The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (23 page)

I decided to give him a hand.

“What’s going on, Ben?” I asked. “I have a
feeling you didn’t call just to RSVP.”

“No, I didn’t,” he replied. “Actually, this
is kinda an official call.”

“Official how?”

“I need ta’ talk to ya’ about Annalise
Devereaux.”

“Unless you’re calling to tell me she’s in
custody, I don’t really have anything to say. You already know
that.”

“Unfortunately, no. She went completely off
radar after your little run in with her. Up until now.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear, Ben,” I
replied.

“Yeah, I figured ya’ wouldn’t be too excited
‘bout that.”

“Why do I get the feeling the ‘up until now’
part has something to do with this call?”

“Because you’re psychic?”

“No, actually I’m not,” I replied.

“Yeah, I know. Look, Kemosabe, I wouldn’t
call if it wasn’t important.”

My voice went flat as I spoke, “Important
how? Because I seem to recall telling you I was done, Ben. More
than once.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t think ya’ meant it,”
he replied.

“Yes, Ben, I did, and I’m not going to bother
giving you all the reasons again.”

“Yeah, well ya’ need ta’ talk ta’ me about
this anyway.”

“No, I don’t. I’m staying out of this.”

“I’m afraid you can’t. That’s why I
called.”

“What do you mean I can’t? Listen closely,
this is me hanging up.”

I had the phone halfway to the cradle when I
heard him bark, “Don’t be an asshole, White Man! I really need ya’
ta’ listen to this.”

Ignoring the insult, I put the phone back to
my ear and demanded, “Why, Ben? Why do you want to drag me back
into this?”

“Did I say I wanted ta’ do it?”

“Well, why else would you be making this
call?”

“You ready ta’ shut up and listen?”

“Fine. What about her?”

“She killed again…”

“I can’t say that surprises me,” I told
him.

“Yeah, didn’t figure it would,” he replied.
“But, she added a new twist you need ta’ know about.”

“What’s that?”

“She carved
your
name in the victim’s chest. Accordin’ to the
M.E., it appears she did it before she killed ‘im.”

“My name?”

“Yeah, Row.
Your
name… And, there’s more.”

“What?”

“The victim’s head was covered with a black
cloth bag that was filled with dirt and some kinda dried
leaves.”

Before Ben could continue I interjected,
“And, the torture was only cursory, nothing to the extent of her
other victims. But, when she killed him she did it by bashing his
head in with a hammer or something similar.”

Ben fell silent at the other end, but I could
hear him breathing. I had thought my ability to surprise him had
run out long ago, but in this case it seemed to be operating full
force.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” I asked.

“Think maybe that’s why ya’ got the
headache?”

I didn’t answer.

“Okay, so what’s it mean, Row?” he asked. “It
some kinda Voodoo curse?”

“Hoodoo actually, but yeah. It’s a cross,” I
explained, recalling the particulars of the magickal working from
my recent research. “It’s old folk magick. She’s seeking revenge
against me for something. Everything that happened in the graveyard
maybe. I don’t know. Normally the person hexing would use a black
china figurine instead of a living human, but we already know she
doesn’t operate within normal parameters.”

“That fits. Victim was an African-American
male,” he offered.

“I think you’ll find the leaves are from a
blackberry bush. The dirt most likely came from the graveyard. She
probably has bags of it sitting around.”

“She tryin’ ta’ kill ya’ with Voodoo?”

“More or less,” I replied. “When did this
happen?”

“Last night. Medical examiner estimated the
time of death at sometime Wednesday evening. The records at the
motel where he was found pretty much back that up, although no one
saw Annalise, as usual.”

I grunted, “Middle of the week. I guess that
would make sense.”

“What?”

“Nothing really. I’d have to look up the
actual cross to be certain, but I remember something about
executing it over a seven-day period, starting on a Saturday. I was
just speculating that she might have chosen Wednesday since it’s
basically in the middle. I’m guessing she didn’t want to sit in one
place for seven days taking a hammer to a decomposing corpse.”

“Okay, so tell me what ya’ make of this part
then. She amputated both his hands. Both of ‘em were still at the
scene… Well, kinda… They were missin’ all the bones.”

“Hold on a sec…” I told him.

I tucked the phone between my ear and
shoulder then tossed the icepack over onto the coffee table. It
wasn’t doing much good; besides, my brain was now far too occupied
to focus on the pain. I hated to admit it but Ben was correct. I
was never going to be able to distance myself from this sort of
thing, no matter how much I tried.

Stretching the cord out, I stepped over and
scanned the next set of shelves, systematically moving stacks of
books which were two and three deep until I found the volume I was
searching for.

“You still there?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, hang on,” I told him as I
flipped to the index of the selected text, noted the page number
for crossings, and began thumbing back through. “Okay…here it is.
My guess would be she’s going to use them for some more
gris-gris
. There’s a crossing here
that calls for drying chicken bones, crushing them up, then using
them as a component for a curse.”

“I’ll let Baton Rouge PD know that,” Ben
replied.

“So, is that where the body was found?” I
asked.

“Yeah… Motel just like all the others, ‘cept
it was room three instead of seven.”

“Sacred space.”

“Come again?”

“Three would be a number equated with
protection. She wanted a safe place to do the cross.”

“Stickler for detail, ain’t she?”

“It’s all part of working magick.”

“‘
Kay, we’re back ta’ that. So if she’s
tryin’ ta’ kill ya’ with magic, what happens when it doesn’t work?
I mean, it ain’t gonna, is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You mean you don’t know what she’ll do if it
doesn’t work, right?”

“I mean I don’t know on either one, Ben.”

Monday, December 12

10:02 P.M.

The Whine Cellar
Bondage Club

Private Playroom C

Bridge, Illinois

A
nnalise reached over her
head and grasped the suspension cuffs, which were securely attached
to an overhead beam, then gave them a tug. You never knew what the
state of the equipment might be in some of these clubs. Not all of
them were maintained as well as they should be. But, this place
actually appeared to be properly cared for. In some ways it even
reminded her of her own.

She gave the hardware a second tug, and the
shiny chains rattled against one another. The metallic clinking
noise made her heart race with anticipation.

Steadying herself, she looked down at the
mostly nude man lying spread-eagle in front of her. She had only
just finished locking him into the floor-mounted restraints moments
before. He stared back up at her, adoration in his eyes.

“Did I say you could look at me?” she
demanded.

“No, Mistress,” the man whispered.

His display of subservience ignited the
tickle deep inside. This was the first time she had felt the desire
in several days, and to her relief, it was actually pleasurable.
Not like it had been before, when she was being punished. Still,
the sensation gave her a moment’s pause. Those days of torment had
been almost more than she could bear, and the thought of facing it
again frightened her more than anything.

But, this time it would be different.
Miranda promised release.
She
had promised the reward.

Using the suspension cuffs to maintain her
balance, Annalise stepped up onto the man’s bare chest and twisted
slowly, rocking back on her stiletto heels and digging them into
his flesh. He groaned as she swayed back and forth, walking in
place on his prone body.

And, the tickle continued to flare. She knew
the itch wouldn’t be very far behind.

This particular sub was a trample
fetishist whose kink was being used as a woman’s doormat. In fact,
he even went by the name “mat.” Annalise had always found this
particular display of dominance enjoyable, just as she did now.
However, truth be told, tonight she had been more in the mood to
mete out a good flogging. There was certainly no shortage of bare
backs here that she would have relished marking with the sting of
braided leather. From what she had seen in the club proper, it was
obvious that there were several who would have gladly submitted to
that torture as well. However, Miranda had said no. She had a
specific purpose for Annalise being here, and “mat” was it.
She
had yet to tell her why. Only
that for the moment, she was to seek him out, and him
alone.

It had been a long drive to get here from
Baton Rouge. With restroom breaks and fuel stops, almost eleven
hours to be exact. Annalise had been up and on the road several
hours before dawn. She knew full well she should be exhausted, but
she wasn’t. She hadn’t even napped after checking into her hotel.
She had merely freshened up, changed into suitable attire, and
brought herself here to do Miranda’s bidding, though she was still
at some loss as to what that bidding was.

Stepping hard, she continued grinding her
heels into the man beneath her, reveling in the way his soft flesh
gave way to her weight. He moaned as he tensed against his bonds.
She wasn’t far behind him in the endorphin rush. The tickle had
become the itch, and her breaths were now coming in shallow
pants.

“Thank you,” the man gasped. “Thank you for
coming back, Mistress Felicity…”

Annalise stopped moving.

She stood there, frozen in place at the sound
of the name—the name of the other.

After a moment she shifted her weight then
slipped the toe of her shoe beneath his chin and lifted, rolling
his head so that she could look directly into his face.

“What did you call me?” she asked, her tone
this time far more inquisitive than demanding.

“I’m sorry, Mistress…” the man apologized
meekly. “Mistress Miranda.”

“No,” Annalise said firmly. “Tell me what you
called me.”

He continued looking up at her but didn’t
answer.

She carefully stepped down from his chest
then lowered herself until she was seated on his stomach. Smiling
sweetly, she reached out and grasped one of his nipples between her
thumb and forefinger. Pinching hard, she began to twist and pull
the tender flesh.

“I said,” she growled, emphasizing each word.
“Tell… Me… What… You… Called… Me.”

The man tensed and groaned heavily, his face
screwed into a mask of pain.

“Yes… yes… Mistress…” he stammered through
the grimace. “I… I said, Felicity… I… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t… I
shouldn’t have used…your… real name…”

Annalise eased off on the nipple, but not
without giving it a final rough tweak. She remained sitting as she
continued staring blankly into his face. Now she knew why Miranda
had insisted she come here in search of him in particular. He must
have a connection to the other.

The itch faded quickly upon the revelation,
completely bypassing the tickle in reverse and becoming no more
than a hollow numbness in the pit of her stomach. Anger welled
inside her, and she felt her cheeks flush with its heat.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured. “Why do
you think I’m her?”

“Mistress?”

“Why do you think I’m her?” she said again,
louder.

“Mistress? But I don’t…”

She didn’t hear the rest of his answer as it
was drowned out by the voice inside her skull.

“You will… When it is time…” Miranda
said.

“This is why?” Annalise muttered under her
breath. “She is why I’m here?”

“Yes…”

“What, Mistress?” the man breathed.

“Shut up!” Annalise spat.

“Mark him…” Miranda’s voice echoed
again.

“No,” Annalise said aloud. “I won’t.”

“Punishment or reward, Annalise… You
decide.”

“All you want is her!” Annalise complained
aloud. “What about me? I’ve done everything for you! The reward
belongs to me!”

“There is enough for you both… Now mark
him…”

“Mistress?” the man questioned again.

“I thought I told you to shut up!” Annalise
barked, flashing him an angry stare.

“Show him how much we love him…” Miranda
demanded. “I promise, you will be rewarded…”

“Damn you…” Annalise muttered. “Goddamn
you…”

“I am already damned… As are you… Now do as
you were told…”

Annalise huffed out a heavy sigh. She knew
she couldn’t truly disobey. If she did, the punishment would come
again. She feared that perhaps this time it would be even
worse.

Reaching back, she slipped off one of her
pumps then turned it in her hand so that she could use the tip of
the sharp heel as a stylus.

The tickle returned, spreading out through
her stomach, forcing the anger to flee, giving way to pleasure.

Pressing the heel-tip against the man’s bare
chest, she pressed down and began to drag it in a languid arc. He
yelped at the new pain, tensing just as he had done before.

“Relax, little man,” Annalise whispered. “I’m
just showing you how much we love you…”