M Sellars - Harm none

“Mister Gant,” she shouted over the uproar. “What exactly is your role in this investigation?”

Even with the windows up and the air conditioner cranked as high as it would go, I could still hear her singsong voice. I ignored her and reached over to turn up the radio.

“Mister Gant.” She was shuffling along at my window as we inched forward. “Is it true the police have called you in to communicate with the spirits of the victims?”

Suddenly, the crowd parted, and the reason became instantly clear as we saw the flashing red lights and uniformed officers executing much-needed crowd control. With a quick glance in either direction, Felicity shifted gears and gunned the engine, letting out a short squeal from the tires as she propelled us away from the bedlam. I turned and looked out the back window and saw Ben’s van behind us, emergency bubble-light flashing on the corner of the roof. Once we merged with traffic, it switched off, and I saw him reach out and pull it inside.

“Awfully determined young lady, wasn’t she?” Felicity asked as we came to a stop at a traffic light.

“You could call it that,” I answered. “Ben yanked her chain last night, and she threw her microphone at him.”

“You’re kidding,” she stated incredulously.

“Nope. Not kidding. She launched it at him, but she missed.”

“What did he do to her to get that kind of response?”

The light changed, and Felicity nudged the Jeep forward into the intersection then hooked into a left turn.

“Apparently there’s some kind of long running adversarial relationship between the two of them,” I answered. “She follows him around chasing stories, and he won’t give her the time of day. Last night he took the microphone out of her hand and unplugged it, then handed it back to her.”

“Serves him right then.”

“What do you mean?” I questioned.

“Never make a woman angry then be stupid enough to hand her something to throw at you.”

The small cinder block building in the back of the park was cordoned off and locked up just as I had expected. We parked our vehicles and followed the same path we had last evening, this time without the rain and organized pandemonium of the crime scene investigation. Ben produced a key and opened up the restroom.

The pungent aroma of the charred sage and rose oil still hung faintly in the air, mixing with the sharp and musty odors of old disinfectant, damp concrete, and the coppery smell of blood. The heavy door swung slowly shut behind us, creaking on hinges badly in need of oil.

“Once the crime scene unit clears this place,” Ben told us, “someone is gonna have a hell of a mess to clean up.”

Darkening stains smeared the floor where Karen Barnes’ body had laid. Spatters of blood spread forth, rusting from bright crimson to dull reddish brown. Smooth surfaces, such as the basin and walls nearby, were greyed by the powders that had been used in the futile attempt to find fresh fingerprints, and all but the smallest shards of the shattered mirror had been removed from the scene.

“It’s cold in here,” Felicity stated, hugging herself and shivering slightly.

“Whaddaya mean cold?” Ben asked in disbelief. “It’s close to a hundred degrees out here.”

“Not that kind of cold,” she told him. “The cold of death. It’s strong enough for me to feel it.”

“So you’re gonna go all spooky on me too,” he said, then turned his attention to me. “What are you lookin’ for in here anyway?”

I walked around the interior of the restroom slowly and silently. I had no earthly, or even unearthly, idea what I was looking for. I only knew that something had suddenly begun to gnaw at the back of my brain. A relentless nagging that told me I had missed something that had been staring me straight in the face the night before.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “But if it’s here, I’m going to find it.”

I continued to shuffle around the small room, intently inspecting walls and fixtures that had already been perused by eyes more prying than mine. I could feel the same coldness Felicity had mentioned and gave a barely noticeable shiver as it danced subtly up my spine.

“Did I say anything last night when I spaced out?” I asked aloud.

“No.” Ben recalled, “You just kinda went blank and stared off. You weren’t zoned for long before I decided to snap you out of it… With what Felicity said and all… Ya know…”

“It’s all right,” I told him. “I understand.”

“Why do ya’ think ya’ might have said somethin’?” he queried.

“Just a thought,” I replied, still making my way around the stalls. “I’ve just got this nagging feeling that I missed something.” I glanced over at him. “And for some reason, I think that something might be important.”

“Well, guys,” Felicity spoke up. “My feet are killing me. I’m going to run out to the Jeep and see if my tennis shoes are in my gym bag.”

My wife started for the door with a deliberate turn. The gritty shuffle of her shoe soles against the concrete was rapidly followed by a sharp, tinkling sound as she inadvertently kicked a small piece of the broken mirror, sending it skittering across the floor.

“HOLD IT!” I exclaimed. “Don’t move.”

She froze. Ben froze. I froze.

“What is it?” Felicity finally whispered.

The sound triggered a memory, the memory induced a thought, and the thought congealed in my brain as I closed my eyes and listened to an imaginary pane of glass shatter inside my head. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked to my wife, then to Ben.

“The mirror,” I told them.

“Yeah. You told us why ya’ thought he broke it last night,” Ben stated. “Somethin’ about not wantin’ ta’ trap whatever he was callin’ up, or somethin’ like that.”

“I know,” I returned. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what?” Felicity asked as she relaxed her stance.

“If Karen Barnes was standing in front of the mirror when she was attacked,” I began.

“Then she might have seen the killer’s reflection,” she finished for me, light dawning in her eyes.

“Excuse me,” Ben interjected, “but Karen Barnes is not gonna be givin’ any eyewitness descriptions. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s dead.”

“This is true,” I told him. “However, I might be able to do the same thing with her that I did with Ariel.”

“Channel her?!” Felicity exclaimed. “Don’t you think that’s a little too dangerous?”

“Not if you help me,” I replied.

“Whoa,” Ben interjected. “This ain’t one of those things where you could die or somethin’ is it?”

“Yes it is.” Felicity turned to him quickly. “If it isn’t done correctly.”

“Well I dunno then…”

“Hey,” I interrupted them both. “The operative phrase there is ‘done correctly’. If you help me,” I indicated to my wife, “and we take some precautions, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

“What precautions?” Ben queried.

“An anchor on this plane, for one,” I answered. “Getting me the hell out of there before the moment of death for another.”

They both looked at me as if I had totally lost my mind. I knew it was because they were worried about the possible consequences, and to be honest, I was too-but I was also bound and determined to proceed with the idea.

“We have to stop this S.O.B.,” I told them. “If doing this could keep him from killing someone else, then I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go ahead with it. I don’t think the two of you could either.”

They fell silent, first looking at me, then each other, then back to me, and finally, to the floor.