M Sellars - Perfect Trust

“I dunno, Rowan. We’ll check it out, but let’s not start drawin’ conclusions just yet.”

“Fine,” I snarled, “fine, just forget all that. The important thing is I’m telling you he’s the one who’s got Felicity, and we need to stop him before he hurts her.”

“I’m not doubtin’ ya’,” Ben held up a hand before I could object, “Well, actually, yes I am, ‘cause we don’t need ta’ go off half-cocked an’ chasin’ our tails right now.”

“Dammit, Ben!”

“Row, I told ya’, we’ll check it out. But, we can’t just go bust ‘is door down without probable cause. Can ya’ at least give me a motive?”

I heaved out an exasperated sigh. “Just the other day Felicity told me she thinks he has a crush on her.”

“Just a crush, or somethin’ more serious?” he asked. “Like, has he been stalkin’ ‘er?”

“I don’t know,” I couldn’t keep the urgency out of my voice. “But he has been know to call here for no good reason, and I don’t doubt what Felicity said.”

“Okay, okay, I believe ya’,” he said. “I’m afraid a suspected crush ain’t gonna get us a warrant, but let’s start by checkin’ ‘im out. You got a last name so we can get a home address?”

“He won’t be at home,” I told him confidently as I glanced down at the label on the box. I suddenly realized that in my haste I’d neglected to give him a piece of information that would have made my theory quite a bit easier to swallow. “He’ll have her at the lab where he can take pictures of her.”

“Okay, then, we can start there then move ta’ the home. What’s the address?”

“Thirty-seven fifty-four Ash Bend Avenue.”

He was scribbling in his notebook as I recited the address. His pencil slowed and he looked up at me silently.

“Yeah. It wasn’t a name. It was an address.”

“But…”

“Dyslexia,” I said before he could finish. “I’ll bet you anything that Heather Burke suffers from dyslexia.”

Ben killed the headlights on the van and eased it into the parking lot of Arch Color Labs, allowing the high idle of the engine to slowly propel us forward as he surveyed the building. It had taken us less than five minutes to make the trip, and my earlier overabundance of nervous energy was returning in full force. I reached for the door and popped the latch while the vehicle inched along at a pace that would make a tortoise ashamed.

“Dammit, Rowan!” Ben hissed as he quickly twisted a control on the dash to extinguish the dome light. “What the fuck are ya’ doin’? Close the door!”

“Well what are you doing?” I shot back between clenched teeth. “Felicity is in there and you’re just screwing around out here!”

“Listen, I understand where you’re at, believe me, but we can’t just rush in there like the cavalry or somethin’.”

“Dammit, Ben, he’s got Felicity!”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“I do!”

“Fine,” he spat, “I ain’t gonna argue with ya’. But we’re doin’ this my way. Got it?”

It was all I could do to contain myself. The earlier thud that had occupied my head was still there and seemed to be acting as a pump for the visceral rage I was experiencing. With each thrum of pain, I could feel the anger course through me. It was rising fast, and it wasn’t going to be long before it consumed me.

The van idled its way around a low retaining wall to reveal the opposite end of the L-shaped parking lot. There in the shadows of the far back corner sat a car. The tall lamps positioned around the building poured their sodium vapor glow into the night and cut a small swath across the front quarter of the vehicle.

A vague memory of the night Ben had hurried me out of my house in advance of the descending media flitted through my mind. It was the Thunderbird that had been parked on the side street across from my driveway. I recognized the blotches of primer.

“Remember the car we almost hit the other night?” I asked, pointing toward the T-bird. “You wanted to know if he was stalking her… Well there’s your answer.”

“Yeah, I see it,” he grunted.

Ben brought the van to a halt next to the concrete retaining wall and switched off the engine. The silence that followed rang hollow in my ears, piercing directly into my soul.

Through the windows, the interior of the building appeared dark. The only sound inside the van was that of me, Ben, and Helen breathing. The coldness of the night began to quickly seep in.

“What now?” I finally asked, my words riding out on a cloud of visible breath. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”

“Rowan, ya’ wanna can it?” my friend ordered more than asked. “Ya’know, if you were anyone else I woulda kicked your ass by now.”

“Well, what are we doing?” I demanded, though with a bit less harshness in my voice.

“We aren’t doin’ anything,” he instructed as he unlatched his door. “You and Helen are gonna sit right here while I check around back.”

My friend carefully unfolded himself from his seat and climbed out of the van. Before I had any chance to retort, he had quietly pressed the door shut and stalked off through the darkness. I watched on as he disappeared into the shadows.

“Benjamin is correct, Rowan,” Helen told me in a quiet voice. “He knows what he is doing. Let him handle this.”

“I know that, Helen,” I answered, my tone all but devoid of emotion. “But I’m having some trouble with the concept at the moment.”

Her soothing voice and no-nonsense advice was a welcome salve on my wounded psyche, but I was desperately afraid that the prescription was too little, too late. Something that felt completely beyond my control had already been set in motion. What was most frightening to me was that I was fairly certain that I didn’t even want to try stopping it.

“Based on your current demeanor, that would be an understatement, Rowan,” she returned. “However, as I have told you, it is a normal reaction to the situation… Do you remember what I told you earlier today?”

I twisted in my seat so that I could see her. “You mean about not letting my strength become my vulnerability?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Helen, but it still sounds like some kind of cryptic eastern philosophy type of advice to me. I guess I’m stupid because I’m just not getting it.”

“Your innate strength, Rowan, is your need to protect.”

“Okay.”

“By allowing yourself to be consumed by this rage, you are walking a very thin line between protecting someone you love and exacting vengeance. To do the latter would, in turn, make you vulnerable to a host of unspeakable things-including your own fears.”

I pondered her words for a moment before I spoke. “Helen, did you know this was going to happen?”

“Not exactly.” She shook her head. “I sensed that something was going to happen, but nothing specific. If I had, I would have told you.”

“There’s quite a bit more to you than you let on, isn’t there?”

She simply smiled.

I turned back to face forward then reached out and unlatched the glove compartment. I thrust my hand into the darkness and rummaged about carefully. I was banking on a recent memory holding true, and when my fingers landed against the cold metal I knew the account was still open.

Ben always carried a backup weapon-an actual pearl handled, stainless, Smith amp; Wesson Model 649 “Bodyguard” thirty-eight special to be exact. The only reason I knew the specifics in such detail was that he’d sung the praises of the short-barreled revolver and its shrouded hammer to me more than once.

When I withdrew my hand from the compartment, Helen couldn’t help but see the belt clip holster and handgun that now filled it. To her credit she didn’t even gasp.