I think I might have called out to Constance, but I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I stumbled forward as I tried to recover from the sudden preternatural burst and subsequently began to fall. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it. My brain appeared to have taken a hiatus from communicating with my body, and at the moment my motor reflexes didn’t seem to be responding to commands, conscious or otherwise.
Physical pain bit simultaneously into my right knee and both my shoulders as I continued downward, and I somehow managed to squeeze my eyes shut. I felt weak and faint as tightness grew in my chest, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I was even breathing any longer.
Logic dictated that in a split second an agony similar to that which was now piercing my knee should be ripping through my face as it married itself to the asphalt. With that front and center in my mind, I tried to brace myself for the impact.
More pain tore through my upper back and shoulders as I waited for what I assumed to be the inevitable but was taking forever to come. Then, instead of feeling my face against the surface of the parking lot, I noted the sensation of backward motion as I was jerked up by my armpits.
My head lolled to the side of its own accord, and through the banshee wails filling my ears, I almost swore I could hear a familiar voice echoing in the background as it called my name. I tried to seize on the voice, searching it out through the warbling din, but it was gone. It crossed my tortured mind that I may simply have imagined it, and I was about to give up when it came again, sharper, clearer, and even more forceful than before.
“Rowan?!… Rowan?!… Talk to me!” Mandalay urged.
“Jeezus, white man!” Ben’s exclamation followed a half beat behind.
I felt myself being brought fully upright and then leaned back against something. The queasiness that earlier welled in my stomach was creeping up my throat, and I felt my mouth begin to water as nausea fought to overtake me. Out of nowhere an arc of pain shot through my jaw, and the desire to vomit was joined by the unlikely taste of apples and blood.
“ROWAN!” Ben’s voice pierced my ears again, this time followed by a hard sting against my cheek.
Why it worked, I still cannot say. If the sudden pain through my knee hadn’t snapped me out of the downward spiral, why the sharpness of my friend striking my cheek did so is beyond me. Still, mystery or no, it had the desired effect.
I sputtered as I involuntarily jerked forward and sucked in a cool breath. My question about breathing was instantly answered. I hadn’t been.
The screaming in my ears rapidly faded, and though it didn’t completely disappear, it lowered enough to become an almost manageable ring far in the background.
Slowly pitching farther forward, I placed my hands on my knees and let out a groan as I huffed in another lungful of fresh air.
“Rowan? Are you okay?” Mandalay’s voice seemed loud as my hearing struggled to adjust to the violent changes it had just undergone.
“Yeah,” I sputtered. “Yeah… Thanks.”
“Didn’t hit ya’ too hard, did I?” Ben asked. He didn’t sound particularly apologetic.
I hesitated for a moment as I brought my breathing under control and then carefully stood upright to look at him and said, “Between you and Felicity abusing me, I’m not sure I’m going to survive this.”
“You’re gonna hafta take that up with Firehair,” he returned, his voice still humorless.
“What?” came Mandalay’s puzzled query. “What are you talking about?”
“Trust me, you don’t wanna know,” Ben spat.
“More like you don’t want her to know,” I returned.
“Cut me some slack,” he said.
Agent Drew, who had been dutifully silent up until this point, suddenly blurted. “What was that just now?”
I turned my head in the direction of his voice and saw that he was still hanging on to my right arm. Based on their positions around me, apparently he and Constance had been the ones responsible for catching me before I splattered completely onto the pavement.
Looking around I noticed that in addition to the three of them, we’d gathered a small crowd of uniformed officers and crime scene technicians. I was used to having a jaundiced eye cast my way whenever I arrived at a crime scene, but what I was seeing in their faces was far from the normal bitterness. In fact, they actually looked angry.
“Twilight Zone,” Ben announced before I could say anything. “Row just blew past the fuckin’ sign post, right, Kemosabe?”
“Yeah,” I replied with a nod, breaking my attention away from the stolid frowns of the onlookers. “Something like that, Tonto.”
“The what?”
“The signpost,” Ben returned, voice still edgy. “You know, there’s a signpost up ahead blah blah blah…”
I was beginning to wonder if my friend had gotten any sleep yet or if perhaps his father’s death was truly weighing on him even though he was unwilling to admit to it. The gruff attitude he had been putting forth ever since the initial phone call was a good indication that something was definitely bothering him. Unfortunately, trying to rationalize his behavior just made my head hurt even worse.
“I still don’t follow you,” Agent Drew replied.
Ben gave him a wide-eyed shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard then finally said, “Jeezus! How fuckin’ young are you anyway? It was a goddamn TV show… The monologue went…” He sputtered as he stopped himself from continuing the explanation, then snarled “Awww, fuck me, I don’t have time for this. Just forget it…”
“This is what Rowan does, Drew,” Mandalay interjected, trying to help.
He verbally balked. “You mean to tell me that was the psychic bullshit I’ve heard about?”
“Agent Drew!” she snapped.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told her, waving my hand in a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter what he believes.”
Ben cocked his head to the side then gave me a short nod as he rerouted the conversation. “Guess it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
“That’s an understatement,” I replied.
“Well, I gotta ask,” he said, shooting me a questioning gaze. “You see anything while you were off in la-la land?”
“No,” I replied, giving my own head a shake and regretting it immediately as the pounding inside my skull continued to rage. “I didn’t see anything. But…”
A sharp stab of intense pain lanced through my throat, and I let the rest of the sentence go unspoken. I swallowed hard then forced myself to bolster my earthly ground. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the connection as I struggled to dissipate the negatively charged energy that was flowing relentlessly through my body.
“You okay, Row?” my friend asked.
“Not really,” I managed to reply, dropping my forehead into my hand.
“Should we get you away from here, Rowan?” Constance asked.
“No,” I told her without looking up. “It’ll be fine. I just have to settle down.”
“Give me a break,” Agent Drew spouted. “You’ve got to be kidding. This is just…”
“Can it, Skippy,” Ben barked in his direction.
As usual, my towering friend was intimidating enough to get his way, and the younger man snorted quietly but kept his mouth shut.
“You sure, white man?” Ben asked, focusing back on me.
“Yeah. It’s all good.”
“Okay, so what were you about ta’ say?” he queried.
I sighed and looked up at him slowly as I stated, “I take it you want me to see something in that room over there.”
“Well yeah, what was your first clue?”
“I think the yellow tape had something to do with it,” I replied with a return volley of sarcasm. “Anyhow… Would there happen to be anything in there that would explain why I have the taste of apples and blood in my mouth?”
My friend looked back at me and frowned then reached up to smoothed back his hair before shaking his head and muttering, “Jeezus H Christ, white man… Look out folks, he’s baaaacccckkkk…”
The first thing to strike me before we even entered room seven was just that very fact-it was room seven. Different motel, different side of town, but the same room number as the one where Wentworth’s body had been found. Something told me that it was far from a coincidence.
The second thing was the overwhelming odor of watermelon wafting from the doorway. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but given the fact that it was the very same odor that had clouded the Wentworth crime scene, it became hash mark number two on the imaginary tote board of interconnections between the crimes.
My headache had settled somewhat, dropping a notch or so below a blinding migraine. The queasiness was still there as well, but it was manageable. Of course, the sickly-sweet pungency that was already enveloping us wasn’t helping in that arena. I tried to keep my breathing shallow and ignore the smell as best I could, consciously beating down the tickle that would occasionally rise in the back of my throat. Thus far, my coffee was staying put, and that was a good thing.
It had been so long since I’d dealt with such a direct assault from the realm of the dead that I had forgotten just how physically trying it could be. Still, for the moment I was managing to keep myself grounded, and that was the most important thing I could do. As long as I could accomplish that, I felt I could keep the symptoms at bay, and that would at least allow me to function.
I hoped.
“What’s that stench?” Mandalay asked as we stood outside the room, signing in on the crime scene log.
“Fuck me gel,” Ben replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Watermelon flavor accordin’ to the label.”
“There was…” Agent Drew started.
“Yeah,” Ben cut him off. “There was a tube just like it at the Wentworth scene.”
“So that’s why you told Rowan to bring us along?” Mandalay asked, grabbing at the dangled carrot.
“That and a few other things, yeah,” he replied.
“You think the homicides are connected?” Drew asked.
“Let’s just say I’m not rulin’ it out.”
I finished scrawling my name on the log and looked up at my friend. “Watermelons and apples are a far cry from one another, Ben.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied as he offered us each a pair of latex gloves. “There’s an apple in there too. Ya’ can’t fuckin’ miss it.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I returned as I fought to force my hand into one of the rubber sheaths. My palms were sweating and clammy, making it a struggle. I stood there fumbling like a nervous rookie, and I could feel the eyes of the other cops drilling into me. I was beginning to feel like this was all a completely new experience for me-the ethereal connection, the crime scene… Everything. Of course, given the unceremonious return of what some call my “gift,” I suppose in a way it actually was.
I finally managed to get the glove onto my hand and began a similar altercation with the other as I continued my questions, “So, what about the victim? High profile?”
“Not really,” he told me. “Actually, he was a copper.”
I stopped and looked up at my friend’s face. The sharpness of his attitude and the reserved anger in the faces of the officers working the scene suddenly made perfect sense. What I had originally thought to be annoyance directed at me was in fact fury at the loss of one of their own. This wasn’t just another homicide; it was a cop killing.
“Do you know if he had a connection with Wentworth?” Mandalay asked.
“It’s bein’ checked out,” he replied. “But nothin’ obvious says he did.”
“What about the homicide itself?” Agent Drew asked. “Same execution style murder?”
“Jeez, I almost wish it was,” Ben huffed. “Then maybe it’d make more sense.”
“What do you mean?” Mandalay asked.
“Well, it’s…” he stammered then shook his head and replied simply, “You’ll see when ya’ go in. You good, Row?”
I suddenly realized that everyone was still waiting on me to finish struggling into the surgical gloves. I redoubled my effort and managed to get the covering to slip over my hand, albeit not without uncomfortably pinching my skin in several places. “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I’m ready.”
I followed my friend up the pair of steps then across the threshold with Mandalay and Drew close behind. As I cleared the doorframe, I automatically looked up and toward the center of the room.
What I saw lying on the bed immediately nullified my previous statement about “being ready.”