M Sellars - All acts of pleasure

Little more than three hours had passed since my conversation with Doctor Rieth. The thread of positive luck-if you could really call it that-which had begun during the phone call, had seemed to continue in its wake. For a little while at least, as only a few moments after I had hung up, the phone began to ring again. That time it had been Jackie calling to let me know that she’d managed to arrange a court-ordered visit with Felicity.

The fact was, under normal circumstances, prisoners detained at the Saint Louis City Justice Center had to schedule visitors in advance, and each particular “dorm” had specific days set aside for those visits to take place. By obtaining an impromptu judicial order, our-or given the events of last evening I should say Felicity’s-attorney had succeeded in circumventing the system, getting me in to see her early this afternoon.

What I was going to end up owing Jackie for this bit of legal sorcery, I had no idea, but the truth is I didn’t really care. I had to see my wife. I needed to know that she was okay. Moreover, I needed her to know that I had not forsaken her. That I was going to do everything in my power to stop this from happening.

And, now, here I was, downtown and just around the corner from where I had been the night before while waiting to wake up from this nightmare. From the looks of things, it appeared I still hadn’t accomplished that task.

At this particular moment, I couldn’t even remember which floor of the building I was on. In fact, I was lucky that I could even recall that the address was on Tucker. All that really stood out in my mind right now is that we had gone up after being patted down, wanded, and generally scrutinized by uniformed corrections officers. However, I don’t think it was the frisking that was responsible for my sudden attack of geographical amnesia. More than likely it was the initial shock of seeing Felicity in her present state.

Her red hair, which usually spiraled about her soft face with fiery brilliance, was dull and limp. Down, it would hang past her waist, but at the moment it was twisted, wrapped, and tucked-sitting in a lifeless pile atop her head. While it wasn’t that unusual for her to wear it in a Gibson-girlish coif, I had to admit I was a bit surprised since she wasn’t allowed anything with which to affix it in place. I suppose it was staying up only by the grace of some bit of woman magick men can never understand, let alone duplicate.

Her smooth ivory skin was blotchy and beyond any definition of pale that came to my mind. Even ashen was too delicate a word to describe the greyness that seemed to envelope her.

Jade green irises, normally bright, were no more than flat disks swimming in the centers of bloodshot whites. They both stood out in contrast to the dark rings encircling her sunken eyes.

She was totally devoid of makeup, and it showed. It wasn’t as if she really ever wore that much to begin with, but right now, unlike any other time, its absence was beyond glaring.

Her petite frame was clad in a loose fitting, sherbet orange jumpsuit, which was standard issue for inmates at the facility. The unnaturally brilliant color did little to help her altogether stark and sickly appearance.

Everything about the way she looked, right down to the way she carried herself, told me she’d managed to get no more rest than I had eked out of the long night. She looked absolutely horrible, and I’m certain the expression on my face upon first seeing her had betrayed at least that much.

Even so, to me, she still couldn’t be more beautiful.

Unfortunately, just sitting here looking at her wasn’t going to help either of us. We didn’t have all that much time, and even less to waste. Court order or not, it wasn’t going to be long before I was sent on my way by the guard on the other side of the mirrored glass.

Jackie’s arrangement had specified what was called a “contact visit”, something that might have been otherwise impossible considering the severity of the charges against Felicity. And, of course, somehow she had also managed to get them to leave us more or less unchaperoned in the room. However, that was as far as the indulgences went. Contact or not, the court order wasn’t going to buy us any more time together than normal inmate visits prescribed.

The charges themselves, although making the arrangements for our visit a bit tricky, were actually working to my wife’s advantage. For one thing, I had been told that she was alone in her cell, as they were segregating her from the rest of the “population” due to her alleged crimes. Basically, in order to keep the petty thieves and DWI detainees safe, they weren’t about to put an accused serial killer in direct contact with them without close supervision. I was certainly glad of that, but for much the opposite reason.

I continued watching my wife in silence across the small table. I hadn’t yet replied to her urging, and I wasn’t sure I could get away with the reticence for much longer. Refusing to tell her now would only widen the unexplained rift that seemed to have formed between us. The problem was, right now my brain was just too sluggish to come up with a convincing lie considering how I had started the earlier sentence.

“So, are you going to tell me, then?” she asked again, pushing the silence aside.

Thus far, she’d had a tendency to stare into space whenever she spoke, and that hadn’t changed. I also noticed that she was still absently rubbing her red, swollen wrists where the handcuffs had chafed and bruised them. I sincerely hoped those marks hadn’t been left by Ben because if they had, he wouldn’t need to invite the next punch.

I opened my mouth to speak, mumbled through a false start, then offered up what I thought was a logical excuse, as I tried one last shot at disentangling myself from the self-inflicted mess. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I really don’t want to upset you.”

“Too late, Rowan,” she replied. “Take a look around. The police beat you to it.”

“You still don’t need any more to worry about,” I told her with a shake of my head.

“And, you do?”

“No…” I replied quietly. “Neither of us do.”

“Aye.”

“Yeah, but still…”

“Misery loves company. Go ahead. Tell me, then.”

“You aren’t miserable enough as it is?”

“I think this is about as miserable as it gets, Row.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“Go on, then. Quit avoiding the question. Share.”

“Well…It’s nothing really…I’ve had a few somewhat unpleasant conversations with your father since yesterday morning.”

“Aye, I can’t say that I’m surprised by that.”

“By the way, speaking of that…any insight on the phrase ‘an rabe something-or-other’?”

“An riabhach?” she repeated, filling in the blanks.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Did he call you that?”

“That’s the gist I got. A couple of times for sure. Of course, he’d already called me quite a few things I already knew how to translate.”

“It’s been bad, then?”

“It hasn’t been pleasant. Although, he does have a fairly predictable cycle. He calls, blames me for this, calls me names, demands to know what I’m going to do to fix it but doesn’t give me a chance to answer, then I hang up on him. Then he calls back…lather, rinse, repeat.”

My attempt at levity didn’t provoke a laugh, or even a smile. She simply sighed and slowly shook her head. “Well, that phrase means, the evil one.”

I gave her a half shrug. “Go figure.”

“Aye.”

“So, I guess the fact that he blames me for this isn’t any big surprise either.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is, given the tension between the two of you, then. But, you should just ignore him. He’ll get over it.”