All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation (41 page)

“I think you are aware that excessive and
unnecessary gore bothers me, yes?” she finally asked. “The truth is
it makes me violently ill.”

“I remember you mentioned that recently,” I
said, giving her a nod. “As a matter of fact I recall being a bit
surprised by that, what with you having the MD as well.”

“Yes, well, you do not see me working in an
emergency room, now do you?”

“No, I don’t. So tell me, what happened? You
said no one was hurt.”

“No one was. However,
Miranda
and I had a long
talk.”

“So, the
Lwa
didn’t exit when you stopped her from tying
up the other patient?”

“No, not at all,” Helen replied,
shaking her head emphatically. “
Miranda
stayed around for quite
awhile.”

“She didn’t get violent?”

“No. In fact, her comment to me was something
on the order of, ‘I was wondering when you would show up’.”

“As if she knew who you were?” I half asked,
half stated.

“Yes.”

“The
Lwa
has access to Felicity’s memories, so in a way it makes
sense. She knew where she was, and she knew someone would stop
her.”

“I think you are correct. She seemed far more
interested in talking than anything else.”

“So exactly what did you talk about?”

“Whatever she wanted, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean?”

“As you may guess, her favorite topic is
torture, Rowan.”

“Yeah, again I’m not surprised.”

“Oh, I think perhaps you would be.”

“That bad?” I asked. “I mean I know what she
did to Wentworth and Hobbes and that was…well, she…”

“Yes, that bad,” she replied, saving me
from my attempt to relay the harshness without actually giving her
a description. “
Miranda
spent
the better part of two hours regaling me with extremely graphic
details about what she had done to several of her victims. Details
that, I dare say, would turn the stomach of a horror movie
fanatic.”

“Okay, so that’s what has you so
nonplussed.”

“Yes, she is actually a very eloquent speaker
with an excellent command of the language. She paints intricate
pictures with words, Rowan. They just are not very pretty to the
rest of us.”

“I can imagine.”

“I doubt it,” she huffed as she visibly
shuddered. She was obviously still dealing with the imagery in her
own head. “Of course, it did not help that the more violent or
cruel the story she was telling, the more her eyes would light up.
She was literally becoming aroused by reliving the horrors she had
exacted upon those men. And, to make matters worse, she found my
level of disgust amusing.”

“Yeah, again I’m not surprised.” I gave her a
quick nod. “She really got to you, didn’t she?”

“Yes. I hate to admit it, but yes. She
did.”

“That’s not an easy task.”

“I used to think so, but now I am not so
sure.”

“Well, remember Helen, you weren’t just
dealing with a disturbed individual. You were dealing with an
incorporeal entity. They don’t necessarily respond to the type of
finesse you shrinks use.”

“Perhaps you are correct, however, I would
almost suspect that she has a background in psychology herself. She
was quite adept at that ‘finesse we shrinks use’. Unfortunately, it
does not make this any less embarrassing for me.”

“Anyone else know how you were affected?”

“No, not that I am aware.”

“Then it stays between us. The whole
patient-doctor confidentiality thing.”

“I would say thank you if I did not suspect
you were making a joke.”

“Maybe just a little one,” I replied.
“So, anyway, do you believe me about the
Lwa
now?”

“I have never doubted you on that point,
Rowan.” She shook her head to punctuate the statement. “Another
doctor, however, would most likely diagnose Felicity with an
unidentified psychosis and more than likely, Disassociative
Identity Disorder. To be truthful, if I did not know the things
that I do, I would be inclined to agree with such an
assessment.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re her
doctor.”

“That statement is more accurate than you
know, Rowan. If the latent details she was giving me were accurate,
what I listened to would easily qualify as a confession to several
premeditated murders. It is a very good thing she did not do this
while in police custody.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, thinking exactly the same
thing. “Okay, so then what? If she’s resting now then Miranda must
be gone.”

“Yes, she is. She simply stopped speaking
mid-sentence and a moment later Felicity was in her place. As soon
as she realized what had happened, she began to cry hysterically
and beg for you. I was left with no choice but to sedate her.”

“But, she’s okay?”

“Physically, she is fine. Emotionally,
however, any progress we have made in the past few days is a
complete wash.”

I remained quiet, considering what she had
just said.

Before I could form any sort of comment, she
suddenly offered up a new subject. “I have not spoken to Benjamin
lately. Do you know if they have had any luck locating the
half-sister?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. Last I heard they
were still sifting through the paperwork Maggie handed over,
looking for leads.”

“Well, they need to find her very soon. The
last two episodes have taken a severe toll on Felicity. She is very
strong willed, but she is beginning to break down.”

“I agree that they need to find her,
Helen,” I replied. “But my worry is that even if they do, this
isn’t going to stop. The
Lwa
has obviously formed a bond with Felicity as well as Miranda,
or whatever her name really is.”

“How do you propose to address that?”

“Figure out who the
Lwa
is, and go at it from an ethereal
angle.”

“How will you find her?”

“I’ve been working on it with an expert on
Voodoo. She’s a college professor out of Baton Rouge who’s written
some fairly definitive books on the subject. She has some
ideas.”

“Anything promising?”

“Some, but nothing solid just yet. She’s been
running down some leads for me. In fact, I’m expecting a call from
her today. The big problem is we’re chasing after someone who’s
already dead. Sounds like it shouldn’t be a big deal, but when you
don’t know who the dead person is, or even when they died, it gets
a little tricky.”

Helen lit her third fresh cigarette and again
offered me another. This time I took it. Once she had taken a long
drag and slowly exhaled the smoke, she turned her face to me. Her
expression was hard and serious, which made the next words to come
from her mouth even more of a contrast against her normally proper
exterior.

“I would suggest that you chase faster,
Rowan. This
Miranda
is a sick
fucking bitch, and I do not like her.”

“Hey there,” I said, my voice soft.

The hard sound of a deadbolt snapping shut
followed my words as the door behind me was locked. I had been
warned that it would happen, as it was standard procedure for this
section of the hospital. That didn’t make the sound any less
jarring. Of course, the entire feel of this floor was oppressive to
begin with, so my nerves were feeling more than just a bit raw and
exposed. Not to mention that since I wasn’t hospital staff, I was
violating policy by being in the room, but Helen had given the
okay. Still, it all added up, and the sharp finality of the noise
actually made me flinch.

Across the room, Felicity was sitting
cross-legged in the center of the bed, her back to me. She was
still clad in one of the pairs of flannel pajamas I’d packed for
her days before.

She didn’t reply.

My wife’s original accommodations had seemed
more like a small hotel room than something you would find at a
hospital—sparse, but comfortable, furnished with a bed, dresser,
some chairs and a small table. The bathroom was utilitarian but
fairly spacious. She’d even had a television and large windows
looking out onto a garden courtyard.

This room, however, made that look like a
plush suite. Her furnishings consisted of little more than the
hospital bed upon which she was now perched and a basic,
straight-backed chair in the far corner. Gone was everything else,
with the exception of the view. Of course, we were several stories
up, and the thick windows were sandwiching heavy-duty safety wire,
ostensibly to prevent suicide attempts. At least the walls were a
calming, pale blue instead of the stark white so often depicted in
movies. Still, that was of little comfort.

I stepped a little farther into the room and
spoke a bit louder, “Knock knock.”

“So, what do you think of the new place?” she
asked. “I just moved in, so I haven’t had time to do much with
it.”

Her voice was flat, emotionless, with more
than just her usual Celtic lilt accenting the words, probably
because she was tired—a lingering effect of the sedative. Her
attempt at humor was even cliché, which was just more evidence of
that fact.

I could easily detect a note of hoarseness
that was most likely the result of her crying fit combined with the
dozen or so hysterical screams I’d been told she’d treated them all
to.

After another long pause, she replied, “It
happened again, Row. She came back.”

“Yeah, I heard,” I replied, stepping in just
a little further.

“See? I told you it would be safer this
way.”

“Yes, you did, but I’m still not necessarily
convinced.”

“Well, you aren’t acting much like it then,”
she remarked.

“How so?”

“You can come closer. She’s not here now, and
I won’t be biting you.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“And, so you’re standing all the way over
there for what reason?”

“I didn’t want to startle you.”

“Aye, are you certain it’s not because you’re
afraid of me?”

I shifted my focus and realized she had been
watching my reflection in the windowpane all along. I couldn’t help
but crack a thin smile. That was just like my wife, always aware of
her surroundings even if she didn’t appear to be.

“No,” I said, shaking my head as I moved
forward, skirting around the end of the bed and drawing closer to
her. “Just giving you a little space is all.”

After a thick pause, she looked up at me, her
eyes tired and bloodshot. “I’ve had enough space for one day,” she
said, her voice low. “I’d much prefer it if you would just hold me
for a while.”

She slowly unfolded her legs and scooted
toward the edge of the bed. In a single fluid motion she slipped
her arms around my waist as I wrapped my own about her shoulders
and pulled her close, stroking her hair. She didn’t begin to cry,
but then, I suppose she might not have had any tears left.

We stood there for what seemed like several
minutes, simply gripping one another tightly. No words came from
either of us, as everything we had to say at that moment in time
was communicated by the embrace.

Finally, Felicity spoke. “Rowan, am I
insane?”

“No, honey,” I soothed. “You aren’t
insane.”

“You aren’t just saying that, are you?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m not just saying
that.”

“Because you would. I know you.”

“Yes, you’re right, I would. But, I’m not
now.”

“Make her stop.”

“I’m trying.”

Her grip on me finally loosened, and I guided
her gently back onto the bed before retrieving the chair from the
corner and pulling it up in front of her.

“So, do you want to talk about it?” I
asked.

She shook her head. “There’s really nothing
to talk about. I don’t remember anything.”

Before I could reply, the warbling tone of my
cell began ramping upward. I ignored it.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” she
asked.

I shook my head. “Whoever it is can leave a
message.”

“What if it’s something important?”

“You’re what’s important right now.”

The insistent tone reached a climax then
abruptly ended as the caller was shunted off to my voicemail.

She looked down into my eyes with a sad
expression then reached out and touched my face. “Aye, this isn’t
working,
Caorthann
.”

“What isn’t working, honey?”

“This,” she murmured. “I think maybe you’re
wrong. Maybe I am insane.”

“No, you aren’t,” I countered, adding a mild
insistence to my voice.

“Then why is this happening to me?”

“I don’t know, but you’ve seen it happen to
me and I’m not insane. Neither are you.”

“Says you.”

“And Helen,” I offered. “This is magick gone
awry and you know it.”

“I’m beginning to wonder.”

“I know you are, and believe me, I’ve been
there, more times than I can count. But you were there for me every
time, and I’m here for you now. We’ll get through this.”

“Maybe it runs in the family.”

“What?”

“Insanity.”

“Dammit, Felicity…” I mumbled as I screwed up
my face and shook my head.

My cell phone emitted a muffled chirp from my
pocket to let me know I had a new voice message, but I continued to
ignore it.

“Well, my sister must be,” she whispered.

I still hadn’t grown used to hearing her say
“my sister” even though she had spoken the words several dozen
times since Maggie had dropped the story in her lap. Even so, I had
been under the impression she had taken it well. But now, I was
beginning to wonder.