Agent Mandalay’s sedan was parked on the street in front of the house with one of the Briarwood squad cars positioned immediately behind it. The other patrol vehicle was occupying a space against the curb across the street from them. I shot a glance up the driveway, searching for any sign of Felicity’s Jeep but found none. Of course, it was entirely possible that she had pulled completely behind the house-or into the garage for that matter. While I hadn’t thought she would come here, the present level of activity was more than enough to tell me that maybe I had been wrong.
Even from the street, the entire scene felt strange. There was a tickle in the center of my brain that sent a cold shiver shooting down my spine. It continued to repeat until a ripple of gooseflesh marched across the back of my neck, and even then it didn’t totally subside.
I could only describe what I was feeling as an overall sense of violation, and I knew that it was coming from the ethereal wards I had placed around the house, just like any other Witch would do. Now, those preternatural shields were howling out an alarm that only I could hear, and what they were telling me was that someone uninvited had intruded upon my space.
The feeling wasn’t one of just any intrusion either, so I was fairly certain that it wasn’t the police officers I was being warned about. I was, however, firmly convinced that whoever it was that Felicity had now become was in large part responsible for the uncomfortable prickling sensation.
I looked up and saw that the life support vehicle was only a half-block away now, but I didn’t intend to wait for it. I slammed the passenger door on the van and started toward the house only a half step ahead of Ben.
I tried not to pay attention to the gawking neighbors as we ran across the yard and up the front steps, but I couldn’t help feeling their stares. This was far from the first time we’d had the front of our house painted with the multi-hued lights from emergency vehicles. In fact, Felicity and I had actually become somewhat well known on our block because of incidents such as this, though that celebrity was really more infamy than fame. Owing to that, I figured the nearby residents would all be used to this sort of thing by now.
Still, it had been a couple of years since the last episode, and a lull of that length was bound to allow some of their curiosity to return. I suppose that was the reason why several of them were now peering at the show from behind the fogged glass of their storm doors. In fact, there were even a few onlookers, who apparently lived on a side street, who were braving the chilly night just to come up the block and watch from the corner.
As we hit the porch, Ben flashed his badge and identified himself then gave the officer a cursory explanation that I was the homeowner. The cop gave him a nod then pulled open the door and called out to the officer inside as he ushered us in.
The first thing I noticed as we entered the house was the sweet odor of Felicity’s favorite perfume. It was strong, almost to the point of cloying; the scent lingered on the air even heavier than it did whenever she first sprayed it on. The problem was I still didn’t see her anywhere.
The second thing was a muffled ruckus coming from both of the dogs barking and whining. Their boisterous clamor was coupled with the hard scrape of frenzied pawing somewhere deeper into the house.
“Is my wife here?” I asked immediately. “Is she okay?”
“Your wife would be a Ms. Felicity O’Brien?” the officer waiting inside the door asked.
“Yes. Where is she?”
“Calm down sir,” the officer replied. “She wasn’t here when we arrived.”
“Do you know if she was here at all?” Ben asked.
“Oh yeah,” a weak female voice came from the dining room. “She was here all right.”
Ben and I both turned toward the source of the words.
Agent Mandalay was sitting in the dining room looking at us. If ever there was an expression that said “splitting headache”, it was the one glued to her face at this very moment.
She was leaning forward with one elbow resting on the surface of the table and her forehead clasped in her hand. The other hand was occupied with holding a dishtowel to the side of her head, just above and behind her ear. Even so, she couldn’t hide the blood that stained both her hand and neck.
“Jeezus!” Ben exclaimed as he rushed toward her with me close on his heels.
“Glad you two could join the party,” she quipped, voice still thready.
“What the hell happened?” Ben appealed.
Before my friend had even finished the question, I heard the storm door open and heavy footsteps entering the house.
“Over here,” the police officer’s voice sounded behind us.
A second later a new voice entered the mix. “Excuse me. Coming through.”
An ordered commotion broke out around us as two paramedics entered the dining room and elbowed us out of the way to close in around Constance. One of them was already donning latex gloves as he asked her what had happened.
I didn’t hear her answer as her low voice was drowned out by the polite but firm words of the other paramedic addressing Ben and me. “We’re going to need for you to give us some space.”
Ben pulled me to the side as he reluctantly stepped out of the way himself, but he remained on the periphery watching silently with deep concern behind his dark eyes.
“This way sir,” the Briarwood police officer said as she took me by the arm and guided me back toward the living room.
Now, not only was I feeling like an intruder had been in my home, I was feeling like one myself. My frustration level was rapidly climbing. I still didn’t know where my wife was; Constance had been injured somehow, probably by Felicity; and to top it off the dull ache in my head had chosen this moment to ratchet up the scale yet again.
Sensory overload was kicking in, and I was losing ground very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that I wasn’t entirely sure that I shouldn’t just surrender and give myself over to it.
Having little choice but to follow the officer’s lead, I turned away from the activity behind me and looked toward the living room. Now that I was focusing in that direction, I noticed that the area seemed more dimly lit than usual, and I looked upward. The overhead lights were on full and reflecting down from the vaulted ceiling. I caught a quick glimpse of Dickens and Salinger, who were safely perched on the exposed rafters, peering down at the goings on with curious eyes while their tails twitched nervously. Emily, our calico, was far too skittish for such activities and was probably hiding someplace upstairs as usual.
I looked back down at the room, and it still seemed dark to me. For a moment I thought it might simply be the ethereal pounding in my skull, especially considering the fact that my ears were buzzing and colors were starting to flare and bloom as my sight shifted in and out of focus.
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to find a decent ground. It hadn’t been that long ago that I was wishing to slip across the veil as I’d done so many times before, but now I found myself fighting against it.
When I eventually opened my eyes, the flares of color had faded, but nothing else had changed. The lighting in the room still wasn’t right. As I continued to stare, however, a far more mundane reason for the dimness became apparent. The torchiere lamp that normally stood next to the front doorway was no longer there. I allowed my gaze to pivot farther downward, and I saw that it was now scattered across the hardwood floor where it had fallen and shattered into countless pieces.
Intermixed with it was the base of a small antique end table, which had apparently been toppled over as well. Its marble top was now broken into two distinct pieces. Completing the jumbled mess were the remnants of something I couldn’t readily identify but looked vaguely familiar.
“Excuse me, sir,” a voice filtered into my ears.
I didn’t respond. I simply stared at the shattered pieces of the unidentified object, trying to get a handle on where I’d seen them before. In my head I treated them as a jigsaw puzzle, mentally flipping them over and shoving them together in different ways until I formed an image that made sense. The exercise actually had a side benefit in that it gave me something on which to concentrate; that helped me remain grounded in this plane, for the time being at least.
After a moment it finally dawned on me that the ivory-colored chunks were the remains of a good-sized, ceramic faerie statuette that had once graced a recessed shelf on the wall of our dining room.
“Excuse me, sir,” the voice came again. It was still calm but this time much more insistent.
I blinked and looked up to find the officer looking at me questioningly. “Sir, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may?”
“Where are the dogs?” I asked absently, seizing on the fact that I could still hear them barking and growling somewhere in the house.
She pointed. “They’ve been pawing at the first door down the hallway over there.”
“That’s the basement. Did you put them down there?”
“No sir, that’s where they were when we arrived,” she replied.
I started toward the hallway to head for the basement door, and she took hold of my arm once again. “Leave them where they are, sir. They’ll be fine for now.”
“But…”
“Trust me, sir. It’s for their safety as well as ours. They’ll be fine.”
I turned my attention back to her and nodded as I said, “Okay.”
“Do you think you can answer some questions for me?”
“Sure. I’ll try.”
“Are there any friends or relatives that Miz O’Brien might attempt to contact?”
“Her parents, I guess,” I said with a shrug. “We have quite a few friends too, but I don’t think she would contact any of them. Her parents either… She’s not exactly herself right now.”
“Can you give us a list of names and phone numbers anyway, sir?”
“I suppose. I’ll have to look them up.”
“All right,” she told me with a nod then continued. “Other than friends or relatives, do you have any idea where she might go?”
“At the moment, no.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital!” Mandalay’s voice raised a pair of notches to be heard over everything else.
I turned away from the officer who was questioning me, so I could see what was happening.
Constance was still sitting in a chair at the table but now had a wad of gauze affixed to the side of her head. A paramedic was looking into her eyes as he flashed a penlight to and fro.
“Listen to ‘em, Connie,” Ben ordered.
“I’m fine,” she spat in return. “And, don’t call me Connie. You know better.”
“Detective,” one of the paramedics addressed Ben. “Please. You aren’t helping.”
“Agent Mandalay.” The other medic was talking directly to Constance. “You’ve sustained a serious blow to the head. You most likely have a concussion and you really need…”
“…Sir? Sir? Mister Gant?” The officer was prodding for my attention.
I turned back to her. “What?”
“I need for you to focus, sir, and answer some more questions.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said with an impatient shake of my head.
“Now, is Miz O’Brien a substance abuser? Alcohol? Drugs?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head again as I screwed up my face. “Not at all. I mean, she has a few drinks every now and then, but…”
“Has she been drinking today?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Sir, we were informed that Miz O’Brien is suffering from a mental disorder. Is she currently taking, or is she prescribed any anti-psychotic medications?”
“No. She’s not on any medication. What you were told… Well…” I stuttered. “That’s not… It’s… Well, it’s not entirely accurate.”
“Not entirely accurate how, sir?”
“She doesn’t have any mental disorders,” I replied, knowing full well that in one sense I was telling the truth, but in another I was lying through my teeth.
She looked back at me with a flat expression then continued into the next query. “Have you been having any marital problems?”
“No.”
“You’re certain? Everything is okay here at home as far as you know?”
“Yes.”
“Does Miz O’Brien have a previous history of violent behavior?”
“No,” I replied with a puzzled shake of my head.
“How about yourself, sir?”
“What? No,” I snapped.
“We could really use your cooperation here, sir.”
I didn’t know quite how to reply. There was no way for me to tell her the whole truth and not look like I was in need of medication myself. Why I hadn’t simply played along with Ben’s story I don’t know. Maybe it was an inherent need to protect Felicity from a social stigma or perhaps even the fact that I was still feeling overwhelmed by everything that had happened in such a short span of time. Whatever it was, I got the feeling I hadn’t done myself, nor my wife, any favors.
I looked back at the cop, and I could tell by the expression on her face that she had already decided that I was lying to her. After a moment she looked down and scribbled a quick note then sighed and paused before looking back up at me. It didn’t take long for me to realize that she wasn’t looking at me straight on, but instead she was silently inspecting the obvious fingernail scratches on my cheek. Out of reflex I reached up and brushed my fingertips across them and let out a sigh of my own.
“Mister Gant, do you have any reason to believe that your wife would want to hurt or even try to kill you?” she asked in a flat tone.
“Officer,” I appealed. “I understand your concerns here, believe me, but I think you might be reading something into this that you shouldn’t.”
“Mister Gant,” she replied. “The only thing I am reading into this right now are the facts, and those are the following. One, your wife assaulted a federal officer. Two, she secured said officer’s sidearm. Three, she fled the scene and is now considered an armed fugitive.”