M Sellars: Love Is The Bond

“Yes.”

“I thought sure I had killed him then…” she said as she finally loosened her grip on me and pushed back.

She put her hand to her mouth and trembled as she closed her eyes, tears still rolling down her flushed cheeks. She looked far more waiflike than she had hours before. Her face had been scrubbed clean of the makeup, and her pale complexion was blotchy from her continuous weeping. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans that were a half size or so larger than her shape required and over them, a baggy sweatshirt with a faded and peeling college logo silk-screened above the left breast.

Constance had told me on our way down here that she had brought Felicity some clothing from her own wardrobe since what my wife had been wearing when she was taken into custody was being confiscated. I hadn’t been told why they were taking her clothes, but I didn’t really care.

It simply didn’t matter what she was wearing. It was enough for me that she was safe.

Felicity took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I could tell she was trying hard to ground herself. I could also tell she was having very little success. After repeating the breaths several times, she finally opened her eyes and looked up at me.

“Aye, what’s happening to me then, Rowan?” she asked.

“Honey, we can talk about this later,” I replied.

“I need to know,” she came back with a pleading tone in her voice.

I looked at her and let out my own heavy sigh. I didn’t think this was the time or the place, but she deserved to know. After all, it was her to whom it had happened.

“I think you underwent a possession by a Lwa,” I stated.

“A Lwa? Isn’t that a Vodou deity?” she asked, sniffling.

“Yes.”

“But how? Why?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, shaking my head. “I wish I did. All I know is that some form of Voodoo ritual was performed at the murder scene where you showed up yesterday.”

“But… But why would it affect me, then?” she stammered.

“Again, I don’t know,” I said with a note of apology in my voice. “I wish I did… Do you remember anything? Anything at all? Maybe that would help us figure it out.”

She shook her head then hugged herself tightly as she began pacing around the room. “I remember arguing with a police officer about letting me in somewhere… I’m not really sure where, it’s all fuzzy… Then I think I called you on my cell phone… But… But I’m not sure…”

“That would have been the crime scene where the ritual was done,” I acknowledged. “Is that it?”

“Aye,” she said with a nod then stopped pacing and dropped her eyes to the floor. “After that it was as if I was in a dreamless sleep, right up until I awoke in that room with…”

“It’s okay,” I told her as her voice trailed off. “You’ve been through enough.”

“Rowan,” she said, looking up at me with a startled visage. “They took some of my hair. Why?”

Constance had told me that Felicity had been filled in on her escapades with the assault, taking the firearm, and even some sketchy details about the search that had ensued. My wife’s question, however, told me that they had completely left out any reference to her being a suspect in the two homicides. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but I knew for certain that I didn’t want to tell her. Unfortunately, it looked like I wasn’t going to have a choice.

“It isn’t important right now,” I said, stepping forward and reaching for her in an attempt to skirt the issue.

She backed away and cocked her head to the side, unwilling to yield to my half-hearted attempt. “No. Tell me.”

I dropped my forehead into my hand and massaged it for a moment before looking back to her frightened face. “They found several long red hairs at both of the homicide crime scenes. After what happened yesterday, you’re being considered a suspect.”

“Gods…” she murmured, as an icy terror frosted her eyes.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” I offered. “When they compare your hair with the ones from the crime scenes, you’ll be cleared.”

“Aye, and what if I’m not?”

“You will be.”

“Rowan…” she started, then paused.

“What?”

“There is something else I remember then,” she said quietly.

“What?”

She swallowed hard, looked to the ceiling, then back to my face. “When I woke up in the motel room, I was standing on that man’s chest and stamping on his face.”

I shook my head hard and waved at her with a dismissive gesture. “That’s not important honey. You were under the influence of a spirit possession at the time.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she objected. “When I came to, that was what I was doing, and I was… I was… Aroused.”

“Again, that’s part of…”

“Listen to me, Rowan,” she interrupted. “I was VERY aroused.”

“So?”

“So… So…” She closed her eyes again as she took in a deep breath then opened them and blurted, “So I kept doing it.”

“You kept doing what?” I asked, even though I was afraid I already knew the answer.

“I kept stomping on him,” she said, her voice cracking with a mix of fear and excitement. “I didn’t stop. I just kept stomping on his body because it felt so good to do it… To be dominant… To punish him… I was enjoying it, and I kept going until… Until… Until I came to an orgasm.”

I stared back at her. I truly didn’t know what to say.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” I finally managed to ask.

“No.”

“Don’t.”

“Aye, but maybe I should,” she replied, her voice near a whisper. “Maybe it is me. Maybe I am the killer.”

Maybe I am the killer.

Those words echoed inside my skull as I stood there in the wake of my wife’s fading voice. She already had more than enough people who truly believed that speculation to be fact. She certainly didn’t need any more. Hell, even my own faith in her had been shaken for an instant during the night, but for her to now doubt her own sanity simply wouldn’t do. She couldn’t afford to let that happen right now, because the fear that came with questioning your own right-mindedness was a terror like no other, and it would consume you if you allowed it to take hold.

Unfortunately, I could already see it swelling behind her eyes, and she was looking to me to stop it. I couldn’t say that I didn’t understand what she was going through inside her head, because I did, all too well. I had been suspect of my own grasp on reality more than once over the past several years.

She and Ben had too.

Still, that didn’t give me the right to doubt hers now. In fact, it simply meant that I needed to stand by her just as she had by me, even while her certainty in my saneness was faltering.

She kept her gaze locked with mine, eyes searching my face, and I knew she was looking for a reaction. More than that, she was seeking a lifeline, a reason to maintain hope. And, it had to come from me, no one else.

I finally shook my head and said, “No, Felicity. You aren’t the killer.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“I wish I could be so sure.”

“You don’t really believe that you killed anyone, do you?”

“Right now, I don’t know.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“How can you be so sure, then?” she asked, blatantly challenging me to prove my belief in her innocence.

“Simple. How did you feel when you came to?” I asked.

“I just told you,” she murmured. “I was turned on.”

“No, I mean other than that.”

“A bit dizzy,” she replied. “Disoriented for a moment, maybe. But that passed quickly.”