The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation (43 page)

“That’s cool.” He shrugged, turning to face
me, and then he took a sip of coffee. “Not like you have that much
to move anyway.”

“True story,” I agreed.

“By the way,” he said suddenly, thrusting the
coffee mug at me like a pointer. “Talked to Deck. He said for you
to get your sorry ass up to the hospital and visit him.”

“Carl Deckert said that?” I chided.

“Okay, so he didn’t say
that
exactly, but I know he’d
appreciate the visit.”

“Yeah, we will. How is he doing?”

“Good.” Ben nodded. “He’s good. They had to
do a triple bypass, but he’s feeling good. Looks like he’ll be
taking an early retirement.”

“How is he feeling about that?” I asked.

Ben shifted to the side as I reached around
him and began disassembling the coffeemaker—emptying the grounds
into the trash and rinsing the various parts.

“I don’t think it’s settled in yet, but he
seems okay with it. Said something about opening up a PI shop or
doing some consulting.”

“He’d be good at that,” I offered as I shook
the excess water from the filter basket then began reassembling the
device for easier transport. “How about Constance? Any word from
her?”

“Yeah, she’s gettin' out today. She’ll be on
desk duty for a while, but that’s what she normally does
anyway.”

I finished stuffing the coffeemaker into the
box on the counter, affecting the task one-handed, then hooked my
arm around the cardboard container and moved it in with the others
on the table.

“So, Ben,” I started as I turned back to face
him. “Something has been nagging at me.”

“Whassat?”

“When we met Carl over at that house, he
showed me the Witch jar,” I outlined.

“Yeah. That was friggin’ disgusting,” he
replied as he screwed up his face for a moment.

“Whatever.” I dismissed the comment. “But
there was something else. I was supposed to see some drawings or
something that Porter had made?”

“Yeah. Pretty simple stuff really. I’m not
sure what you were s’posed to get off ‘em to be honest.”

“So what were they?” I pressed.

“Bunch of stars. Kinda like the one you
wear,” he replied and then started in on his coffee again.

“Pentacles?” I asked with a note of
disbelief. “Pentacles? Pentagrams? Are you sure?”

“Well, they weren’t exactly like yours,” he
told me, shaking his head and shrugging. “They had eight points,
and yours only has five, right?”

“Right,” I nodded as I spoke. “But his had
eight?”

He rolled his eyes up and looked like he was
searching his memory. “Yeah, eight.”

“Protection Hex,” I muttered.

“Come again?”

“That would be a symbol of protection,” I
explained. “Something commonly referred to as a Hex Sign. Used most
often by the Pennsylvania Dutch and other persons of Germanic
descent. They were painted or placed over the doors of barns to
protect against bewitching and evil magick among other things.”

“Kinda fits with the jar full of piss then,
doesn’t it?” he returned.

“That’s my point,” I told him. “The
page from
Hexen un
Hexenmeister
, a Witch jar, a Hex Sign…”

“Yeah, what?” he looked at me
expectantly.

“There just seems to be a lot of ties to
Germanic folklore,” I answered as I mulled the information over.
“Something just feels hinky about it.”

“You mean like hinky ha-ha or hinky
hocus-pocus?” he asked.

I bypassed his question. “Did they ever
figure out what was up with that flash-boom thing?”

“Flash-bang,” he corrected. “Not yet. There’s
still a lot of finger pointin’ goin on. It could be a while before
they figure it out. So what about this hinky thing?”

“Why did that go off at that exact instant,
Ben?” I asked.

“Who the fuck knows?” he shrugged. “That’s
what they are investigating.” He cocked his head to the side and
gave me a serious look. “Are you thinkin’ it was on purpose?”

“To create a diversion so I would go in
there,” I answered.

“That would mean a dirty cop, Row, and I know
you’re thinkin’ Albright.”

“Did you know that Albright is actually the
Americanized version of the German surname Albrecht?” I asked.

“Row.” He shook his head slowly. “I see where
you’re goin’, and believe me, I think she’s a loon myself but
helping a serial killer? That’s some serious shit to accuse someone
of, white man.”

“I know, Ben.” I gave my head a quick shake.
“But it adds up.”

“For you, yeah,” he told me. “But I dunno
what IAD would say.”

“Have you talked to them yet? About the other
stuff, I mean?”

“Yeah, they’re lookin’ into it,” he replied
then took another quaff of his java. “Good thing I’ve got a friend
in there, otherwise it might have been just another cluster.”

“Are you going to tell them about what I just
told you?”

“Lemme think on that, Row.” He shot me a
wincing look. “Like I said, that’s some deep shit to pile on.”

“I know, but it feels right,” I replied.

“You’re sure it’s not just because you hate
each other?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

“Well…” He paused for a moment. “Like I said,
lemme think on it and see where everything goes.”

“Okay,” I replied. I’d spent enough time
arguing my point over the past few days. I didn’t have the energy
to press it. At least not right now. “So we should get loaded up.
Felicity is just going straight to the house.”

He pushed away from the counter and headed
for the boxes on the table. “Lead on, Kemosabe.”

* * * * *

“Missed a spot.” Ben pointed at the floor as
he made the comment to Felicity.

She was just making the last of her third
pass through the house with a bundle of straw that was bound
tightly to a gnarled, old tree branch. The broom normally hung on
the wall in our kitchen, positioned over the back door, but right
now it was clasped in her hands as she moved fluidly throughout the
entire house.

“Shhhh, Ben,” I admonished as I shuffled past
him.

I was following behind my wife with a large
bunch of white sage that had been tied into a smudge bundle. The
end was a glowing red coal, and a healthy cloud of pungent smoke
was billowing up as I waved the sage about.

Ben coughed slightly then continued to watch
us from his seat at the breakfast nook in our kitchen without
further comment.

Felicity ended at the back of the house with
a strenuous flourish of the broom out the open door.

As she shook it, she held her free hand up,
three fingers pointing toward the sky, then began to speak. “Lord
and Lady, hear my plea, keep us safe from things unseen. Protect
these walls from evil deeds, but allow good spirits to plant their
seeds. This cleansing now I do complete, ye things unwelcome must
retreat.”

As she finished the recitation, she scribed a
pentacle in the air with her fingers then pressed them against her
lips and thrust her hand outward as if throwing a kiss. She stepped
aside, and I tucked the burning sage between the fingers of my
cast-encased hand. With my good appendage now free, I reached into
my pocket and withdrew some salt, which I immediately sprinkled
across the threshold.

Ben was staring at us with a bemused look
when we reentered the kitchen. I had tamped out the sage bundle and
left it on a plate in the atrium to cool, so I went over to the
sink and brushed the excess salt off my hand.

“So what was that all about?” my friend
asked.

“Cleansing,” Felicity told him. “This place
felt very weird when I came in.”

“You’ve been gone for almost three weeks.
Whaddaya expect? It always feels weird to come home after bein’
away.”

“Not this weird,” I told him. “Something
strange was here.”

“Yeah, about ten different coppers that I
know of.” He nodded. “And several of them are pretty strange.”

“My point exactly,” Felicity explained. “They
brought something in with them.”

“Do you know if Albright was ever here?” I
asked.

“Yeah, probably,” he replied. “Yeah, I think
she was. Why?”

“That would explain a lot of the negativity,”
I replied.

“Yes, it would,” Felicity agreed.

“What was that? A ‘yes’?” Ben jibed and then
affected a bad Irish accent. “What happened to ‘Aye me good laddie
boy and then and such.’”

Felicity just looked back at him as he sat
there grinning. “I got some sleep, Ben. And, I don’t say ‘laddie
boy,’ so give me a break.”

The phone rang, and I looked up with what had
to be a startled expression on my face. I don’t know why, other
than the fact that almost every time I had answered a phone in the
past few days it had been unpleasant.

“You want me to get that?” Ben asked, leaning
toward the device.

“No,” I shook my head as I started across the
room. “No, I’ll get it.”

I had covered the few steps by the third
ring. The caller ID read all zeros with the word “UNAVAILABLE”
below them. I frowned and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

There was no answer at the other end.
“Hello?” I said again.

I was certain that I heard the heavy
breathing of someone on the line issuing from the earpiece as the
hairs instantly rose on the back of my neck. A stab of pain bit
into my shoulder and my scalp tightened as the dull thud of a
headache began to tap out its rhythm on my grey matter.

There was something that sounded like a heavy
sigh then the line clicked and went dead.

Five Months Later

The television set tossed light out into the
room as the picture flickered and changed. The logo of the news
station sat prominently in the corner, proudly displaying the
network affiliation along with the current time.

It was 7:32 in the morning.

The picture suddenly switched to a shifting,
bright background overlaid with an artistic shot of a hovering
helicopter, complete with the slow motion blur of its rotors
blending into the gradient of colors. The words BREAKING NEWS
slashed in bold letters across the screen, and a fanfare of
syncopated beats underscored the image.

The screen switched again to a fresh-faced,
young reporter holding a logo-adorned microphone. Behind him was a
lush scene; leafy trees and dense vegetation disappeared into the
unfocused depth of field. It was immediately obvious that he was in
a rural or wooded area somewhere.

As he held one hand to his ear, presumably
listening in for a cue, he began to speak.

“Thank you Chloe and Russ, I’m on the scene
at Rafferty Park overlooking the Missouri River where last evening
a jogger made a gruesome discovery. Mike Rickman was coming down
this path when he stumbled upon what appeared to be a badly
decomposed human arm.

“Authorities were called to the scene and
after a thorough search have confirmed finding more remains in a
shallow grave well off the path.

“While there has been no confirmation as yet,
there has been speculation that the body may be that of Tamara
Linwood, the grade school teacher who disappeared from the parking
lot of Westview Shopping Mall back in January of…”

The man watching this particular television
set this morning might have had an interest in the story had he
been able to hear or see it. Unfortunately, he was sprawled on the
hardwood floor, face down in a puddle of coffee where his cup had
shattered.

He convulsed and postured as the sudden
seizure ravaged his body, forcing him to bite his tongue and writhe
as if holding the bare end of a live extension cord.

An active member of the HWA (Horror Writers
Association), M. R. Sellars is a relatively unassuming homebody who
considers himself just a “guy with a lot of nightmares and a word
processing program.” His first full-length novel, Harm None, hit
bookstore shelves in 2000 and he hasn’t stopped writing since. He
says that the biggest adjustment he has had to make with his
writing career is coping with the time spent away from his family
while traveling on promotional tours. Still, he approaches it with
the same humorously deadpan and occasionally acerbic wit that he
applies to life in general.

All of the current novels in Sellars’
continuing Rowan Gant Investigations saga have spent several
consecutive weeks on numerous bookstore bestseller lists as well as
a consistent showing on the Amazon.com Horror/Occult top 100.

Sellars currently resides in the Midwest with
his wife, daughter, and a host of what he describes as “rescued,
geriatric, special-needs felines.” At home, when not writing or
taking care of the household, he indulges his passions for cooking
and hanging out with friends.

M. R. Sellars can be found on the web at:

www.mrsellars.com

Brainpan Leakage the M. R. Sellars Satire Blog

www.brainpanleakage.com

OTHER BOOKS BY M. R. SELLARS

The Rowan Gant Investigations

HARM NONE

NEVER BURN A WITCH

PERFECT TRUST

THE LAW OF THREE

CRONE’S MOON

LOVE IS THE BOND

ALL ACTS OF PLEASURE

THE END OF DESIRE

BLOOD MOON

MIRANDA

(Available in both print and e-book editions)

Other

YOU’RE GONNA THINK I’M NUTS…

(Novelette included in Courting Morpheus Horror
Anthology)