Love Is The Bond: A Rowan Gant Investigation (25 page)

I did the math and came to the conclusion
that I had been sitting here for the better part of three hours. I
guess that wasn’t too bad when you considered the fact that I
didn’t think they had even listened when I had repeatedly asked
them to call Ben.

With a sigh I rocked forward and stood up
from the bench then hobbled on aching legs over to where he was
standing.

I’m sure his observation was correct, but I
was also certain that my appearance couldn’t come anywhere near the
way I actually felt. My shoulders were killing me from the constant
strain, and I could already feel the raw spots on my wrists where
the handcuffs were still biting into my flesh. The rest of my body
wasn’t any better either. I hadn’t fully recovered from the muscle
spasms brought on by the Taser stun—nor the beating I had taken at
the hands, and feet, of my wife.

The side of my face was stinging from the
gashes her fingernails had left, and I was limping on what I
imagined were severely bruised legs. I just hadn’t had the
opportunity to check. It was also a good bet that her last kick,
when I was prone on the parking lot, had cracked a rib or two. At
least, that is how it felt.

To top it all off, I had a headache the size
of Rhode Island, and it was being fed by very insistent sources
unknown but most assuredly not of this plane of existence. I just
had no idea what they were trying to tell me. I now found myself
wishing I would just seize up, channel someone, and be done with
it. Then maybe the pounding in my skull would subside, even if just
for a while.

On the bright side—if you could call it
that—I was the only one in the cell at the moment, so I was able to
brood in relative peace. Of course, I suppose this was all really
just about on par for my life. It seemed like every time I got
involved in a murder investigation, I ended up getting the crap
beat out of me.

It just wasn’t usually by someone I knew.

“Thanks,” I finally said with an overt lack
of emotion. “And, trust me, I don’t feel any better than I look.
So… Obviously someone actually called you. I was beginning to
wonder. They didn’t act like they were going to.”

“Yeah, well, guess it was a good thing ya’
had a get-outta-jail-free card.”

He held up his hand and the object of
reference was tucked between his fingers. It was his official
police department business card, worn and tattered, but with a
still-readable handwritten series of numbers and note on the back
requesting that he be called immediately if it was presented. Years
ago he had given them to both Felicity and me with the caveat that
they were only for emergencies.

When I was placed under arrest and they
didn’t seem to care much what I had to say, I considered it just
that, an emergency. I was just glad that the thing had still been
in my wallet and moreover, that I had remembered it was there.
Still, when I had pointed it out to the officer while I was being
processed, he hadn’t acted as if he cared in the least. I guess
that was how the game was played, especially in the smaller
municipalities.

My friend shoved the card into his jacket
pocket then gave me another once over and furrowed his brow.
Cocking his head to the side, he looked at my arms and asked, “You
still cuffed?”

I nodded. “Yeah. They put them back on me as
soon as they were finished with the fingerprinting.”

“Jeezus H…” he spat then gave his head an
angry shake. He quickly thrust his chin toward me as he reached
into his pocket and withdrew his key ring. “Turn around and back up
to the bars.”

I did as he said, and a moment later the hard
metal restraints loosened then fell away. I heard them clinking as
he presumably stowed them in a pocket and then put away his
keys.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he mused
aloud. “A lotta coppers aren’t too keen on wife beaters.”

I turned around and stared back at him while
rubbing my wrists. “Is that what she told them?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Felicity? Yeah, that’s
pretty much the story I got. They said they’ve got a fuckin’ novel
out there that she dictated to ‘em when she filed the charges.
Outlines a pattern of spousal abuse that goes back several years.
They don’t think very highly of you around here ta’ say the
least.”

“What about you? Do you believe that?”

He harrumphed and gave me a nonplussed
glance. “Fuck no. But, she must be a hell of an actress ‘cause like
I said, they’re buyin’ it retail.”

“She was putting on a performance, that’s for
sure,” I agreed.

“Still, I gotta tell ya’. I just don’t
understand why she’d say all that shit if it ain’t true.”

“It isn’t.”

“I know. I’m just tryin’ ta’ understand why
she’s doin’ it.”

“She’s not herself at the moment,” I
replied.

“Yeah, gotta say she didn’t look like it when
I saw her.”

“Is she still here?” I asked hopefully.

“She was when I came in,” he said with a
nod.

I let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Good. I
figured she had already left.”

My concern for my wife instantly took a
personal turn as my thoughts flashed on what had transpired on the
convenience store parking lot. “So, how was she doing? I mean other
than the performance. She’s not hurt is she?”

“Dunno. I didn’t talk to her. Just saw her
through the window of the interview room. Looked okay, but she
seemed like she was actin’ kinda weird. Can’t say for sure what…
Just the way she moved or somethin’. Didn’t seem hurt, but she
didn’t seem like Firehair to me.”

“She’s not.”

“Well, you two have apparently been through a
lot since I last saw ya’,” he offered up an excuse.

“Yeah, well as long as she stays put, we
should be fine,” I said. “We definitely don’t need her running off
by herself right now.”

“Well she ain’t the one under arrest,
Kemosabe. You are.”

“I’m serious, Ben. She can’t leave.”

“Well, I think she’s still workin’ on the
complaint against ya’, so she’ll probably be here for a bit yet. I
dunno for sure,” he offered.

I seized on an idea and voiced it. “Would it
help to keep her here if I filed a counter complaint?”

“Maybe, but she’s got witnesses sayin’ you
were the aggressor so it would probably be awhile before they
weren’t ‘too busy to take your statement’, if you know what I
mean.”

“Do I look like I attacked her?”

He cocked his head and looked at my face.
“All that coulda happened while she was defending herself against
you, Row.”

“That’s not how it was,” I spat.

He splayed out his hands in mock surrender.
“Hey, I’m on your side. I’m just tellin’ ya’ how it looks. So,
anyway, just outta curiosity, what were ya’ doin’ that made ‘er go
all psycho bitch on ya’?”

“I was trying to get her to take a drink of
water.”

“Maybe she wasn’t thirsty.”

“Actually, it was salt water.”

“Salt wa… No. I don’t wanna know.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Fuck me.”

“My feelings exactly.”

“Okay, so why salt water?”

“I was trying to force her to cleanse and
ground.”

“I was right. I don’t wanna know. And, just
FYI, ‘force her’ is a really bad phrase to use under the
circumstances.”

I sighed and shook my head.

“Okay, then, so who does she have as a
witness,” I asked, changing the subject. “The store clerk?”

“Yeah, her, and the two cops who responded to
the call.”

“What did the cops witness?”

“The high points? You holding ‘er down… You
not responding to an order from a police officer… Her screaming at
the top of ‘er lungs…”

“Gods, what a mess,” I mumbled to no one in
particular then addressed my friend directly. “Just promise me you
won’t let her out of here without one of us with her.”

“I’ll try, but it prob’ly ain’t gonna be
you,” he huffed. “They’re workin’ on gettin’ her an emergency TRS
on your ass right now.”

“A restraining order? You must be
joking.”

“Wish I was.”

“Fuck me.”

“Now you’re startin’ to sound like me,” he
replied. “And, yeah, that’s pretty much what she’s doin’. Fuckin’
ya’ over, that is.”

“Well, then you’re going to have to keep an
eye on her.”

“Thanks a lot. So listen, maybe what she
needs is ta’ talk with Helen or somethin’.”

I shook my head. “I think your sister has
enough on her plate right now. Besides, this is way out of her area
of expertise.”

“No. I’d just finished talkin’ to her when I
got the call ta’ come down here. She’d pretty much wrapped stuff up
and there’s not much else she can do about the funeral this late
anyway,” he replied, ignoring the last half of my comment.

“Even so, she can’t fix this.”

“We could give it a try. I’m sure she’d come
down here if I gave her a call. Especially for you ‘n
Felicity.”

“No, Ben,” I explained, shaking my head
again. “What I’m trying to tell you is that this isn’t something
Helen can psychoanalyze away. When I say Felicity is not herself, I
mean it literally. She’s not even Felicity right now.”

“Okay, so who is she? Friggin’ Sybil? That’s
the kinda shit Helen deals with all the time.”

Since I’d had ample time to sit here staring
at the wall, a good part of it had been spent thinking about what
was happening. Unfortunately, none of the conclusions I reached
were particularly pleasant. Since Ben wasn’t giving up on the
therapy idea, I tossed out the most frightening of the scenarios,
knowing full well it would stop him cold. Unfortunately, in a very
real sense, I feared it wasn’t far from the truth.

“Actually, right now, she just might be the
killer you’re looking for,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone.

The words had their intended effect. He’d
already had his mouth open to speak, but instead of hitting me with
his pre-formed objection, he levered his jaw slowly shut without a
word. He frowned hard and the lines in his forehead grew deeper.
Giving me a one-eyed stare, he asked, “Are you tellin’ me Firehair
murdered Wentworth and Hobbes?”

I shook my head. “No. No. Not that. Well, not
exactly. What I’m telling you is that for some reason she’s
possessed by an ethereal connection to the killer.”

His face relaxed and he gave me a
shrug. “Okay, so she’s doin’ the
Twilight
Zone
thing. It’s not like that’s somethin’ new for
either of ya’. Jeezus, Row, you had me scared there for a
sec.”

“I’m afraid it goes way beyond that, and you
should be scared. I am.”

“Whaddaya mean? How’s it get any
farther out there than
Twilight
Zone
?”

“I mean I don’t think she’s just channeling.
Like I said, I believe that, in some way, shape, or form, she’s
possessed.”

“She don’t really look like Linda Blair to
me, Row.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ben!” I snapped.

“Okay, okay, calm down. Cop humor. Sorry. So,
what makes you think she’s quote-quote possessed?” He said the word
twice as was his habit while making imaginary symbols in the air
with his fingers to punctuate the query.

“For one thing, she pretty much admitted to
it.”

“She told you she was possessed?”

“Not in so many words…”

“What words then?”

“She wouldn’t tell me her name.”

“She wouldn’t tell you her name,” he
repeated, more as a comment than a question.

“I know it…”

He held up a hand to cut me off, and I fell
silent. He continued staring at me for a long moment then shook his
head. “Did one of the coppers crack you in the head with a
baton?”

Exasperation filled my voice as I started to
object, “Ben, listen to…”

He didn’t let me finish. “Hey, I just dunno,
Rowan. I’ve learned not to be skeptical about a lotta shit where
you two are concerned, but possessed? I mean, come on.”

“Look, whether you subscribe to the
religion or not, in Voodoo there are such things as spirit
possessions. The
Lwa…
The
Gédé…
It’s actually
considered normal.”

“Okay. Whoa. Time out. Felicity’s into Voodoo
now?” he asked.

“No, I’m trying to explain…”

“Slow down,” he cut me off again. “Let me ask
you something. You didn’t talk about this to the other cops when
they arrested you, did ya’?”

I gave him a confused look. “No, why?”

“Because right now even I’m not sure that I
believe you, and I’ve seen the shit you do. I can pretty much
guarantee ya’ that they’d think you’re a friggin’ fruit loop.”

“Yeah, well I’ve kind of gotten used to
that.”

“Yeah… Uh-huh… So, anyway, you’re tellin’ me
Firehair is possessed by some kinda Voodoo God spirit
thingawhatsits.”

“Not exactly.”

He sighed heavily. “You ain’t makin’ sense,
Row.”

“Look, I’ve already admitted that I’m a
bit rusty on the whole Voodoo thing. But, I do recall a little bit
about it from some things I’ve read. The problem is that from what
I can remember there are some issues. First,
Lwa
possess their followers, not random
individuals off the street. Second, they take possession during
rituals. Third, it is usually sudden and always complete. And,
fourth, as I understand it the
Lwa
don’t commit crimes or purposely cause physical harm to
others during a possession.”

“Okay, so you wanna boil that down into
English?”

“Okay. Look at me.”

“Look at you what?”

I waved my hand about to indicate the
scratches on my cheek.

“Your face? So she scratched you,” he said
with a shrug. “According to the report, the two of you were
struggling with each other when the officers arrived. Not a big
surprise.”