Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (18 page)

“We’d like to continue if you’re agreeable to that,”
Jante said, directing herself to Felicity, although she did cast a
quick glance in my direction as well.

Personally, I wasn’t excited about the situation,
but the nagging wonder in the back of my head was getting the
better of me. I wanted to know just exactly what they were after
and why. I turned toward my wife and wrestled with the momentary
indecision.

After a heartbeat or two I abandoned the struggle
and chose a different path. I would allow Felicity to be the
barometer. As curious as I was, I knew she would be pragmatic. She
always was. If she wanted to leave now, we would. If she wanted to
hear them out, then I would just be sure to pay even closer
attention to my gut. If my inklings grew any stronger, I figured I
could just pull the plug then and there. At least, that’s what I
hoped.

I shrugged. “I’ll leave it up to you unless you want
me to decide. Just say the word.”

She looked at me and gave a shallow nod then
absently chewed at her lower lip. A thick quiet filled the room,
underscored by the low whirr of the cooling fan on Doctor Jante’s
notebook computer as it kicked on for a moment.

“Maybe I can help with your decision,” the doctor
finally said, breaking the silence and taking advantage of the fact
that my wife had not yet said no. “May I show you something, Miz
O’Brien?”

“What?” Felicity asked.

“It’s a short clip from a video recording of an
interview with Devereaux.”

“Why do you want me to see it?”

“I think that after you do, you’ll have a better
understanding of why we are so interested in your apparent
connection with Miranda.”

Felicity looked over at me again then back to Doctor
Jante. She closed her eyes and sighed, then gave a quick nod to the
affirmative as her eyelids fluttered open. “Okay. I’ll watch
it.”

Jante skillfully fingered the computer keyboard then
twisted the whole unit so that it was aimed in our direction.

“This particular clip is from an interview conducted
last week,” she told us as a simple introduction then reached
around and tapped the touch pad to start it playing.

As the image opened on the screen, I experienced an
excruciating moment of déjà vu. Annalise Devereaux was almost a
dead ringer for Felicity. There were differences to be sure, but
they were subtle enough that even I had to do a double take. What
made this worse for me, though, was the fact that the woman in the
video was clad in a prison issue orange jumpsuit and wearing
handcuffs. When my wife had been arrested and accused of the
murders, I had visited her at the Justice Center where she had been
held. The image before me now was almost like a snapshot taken
directly from my memory, and it brought a phantom wave of the
emotional pain flooding back without warning.

I watched as the video doppelganger settled back in
her chair, regarding the person seated across the table from her
with a curious expression. While the camera was primarily focused
on Annalise, I could make out enough of the interviewer’s profile
to reasonably assume that it was Doctor Jante herself. As the clip
moved forward, audio began to stream from the computer.

“Actually, she reminds me of how Annalise was in the
beginning,” Devereaux said, her voice a sweet Southern drawl even
through the tinniness of the small speakers. “But, better. Much
better.”

Judging from the third person reference, it was
apparent that Miranda was in control.

“Miz O’Brien, you mean?” the half image of Doctor
Jante on the screen asked.

“Felicity, yes,” Miranda replied.

“How is it that you know her?”

“Serendipity.”

“Would you like to explain?”

“No.”

“I see. So, what is it that makes her better than
Annalise?”

“Her spirit, of course,” she said, shaking her head
and smiling. The tone of her voice made her reply sound as if the
answer was so obvious that the question itself was wholly
unnecessary. “She fights her desires, and that just makes them all
the sweeter when they are realized. For the both of us.”

“And those desires would be?”

“To accept their love completely and without
hesitation.”

“Love?”

“Yes.”

“By ‘accept their love’ exactly what and who do you
mean?”

“Accepting their love by giving them what they
want.”

“‘They’ being men?”

“Of course.”

“So what you really mean is torturing and killing
men for your own sexual gratification?”

“No.” Miranda shook her head. “I mean exactly what I
said. Loving them.”

“I’m not sure I comprehend how what you do to them
equates to love.”

Miranda flashed her wicked smile. “Of course you
don’t. You don’t have the capacity to understand.”

“Perhaps if you explained it to me.”

“That would be like trying to explain algebra to a
flea, now wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I’m a little smarter than your
average flea. Why don’t you give it a try and we’ll see?”

Miranda leaned forward and adopted a serious visage.
“Do you have children, Ellie?”

“Do you?” the doctor countered without missing a
beat.

Miranda smiled and leaned back. “Of course you
don’t. You’re far too wrapped up in yourself to have had time for a
partner, much less children.”

“That’s an interesting observation.”

“No it isn’t.” She shook her head. “I’m merely
stating the obvious.”

“I see.”

Miranda looked her over then leaned back in the
chair once again. “Or maybe you’re a lesbian. Is that it? Do you
prefer the company of women, Ellie?”

“I really expected better from you,” the onscreen
Doctor Jante replied, her voice even and unfazed. “That’s exactly
what Virgil Leroy Belton asked when I interviewed him. I even wrote
about it, so I would have to assume you’ve read my book.”

“Actually, that isn’t exactly what he said. Belton
asked if you were a ‘pussy licking dyke.’ I’m not that crude.”

“Yes, you are correct. So obviously you did read
it.”

“No, but Annalise did.”

“I see. What did she think?”

“She thought it was sophomoric and speculated that
your PhD came from a box of caramel corn.”

“Still trying insults? Isn’t that ploy a bit
common?”

“No more common than the questions you’ve been
asking me, Ellie. I’m merely slumming. As distasteful as it is, I’m
bringing myself down to your level to help you understand what you
couldn’t otherwise. You should really show some appreciation for
the sacrifice I am making on your behalf.”

Video Jante remained silent. Eventually Miranda
cocked her head to the side and grinned.

“Do you know why I wanted to know if you have
children?” she asked.

“I have my own theory, but I’m fairly certain you
would say I’m wrong if I were to tell you.”

“That’s because you are. I don’t even have to hear
it to know that.” Miranda sighed. “I suppose I should just tell
you. I asked you about children because it might help you better
understand. You see, Ellie, the bond between a mother and child is
unlike anything else. No love runs as deep, even the love I feel
for them, and they for me. And, I imagine that when a mother sees
her child take its first step, she must feel just exactly like I
did that night.”

“Which night would that be?”

“The night in the motel with
Felicity,” she replied. “That’s what you
really
want to know about, now isn’t
it?”

“Motel?”

“Don’t pretend to be any more stupid than you
already are, Ellie. It’s unbecoming. Obviously you don’t have
breeding, so at least try to live up to your supposed
education.”

“Humor me.”

Miranda sighed. “You bore me.”

“Then let me speak to Annalise.”

“You bore her as well.”

“Really.” Jante said the word more as a statement
than a question.

Miranda answered it anyway. “Yes, of course you do.
Unfortunately, Annalise is too damaged to know better.”

“And why is she damaged?”

“Because she’s weak, of course.”

“So you damaged her?”

“No, she damaged herself.”

“How?”

The two of them sat staring at one another in
silence as the progress bar on the video player crept along and
seconds ticked off on the digital counter.

“That isn’t what you are here to talk about, Ellie.
You know that.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Don’t play games.”

“I’m not. You know exactly why I’m here. You’ve been
directly linked to seven brutal murders, maybe even several more.
I’m here to find out why.”

“That answer is so simple you should have seen it by
now, which simply proves my point.”

“The answer is rarely simple in cases such as
these.”

“This one is. I did it for Felicity.”

“Are you saying that Miz O’Brien told you to kill
those men?”

Miranda cocked her eyebrow. “See. I give you the
answer and you still miss it entirely. Try thinking before you open
your mouth. What makes you think anyone could tell me to do
anything?”

“I never said anyone could. I merely asked if
someone did.”

“You still want to know about the motel, don’t
you?”

“I think you want to tell me about it, or you
wouldn’t keep bringing it up.”

An almost wistful look seemed to pass across
Miranda’s features. The struggle for control between the two women
had been gently teetering like a carefully balanced see-saw on a
still summer day. But now the imaginary wind picked up, and the
nudge it provided seemed to dip matters in Jante’s favor.

“I’m talking about the motel where Felicity took the
man Annalise used for revenge,” Miranda finally said.

“Brad Lewis? Your last victim?”

“I suppose that was his name. What they call
themselves isn’t important. All that matters is that they love and
are loved.” Miranda shook her head again. “But, as usual, you’re
wrong. He wasn’t my victim. None of them are my victims.”

“You murdered him. That makes him a victim in my
book.”

“I never said he wasn’t a victim. I
simply explained he was not
my
victim. Annalise murdered him, not me. She did it
out of spite because she is jealous of Felicity. I, on the other
hand, would have loved him.”

“Semantics. He’s still dead.”

“See. I told you that you were too stupid to
understand.”

“All right, since I’m so stupid, educate me. What is
it about that night you want me to know?”

Miranda let out a contented sigh and stared into the
distance with a pleased smile on her lips. The yearning look
remained on her face as she began to talk. “It was a very special
night. It was when Felicity first started to understand her true
capacity to love.”

“How do you mean?”

“We both loved him. Together. And, when I left she
was still loving him.”

“You mean torturing.”

“Loving. She was giving him what he wanted and
needed. And, in return, she was accepting his love.”

“I see. What do you mean, ‘when you left’? Were you
there with her?”

Miranda continued to stare off into space. “I should
have stayed longer to make sure she didn’t stumble, but Annalise
was being needy and I had to leave. I should have ignored the bitch
and stayed where I belonged. I blame myself for not being there for
Felicity. If I had I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.”

“Where would you be?”

“Where I belong, of course. And where I will be soon
enough. With her.”

The video clip ended, and the player automatically
paused on the last frame. Staring back at us, frozen in
two-dimensional space, was the image of Annalise wearing Miranda’s
almost frightening smile twisted across her lips.

The flesh and blood Doctor Jante reached over and
carefully spun the notebook computer back around before leveling
her gaze on my wife. “Miz O’Brien,” she said, her voice even. “I
think perhaps now you can see our situation a bit more
clearly.”

Felicity sighed and gave her a shallow nod.

Jante continued. “I’m afraid I need to ask you a
somewhat disturbing question. Was Annalise Devereaux in the motel
room with you that night before the police arrived?”

From the sound of Doctor Jante’s question, it
appeared that I should have stuck to my guns about drawing this
interview-turned-witch hunt to an immediate close. Hindsight being
what it was, my earlier curiosity-induced myopia had me feeling
incredibly stupid for allowing it to continue even though I’d left
the decision up to my wife. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be
anything I could do about it now without making Felicity look just
as guilty as Annalise. Of course, it seemed they had already come
to that conclusion without my help.

“Not that I recall,” Felicity replied.

Cliché though they were, I knew she had chosen the
words carefully. Even if Annalise had been at the motel with her,
she wouldn’t have known because, for all intents and purposes,
Felicity had been there in body only. Her consciousness had been
elsewhere, and her memory of that night had a several hour gap. But
Annalise wasn’t the real issue here anyway, Miranda was, and she
had most definitely been present. Just not the way they meant.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Hanley pressed.

“Exactly what are you implying?” I asked, issuing
the demand before my wife could respond to his question. “What
happened to the part where no one is accusing her of anything?”

“We aren’t implying anything,” Doctor Jante
interjected. “And we certainly aren’t making accusations. We’re
merely trying to find the truth and establish how Devereaux came to
know these facts.”

Even though I knew the real answer, unbelievable as
it was, I objected in the only way I could, waving my hand at the
computer as I spoke. “What facts? That was just vague rambling. If
anything she got lucky telling you what you wanted to hear. Not to
mention the fact that I’m sure her attorneys have subpoenaed the
same police reports you’ve been reading. They could have told her
everything she just said.”