M Sellars - The Law Of Three

The beginnings of a distant echo came from the other side of the room. “Dammit, Rowan, you know what I…”

I didn’t hear the rest.

The only thing I really remembered about the trip home was that it was dark and that the back seat of the car was cold. Prior to that, there were some dreamlike recollections of unintelligible voices, a feeling like I was sitting up and floating down a long hallway, some fuzzy streaks of white passing through muted light, and of course, that damnable song playing in an endless loop between my ears.

It was still echoing there even now.

With more effort than I expected it to take, I let out a heavy sigh and tried to relax. After failing at that task, I reached down and reluctantly shut off the water in the shower. Then, I just stood there for what seemed like a good half hour. In reality, I think it was more like five minutes. The steam was dissipating quickly and water was dripping from my tortured skin. I tingled with a self-inflicted rawness on my face, neck, hands, and forearms where I had scrubbed to remove the soot and grime left over from the fire. I was still afflicted with a cough that would attack me without warning, but at least the episodes were becoming fewer and farther between. The doctor had told me it was an after effect of the smoke inhalation and that it would most likely work itself out in a day or two; as far as I was concerned, the quicker the better.

For a moment, I considered turning the water back on and just continuing to stand there motionless as I had for the last third of the shower. The warmth felt good, and it went a long way toward soothing the aches and pains that were once more answering a roll call throughout my body.

I started to reach for the chromed knob but hesitated as I heard the door open and then close, followed by Felicity’s concerned voice. “Row, are you okay?”

I’d been in here for close to an hour, and she had already checked on me twice before now. Three was the charm I suppose.

“Yeah,” I replied in a lazy voice as I reached up and slowly slid the shower curtain aside. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’m making you some tea, then,” she told me, leaning her back against the door as she spoke. “Are you hungry?”

I had actually been expecting her to break out the verbal cat ‘o nine tails on me over everything that had happened, or at the very least give me her particular brand of silent treatment. I knew that she was angry, but thus far, she had not shown that side. In fact, she had not even displayed any visible distress over the call from Porter. What was happening instead was that I was on the receiving end of her maternal instinct, which had evidently locked into overdrive.

“Not really,” I shook my head.

Actually, I was, but my tongue was sore, and I didn’t feel up to dealing with any additional pains that I might be able to avoid.

I watched my wife’s expression and decided that she was simply doing a good job of hiding the fear that I knew she had to be feeling. I was just too far out of it right now to pick it up on an extrasensory level. Moreover, as to the subject of her wrath, I was sure it would be coming at some point. There was no doubt in my mind about that. Based on what I had seen staring back at me from the mirror, my guess was that I just looked so pathetic to her that there was no way she couldn’t give me a stay of execution.

“Aye, are you sure?” She gazed back at me with even more concern. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’m sure.” I gave her a shallow nod. “Ben might want something though. You know how he is.”

“He’s already gone.” She shook her head then reached up and pushed a loose strand of auburn curls back behind her ear. “Constance made him go. She’s going to stay with us tonight instead.”

I started to reach for a towel, and she quickly stepped forward to get it for me.

“That’s good,” I told her. “He needs some rest too.”

“Aye, now.” She shook her head and widened her jade green eyes. “Do you really believe that Benjamin Storm will be resting?”

“Probably not.” I agreed with what her words implied. We both knew how Ben had a tendency to push himself until he dropped. “Not unless Allison makes him.”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe she will,” I mused.

“We can only hope,” Felicity said. “He did say he was going to go home and get cleaned up.”

I began drying myself slowly, gently patting at my face with the fresh cotton towel. “Any word on Carl?”

“Aye. Ben said to tell you that the reason you two were having trouble finding out anything is that Carl was taken to a different hospital. He’s in the cardiac care unit at Christian. He’s stable at the moment and they’re planning to run some tests in the morning.”

“So he’s going to be okay?”

“I hope so.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s all they would tell him.”

I nodded. “Okay. At least he’s all right for now.”

The multi-toned harmonica whistle of a Chantal teakettle started low and rose in volume on the other side of the door. Felicity wasn’t a big fan of microwaves when it came to making tea, or much else for that matter, so the kettle was one of the few cooking implements we had brought along with us. Since the bathroom in this apartment backed up against the kitchenette, even with the door closed, the not-quite-harmonious chord was loud.

My wife stepped back toward the door and allowed her fingers to rest on the lever-like handle. “I found your spare glasses and put them on the dresser in the bedroom… And I laid out some fresh clothes for you on the bed. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get for you?”

“I’m sure, honey,” I told her. “Thanks. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

She opened the door and started through, then stopped and looked back at me with what could have been sadness in her eyes; or perhaps it was relief, I wasn’t exactly sure. “I love you, Rowan Linden Gant. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, honey, I know. Same here.”

“Feeling better?” Special Agent Constance Mandalay asked, looking up from her coffee as I trudged into the room and eased myself into a chair.

Mandalay was petite and wore her brunette hair in a stylish, shoulder-length crop. Still in her late twenties, on the surface she appeared to be just a fresh-faced youngster. She looked as though she would be right at home on any college campus, chasing after a handful of letters to park behind her name, or waving pom-poms and cheering the home team on to victory. Descriptors such as pretty, cute, and perky immediately leapt to mind in conjunction with the young woman.

To me, her youthful countenance sometimes made it hard to believe that she already possessed a law degree from Cornell and had joined the FBI right out of school. However, I knew all too well that beneath the facade there was a hard-nosed femme fatale packing a forty-caliber Sig Sauer along with the finely honed skill to use it.

“Yeah,” I answered her. “About as much as I can at the moment.”

“That’s good, because you look like hell,” she offered with a sweet smile.

“Thanks, Constance,” I returned with an amused grin. “Nice to see you too.”

We had first been introduced to Agent Mandalay when she had exerted her federally bestowed authority to assume the helm of an investigation Ben had been leading. The initial contact between the two of them had been just short of explosive; as for me, well, I was on the top of her list from the get-go. I’m not talking about the good list either. The adversarial interaction between us all had continued right through to the very end of that case.