“Jeezus, Rowan, you look like shit.”
It was Ben Storm’s voice that split the relative silence of the sparse room. I had lost track of how long I had been staring at the wall. At first it had simply been an exercise to keep calm, but as the passing minutes accumulated, it eventually became nothing more than a method of surrender. So, by now, my state was almost one of a self-induced catatonia. I wasn’t sure, but I fully suspected that Felicity was already hell and gone from the police station. Something told me she probably didn’t head for home, but if she did she wouldn’t be there for very long.
I finally blinked then broke off my empty gaze and turned to find my friend staring at me through the bars of the holding cell. At least one of us was on the outside.
“What time is it?” I asked quietly.
He gave me a confused glance but looked at his watch and answered the question. “It’s a few minutes after six.”
I did the math and came to the conclusion that I had been sitting here for the better part of three hours. I guess that wasn’t too bad when you considered the fact that I didn’t think they had even listened when I had repeatedly asked them to call Ben.
With a sigh I rocked forward and stood up from the bench then hobbled on aching legs over to where he was standing.
I’m sure his observation was correct, but I was also certain that my appearance couldn’t come anywhere near the way I actually felt. My shoulders were killing me from the constant strain, and I could already feel the raw spots on my wrists where the handcuffs were still biting into my flesh. The rest of my body wasn’t any better either. I hadn’t fully recovered from the muscle spasms brought on by the Taser stun-nor the beating I had taken at the hands, and feet, of my wife.
The side of my face was stinging from the gashes her fingernails had left, and I was limping on what I imagined were severely bruised legs. I just hadn’t had the opportunity to check. It was also a good bet that her last kick, when I was prone on the parking lot, had cracked a rib or two. At least, that is how it felt.
To top it all off, I had a headache the size of Rhode Island, and it was being fed by very insistent sources unknown but most assuredly not of this plane of existence. I just had no idea what they were trying to tell me. I now found myself wishing I would just seize up, channel someone, and be done with it. Then maybe the pounding in my skull would subside, even if just for a while.
On the bright side-if you could call it that-I was the only one in the cell at the moment, so I was able to brood in relative peace. Of course, I suppose this was all really just about on par for my life. It seemed like every time I got involved in a murder investigation, I ended up getting the crap beat out of me.
It just wasn’t usually by someone I knew.
“Thanks,” I finally said with an overt lack of emotion. “And, trust me, I don’t feel any better than I look. So… Obviously someone actually called you. I was beginning to wonder. They didn’t act like they were going to.”
“Yeah, well, guess it was a good thing ya’ had a get-outta-jail-free card.”
He held up his hand and the object of reference was tucked between his fingers. It was his official police department business card, worn and tattered, but with a still-readable handwritten series of numbers and note on the back requesting that he be called immediately if it was presented. Years ago he had given them to both Felicity and me with the caveat that they were only for emergencies.
When I was placed under arrest and they didn’t seem to care much what I had to say, I considered it just that, an emergency. I was just glad that the thing had still been in my wallet and moreover, that I had remembered it was there. Still, when I had pointed it out to the officer while I was being processed, he hadn’t acted as if he cared in the least. I guess that was how the game was played, especially in the smaller municipalities.
My friend shoved the card into his jacket pocket then gave me another once over and furrowed his brow. Cocking his head to the side, he looked at my arms and asked, “You still cuffed?”
I nodded. “Yeah. They put them back on me as soon as they were finished with the fingerprinting.”
“Jeezus H…” he spat then gave his head an angry shake. He quickly thrust his chin toward me as he reached into his pocket and withdrew his key ring. “Turn around and back up to the bars.”
I did as he said, and a moment later the hard metal restraints loosened then fell away. I heard them clinking as he presumably stowed them in a pocket and then put away his keys.
“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he mused aloud. “A lotta coppers aren’t too keen on wife beaters.”
I turned around and stared back at him while rubbing my wrists. “Is that what she told them?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Felicity? Yeah, that’s pretty much the story I got. They said they’ve got a fuckin’ novel out there that she dictated to ‘em when she filed the charges. Outlines a pattern of spousal abuse that goes back several years. They don’t think very highly of you around here ta’ say the least.”
“What about you? Do you believe that?”
He harrumphed and gave me a nonplussed glance. “Fuck no. But, she must be a hell of an actress ‘cause like I said, they’re buyin’ it retail.”
“She was putting on a performance, that’s for sure,” I agreed.
“Still, I gotta tell ya’. I just don’t understand why she’d say all that shit if it ain’t true.”
“It isn’t.”
“I know. I’m just tryin’ ta’ understand why she’s doin’ it.”
“She’s not herself at the moment,” I replied.
“Yeah, gotta say she didn’t look like it when I saw her.”
“Is she still here?” I asked hopefully.
“She was when I came in,” he said with a nod.
I let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Good. I figured she had already left.”
My concern for my wife instantly took a personal turn as my thoughts flashed on what had transpired on the convenience store parking lot. “So, how was she doing? I mean other than the performance. She’s not hurt is she?”
“Dunno. I didn’t talk to her. Just saw her through the window of the interview room. Looked okay, but she seemed like she was actin’ kinda weird. Can’t say for sure what… Just the way she moved or somethin’. Didn’t seem hurt, but she didn’t seem like Firehair to me.”
“She’s not.”
“Well, you two have apparently been through a lot since I last saw ya’,” he offered up an excuse.
“Yeah, well as long as she stays put, we should be fine,” I said. “We definitely don’t need her running off by herself right now.”
“Well she ain’t the one under arrest, Kemosabe. You are.”
“I’m serious, Ben. She can’t leave.”
“Well, I think she’s still workin’ on the complaint against ya’, so she’ll probably be here for a bit yet. I dunno for sure,” he offered.
I seized on an idea and voiced it. “Would it help to keep her here if I filed a counter complaint?”
“Maybe, but she’s got witnesses sayin’ you were the aggressor so it would probably be awhile before they weren’t ‘too busy to take your statement’, if you know what I mean.”
“Do I look like I attacked her?”
He cocked his head and looked at my face. “All that coulda happened while she was defending herself against you, Row.”
“That’s not how it was,” I spat.
He splayed out his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m on your side. I’m just tellin’ ya’ how it looks. So, anyway, just outta curiosity, what were ya’ doin’ that made ‘er go all psycho bitch on ya’?”
“I was trying to get her to take a drink of water.”
“Maybe she wasn’t thirsty.”
“Actually, it was salt water.”
“Salt wa… No. I don’t wanna know.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Fuck me.”
“My feelings exactly.”
“Okay, so why salt water?”
“I was trying to force her to cleanse and ground.”
“I was right. I don’t wanna know. And, just FYI, ‘force her’ is a really bad phrase to use under the circumstances.”
I sighed and shook my head.
“Okay, then, so who does she have as a witness,” I asked, changing the subject. “The store clerk?”
“Yeah, her, and the two cops who responded to the call.”
“What did the cops witness?”
“The high points? You holding ‘er down… You not responding to an order from a police officer… Her screaming at the top of ‘er lungs…”
“Gods, what a mess,” I mumbled to no one in particular then addressed my friend directly. “Just promise me you won’t let her out of here without one of us with her.”
“I’ll try, but it prob’ly ain’t gonna be you,” he huffed. “They’re workin’ on gettin’ her an emergency TRS on your ass right now.”
“A restraining order? You must be joking.”
“Wish I was.”
“Fuck me.”
“Now you’re startin’ to sound like me,” he replied. “And, yeah, that’s pretty much what she’s doin’. Fuckin’ ya’ over, that is.”
“Well, then you’re going to have to keep an eye on her.”
“Thanks a lot. So listen, maybe what she needs is ta’ talk with Helen or somethin’.”
I shook my head. “I think your sister has enough on her plate right now. Besides, this is way out of her area of expertise.”
“No. I’d just finished talkin’ to her when I got the call ta’ come down here. She’d pretty much wrapped stuff up and there’s not much else she can do about the funeral this late anyway,” he replied, ignoring the last half of my comment.
“Even so, she can’t fix this.”
“We could give it a try. I’m sure she’d come down here if I gave her a call. Especially for you ‘n Felicity.”
“No, Ben,” I explained, shaking my head again. “What I’m trying to tell you is that this isn’t something Helen can psychoanalyze away. When I say Felicity is not herself, I mean it literally. She’s not even Felicity right now.”
“Okay, so who is she? Friggin’ Sybil? That’s the kinda shit Helen deals with all the time.”
Since I’d had ample time to sit here staring at the wall, a good part of it had been spent thinking about what was happening. Unfortunately, none of the conclusions I reached were particularly pleasant. Since Ben wasn’t giving up on the therapy idea, I tossed out the most frightening of the scenarios, knowing full well it would stop him cold. Unfortunately, in a very real sense, I feared it wasn’t far from the truth.
“Actually, right now, she just might be the killer you’re looking for,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone.
The words had their intended effect. He’d already had his mouth open to speak, but instead of hitting me with his pre-formed objection, he levered his jaw slowly shut without a word. He frowned hard and the lines in his forehead grew deeper. Giving me a one-eyed stare, he asked, “Are you tellin’ me Firehair murdered Wentworth and Hobbes?”
I shook my head. “No. No. Not that. Well, not exactly. What I’m telling you is that for some reason she’s possessed by an ethereal connection to the killer.”
His face relaxed and he gave me a shrug. “Okay, so she’s doin’ the Twilight Zone thing. It’s not like that’s somethin’ new for either of ya’. Jeezus, Row, you had me scared there for a sec.”
“I’m afraid it goes way beyond that, and you should be scared. I am.”
“Whaddaya mean? How’s it get any farther out there than Twilight Zone?”
“I mean I don’t think she’s just channeling. Like I said, I believe that, in some way, shape, or form, she’s possessed.”
“She don’t really look like Linda Blair to me, Row.”
“This isn’t a joke, Ben!” I snapped.
“Okay, okay, calm down. Cop humor. Sorry. So, what makes you think she’s quote-quote possessed?” He said the word twice as was his habit while making imaginary symbols in the air with his fingers to punctuate the query.
“For one thing, she pretty much admitted to it.”
“She told you she was possessed?”
“Not in so many words…”
“What words then?”
“She wouldn’t tell me her name.”
“She wouldn’t tell you her name,” he repeated, more as a comment than a question.
“I know it…”
He held up a hand to cut me off, and I fell silent. He continued staring at me for a long moment then shook his head. “Did one of the coppers crack you in the head with a baton?”
Exasperation filled my voice as I started to object, “Ben, listen to…”
He didn’t let me finish. “Hey, I just dunno, Rowan. I’ve learned not to be skeptical about a lotta shit where you two are concerned, but possessed? I mean, come on.”
“Look, whether you subscribe to the religion or not, in Voodoo there are such things as spirit possessions. The Lwa… The Gede… It’s actually considered normal.”
“Okay. Whoa. Time out. Felicity’s into Voodoo now?” he asked.
“No, I’m trying to explain…”
“Slow down,” he cut me off again. “Let me ask you something. You didn’t talk about this to the other cops when they arrested you, did ya’?”
I gave him a confused look. “No, why?”
“Because right now even I’m not sure that I believe you, and I’ve seen the shit you do. I can pretty much guarantee ya’ that they’d think you’re a friggin’ fruit loop.”
“Yeah, well I’ve kind of gotten used to that.”
“Yeah… Uh-huh… So, anyway, you’re tellin’ me Firehair is possessed by some kinda Voodoo God spirit thingawhatsits.”
“Not exactly.”
He sighed heavily. “You ain’t makin’ sense, Row.”
“Look, I’ve already admitted that I’m a bit rusty on the whole Voodoo thing. But, I do recall a little bit about it from some things I’ve read. The problem is that from what I can remember there are some issues. First, Lwa possess their followers, not random individuals off the street. Second, they take possession during rituals. Third, it is usually sudden and always complete. And, fourth, as I understand it the Lwa don’t commit crimes or purposely cause physical harm to others during a possession.”
“Okay, so you wanna boil that down into English?”
“Okay. Look at me.”
“Look at you what?”
I waved my hand about to indicate the scratches on my cheek.
“Your face? So she scratched you,” he said with a shrug. “According to the report, the two of you were struggling with each other when the officers arrived. Not a big surprise.”
I turned slightly and pulled up my shirt to reveal a red welt on my ribcage that was already shifting into darker shades.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Report also says she kicked ya’ when you were on the ground cuffed. All that does is prove she’s got a temper and we already knew that, possessed or not.”
“You need more?” I started to roll up my pant leg.
“Row, listen, it sounds to me like you just told me all the reasons why she ain’t possessed. I gotta tell ya’, you wouldn’t make a very good lawyer.”
“No…” I grumbled as I stopped fumbling with the leg of my trousers. “Listen to me. What I’m saying is that she might not actually be possessed by Lwa. ”
He gestured back and forth in front of himself with pointed index fingers. “You know, I think that’s what I’m saying I just said you said.”
I closed my eyes and dropped my forehead into my hand for a moment. Then, as I looked up, I thumped the heel of my fist against the metal bars in front of him. “Dammit, Ben, will you just listen to me!”
“Calm down, Row,” he instructed as he nodded toward the corner of the room. “You’re on freakin’ candid camera and actin’ like this ain’t gonna help your case.”
I took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “Just listen to me while I try to explain what I’m talking about.”
“Okay. Cut to the chase.”
“We know the person who killed the cop, ummm…”
“Hobbes.”
“Hobbes. Anyway, Hobbes’ killer performed a Voodoo ritual, the purpose of which I won’t know until I either look up those other two veve or we find someone more knowledgeable about the religion than me. However, what I’m thinking is that during that ritual she may have become possessed.”
“Assuming the killer is a she, yeah, okay.” He nodded. “That’s still speculation on your part.”
“She is,” I told him flatly. “Trust me. Now, Felicity, for some reason I can’t fathom, has some type of connection to this killer. Whether it’s some kind of subconscious conduit because of the fact that she’s not grounding very well, I don’t know, but there’s no denying that the connection is there.
“I can tell you that she’s already had a couple of instances where she channeled the killer. You heard about that yesterday when she got into the whole S amp;M fetish…”
“Yeah, yeah,” he held up his hands. “We can skip that part. Go on.”
“Anyway, she showed up at the crime scene today, and in a very short period of time, her personality started doing a one-eighty.”
“She was arguin’ with a copper. You know, we are talkin’ about Felicity here.”
“Yes, but she was going overboard.”
“True.”
“And, when we got into the Jeep, she told me she was getting off on it.”
“You mean like, ‘getting off’ getting off? As in…” He allowed the question to dangle unfinished.
“Exactly. It was almost like it was foreplay to her or something. Anyway, by the time we got as far as that convenience store, she had become an entirely different person. She had taken on the persona of a dominatrix with a very violent streak.”
“Yeah, well, from what she said it sounded like that was somethin’ she was into anyway,” Ben offered.
“Apparently she is, but just for play. Not to actually maim or kill.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“Yeah, okay, so maybe she was just tryin’ to get you to play.”
“Believe me, she wasn’t playing. She was serious.”
“So, you really think she wanted to kill you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” I replied. “But, I know she wanted to hurt me. Badly. And, apparently just the thought of causing me physical harm was getting her seriously aroused all over again.”
“Again, I’d appreciate it if you’d skip that part.”
“I wish.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing,” he said with a sigh. “This sure’s fuck’s way out there past regular old Twilight Zone shit.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “The best I can figure is that it is some kind of ‘collateral possession’ or something of that sort.”
Ben looked down at the floor and shook his head.
After a lethargic moment I asked, “So, do you believe me now?”
His hand slowly went up to smooth his hair then slid back and came to rest on his neck as his fingers carefully worked the muscles. “Jeezus, Row…” he finally muttered. “I still dunno.”
“Okay,” I said, suddenly remembering something I had left out. “Why don’t you go talk to her.”
“About what?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied quickly. “I just want you to hear her voice.”
He looked up from the floor and furrowed his brow then pointed an index finger at me. “Is she doin’ the accent?”
“She has an accent but not the one you’re thinking.”
“Southern?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
He nodded. “Uh-huh. Okay. So that guy wasn’t an idiot after all.”
“What guy? What are you talking about?”
“Desk jockey out front,” he replied. “Told me Felicity had the sweetest Southern accent he’d ever heard. I argued with him for damn near five minutes tryin’ ta’ tell ‘im it was Irish. He just looked at me like I’d lost my friggin’ mind.”
We stood silently staring at one another for a moment, then I said, “Ben, your killer originates from the Southern United States, and she’s still out there. On top of that, right now her personality, or some aspect of it, has taken control of my wife.”
“So all this is why you wanted her to drink the salt water?”
“Pretty much.”
“And that’d fix ‘er?”
“I don’t know. It was just an idea, but I do know that the personality in control of her knew exactly what I was doing and refused to take a drink, so I must have been on to something.”
“Sheesh… I ever told ya’ that you two are a coupl’a freaks?”
“Yes. Several times in fact.”
“Well, I’m tellin’ ya’ again.”
“Duly noted.”
“Okay, sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” I called to him as he turned to go.
He tossed the reply over his shoulder as he pulled open the door. “First, to check on your wife, and second, to see if I can get your happy ass outta here.”