M Sellars - Miranda

“Do you really need a phone?”

“Yeah, actually. I do.”

From the sudden lack of audible footsteps, I could tell she stopped moving. A second later I felt something tapping against the back of my wrist and heard her say, “Here.”

I lowered my hands from my face and looked up to see that she was offering me her cell.

“You can use mine,” she said. “I know I can get you some coffee. I’ll have to ask around about the aspirin.”

“Two outta three…” I mumbled, leaving the rest of the cliche unspoken as I took the proffered device from her hand.

“I’ll go see what I can do,” she told me as I flipped the cell open. Stopping at the door, she turned and blurted, “What the hell were you thinking, Rowan?” Her tone was a jumble of admonishment and confusion, with neither one taking any real prominence over the other.

“Ben must be rubbing off on you too,” I replied, skirting the query. “I’m pretty sure he’s asked me the same thing at least a dozen times.”

“Probably,” she replied then deepened her voice and added, “But it’s more likely he said, ‘Jeezus H Christ, white man. What the fuck didja’ think ya’ were doin’ in there?’”

“Yeah,” I grunted, a slight chuckle in my voice. “That sounds more like it. Not a bad imitation, either. So I take it you were watching the show too?”

She nodded. “I was with Doctor Jante and Doctor Clayton.”

“Who’s Doctor Clayton?”

“Chief psychologist for the facility.”

“Great. How many shrinks does it take to screw Rowan? Three. One to fuck him up and two to analyze.” I sighed then asked, “Speaking of which, where are they? I would have thought Jante would be ready to read me the riot act.”

“I asked them to let you have some time to decompress.”

“I’m amazed she agreed,” I mused. “Gives them some time to compare notes, I guess. They’ve probably got me diagnosed as a complete nutcase by now.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But getting back to my original question,” she pressed. “You don’t usually go off the deep end like that. I’m serious, Rowan, what were you thinking?”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger as I tried to ground the pain. After a heartbeat or two I said, “I’m pretty sure we can safely say I wasn’t.”

She clucked her tongue. “Yeah… I think you’re right…”

I grimaced then looked up at her. “I hate to even ask, but exactly how pissed off is Doctor Jante?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t think she is. I doubt she’s happy about it, but she really acted like what happened was no big surprise.”

“What about the other guy?”

“Doctor Clayton? Pretty much the same. He seemed to follow her lead.”

“Who was responsible for allowing the meeting to continue?”

“It was Doctor Clayton’s call, but Jante pushed for it, and like I said, she seems to have quite a bit of influence over him.”

I furrowed my brow and mumbled, “Curiouser and curiouser…”

“Okay, forget the were. What are you thinking?”

“That I’m being used for something and somebody didn’t bother to clue me in.”

“That crossed my mind as well,” she replied with a shake of her head. “But what?”

“That’s a good question.”

She added, “Another good one would be why.”

“No offense, but I’ve been asking myself that for quite awhile where the cops and feds are concerned. It’s not like this would be the first time I’d been used and abused by someone with a badge.”

Constance nodded, answering in a chagrined tone, “I know.”

She wasn’t paying me lip service. She really was well aware of the backstabbing Felicity and I had endured, not only from the Saint Louis police but the FBI as well. Over the years I had been used as bait for a serial killer without my knowledge, threatened, and even investigated. However, for me, none of that could begin to compare to how they’d tried to railroad my wife for crimes she didn’t commit. And, all of this had been done by the very same authorities that had sought our help in the first place.

But, by the same token, I also had a tendency to be the beneficiary of nebulous bureaucratic intervention just when my hour seemed to be at its darkest. Who was playing the puppeteer was still a complete mystery to me, but to say I felt like I was firmly attached to the ends of their strings was an understatement. To say the least, my confidence in most law enforcement was growing thin. Were it not for Ben and Constance, it was doubtful I would trust anyone with a badge ever again.

After a moment I noticed an unsettled quiet had fallen in behind my friend’s words, so I broke it with a heavy sigh. “I guess I need to go ahead and make these calls,” I said.

She nodded again. “Sure. I’ll see about that coffee and aspirin.”

I was already stabbing out a number with my thumb when she exited the room. A pair of rings later a gruff, male voice came on the line.

“Only been a coupl’a hours. Missin’ me that much, are ya’?” Ben almost cooed the words, an uncharacteristically tender note in his voice.

“Not really,” I replied.

The immediate shift in his tone was almost jarring. “Row?”

“Yeah. I’m using Constance’s phone, but I’ll let her know you’re fantasizing about her.”

He ignored the jab. “You two all right? Everything okay down there?”

“Constance is fine,” I told him. “Me…well, I’m about as okay as I can get under the circumstances.”

“Yeah, sounds ‘bout like you. So, you keepin’ your hands off my girlfriend?”

“Depends. Are you keeping your hands off my wife?”

“Hell yeah, white man. I’m afraid of ‘er.”

“Me too.”

He chuckled. “Well that answers that, doesn’t it? So… I doubt ya’ called ta’ shoot the shit. Guess I oughta ask… What’s really goin’ on down there?”

“I sort of blew it with Miranda.”

“How?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“Jeezus, Row, I hate when you say crap like that…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then tell me what the hell ya’…”

I cut him off before he could continue to press me on the subject. “I promise I’ll fill you in on the whole story when I have time. But listen, right now I called about something way more important. You know that thing I gave you this morning when we were on the way to the airport?”

“That bottle with the jewelry in it?” he asked. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Where is it?”

“I dunno. Prob’ly sittin’ in the console of my van where I left it.”

“Dammit, Ben…”

This time he interrupted me instead. “Relax, will ya’? I’m just yankin’ your chain. I got it right here in my pocket. You were pretty damn clear about not just leavin’ it layin’ around.”

“You’re sure it’s there?”

I could hear him shuffling around a bit on the other end of the line, then he replied, “Well, now it’s in my hand and I’m starin’ right at it, so yeah, I’m sure.”

“And you can see the necklace in there, not just the salt?”

“Salt. So that’s what that is.”

“Ben…”

“Yeah, yeah, Jeezus… Chill out white man, I can see the goddamn necklace floatin’ around in the salt.”

“Good.”

“Where the hell’d ya’ think it’d be?”

“I’m just checking, Ben. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh… So you really think a friggin’ piece a jewelry is why Firehair got all Twilight Zone weird on us?” he mused, referring to Felicity by a favored nickname.

“Yes, I do,” I replied. “And Miranda just all but confirmed it.”

“How?”

“Something she said. She told me she knew I wanted to ask Annalise about the necklace.”