“Yeah, first name Brad, last name Lewis, L-E-W-I-S,” Ben said into the cell phone as he urged the van along Highway 40 and back across the Poplar Street Bridge into Missouri. “Uh-huh… Yeah, according to the witness it’s a white Ford Focus… No, don’t know the plates, but his address is…”
I tuned out the rest of what he was saying. I had already heard it all once out of the young man from the club, and it had etched itself into my memory as he spoke each word. I doubted I would be forgetting it anytime soon.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason for tuning my friend out. I was having a hard time dealing with the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, releasing the hounds on my wife. While I understood that reporting the information was something he simply had no choice but to do, it didn’t make me feel any better about pointing the manhunt in Felicity’s direction.
I suppose there was still one saving grace, however, and that was the fact that the handful of data Ben was handing over probably wasn’t going to get anyone else any closer to finding her than we were.
Not that we were particularly close.
I just knew that I needed to find her first. Unfortunately, I was beginning to realize that this need was as much for my peace of mind as for her safety. A nagging doubt had crept into my thoughts, and it was treating my fear like a buffet line, feeding on it in a near frenzy. I was trying very hard to ignore it because the feeling it produced in the pit of my stomach made me want to vomit.
Still, even if I discounted the growing incertitude, I knew that I needed to be at the head of the pack no matter what.
The thing was, right now it wasn’t looking like I was going to make it. That fact, in and of itself, was bringing its own churn to my insides.
My emotions had been running hot and cold all evening as it was-bouncing up and down the scale with each passing moment. I simply wasn’t used to this roller coaster. Given the circumstances, I figured I should be completely on edge right now, but that just wasn’t the case.
Granted, I had started out with anger when the young man finally admitted to knowing the details about the individual with whom my wife had left the club. In fact, Ben had actually ended up needing to step between us as I started after him in a sudden rage. I don’t think the beating I intended to inflict would have been the kind he was looking for either.
But, that infuriation was all too brief, and it had quickly morphed through to quiet frustration. Following that equally hasty encounter, I slipped into a moment of something close to elation before finally sweeping right back past anger and falling directly into the cold arms of depression. In the end, the entire course of emotions took less than five minutes to complete.
Now, as we cruised over the PSB, I found that I was still firmly planted in that state of melancholy. I knew that part of it came from the conscious knowledge of how futile our search had become. It seemed that we were falling further behind at every turn, and I’m sure that went a long way toward setting my current mood. And, of course, the bizarre tingle in the back of my head wasn’t helping either. But, I also knew that the relentless doubt that had so recently set up residence in my thoughts was the worst of the trio of culprits. Even when things came in threes, there had to be a leader.
At the moment I was sitting slumped down in the passenger seat, gazing out the windshield with an unfocused stare. The darkness beyond the glass had morphed into a surreal landscape as we drove, and I was simply allowing myself to melt into it.
I watched wordlessly as the reflection of the Saint Louis skyline rippled in the dark waters of the Mississippi River, shortening to an abstract flicker of light as we advanced across the bridge. Ben merged to the left and continued along the highway, bypassing downtown as he pressed on toward the county.
I remained mesmerized, as yellowish-white pinpoints of light continued appearing in the distance, growing larger, then streaking past us on the left. Dusky red flickers brightened and dimmed with their out of sync rhythms on the right. Setting the pace and bisecting it all was the on-again off-again flutter of the lane markers as they came and went all at once.
On one level I knew exactly what I was seeing, but on another the familiar sights had taken on a whole new meaning. My head ached, and my brain simply didn’t seem to be interested in processing reality any longer. It had become too harsh, and my subconscious was frantically seeking an escape. Turning the visual sensory input into a hypnotic kaleidoscope for its own entertainment was apparently the path of least resistance.
Given the alternative, I didn’t know that I really minded a bit. In fact, I was seriously considering allowing myself to succumb to it in total when my friend decided it would be a good time to interrupt.
“Hey, Row…” Ben’s voice joined a sharp jab against my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I said, reluctantly surfacing from the trancelike stare.
“You gonna answer your phone?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your phone,” he repeated with a mild urgency. “Answer it.”
I took in a deep breath and forced my grey matter to wrap around the sentence and mull it over. It seemed like several minutes passed before the words fully registered, but apparently, time wasn’t flowing in quite the same fashion for me as for the rest of the world. When I reached into my pocket and withdrew my cell phone, it was just starting into another cycle of its warbling ring tone, and that told me that only a few seconds could have actually elapsed.
My brain objected, but still it followed orders and started shifting into a higher gear, so I held the device up to my face and inspected the backlit LCD. Even with the minor fog that lingered over my cognitive abilities, however, I recognized the number instantly. My only comment was a heavy sigh before shoving the device back into my pocket.
“Who is it?” Ben asked.
“It’s my father-in-law,” I replied flatly.
“Aren’t ya’ gonna answer it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not in the mood for it right now.”
“You should answer it,” he urged.
“He’s already left a voice mail. He can leave another one.”
“You mean he called before? When?”
“While you were still talking to the kid back at the club.”
“That why you disappeared?”
“No,” I replied. “I disappeared because I didn’t think I could handle hearing any more.”
“About what she…”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” he echoed then after a moment he added, “Ya’know, your father-in-law might be callin’ about ‘er.”
“I’m sure he is,” I agreed. “She was the subject of his first obnoxious message.”
“But, what if she contacted ‘im?”
“I doubt it, besides, he wouldn’t be calling me if she did.”
“Don’t sell the man short, Row.”
“Have you ever met him, Ben?”
“No, not actually.”
“Okay then. Just trust me, I’m the last person Shamus O’Brien would call if he knew where she was.”
“How can you know that?”
“It comes with the territory.”
“One of those Witch things?”
“Kind of,” I harrumphed. “Me Witch, him good Christian.”
“But surely he would…”
“No, he wouldn’t,” I cut him off. “He’s just calling to scream at me for corrupting his daughter and to blame me for whatever trouble she’s in right now.”
“But I thought you two still got along.”
“Yeah, well, that was awhile ago. He used to just not care for me, but over the past few years that’s pretty much turned into hate.”
“Yeah, but even so, I don’t see how he can blame you for this.”
“He’ll find a way.”
“Jeezus.”
“Yeah, him too.”
“Well, you still oughta answer it.”
“Too late,” I said. “It’s not ringing anymore.”
“Then you should call ‘im back.”
“I’d rather not.”
“You should work it out, white man.”
I looked across at my friend, and I know the expression on my face had to be a mix of surprise and disbelief. He shot a glance my way then did a double take as I continued to stare at him mutely.
“What?” he finally asked.
“Just getting a good look at the hypocrite behind the wheel is all,” I replied.
“Do what?”
“You,” I continued. “I can’t believe that you of all people are telling me how to handle my personal relationships.”
He caught on immediately to my inference. “That’s different. You don’t know the whole story.”
“And neither do you.”
“Fine. Fuckit,” he spat. “So don’t talk to ‘im.”
“I don’t plan to.”
“I was just sayin’ it might have somethin’ ta’ do with Firehair.”
I didn’t respond. Getting into an argument with him wasn’t going to help the current situation, and besides, I simply didn’t feel like it. The earlier funk hadn’t fled; in fact, in light of the conversation, it seemed like it might even be getting worse. It was rattling around inside my head as if waiting patiently for me to return to its fold. I tried to tell myself to run from it, but to be honest I didn’t see any chance of escape.
And, of course, the more I fought it, the sicker I felt.
“What happens now?” I finally asked.
“I guess we burn a lotta gas,” my friend replied. “Unless I can talk ya’ into waitin’ at home until we hear somethin’.”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Maybe.”
“Did you just say maybe?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Okay, so now I know somethin’s fucked up,” he returned. “You aren’t seriously sayin’ you’d be willin’ ta’ go home and wait, are ya’?”
“I don’t know, Ben,” I replied. “I just don’t know anymore.”
“What gives, Row?”
“I’m tired.”
“Me too, white man,” he said. “But, somethin’ ain’t right with you, and it’s not because you’re tired.”
The nagging doubt bubbled to the surface, and I found suddenly that I could no longer contain it. “What if I’m wrong?” I blurted.
“Wrong about what?”
“About Felicity.”
“You’re not.”
“You’re the one who questioned me about where she was…”
“I’m the one who repeated something because I had no choice, Rowan,” he snapped. “Don’t read anything into it.”
“But you said you weren’t so sure you didn’t agree with them.”
“So I fucked up,” he replied. “I didn’t mean it.”
“But…”
“But nothin’,” he returned. “Is that what’s botherin’ you? You’re doubtin’ yourself?”
I didn’t reply.
“Answer me!”
“Yes, dammit!” I spat. “Obviously, I’m not as in tune as I used to be. Maybe I’ve lost it. Maybe I’m wrong about all of this!”
“That shit at the crime scene was Voodoo stuff. You’re sure about that, right?”
“Yes.”
“Firehair was talkin’ with a Southern accent, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Shut up! She’s not actin’ like herself at all, right?”
“Yes.”
“You ain’t wrong then.”
“I just don’t know anymore, Ben,” I appealed.
“You got a headache?”
“Why?”
“Just fuckin’ answer me. You got a headache?”
“Yes.”
“Is it one of those la-la headaches?”
“I think so.”
“There ya’ go.”
“There I go what?”
“Somethin’s fuckin’ with you, Row.” His voice was filled with unshakable confidence. “Just like it’s fuckin’ with Felicity. Now don’t let it win.”
The first strains of the “William Tell Overture” began chirping through the cab of the van, and my hand went into my pocket out of reflex. The minute I wrapped my fingers around the cell phone, however, I started shaking my head.
“It’s probably my father-in-law again,” I said aloud.
“That was pretty quick for a call back,” Ben replied. “Maybe it really is important.”
I pulled the phone out and looked once again to the LCD, but this time I was greeted with a wholly unfamiliar number. The first thought to go through my head was that all I needed right now was a client with a software problem. I considered letting it go to voice mail but then thumbed the answer button anyway and pressed it against my ear.
“Gant,” I barked into the device.
I heard shuffling at the other end followed by what might have been sobbing.
“Hello?” I spoke again.
“Caorthann?” Felicity’s thick Celtic brogue came across the speaker in a pained whisper as she uttered my name in Gaelic.
“Felicity?!” I yelped.
“…Help me, Rowan,” she whimpered again.
All I could make out through the choked sobs that followed were the words “I think I killed him.”