeah. You’ve never smoked,” I replied. “So what?”
She nodded. “Aye. But right now I’m dying for a cigarette.”