M Sellars - Blood Moon

“Different how?”

She shrugged. “Just…different.”

“Well, even you have to admit that it seems a bit coincidental,” he pressed.

“You said it yourself,” she replied. “Coincidence.”

“As I said, Miz O’Brien, we’ve read the case files.”

To my knowledge, with the exception of the handful of detectives and federal officers with whom I had closely worked, the name Miranda had been nothing more than an alias used by Annalise. Now, however, the harsh light of the BAU appeared as if it was being trained on a ghost, even if they didn’t realize it, and my wife was being caught in that beam as well.

In response to my wife’s silence, Agent Hanley made a capitulatory gesture with his hands as he raised his eyebrows. “Honestly, I think you’re hiding something. Why can’t you at least tell us why you chose to refer to yourself by that particular name?”

My comfort zone was already being severely stressed, and his latest comment served only to push it to the limit. Instead of allowing its walls to be breached I interrupted. “I think maybe we’re finished here.”

My tone carried a sharp edge that, judging from the looks I received, definitely appeared to annoy or at the very least surprise the two FBI agents. At this point, however, I really didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let Felicity be railroaded again, especially not like this.

“I was speaking to your wife, Mister Gant,” Hanley replied.

“I caught that, Agent Hanley,” I shot back coolly. “But, just so we avoid any misunderstanding, I was speaking to both of you.”

“I agree with Rowan, then,” Felicity announced. “This suddenly seems more like an interrogation than an interview.”

Doctor Jante spoke up. “Miz O’Brien, I understand how you must feel about this after everything you’ve been through, but you have nothing to worry about. No one is accusing you of anything.”

“That certainly isn’t the impression you’re giving me,” Felicity replied.

“I apologize for that,” Doctor Jante said, offering a smile. “To the both of you. That isn’t our intention at all. We’re simply trying to gather as much information as we can, and with our time limited as it is, sometimes the stress can creep through, even for us.” She glanced at her partner. “I’m afraid Agent Hanley was just a little overzealous.”

Hanley gave her a shallow nod of agreement then muttered a quick and blatantly insincere apology in our direction. Other than that he remained quiet, with a somewhat stoic expression on his face as he stared across the table at us.

In that moment the two of them had officially established their roles as good cop and bad cop. Any other time I probably would have pointed out to them that I was onto their game, but the obvious posturing seemed just exactly that- obvious. Their less than subtle attempt at manipulation bothered me enough that I had to wonder why they had been so transparent. I knew I should be listening to my instincts to cut and run, but there was just one small problem. My curiosity was taking over.

“We’d like to continue if you’re agreeable to that,” Jante said, directing herself to Felicity, although she did cast a quick glance in my direction as well.

Personally, I wasn’t excited about the situation, but the nagging wonder in the back of my head was getting the better of me. I wanted to know just exactly what they were after and why. I turned toward my wife and wrestled with the momentary indecision.

After a heartbeat or two I abandoned the struggle and chose a different path. I would allow Felicity to be the barometer. As curious as I was, I knew she would be pragmatic. She always was. If she wanted to leave now, we would. If she wanted to hear them out, then I would just be sure to pay even closer attention to my gut. If my inklings grew any stronger, I figured I could just pull the plug then and there. At least, that’s what I hoped.

I shrugged. “I’ll leave it up to you unless you want me to decide. Just say the word.”

She looked at me and gave a shallow nod then absently chewed at her lower lip. A thick quiet filled the room, underscored by the low whirr of the cooling fan on Doctor Jante’s notebook computer as it kicked on for a moment.

“Maybe I can help with your decision,” the doctor finally said, breaking the silence and taking advantage of the fact that my wife had not yet said no. “May I show you something, Miz O’Brien?”

“What?” Felicity asked.

“It’s a short clip from a video recording of an interview with Devereaux.”

“Why do you want me to see it?”

“I think that after you do, you’ll have a better understanding of why we are so interested in your apparent connection with Miranda.”

Felicity looked over at me again then back to Doctor Jante. She closed her eyes and sighed, then gave a quick nod to the affirmative as her eyelids fluttered open. “Okay. I’ll watch it.”

Jante skillfully fingered the computer keyboard then twisted the whole unit so that it was aimed in our direction.

“This particular clip is from an interview conducted last week,” she told us as a simple introduction then reached around and tapped the touch pad to start it playing.

As the image opened on the screen, I experienced an excruciating moment of deja vu. Annalise Devereaux was almost a dead ringer for Felicity. There were differences to be sure, but they were subtle enough that even I had to do a double take. What made this worse for me, though, was the fact that the woman in the video was clad in a prison issue orange jumpsuit and wearing handcuffs. When my wife had been arrested and accused of the murders, I had visited her at the Justice Center where she had been held. The image before me now was almost like a snapshot taken directly from my memory, and it brought a phantom wave of the emotional pain flooding back without warning.

I watched as the video doppelganger settled back in her chair, regarding the person seated across the table from her with a curious expression. While the camera was primarily focused on Annalise, I could make out enough of the interviewer’s profile to reasonably assume that it was Doctor Jante herself. As the clip moved forward, audio began to stream from the computer.

“Actually, she reminds me of how Annalise was in the beginning,” Devereaux said, her voice a sweet Southern drawl even through the tinniness of the small speakers. “But, better. Much better.”

Judging from the third person reference, it was apparent that Miranda was in control.

“Miz O’Brien, you mean?” the half image of Doctor Jante on the screen asked.

“Felicity, yes,” Miranda replied.

“How is it that you know her?”

“Serendipity.”

“Would you like to explain?”

“No.”

“I see. So, what is it that makes her better than Annalise?”

“Her spirit, of course,” she said, shaking her head and smiling. The tone of her voice made her reply sound as if the answer was so obvious that the question itself was wholly unnecessary. “She fights her desires, and that just makes them all the sweeter when they are realized. For the both of us.”

“And those desires would be?”

“To accept their love completely and without hesitation.”

“Love?”

“Yes.”

“By ‘accept their love’ exactly what and who do you mean?”

“Accepting their love by giving them what they want.”

“‘They’ being men?”

“Of course.”

“So what you really mean is torturing and killing men for your own sexual gratification?”

“No.” Miranda shook her head. “I mean exactly what I said. Loving them.”

“I’m not sure I comprehend how what you do to them equates to love.”