Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation (8 page)

“Okay,” he finally told me. “When do ya’
wanna do this?”

“Tonight if at all possible,” I replied.

He nodded and then frowned. “Yeah. Sooner the
better. Shit! Allison’s gonna have my ass.”

“So what’s new about that?”

I opened the door to the patrol car and
squatted down next to it. R.J. looked over at me, as the sound had
apparently startled him.

“Do you think you can get in touch with all
of the coven members pretty quickly?” I asked him.

“Sure. Why?”

“I want to get everyone together over at my
place this evening if we can.” I continued, “We really need to talk
about what’s happened, and the more information we can get, the
quicker the cops can catch whoever killed Ariel.”

“But...” R.J. started.

“I know, R.J.,” I interrupted. “I know you
think that Devon did it, and what he’s getting himself into is some
sick shit, I agree. But, right now there’s no proof it was him.
Believe me, they plan to pick him up and question him.” He settled
back in the seat as I talked. “We have to help the police, man. Not
fight against them. Okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded after a short silence and
then hung his chin down to his chest.

“We’re on,” I told Ben as I stood up.

My friend nodded and stepped to the driver’s
door of the squad car. He opened it and reached in to the controls
near the dash. He punched a button and the light bar atop the roof
blinked to life. The pre-arranged signal quickly caught the eye of
the officer belonging to the vehicle, and he was soon making his
way back toward us from the coffee shop across the street.

After signaling the patrolman, Ben got in the
back seat momentarily and unlocked the handcuffs that were
restraining R.J.

“I’m gonna have the officer drop ya’ off at
your car,” he told him. “You’ve got a real friend in Rowan here, so
don’t fuck it up and pull any shit this time.”

R.J. nodded quietly and rubbed his wrists
where the restraints had bit into his skin.

“Here.” I held out a business card to him.
“This is Detective Storm’s card. My number and address are on the
back. Tell them we’ll have sandwiches and the like so they can eat
there. Say we set everything up for about seven tonight? Sound
good?”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“Stay grounded.” I smiled at him. “We’ll work
this out.”

Ben returned the handcuffs to the patrolman
and instructed him to return R.J. to his vehicle. We both thanked
him for his time and watched them pull away before making the short
trek across the parking lot to the van. It was coming up on noon,
and I was starting to fade. Exhaustion, not only from the lack of
sleep but from the mental trauma of channeling Ariel’s murder, was
taking its toll.

“You really think the kid’s gonna show?” Ben
asked me, looking quickly each way then nosing the van out into the
traffic.

“Yeah.” I slumped in my seat. “He’ll show.
I’m sure of it.”

“I hope you’re right,” he told me as we
entered the flow and came to a halt at a signal that had just
winked to crimson. “Ya’know, Rowan,” he said after a pause, still
looking straight ahead. “If I didn’t know ya’ better, I’d have ta’
consider ya’ a suspect.”

“Because of everything I told you this
morning at Ariel’s apartment,” I stated matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Ya’know I’m gonna have
ta’ check out your alibi with your dad.”

“I figured you would. In fact, I’d be
disappointed if you didn’t.”

He looked quietly out his side window and
then turned his eyes back to the front. It was apparent that he was
wrestling with something other than my whereabouts Wednesday night.
“Ya’know, I’m still kinda weirded out about this stuff,” he finally
admitted.

“I know.”

He looked over at me. “For your own sake,
keep this between us.”

“I will,” I told him.

The dull background noise of the city was
sharpened momentarily as a horn blared to our rear, angrily
alerting us to the fact that the traffic light had changed. Ben
pushed the van into motion, and we rolled on through the
intersection and down the street in the general direction of my
suburb.

“Mind if I use this?” I asked, picking up his
cell phone.

“Go ahead. Gotta call the little woman?”

“Yeah,” I replied, punching in my number.
“She should be home by now.”

After a pair of trilling rings, the phone was
answered by my wife’s tranquil voice. The evenly spaced, rattling
noises in the background told me she was in the darkroom, probably
processing the film she had shot on her outing. We exchanged
greetings, and then I relayed a sketchy outline of the morning’s
events before filling her in on the plans for the evening. I had
gingerly talked around the incident involving the table lamp and my
forehead but knew that I had better warn her before she saw me. I
had to pull the phone away from my ear quickly to protect my
hearing as soon as I uttered the words x-ray and stitches. A moment
or two later, I held out the handset to Ben.

“She wants to talk to you,” I told him.

F
ortunately, Ben knew Felicity well, and as a cop, had dealt
with distraught individuals a number of times before. He allowed
her to decompress and simply listened as she vented her feelings
regarding the circumstances of my injury. Just as fortuitous was
the fact that Felicity was not one to hold a grudge and worked
through her anger very quickly. By the time we pulled into the
driveway of my Briarwood home, they had both apologized to one
another, and the entire incident had somehow become my fault for
having my face in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Ben dropped me off and headed, I assumed, to
his own home in order to spend what little time he could with his
family. He planned to return for the meeting somewhat earlier than
the rest and had told me he was still trying to figure out how to
make it up to his wife and son. Something told me he would be
taking time out to visit my father along the way. After a quick
wave, I ambled up the stairs to my front porch and was greeted by
Emily, our calico cat, who leapt lithely down from the window ledge
and began weaving herself about my legs, purring madly.

“Yes, I missed you too,” I told her as I
stooped to pick her up.

Emily continued her throaty trill as I
allowed her to drape herself across my shoulder, then lifted the
lid on the mailbox and retrieved the contents. There was the usual
mix of bills and junk mail, as well as a yellow pickup slip for a
package that had needed a signature—most likely one of my client’s
software in need of modification or repair. Felicity had probably
been in the darkroom ever since returning from her photo expedition
and had missed the postal carrier. I resigned myself to picking it
up at the branch office on Monday since it was already after noon.
Besides, my evening was already booked, so working was out of the
question anyway.

I twisted my key in the deadbolt lock of the
heavy, oak front door and pushed it open, following it inside then
closing it behind me. I lifted the rumbling ball of fur from my
shoulder and gently placed her on the arm of the couch then tossed
the mail in the small wicker basket Felicity kept by the door for
just such a purpose. Fatigue washed over me, and the sofa was all
but screaming my name. I sat down and within moments became
horizontal on the soft cushions. Emily remained perched on the arm,
near motionless, her ears at full attention, as if she were a small
furry gargoyle watching over me. Scarcely had I reclined that I
heard my wife’s footsteps as she came up from the basement and into
the living room.

“I thought I heard you up here,” she said
softly, seating herself on the edge of the sofa next to me.

I looked up to see her
lightly freckled face, framed by her auburn hair wrapped loosely in
a
Gibson Girl
about
her head. It never ceased to amaze me how this woman I had married
could easily slide from hippie activist to china doll in the blink
of an eye. Her bright green eyes stared back with concern as she
reached out and lightly touched my forehead near the
stitches.

“How are you feeling?”

“Physically or spiritually?” I asked, weakly
smiling back at her.

“Both.”

“Physically,” I told her, “like I’ve been hit
by a truck. Spiritually...drained, but still grounded.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do these things to
yourself,” she gently admonished, lightly placing her hand over the
wound on my head. “A person can only take so much.”

“I’ve got to be honest with you.” I relaxed,
feeling the healing energy she was directing through her hand. “I
lost control today. When I channeled those last few moments of
Ariel’s life, I couldn’t keep myself separated. She kept breaking
through and taking over. I know it scared the hell out of Ben.”

“Oh, Rowan,” she whispered. “It scares the
hell out of me too.”

Felicity was filled with an inherent desire
to make everything well and at the moment, she wore a deeply
empathic grimace. I watched her close her eyes and felt her ground
and center, directing a cool wash of energy over me that appeared
in my mind as a soothing green light. Soon, my dull headache
subsided, and the last knots of tension uncoiled from my neck and
shoulders.

“Have you eaten?” she asked me.

“No,” I answered. “Not yet.”

“I’ll go make you something.” She leaned
forward and lightly kissed me on the forehead. “You just
relax.”

I vaguely remember the smell of corned beef
hash and eggs wafting into the room as I drifted into tortured
sleep.

Screaming.

Screaming forever with no pause. Distorted
noises. Sounds of ripping and tearing. The forever tortured banshee
wail. I am in Ariel Tanner’s apartment. The kitchen. I am standing
in the kitchen. The room is bathed in a surreal wash of white. I
shade my eyes against the stark brightness.

Silence.

Clear, unbroken silence.

My heart pounding. Thump thump, Thump thump,
Thump thump. Louder. Fighting to escape from my chest. Blood
rushing in my ears, pushing back the silence.

Fear.

Pure, unadulterated terror.

“
Please come in,” a voice.

I turn to face the direction of the voice.
Ariel Tanner is standing before me, radiant and lovely in a white
lace gown. She smiles at me.

“
Rowan, how nice to see you.” Her voice
floats mellifluously, displacing the rushing in my ears. “It’s been
so long.”

“
Ariel?” I question.

She jerks spasmodically, and the smile flees
her lips. Her eyes grow wide and she looks down. A spot of crimson
appears on the high neck of the lace gown and begins growing.
Spreading. Her mouth falls open in shock, and she looks back at me
with questioning eyes. The vermilion stain waxes unceasingly,
covering her chest.

“
Why, Rowan?” she mouths. “Why?”

Darkness.

Falling. Wind rushing past. Faster, faster,
faster...

An unearthly sound. A demonic chord growing
stronger.

Impact.

I’m standing in Ariel Tanner’s bedroom.
Everything is cast in an eerie blue light. Her body is spread
across the bed, her dead eyes staring at me. I walk toward her, and
they follow me. The bloodstains appear black in the supernatural
light. A sound at my back, slow and rhythmic, but unintelligible. I
turn. A figure in a robe is there lighting candles.

“
Who are you?” I ask, but my voice is
drowned out by the muffled chant.

I take a step forward and the figure
disappears. There is a sound like a crashing wave, recorded on tape
and played in reverse. The murmur is behind me now. I turn again,
and the robed figure is on the opposite side of the bed. The figure
is pointing at me. The chant becomes louder, and though disjointed
in its cadence, clear.

“
All...Is...Forgiven.
All...Is...Forgiven...”

“
Why?” a voice drifts over the
chant.

I look down to see Ariel’s mutilated corpse.
Her lifeless eyes glare back at me and her mouth slowly
animates.

“
Why, Rowan, why?”

An endless scream.

I awoke with a start, my hair and clothes
drenched in a cold sweat. Felicity was once again sitting next to
me on the edge of the sofa, deep concern creasing her brow and sad
tears clouding her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked her, immediately
worried by the expression on her face.

“Yes,” she sniffed. “I’m all right. The
question is are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I think so.”

“You kept saying ‘Why, Rowan, why’, over and
over,” she told me as she intertwined her fingers with mine, then
wiped away a tear with her free hand. “All I could feel from you
was fear, and I couldn’t wake you.”

“How long was I out of it?” I asked with a
sigh.

“About half an hour,” she returned. “What’s
going on? You’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I don’t know. Probably just a bad dream.” I
reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “The
things I’ve seen in the past twenty-four hours would give anyone
nightmares.”

“It’s more than that,” she told me. “You and
I both know it.”

I lightly caressed her cheek. “Never can fool
you, can I?”

“This isn’t going to stop until you find the
killer, is it?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

* * * * *

By some miracle, I actually slept. No dreams,
no visions, no nightmares. It was only an hour, but at least it was
peaceful. Upon waking, I re-heated and practically inhaled the meal
Felicity had made for me earlier. I never realized corned beef hash
and eggs could taste so good. After eating, I parked myself in my
upstairs office with a solid stack of reference books. The
Expiation spell had been readily recognizable to me, even
considering the killer’s sickening variations, but the rest of it
was only vaguely familiar. I knew from past reading that flaying
and vivisection of a live sacrificial victim were components of the
invocation rites performed by ritual magicians of days long past.
What I wasn’t clear on was what he might be trying to invoke or
why. I felt that if I could pin these facts down, I might have a
clue about what he would do next. Whether or not this would be
important to the police, I also didn’t know, but it was important
to me.