The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (22 page)

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’m not going to have this argument
with you.” I shook my head for emphasis. “Shouldn’t you be happy
about this, Chief? For years you’ve been telling me to stay out of
everything.
Let the cops do the cop
stuff
, I believe is what you said. Well, you’ve
convinced me. I’m letting you cops do your jobs. I’m not getting
involved.”

“You already are, Row.”

“Not anymore.”

“So you’re sayin’ you’ve just switched
off the
Twilight Zone
shit,
and that’s the end of it? I thought you said it doesn’t work like
that.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I muttered.

“So then you do still see shit,
don’tcha?”

“Only if I look,” I said then paused before
adding, “And, I try not to.”

“Yeah, but you do anyway. I know you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“Not what. More like, who.”

“Felicity?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, Firehair wants you to quit?”

“She didn’t come right out and say it. Not
lately anyway. But, she’s good with the decision, and that’s really
all that matters.”

He exhaled a long, slow breath. “You blame
me, don’t ya’? Both of ya’ do.”

“No, we don’t.”

“You gotta. I got ya’ into all this when I
came to ya’ about the Tanner homicide.”

“No.” I shook my head, again using the
exaggerated motion to punctuate my answer. “What you did was ask me
some simple questions about WitchCraft and Wicca. I’m the one who
got myself in too deep. I’m the one who let it take over my
life.”

“So, what’re ya’ gonna do?”

“Take my life back.”

“Yeah, sounds good in theory, but I
mean what about the
Twilight Zone
stuff. If you still see the crap then what’re ya’ gonna
do?”

“I’ll just have to live with the
nightmares.”

“Do ya’ really think you can?”

“I already do, Ben. Every single day.”

“Yeah, but can ya’ live with the thought of
not doin’ somethin’ about what ya’ see?”

Once again, I didn’t answer. Instead I just
looked away and stared out across the lawn.

Ben pressed on. “Okay, so, what about
Firehair? She sees shit too.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“But…”

“There aren’t any but’s,” I interrupted.
“Face it. You don’t need me. All I ever do is visualize the horrors
that sick, twisted people exact upon others. It’s not like I can
make them stop what they’re doing. I wish to hell I could, but I
can’t.”

“That’s not true, Rowan,” he offered with a
shake of his head. “You’ve helped stop the bastards more than once.
You’ve saved innocent lives.”

“Tell that to Randy and Starr,” I spat,
blatantly naming the two members of Felicity’s coven who had been
tortured and murdered by a serial killer bent on my demise. His
primary reason for what he did to them was so that he could draw me
out into the open, and I’d been living with that guilt ever
since.

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Your sister keeps telling me the same thing.
Maybe someday I’ll fool myself into believing it too.”

“You’re bein’ too hard on yourself, White
Man.”

I let out a sarcastic chuckle that I simply
couldn’t contain. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Come again?”

“Forget everyone else for a second, and take
a good look at me, Ben. I’m a fucking wreck. Felicity isn’t much
better. She just hides it better than me. And, the real truth is
she’d be just fine if it wasn’t for me.”

“How do ya’ figure?”

“Easy. For six years I’ve let magick
control me instead of the other way around. And, because of that
screw up, I brought all the crap down on her as well. I’m supposed
to live by the rule of
harm
none
… Well, I haven’t been doing a very good job of
it… It’s time for me to stop. Stop hurting her, and stop hurting
myself. End of story.”

“Ya’ really think any of that’s gonna change
if ya’ keep everything bottled up inside?”

“I don’t know, but I have to try.”

“You aren’t selfish like that, Row.”

“Maybe it’s time I started being a little
selfish.”

“It ain’t you… Listen, I…” Before my friend
could get the rest of the sentence out of his mouth, his cell phone
trilled. “Jeez… Hold on a sec…”

He dug the device out of his coat pocket,
flipped it open, and then pressed it up to his ear. “Yeah, this is
Storm… Uh-huh… Yeah… Yeah, I’m gonna be there… Yeah, just talkin’
ta’ Row… Yeah, about work… Dammit, Al, let’s not go there… I’m
serious… Yeah, I said I’d be there… Uh-huh… Okay, I will…
Later.”

After folding the phone and stuffing it back
into his pocket, he looked over at me with a mildly pained
expression. “That was Allison,” he said, referring to his
ex-wife.

“Something wrong?”

“Other than the fact that she’s still pissed
at me for ever draggin’ you inta’ this sorta shit? No, not really.
The offspring’s in a school play tonight, and I promised ta’ be
there, so I gotta go in just a bit. Oh, and she said ta’ tell you
hi.”

“Tell both of them hi for us.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he replied then
paused. “Look, Row… If ya’ happen ta’ do that la-la thing… Ya’know,
if ya’ go all
Twilight Zone
and see somethin’…”

I cut him off before he could finish the
thought. “I wouldn’t wait by the phone, Ben, because I won’t be
calling. Not about that. I’m serious. I’m done.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Okay. But, if
ya’ change your mind…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” I switched the
subject before he could press me again. “Before you go, are you and
Constance doing anything the seventeenth?”

“Dunno, why?”

“Felicity and I were wondering if you two
might be up for dinner or something.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll check.”

“Just dinner with friends. Nice and normal.
No shop talk.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Just let us know.”

“I will. Okay… Well… Guess I’d better get
goin’.”

“Look, Ben… I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” he breathed. “You’re right. You
didn’t sign up for this shit, it just kinda happened to ya’. It
ain’t your problem.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

I could tell he wasn’t happy with the
situation, but at the same time I also knew he didn’t truly fault
me for the decision.

“So, I’ll talk to you later?” I asked.

“Yeah. Later.”

He started to leave, but before he reached
the bottom of the stairs, he turned and looked back up at me. “Oh,
by the way. Speakin’ of Constance, she’s been checkin’ on that
thing for ya’. You know, the secret Feeb call to the NOLA PD.”

“Did she find anything?”

“Nada. Whoever called ‘em from the bureau ta’
get you released ain’t talkin’.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it don’t. She’s gonna keep on it, but it
pretty much looks like she’s at a dead end. Apparently you got
another mystery on your hands.”

“I think I’ll just call it good and leave it
alone.”

“Yeah, well let’s hope it has the same plan
about you.”

Wednesday, December 7

11:46 P.M.

Room 3

Continental Motel

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

A
nnalise stared at the
limp body. She was on her knees, straddling the man’s stomach where
he lay on the floor.

“I hate you, Rowan Gant,” she growled, her
voice thick with anger.

He had started twitching uncontrollably after
the first blow. Following the second, all movement stopped, and she
felt his chest lower slowly as the air sighed from his lungs. She
raised her arm over her head again, feeling the cold derision
knotting into a ball at the pit of her stomach.

“I HATE YOU,” she repeated, as she swung the
tenderizing mallet down hard for the third and final time.

She heard a mushy thump and the splintering
of bone.

Blood was now soaking through the black
fabric of the hood wherever the pulpy remnants of his face came
into contact with it. The sticky wetness made the cloth glisten in
the harsh, overhead light of the small room. She sat back and
allowed herself to smile as she watched it spread.

There was no impending reward behind this
kill. No tickle, no itch, no physical gratification. She didn’t
love this man as she did the others. He was a tool for her to use.
He was nothing more than an object. And now, the object had
fulfilled a purpose.

Annalise pulled herself up to her feet and
stepped over to the bed. She could still feel the anger coursing
through her body as she reached into her bag then withdrew the
brand new twelve-inch butcher’s saw. She tore off the paperboard
sleeve and carefully removed the blade guard before turning back to
the body on the floor.

One cross wouldn’t be enough, and there was
still much to do.

Thursday, December 8

2:46 P.M.

St. Louis, Missouri

T
he headache had come on
me in the middle of the night, which meant I had been wide-awake
since a little after one in the morning. The cause of the pain,
however, was a mystery to me. I had become so accustomed to the
ethereal pounding in my skull that I couldn’t always distinguish
between it and a plain old migraine, but this one was definitely
bizarre. It had some of the same hallmarks as the chronic ache I
experienced when someone or something from the other side wanted to
have a sit down with me. However, those had a tendency to come at
me from the back. This one was a full-bore frontal assault. In
fact, my entire face hurt.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It
was pushing three o’clock in the afternoon, and the vexation had
been coming and going all day. I’d barely managed to get any work
done at all, and I had a client who was starting to get more than
just a little anxious.

“Screw it,” I muttered to myself, then
reached out and snatched a bottle from the counter.

After removing the lid, I poured a pile of
aspirin into my hand and stared at them. I started to pop the
analgesics into my mouth but stopped in the middle of the motion
then lowered my hand and stared at them again. With a sigh I
scooped the pills back into the bottle and replaced the cap. I had
poisoned myself once already, so I didn’t need to get back into the
habit of eating these things like candy.

I glanced at the clock again. It hadn’t
changed.

I tried to manage a quick mental calculation
and failed miserably. Felicity had called earlier to tell me she
wasn’t going to be home until after seven because she was stuck on
a photo shoot, and apparently a foul-up had them running behind
schedule.

I tried to do the calculation again and came
up with a different answer. I gave it a third go, using my fingers
this time and came up with four hours before she would possibly be
home. I didn’t guess there was any need for me to do anything about
starting dinner just yet. I sighed, mulled over my options for a
moment, then reached over and yanked open the freezer door. I
rummaged around for a bit then pulled out an icepack. I figured my
best bet was to lie down for a while and hope the ache would
subside.

I was a half dozen steps from the couch when
the telephone rang. I paused for a second then continued toward the
sofa. The answering machine was on; it could get it.

The telephone pealed again, demanding to be
answered. As much as I wanted to simply sprawl out on the couch and
ignore the thing, I knew it was entirely possible Felicity was
calling to check on me or to give me a schedule update. Maybe they
had made up some time, and she was going to be home earlier than
expected. I gave the sofa a longing glance then turned and headed
for the phone. For good measure I went ahead and stuck the icepack
against my forehead. Continuing across the room, I stepped around
both dogs who were stretched out for an afternoon nap in the most
inconvenient locations they could manage.

I glanced at the caller ID through bleary
eyes and saw that it wasn’t Felicity after all. It was Ben. I
considered just turning around and heading back for the couch, but
I was already standing here, so I figured I might as well answer
it.

“Hello?” I grunted into the handset after
settling it against my ear.

“Hey, White Man,” Ben returned. “You sound
like shit.”

“I feel like it,” I replied. “Headache.”

“Which kind?”

“That’s the question of the day. Actually, I
don’t know.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“That sucks.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” I said. “Look,
no offense, but I was just about to sack out for a bit.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he replied then fell
silent.

“Well? Was there something you needed?”

“Yeah, for one I wanted ta’ let ya’ know
Constance and I are good for dinner on the seventeenth. Need us ta’
bring anything?”

“Not really,” I replied. “We weren’t going to
do anything too elaborate.”

“Ain’t it time for that Witch Christmas thing
or somethin’?”

“Winter Solstice. Yule,” I agreed. “Middle of
the following week. Normally we’d celebrate the weekend before, but
Felicity’s coveners had a hell of a time getting their schedules to
jive this year, so they’re all doing individual celebrations.”

“Oh, okay. Makes sense,” he replied.

There was an overwhelming aura of
preoccupation surrounding his voice, and that told me he had
something else on his mind. The question about Yule had really been
little more than a stall tactic while he decided how to work
whatever that something else was into the mix.