M Sellars - Perfect Trust

Itchy pinpricks assaulted my digits as blood flowed once again unfettered into my hand. Far worse, however, was the sudden feeling of isolation and detachment that washed over me as we separated. I had known that I was having trouble staying grounded-even if I hesitated to admit it-but the depth of this sensation drove firmly home the severity of my problem. It had been so long since I’d felt so truly centered and at ease that the feeling had been almost like a drug. I wanted it back, I wanted more, and I wanted it now.

Being suddenly and instantly without the warm comfort it brought had ushered in its own brand of fear to fill the void. I had to consciously tell myself not to reach for Felicity’s hand like a frightened child.

“Okay, so we aren’t exactly keepin’ banker’s hours,” Ben rebutted. “But we’re just havin’ a look. No big deal.”

“If that is the case, Storm,” Doctor Sanders contended, “then why did you send the diener out of the room?”

Ben shook his head at the mention of the morgue attendant. “I figured he had better things ta’ do than stand around and watch us look at a dead body. Besides, he’s a little creepy, ya’know?”

“Spare me. And, it’s his job to stay in here with non-staff and you know it. Are you sure it wasn’t so he wouldn’t see what you were doing with that dead body?” she shot back.

“We weren’t doin’ anything with it.” He went immediately on the defensive. “Just what are you implyin’?”

“I’m not implying anything, Storm,” she declared. “Johnathan told me he heard some kind of chanting back here after he left you three. Do you have an explanation for that?”

“That would have been me,” Felicity chimed in.

“Stay out of this,” Ben ordered over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor directed her gaze toward my wife, “I know we’ve met, but I don’t recall your name.”

“O’Brien. Felicity O’Brien.”

“Right. Well, Miz O’Brien, since Detective Storm seems to be stuck talking in circles right now, would you like to explain what is going on here?”

“Listen, Doc…” Ben took another step forward and insinuated himself physically between the M.E. and us. “Let’s leave them outta this. If ya’ got a problem with all this, take it up with me.”

“I tried that already and it didn’t get me very far, now did it?”

The tension was rapidly building between the two of them, and my friend’s heretofore uncooperativeness was at its root. He was now making a fresh bid for control over the situation, but I wasn’t entirely sure he was going to win out. As was his nature, he was using his physical stature as an intimidation tactic; or trying to at least. Doctor Sanders appeared totally unfazed.

“So what are you gonna do about it, Rowan?” Debbie Schaeffer whispers softly into my ear.

The sudden return of the disembodied voice took me by surprise. I had been fully under the impression that any link with the other side had been completely severed the moment the medical examiner had interrupted us. Obviously, I was wrong.

“Look,” Ben told the M.E., “I’m sorry. Let’s just work this out, okay?”

She met his challenge with one of her own. “If you want to work this out, you can start by telling me what is really going on here.”

Ben’s hand shot up to smooth back his hair and came to rest on his neck as his fingers began to work at a knot of tension. “It’s not as bad as it looks, okay?” he appealed.

“Just tell me what’s going on, and I’ll decide that for myself.”

“Just let them have their little tiff,” Debbie Schaeffer whispers into my ear again. “I’ve got something to show you.”

I feel the touch of icy fingers against my palm, followed by them intertwining with my own. The frigid grasp of death encircles my hand, and I feel its frost creep upward along my arm.

I looked down at my hand the moment the sensation took hold. There was nothing to see, but the chilled feeling was definitely there.

“Look, Doc, you’ve seen the stuff that Rowan does, right?” My friend was starting into his explanation.

“I’ve been witness to one or two of Mister Gant’s episodes, yes,” Doctor Sanders answered. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Come on, Rowan. You need to look at this.” Debbie Schaeffer is pulling me by the hand.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Ben affirmed.

“Is there a particular reason it needed to be done in the middle of the night?”

I glanced over to Felicity and saw that her attention was focused fully upon the exchange between Ben and Doctor Sanders. Consciously, I wanted to tell her what was happening. The recent revelation I’d reached regarding my own ability to ground and center once again brought forth the acid tang of fear on the back of my tongue. I knew that no matter how much I verbally denied it, my current state left me open and vulnerable. It wouldn’t take very much at all to get me into deep trouble-potentially fatal deep trouble. My mouth opened as I started to voice the concern, but before any sound escaped I felt my hand squeezed and heard a rush echo inside my skull.

“Shhhhhh! Don’t tell anyone. Just come with me and look. You need to see this.”

I closed my mouth and looked over the tableau again. My friend had his back to us and his large frame was positioned such that he was almost completely blocking the slight medical examiner from my view. I could only assume that I was just as obscured from her sight.

I could feel something tugging at my hand, and when I looked, my arm was actually moving. I tried to stop its progress, but the spirit of Debbie Schaeffer was fully in charge, and her strength came from sources beyond this plane of existence. I was no match for her. I closed my eyes and desperately fought to achieve a solid ground. It was the only way I could think of to regain control over my own body.

“Come on, Rowan. They aren’t watching. You really, really need to see this. Trust me.”

“It was a judgment call,” Ben told the M.E. “Maybe it wasn’t the best one I’ve made, but those are the breaks.”

“You’re pretty good for that, aren’t you?”

“Come on, Doc. There ain’t a need ta’ make this personal.”

“Then what about the chanting Johnathan heard?” she fired off another question. “What was that all about? I don’t recall chanting being a part of Mister Gant’s episodes.”

“I think maybe he didn’t really understand what he heard.”

“What did he hear then?”

“Felicity here said a prayer, that’s all.”

“COME ON, ROWAN! Don’t you trust me?”

I started to appeal to my wife for help, only to find the words caught painfully in my throat. Instinctively I reached for her with my free hand, but grasped nothing more than a handful of cold air. I opened my eyes and became suddenly aware that I was no longer standing next to her. Without any realization whatsoever, I had moved several steps away and now found myself positioned in front of the wall bearing the cold storage drawers. Directly before me on a rectangle of stainless steel was a temporary label annotated with a case number and the name. The number meant nothing to me, but the name was all too familiar-Lawson, Paige.

The disembodied voice of Debbie Schaeffer echoes with the insistence of an excited five-year-old. “Go on, open it. You really, really, really need to see this, Rowan!”

I stood there completely dumbfounded for a moment. The pit of my stomach was churning in a way vastly different from what had been brought on by the stench of decay. The acrid boil that was happening down there now was one of pure, unadulterated fear. I had felt such things before, and with even greater intensity, but what was most disturbing about this instance was that this fear was my own-no one else’s.