Ben spent nearly fifteen minutes trying to convince the owner of The Whine Cellar that it would not only be in her best interest, but Door Mat’s as well, if she would allow us to ask those present a few questions. The more information we could gather, the better, but if we at least knew his real name and got a basic description of him, it would be a start. She kept insisting that they wouldn’t have what we were looking for other than the description she had already given us, but eventually she assented to his appeals.
It was obvious that she wasn’t happy about the situation when she ushered us through the door; what we hadn’t expected was that she wasn’t going to give in without some type of retaliation. Upon entering the club, she instantly launched into a swell of histrionics, essentially making a show of stopping the evening’s performance mid-stream.
Since the entertainment was apparently the semi-public flogging of various submissive members of the clientele, the interruption didn’t go over very well with the crowd. Still, with her barking orders, it didn’t take long to clear the centrally located, circular stage. It did, however, take a minute or two for her to quell the catcalls, the loudest of which seemed to be coming from the victims of the whippings. But, I got the impression that she wasn’t really trying that hard.
And still, even after she had everyone’s unfettered attention, she wasn’t finished with her melodramatic display. With a wholly unnecessary flourish, she introduced both of us, immediately tagging Ben as a cop and me as the “submissive husband” of the redhead who had been with Door Mat.
Several voices in the group instantly called out the name “Mistress Miranda”, intermixed with commentaries ranging from “lucky S.O.B.” to “you poor bastard”. Even so, none of them stepped up to take credit for the tidbit of knowledge. Lady Vee had then followed up by asking that anyone with any information on the individual known as Door Mat please come forward.
Just as she had said would happen, the only data coming our way was in the form of blank stares.
Ben and I both went so far as to appeal to the crowd ourselves, reviving the multiple personality disorder and skipped meds story he had concocted earlier. However, even after telling them that Mistress Miranda may very well seriously hurt their friend because of her current psychosis, not a single person was willing to help.
Whether it was because they weren’t about to talk to a cop because Lady Vee had some sort of control over them, or simply that they truly didn’t know anything, I couldn’t say for sure. Still, it seemed odd, even to me, that not one individual in the entire club knew his real name, especially if he had been a regular.
After a smug and very public “I told you so” from Lady Vee, we were summarily escorted to the door and asked to leave post haste, though not in such polite terms. Since there wasn’t really anything we could do to force the information out of them, we complied. Well, partially anyway. Felicity’s Jeep was still here, and Ben wanted to search it. Fortunately for us, I had had the presence of mind to bring my set of keys for the Wrangler along with me. I didn’t normally carry them, but for some reason, this time I had stuffed them into my pocket.
We had only been at the task a little more than five minutes when my growing impatience with the situation got the better of me.
“Shouldn’t we be out looking for Felicity?” I asked with an almost angry edge to my voice.
“Where?” Ben called across to me without looking up and continued rifling through the front half of the vehicle.
He was kneeling on the driver’s side with his head cocked over as he carefully played the beam of a flashlight beneath the seat. I was on the passenger side, doing much the same but without the aid of additional light and with much less fervor. I seriously doubted that we would find anything that would point us to where my wife had gone, and I had already said as much several times. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think my friend was expecting to either. His focus at the moment actually seemed directed more toward recovering Agent Mandalay’s sidearm.
“I don’t know, wherever,” I spat.
“‘Zactly.”
“Exactly what?”
“Exactly you don’t have any friggin’ idea where to start, and neither do I.”
“Maybe so, but we aren’t getting anywhere by staying here.”
“Uh-huh, just keep lookin’,” he grunted absently then spoke up. “So, I hate ta’ even ask this, but, how long?”
“How long what?” I replied as I gave up trying to see anything and simply slid my arm beneath the passenger seat. After feeling about, I wrapped my hand around something hard and withdrew it, only to find myself holding a collapsible umbrella. Waving it in the air, I added, “Nothing here.”
“Be careful!” he barked, having noticed how blindly I had groped about. “Why don’t you just back off and let me do this.”
“Fine,” I returned, standing and taking a half-step back then holding my hands up in plain sight. “Suit yourself. I don’t know why finding the damn gun is so important right this minute anyway.”
He glanced up at me without a word. There was more than enough overhead light for me to see the look on his face, and it told me I had just said something incredibly stupid. At least, that was obviously his take on my comment.
“I’ve already been through the console,” he said, not bothering to explain his motivation. “Why don’t you check to see if I missed anything that’ll help us know where ta’ start lookin’.”
“Yeah, okay. Fine.”
I puffed my cheeks as I blew a frustrated breath out in a frosty stream then leaned inside the vehicle and began going through the clutter in the center console.
“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t want anyone gettin’ shot. Me, you, her, or another copper. If she ditched the gun, then I know we’re probably safe, from that at least.”
“Okay, I get it,” I replied without conviction.
“Good.”
“So, how long what?” I asked after searching in silence for another minute or two.
He continued his quest without interruption but spoke again in an almost apologetic tone. “So anyway, what I was askin’ is how long do ya’ think we have before she kills this guy?”
The query struck me in the chest with no less emotional intensity than if he had simply doubled up his fist and physically thrown the punch. I stopped moving and simply allowed my head to hang.
I couldn’t blame him for asking. It was a valid question, and I would be lying if I said it hadn’t already crossed my mind more than once. I had just been making it a point to try not to think about it.
When I didn’t answer him right away, he called my name, “Row?”
The beam from the flashlight flickered in front of me, and I slowly raised my head. I’m certain the harsh light didn’t help what was most likely a horribly pained expression on my face.
“Shit… Sorry, white man…” my friend mumbled. “Didn’t think… I’m just kinda in cop mode right now. And, I’m not used ta’ one of my friends bein’…”
“It’s okay,” I replied then swallowed hard as his question continued to bounce around inside my skull. I finally said, “I honestly don’t know. It was pretty obvious at the other crime scenes that the killer apparently likes to torture the victims for a while. Given the nature of the abuse, I suspect it probably starts out as a consensual fetish game. How quickly it escalates from there, I have no idea.”
“What about the Voodoo stuff? Think she’ll do that?”
“Maybe.”
“So that could buy some time.”
I shook my head uncertainly. “Again, maybe. I don’t know enough to be able to say how long the ritual would take.”
“Okay. So, any chance Felicity could… I dunno… Win?”
“Win?”
“You know, like… I dunno… Stop herself.”
“You mean her spirit?”
“Yeah, whatever… I mean like could she be fighting against this thing right now. Groundin’ or whatever hocus-pocus it is you two are always doin’. You know, maybe tryin’ ta’ make herself snap out of it before it’s too late?”
“Right now, I suspect Felicity isn’t even aware that she needs to snap out of it, so she’s probably not able to do anything at all. Her body has become what the Lwa refer to as a ‘horse’. It’s literally being used to take the departed spirit from one place to another and allow it to do things in the physical world.”
“I thought you just said you didn’t know that much about this shit?”
“I don’t, really. Just a handful of relatively useless facts,” I said with a shrug. “While you were making some calls back at the house, I skimmed through a couple of books we had on the shelf, but I didn’t get much more than I already knew.” I stopped and harrumphed thoughtfully. “I guess that’s probably because I got what I knew from those books to begin with. Either way, basically, this is pretty unfamiliar ground for me. I know enough to know that I don’t really have a clue.”
“That doesn’t inspire confidence, Row.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So, I don’t suppose there was a chapter in one of those books on how to make the spirit go away, was there?”
“No. Apparently, it’s actually an honor to be a horse for a Lwa, so a follower really wouldn’t want the spirit to go away.”
“Prob’ly cause they haven’t hung out with this one.”
“I can agree with that because there’s something more to this spirit, Ben. The descriptions of possessions in the books seemed adamant about Lwa not inflicting intentional harm.”
“Maybe they need ta’ write a new book.”
“All I can say is that this Lwa, if that’s what it really is, isn’t normal.”
“Normal ain’t a word I’d use for any of this, Row,” he huffed.
“Yeah, I know. Believe me, based on what I read, the spirituality here seems rooted in traditional Voodoo practices, but that’s where the similarity ends. It’s like it’s being misinterpreted to fit a sick agenda.”
“Yeah, well we’ve seen that kinda shit happen before, haven’t we?”
I knew the rhetorical question was a reference to the first case I’d ever worked with him. WitchCraft had been the focus that time, but like now, it had been twisted into something it wasn’t to fulfill the killer’s psychopathic fantasy.
“Don’t remind me.”
“So, even knowin’ all that, you still think…”
“That Felicity is acting under a spirit possession?” I replied, finishing the thought for him. “Absolutely. I refuse to believe she’s a killer, Ben. I just can’t. Can you?”
“As a friend, I sure as hell don’t want to. As a cop…”
I interrupted him again. “Just don’t…”
“I’m just tryin’ ta’ say…”
“No, Ben. Don’t say anything else. At least let me pretend you’re on my side.”
“I am, Row. Believe it or not.”
“There’s something else I read,” I told him, not exactly changing the subject but shunting it into a different direction. “Possessions are known to spontaneously end.”
“So this could just all of a sudden stop?”
“Yes. In fact, more than likely it will do exactly that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So if it’s gonna do that, then you’re sayin’ maybe we just wait it out?”
“I doubt it. The problem is that it usually happens after the spirit has accomplished what it set out to do when it took over the body to begin with.”
“Fuckin’ wunnerful,” he grumbled then stood up. “Okay. Nothin’ over here either. Let’s check the back.”
I backed out and closed the passenger door then stepped around the Jeep, meeting my friend behind it. I reached in and unlatched the spare tire frame, swung it to the side, then unlocked the back window on the hard shell top. Ben pointed the flashlight through the tinted glass, moving it back and forth for a moment, and then carefully lifted the hatch open.
I followed the beam of the Mag-lite to where it pooled in the back of the vehicle. There, partially draped across Felicity’s gym bag was the pinstripe business suit she’d been wearing earlier in the day. At first I thought it might simply have been the blazer, but upon closer inspection I saw what appeared to be the waistband of the slacks, as well as the strap of her bra.
“That looks like what she was wearin’ this afternoon,” Ben said aloud.
“It is.”
“Well, unless she left outta here naked, she musta changed clothes or somethin’.”
The ensemble was haphazardly strewn across the rear cargo space, and positioned on top of it was one of her smaller, hard-sided camera cases with the hinged lid propped open. A pair of empty holes gaped back at us from the foam insert.
“It looks like there’s a camera and a flash unit missing,” I announced.
“Jeezus fuckin’ Christ,” Ben muttered. “Don’t tell me she’s gonna take pictures.”
He continued to play the beam of the flashlight around the interior of the back of the Jeep, pausing here and there as something would catch his eye. After a moment he reached in and carefully moved the camera case then started lifting the pile of clothing to check beneath.
That was when my heart somersaulted in my chest.
“Whoa! Wait!” I insisted, reaching for his arm, but he had already stopped because he had seen the same thing that caught my eye.
Felicity’s white blouse, which had been sandwiched between the blazer and slacks, was now revealed. However, it was no longer stark white, as across the left breast a bright crimson spatter stained the otherwise pristine silk.
“Gods!” I exclaimed.
“Calm down, Row,” Ben urged. “That probably came from Constance when she hit ‘er. She was bleedin’ pretty good.”
“What if it’s not?!” I appealed.
“Whether it is or not, panicking ain’t gonna help,” he returned.
My panic ramped upward suddenly, but for a completely different reason as a voice hissed from behind us, “Hey.”
At the same moment the word struck my ears, out of the corner of my eye I saw shadowy movement, followed by a hand reaching between us toward my friend’s arm. I immediately jumped, startled by the intrusion, and succeeded in banging my head against the hatch strut.
Ben’s reflexes, however, kicked into high gear, and he clamped his own hand onto the person’s wrist then whipped around in a blur of motion. Before I knew it, he had the owner of the voice pressed face first against the side of the Jeep. In retrospect I suppose the action was overkill, but at that particular moment, our level of tension was already approaching the red zone. The truth is, he had probably showed great restraint by simply subduing the individual.
I rubbed the side of my head where it had impacted the support then stepped around to see what was happening. The voice, and hand, apparently were the property of a buzz cut young man we had seen in the club. He was decked out in leather bondage gear, including a wide dog collar complete with a silver ID tag that glinted in the dim shower of luminance from the overhead lights.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” Ben almost screamed as he held him in place against the vehicle, keeping one arm twisted up behind his back.
“I just wanted to talk to you!” the young man said frantically.
“You don’t sneak up on a cop unless you wanna get hurt, you goddammed moron!”
“Whoa! Hold on! I wasn’t sneaking up on you. I’m trying to help!”
“Help what?” Ben barked.
The young man did his best to look in my direction, and I stared back at him wordlessly.
“Did she do that to you?” he asked.
“Did who do what to me?” I asked with a mix of confusion and annoyance in my voice.
“Your cheek. Did Mistress Miranda do that to you?”
“That’s not her name,” I spat.
“Look, that’s all I know her as.”
“Okay, fine,” I replied. I wasn’t about to tell him her real name. “Yes, she did this to me.”
“Man, she’s a vicious bitch.”
“Is that all you came out here for?” Ben asked, pressing him harder against the Jeep.
“No, Mistress Gwen sent me out.”
“What the hell for?” my friend demanded.
The young man tried to look at me again. “Are you really her husband?”
“Yeah.” I gave him a short nod. “I’m her husband, why?”
“Mistress Gwen thinks she’s dangerous.”
“Right now, she is,” I agreed. “We tried to tell everyone that inside.”
“Mistress Gwen wants to know if you think she might really hurt Mat.”
“I thought that’s what you freaks were all about,” Ben interjected with a mix of disdain and sarcasm.
“No, she means really injure him. Like something serious or permanent.”
“Yeah, she might,” I told him.
Ben pulled the young man away from the Jeep and shoved him in the direction of the building. The kid stumbled but caught himself and turned around to face us.
“Look, asshole, if that’s all you wanted, then go tell your playmate what she wanted to hear and leave us alone. We’re tryin’ ta’ do police work here.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“How?”
“Mat’s a friend of mine.”
“Oh yeah? Do you know his real name?” Ben demanded.
“Sure. Name, address, phone number. I can even tell you what kind of car he drives.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say something earlier?” I demanded with a swell of anger and stepped toward him.
He took a step back but didn’t bolt.
Then, for the second time this evening, someone looked at me like I had just displayed an utter lack of intelligence by asking the stupidest of all known questions.
He shook his head and replied, “Because my Mistress didn’t give me permission to speak until just now.”
Ben looked at him then over to me. “I’m gonna be needin’ my phone back, Row.”