M Sellars - Miranda

“No.” There was a brighter note in her voice this time. It was faint but there nonetheless. “When do I ever let you win?”

Even with my current mood, I had to smile at her rhetorical question. “You know if they won’t let me see her, then there’s not much I can do about it.”

“You’ll find a way. You always do.”

I puffed out my cheeks and let go with a long exhale as I continued rubbing my forehead. “Promise me you’ll call right away if the urges get stronger.”

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, Felicity.”

“So am I.”

I paused and shook my head in disbelief at what I had just agreed to do. After a moment I said, “You know I’ll be checking back in with you later, right?”

The humor in her voice increased again as she murmured, “Aye, you’d damn well better then, Rowan Linden Gant… I don’t take well to being stood up.”

For the second time today, we ended our long-distance connection on a concerned note. We’d muddled through this waltz many times before, and as usual both of us wanted to lead. Most of the time we could make that work, but this go around the tempo was completely wrong and we were faltering through the steps. Unfortunately, as long as Miranda was playing the music, we had no choice but to dance.

“After some discussion, we’ve decided we would like for you to go ahead and meet with Annalise again tomorrow, Mister Gant,” Doctor Jante said to me. “Just as she suggested.”

My momentary descent into violence went unmentioned. In fact, up until now, only the standard pleasantries and a cursory introduction between Doctor Clayton and myself had been exchanged, but not much else. Now, apparently break time was over.

I was in the middle of ripping the ends from two square paper packets of generic analgesic tablets when the verbal bomb was dropped on ground zero, which was, without a doubt, me. There was no ceremony whatsoever behind the statement, and I had to wonder if the heavy-handed delivery was calculated or truly as clumsy as it appeared on the surface.

Either way, the tone in her voice was unmistakable. She was telling me, not asking me.

I looked up at her for a moment then back down at my hands. Without a word I continued about my task of pouring the quartet of pills into my palm then wadding the empty packets and stuffing them into my pocket.

We were still in the same office where I’d been sequestered ever since returning from the ungodly mess that was posing as my interview with Miranda. Jante and the chief psychologist had followed Constance into the room when she returned with the coffee and painkillers, which was very shortly after I had finished my call with Felicity. Given their timing, I suspect they had been on the other side of the door listening for a cue to come in. Of course, they could have been watching me on a screen down the hall for all I knew. It seemed there were cameras everywhere you looked in this place. I hadn’t noticed one in here just yet, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a lens spying from above.

Still mute, I reached out and lifted a Styrofoam cup from the corner of the desk. I took a tentative sip of the coffee and found that it was far closer to lukewarm than hot. Since it had been given more than ample time to cool down, that suggested I was probably correct in my theory that they had been waiting outside the door for me to finish my call. I popped the handful of aspirin into my mouth, gave them a quick chew, and then washed the gritty results down with a healthy swig of the brew. Fortunately, the universal constant of bad cop coffee didn’t seem to apply here. While it definitely wasn’t the best I’d ever had, it also didn’t bear the same taste profile as an industrial solvent-like the cup of sludge I was used to swilling whenever I visited the metropolitan homicide division at police headquarters back in Saint Louis. Under the circumstances, however, I think I might have preferred the sludge, so long as I could have it there instead of here.

Finally, after a second slug to wash the taste of the pills from my mouth, I set the cup aside and grunted, “Actually, I talked to Miranda. I haven’t met with Annalise yet.”

“A matter of semantics,” Jante replied.

“Yeah, you just go right on believing that,” I said with a nod. “It seems to have worked out well for you.”

“I’ll have a driver meet us out front,” she offered, ignoring my sardonic gibe as she snatched up the handset from the telephone on the desk. “It’s after noon so I’m sure you are hungry by now. We can discuss this over a late lunch and then take you to your hotel.”

“Actually, I’d prefer you just change my airline reservation,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“Something that would get me home this afternoon or early evening would be perfect,” I replied.

While I had promised Felicity I would take a shot at talking to Annalise, it was becoming more and more obvious to me that something else was going on here. I wasn’t about to walk into it blindly. I’d already done enough of that for one day.

“Mister Grant…” Doctor Clayton began.

“Gant,” I said, my voice terse as I cut him off. “G-A-N-T. What is it with you people around here? Do you have a surplus of R’s or something?”

“My apologies,” he replied.

I gave him a conciliatory wave of my hand as I shook my head. “No… No, I’m the one who should apologize. I realize it’s no excuse, but if you knew what my head felt like right now…” I let out a heavy sigh.

“I understand,” he said with a nod.

I raised my eyebrows. “Thanks, but no, you really don’t… Believe me, I wish you did though.”

“I see,” he replied, however his expression said he didn’t. “What I was going to say is that we are faced with a unique opportunity here.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“So, Mister Gant,” Doctor Jante interjected. “Are you saying you don’t wish to meet with Annalise again?”

“Actually, I’m not saying anything of the sort. But, just so we’re on the same page, I will say that I’m a bit confused by all this. Shouldn’t I be the one trying to convince you to let this meeting take place?” I answered.

She nodded and stated the obvious reason. “Of course. Because of your unfortunate outburst.”

“Well yeah, if that’s what you want to call it,” I said. “Where I come from it’s referred to as assault.” Even though I tried to keep it reined in, a hint of sarcasm crept out with the words anyway.

“You needn’t worry about that.”

“Why not? I mean think about it. I just attacked one of your inmates. Personal feelings aside and, as much as I hate to say it, she has rights, and I’m reasonably certain I violated them in spades.”

“As far as we are concerned your actions were justified.”

“Justified?” I threw my hands up into the air in front of me and added with a note of exasperation, “Hell, she hasn’t even been tried and convicted yet. Not to mention that she was chained to the table when I went across it at her. My actions weren’t justified and you know it. Shouldn’t you be hauling me out of here and charging me with aggravated battery or something of that sort?”

“Rowan…” Constance warned in a quiet voice. “Don’t push it.”

“As I said,” Jante told me. “You needn’t worry. No criminal charges will be filed. The incident isn’t even being reported.”

I spat, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“You really should listen to S.A. Mandalay. We’re doing you a favor.”

“You’re probably right, but I’m a little stubborn.”

Jante crossed her arms and stared at me. “All right. Do you want to be arrested, Mister Gant?”