M Sellars: Harm none

Ben gave me a few moments to wash my face and down a handful of aspirin, in lieu of willow bark tea, before he hustled me into one of the smaller conference rooms. The look on his face was more than enough to tell me that the meeting wasn’t going to be a good one.

“Goddammit, Rowan!” No longer able to contain his anger, Ben ruptured. “What the hell were you thinkin’?!”

He had barely closed the door behind Deckert and Special Agent Mandalay. I doubted that it mattered whether or not he waited, since his voice surely carried through most of the police station anyway.

“I was looking for answers,” I returned meekly.

“Answers to what?”

“Why. The answer to why. In every nightmare, Ariel asks me why.”

“You mean why is this asshole killin’ people?” His voice had lowered in volume, but my answer only served to raise it again. “Who knows? Maybe he walked in on his parents screwin’ when he was a kid. Maybe his high school prom date stood him up. They’ve got a million excuses these days. Why’s it fuckin’ matter now? We know who he is.”

“It might not matter at all.” I dabbed at my nostrils with a tissue. The bleeding had long since stopped, but the phantom tingling remained, making me feel as though it was starting all over again. “That might not even be the ‘why’ she is asking… I don’t know… It could just be her way of keeping me from giving up.”

“Let me get this straight.” Agent Mandalay was still leaning against the wall, arms folded across her chest. Her studious gaze hadn’t left me since we entered the room. “You jeopardized this investigation because you think a dead woman is talking to you in your dreams?”

“I didn’t jeopardize anything,” I told her matter-of-factly, avoiding a direct answer to her question. “Roger Henderson isn’t going to return to that house and we all know it.”

“You really do.” She stared back incredulously, reading between the lines of my non-answer. “You think you’re communicating with a ghost or something!” She turned to Ben and gesticulated at me as if I were on display. “That’s it! Now I’m officially convinced that he needs a psychiatrist. I want him off this investigation now.”

Ben started to protest angrily, “Hold on a minute, I…”

“NO! You hold on a minute, Storm,” she insisted vehemently, “I want him out of here.”

“This is still my investigation, and I say he stays.”

“Not anymore. Pursuant to the federal kidnapping statute of nineteen thirty-two, this case falls under the Bureau’s jurisdiction. It’s my investigation now.”

“C’mon,” Detective Deckert tried to interject, “Rowan’s right. This fruitcake wasn’t comin’ back to the house. It was a long shot and we knew it. I tell ya’, something real strange was happening in that place.”

She wheeled quickly around to face him. “Maybe you need an appointment with a shrink, too!”

“You weren’t there,” he shot back, “besides, whattabout last night? Rowan told us where ta’ find the little girl’s dress and all that.”

“Lucky guess,” she stated flatly and turned back to Ben. “I’m calling in to the field office to let them know I’m taking over this investigation. I want him out of here by the time I’m off the phone.”

None of us spoke for a long minute after Agent Mandalay stomped out of the room, slamming the door hard behind her. I winced slightly as the noise pierced my still aching head.

“Well,” Ben puffed out his cheeks as he sighed, “I guess that’s that.”

“I’m sorry, Ben,” I looked up from the floor. “For what it’s worth, I was just trying to help.”

“Hell, ya’ just gave her somethin’ else ta’ flex her muscles about,” he grunted. “She pretty much took over the investigation this afternoon anyway. Now she’s just makin’ it official.”

“I just wish I could remember the vision I had. I’m sure it means something.”

“Have you been able to remember any of it?” Deckert queried.

“Not really,” I answered. “Just something about not being able to breathe, but that could’ve been my own anxiety. I don’t know. If this headache would just go away…”

“Maybe if ya’ get some rest,” Ben volunteered. “You can always call me if you remember somethin’. You got my cell phone number.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I’m still sorry for causing all the trouble though.”

“Hey, no prob, white man,” he returned as he gazed through the thick window that was the top half of the door. “The dragon lady’s got nothin’ on what’s waitin’ out there for you.”

“Huh?” I gave him a confused grunt.

In answer, he simply pointed into the distance outside the window. I slipped my glasses back onto my face and stepped over next to him. Peering in the direction he indicated, I immediately saw what he was referring to.

Red hair tousled about, green eyes glowing harshly, and Irish temper fully aflame, Felicity was striding across the room.

I told you I’ve already gone through this with Ben,” I explained to Felicity as she viciously up-shifted the Jeep and sped onto Highway 170, aiming north toward where my truck was still parked.

She had begun reading me the riot act from the moment we left the MCS command post. While we were still inside, I had been subjected to the patented Felicity O’Brien silent treatment. It was shaping up to be a very long night.

“Aye, but you haven’t gone through it with me!” she shot back angrily. “I come home to an empty house, no note or anything. The next thing I know, Ben is on the phone telling me that Carl is bringing you in to the station bleeding. What was I supposed to think?! What were YOU thinking?!”

“I told you already. I was looking for an answer.”

“You could have told me what you wanted to do when I called this afternoon.”

“Would you have agreed to it?”

“Maybe.”

“Be serious, dear.”

“That’s not the point!” she burst forth once again. “Whether or not I would have agreed to it has absolutely nothing to do with what you did. You lied to Carl and you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you,” I told her. “I just didn’t tell you what I had planned.”

“Don’t split hairs. You know exactly what I meant!”

“You’ll want to exit up here at Page and hang a left,” I told her, as much to change the subject as to provide her with directions. It didn’t work.

“So what did you accomplish?” she demanded stonily.

With a downshift and quick spin of the wheel, she arced the Jeep through the green light at the bottom of the exit ramp and merged into the right lane.

“I had another vision,” I answered her. “At least, I think I did.”

“What do you mean ‘you think you did’?”

Open mouth, insert foot, I thought to myself. I didn’t really intend for the last part of that sentence to come out, but I guess my own personal doubts were starting to take hold. It didn’t matter much now because I knew my wife, and she wasn’t going to let it drop. I had no choice but to explain it.

“I haven’t been able to remember much of anything,” I began outlining. “I feel like I had a vision, but everything is all foggy. I seem to remember the little girl, and I keep flashing on not being able to breathe, but that’s about it. The rest is all just a blur.”

“Why do you think that is?” She cautiously pushed the vehicle onward through an intersection guarded by a winking yellow traffic signal. “Do you think it might have something to do with what Carl was saying then?”

Detective Deckert had detailed to her his story about the basement door and the events that followed. Every time he reiterated the tale, his eyes grew wide, and he would shake his greying head while repeating, “It’s just kinda weird, y’know?” I almost wished that Agent Mandalay had been the one to have his experience. Then maybe she would be slightly less skeptical.