M Sellars - Love Is The Bond

“Ding-ding,” he returned. “Give the man a cigar.”

“Well, there did seem to be something physical that was a bit odd,” I offered.

“What’s that?”

“Some kind of lacerations on his torso.”

“Whaddaya mean ‘some kind of lacerations’?”

“Felicity had a better look than I did,” I replied.

He looked over at her and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Whatcha got?”

“I can’t be sure,” she replied with a shake of her head. “There’s quite a bit of blood obscuring it, but there definitely seemed to be a pattern to the lacerations.”

“What kinda pattern?”

“Sectional. Almost like a checkerboard from what I could see. I took a couple of shots, but I don’t think they’ll show much. Once he’s cleaned up, I suspect it will be a bit more pronounced.”

“Okay. I’ll give the coroner a heads up. So what do YOU two think it means?”

“Maybe that he was tortured?” she said with a shrug. “Although, honestly, they really looked superficial. But like I said. There was a lot of blood obscuring them.”

“Same here,” I offered. “Just not sure. But it did seem a bit strange to me, so take that for what it’s worth.”

“With you?” he harrumphed. “If YOU think somethin’s strange, it’s usually not good.”

“Sorry.”

My friend reached up and smoothed back his hair then stood there massaging his neck in silence. Finally he said, “The number seven mean anything to you two?”

“Most consider seven to be a lucky number,” Felicity offered.

“Reward, money, payoff,” I ticked off some of the possibilities then added, “There are seven days in a week.”

“There are seven continents,” my wife continued. “Seven seas, the dance of the seven veils, seven deadly sins… Some prophecies speak of seven archangels.”

I nodded and continued her thread. “They also mention the seven plagues, the seven seals, and…”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, holding up a hand and waving me off. “It’s probably just the luck thing. That’s what I kinda figured anyway.”

“What is?” I asked.

“Desk clerk said Wentworth specifically requested room seven,” he replied.

“Was it him or his companion making the request?”

“Dunno at this point.” He shook his head. “The clerk said he’s the only one that came in, but we’re thinkin’ it coulda been whoever he was with.”

“Sounds like a setup to me,” I offered. “That sort of thing would fit with a contract killing. Right?”

“Yeah, way ahead of ya’ on that one, Row,” he replied. “Problem is the clerk didn’t see anyone in or outta the place.”

“So she didn’t see whoever he was with leaving either?”

“Nope. Matter of fact, she says she can’t remember seein’ anybody else in the car at all when he checked in, and he pulled up right out front. Big help, huh?”

“Well, he had to have been here with someone.”

“No shit,” my friend huffed, an overtone of halfway jovial sarcasm in his voice. “I think we kinda established that already.”

“Just thinking out loud, Ben.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Guess we all are. Anyway, we’re gonna shake down some of the local hoo… uh, working girls, and see what we can find out.”

“Let me ask you something,” Felicity interjected.

He glanced over at my wife. “What? ‘Working girls’ is out too?”

She ignored the sardonic query and launched into a question of her own. “I’ve been wondering this ever since you called, and what you just said reminded me of it. How did the body get found at such an odd hour? I mean there wouldn’t be any maid service this time of night, and if he hadn’t checked out…”

“Clerk heard the shot and called nine-one-one.”

“So the killer didn’t have very long to get away,” she mused.

“Somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes, best guess,” he explained. “She hesitated to make the call for something like five to ten minutes, she’s not for sure. Then response for a unit was right at six minutes.”

“Not much time,” I mused.

My friend grunted then reached up to massage his neck as he said, “Yeah, well, apparently it was enough.”

“Do you want to grab some breakfast?” I asked.

“What?” Felicity replied, looking over at me as she downshifted the Jeep.

We were only a few blocks from home at this point. Ben was still wrapping things up back at the crime scene, but for the time being, my wife’s part in the investigation was done-her official involvement anyway.

There was no doubt that something unnatural was already hard at work, and it had every intention of dragging both of us back into the middle of the entire mess. The intensity of the feeling was actually enough to make one feel claustrophobic, and that made me more than just a little nervous.

I had no choice but to wonder what, or who, was pulling the strings. Especially when my friend finally sent us on our way, and it became obvious that we weren’t the only ones who could feel it. He had gone so far as to hedge the dismissal with a promise to contact us later in the day if he had any questions. I wouldn’t have thought anything of the comment if it weren’t for the fact that I could tell simply by the way he spoke the words that even he wasn’t sure why he’d said them. That in itself told me he knew something was going on as well, even if only subconsciously.

Still, the aberration thus far was that there were none of the usual signs. No psychic flashes, no preternatural headaches, and not even a hint of ethereal contact from the victim. There was no apparent reason for us to be involved other than the emergency photographic services Felicity had provided. Even so, it felt like a foregone conclusion that we were now connected to this crime in some vastly deeper way. For the life of me though, I had absolutely no clue what that connection could be.

“Breakfast,” I repeated. “We could hit the Corner Coffee House. I’ll buy.”

She gave her head a slight shake. “Maybe later. Aren’t you still queasy?”

“Unfortunately, no,” I replied, sincere in my words. “I’m afraid my tolerance for the horrific is back in full. I am a little tired though. What about you?”

“No.”

“No what?”

She shook her head again and spoke absently, “No. Not queasy then.”

“Well, you’ve got to be tired. You’re running on only about an hours sleep.”

“Hmmmm?”

“Tired. You’ve got to be tired.”

“Not really.”

“Okay,” I replied, giving a nod in her direction. “So what’s on your mind?”

“What?”

“Yo, Earth to Felicity,” I said, reaching over and poking her in the shoulder with my index finger. “Would you like to fill me in on what’s going on here? You’re completely scattered, and I find it really hard to believe you aren’t tired. Is something wrong?”

“No… I don’t think…” she replied hesitantly. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Now you’re sounding like me,” I told her. “What is it?”

I twisted in my seat and watched her through a long pause. I could see that she was struggling with something, and the aura surrounding her was one of intense frustration.

“That room…” she finally said after finishing the turn onto our street and accelerating down the block.

“What about it?”

“The feeling…” she murmured. “I… I just can’t shake it.”

“You mean the lack of fear?”

“No, not that. The sex.”

“Oh,” I replied, slightly taken aback.

I had been affected by that aura myself but for the most part, only while inside the room. Once outside the feeling had rapidly diminished, and after we had left the premises, it had disappeared entirely. But, apparently the same wasn’t so for my wife, and that worried me.