M Sellars - Miranda

Here, my repetition-cultivated indifference was overpowered by the pain of violation. Variations of this scene had played out on this very ground far too many times.

When Eldon Porter had come here to kill me…

When Felicity was kidnapped…

When Miranda had left her first calling card…

Just to name a few.

And now, it was happening yet again. While it was almost certain that our home held some sort of morbid record for the most instances as an active crime scene, it was one of those dubious honors I definitely could have done without. As callous as I had become about such things, I could simply never get used to having the horror land directly on my doorstep.

Ben, apparently misunderstanding my daze, offered in a consoling voice, “She’s okay, Row. I already told ya’ that. Relax.”

I remained mute and continued to watch splashes of red and white from the active light bars atop the municipal police cruisers as they flickered across the fronts of my neighbors’ houses-and in some instances, my neighbors’ faces. Even at well past midnight, some of them were intent on gawking. No big surprise really because I’d seen it before. I would have liked to think there was an element of compassion in the stares, but unfortunately, I knew better. I’d learned way too much about human nature to believe that was true. Besides, empathy definitely didn’t fit with the rumors that had been circulating about us around our neighborhood for the past few years.

Ben gave my arm a nudge. “Hey, white man. Did’ja hear what I said? She’s fine. Felicity’s okay. Stop worryin’.”

I finally nodded. “Yeah…I know, Ben. I know. But…I’m not entirely sure that I am.”

“What? You gettin’ ready ta’ zone out on us?” he asked.

“I really don’t think so,” I replied.

“Okay. So what’s wrong?”

“I’m not exactly sure… I mean…it’s strange… There’s nothing there, Ben. I’m not feeling anything…”

“Ya’ mean like physically, or like the la-la land shit?”

“The la-la land,” I echoed as I shook my head. “I’m not connecting. It’s weird.”

“It’s prob’ly just ‘cause you’re wore out, Row.”

“Maybe… But that’s never made…” Before I could finish the thought, I was interrupted by the uniformed officer returning with the crime scene log.

“Here,” he said as he came walking back toward us and offered Ben a clipboard. “You know the drill.”

My friend quickly scribbled his information on the page and then handed it to me. “So…you were sayin’?”

“Being exhausted has never affected me like this before.” I mimicked my friend’s actions and then returned the log to the officer. “Usually it’s the opposite.”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, well you’re good for a lotta firsts, ya’know. Maybe this is just somethin’ new.”

“Maybe,” I returned. “But whatever it is, something just isn’t right.”

“Man…” he mumbled as he shook his head. “I hate when you say shit like that. It usually means somethin’ bad’s about ta’ happen, and we’re gonna be in the middle of it.”

“It’s already happening, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but I mean somethin’ worse. You’re pretty fuckin’ good for that darkest before it goes completely black crap too, ya’know.” Ben pulled the crime scene tape upward and jerked his head toward the house. “Well c’mon…”

I started to duck under but stopped halfway through and asked, “Where’s Constance?”

“She was makin’ some calls,” he answered, glancing back toward his van then back to me. “Yeah…she’s still sittin’ there. Looks like she ain’t done just yet. She’ll prob’ly be along in a bit.” As he finished the sentence, he motioned for me to keep moving.

I nodded then continued beneath the tape and started up the driveway with my friend close behind. I was still several yards from the near end of the flagstone walk when the front door of the house opened and a man I recognized to be one of the aforementioned detectives stepped out onto the porch. My wife followed behind him almost immediately.

With the exception of a few stray curls, her fiery auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing her pale ivory face. Her expression was hard, and I could see her lips moving as she spoke to the cop, but at this distance I couldn’t actually hear what she was saying. The moment I saw her I broke into a jog and yelled out, “Felicity!”

Several people on the scene turned and glanced toward me when I made the abrupt call, but my wife was the only one who mattered. The second she made eye contact she came bounding down the front stairs. Increasing my jog to a brisk run, I met her at the bottom.

“Damnaigh go saigh…” She growled the words softly in my ear as she fell into me and looped her arms around my neck. “ Damnaigh a, damnaigh a… ”

Not only was she slipping into Irish Gaelic, her normal background Celtic lilt had thickened noticeably. That was a sure sign she was either tired, angry, or both. Judging from the hour and harshness of the words themselves, my money was on the latter of the three.

“I know,” I soothed, slipping my arms about her waist and pulling her close. “I know… I said the same thing when I heard… Are you okay?”

“No,” she said, her heavy brogue wrapping itself around a voice sharply edged with sarcasm. “I’m not okay. And I won’t be okay until that ban-aibhistear is gone forever.”

“I understand…”

“I wish you’d just killed her then.”

Given our present company, I was glad that our conversation was taking place in close quarters and hushed tones, although I had no doubt we could still be heard.

I replied, “You don’t mean that.”

“Aye, but I do.”

“That wouldn’t stop Miranda, honey. You know that.”

“Aye…” she sighed heavily. “But this has to end, Rowan… It has to…” Her words were a staunch demand as opposed to a weeping lament.

“It will. It will…”

“Aye, but how?”

I sighed. Right now I was just trying to say the right thing, whether it was true or not. Unfortunately, I simply didn’t have a solid answer for her. “We’ll figure something out…”

“We’d better soon or I’ll just go kill her myself. I swear I will…”

I felt a tap on my shoulder then heard Ben’s questioning voice, “Hey… Row?”

“Yeah, Ben?” I replied, turning slightly though still holding tight to my wife.

“I…” he started hesitantly, giving us a careful once over. It was obvious he wasn’t sure quite what either of our emotional states might be at the moment, so he was treading lightly. “Look…I hate ta’ interrupt ya’… And, listen…Felicity…if ya’ still need some time or somethin’ I can back off… But…”

Hearing his comment, she immediately loosened her grip and pushed back from me enough so that she could look him in the eye. Shaking her head, she admonished, “Aye, Ben, get your fekking head out of your arse. You know I’m not some whining sap, then. I’m just pissed off.”

He huffed out a breath and nodded. “Yeah…s’pose I forgot who I was dealin’ with there for a minute… Guess I shoulda figured that out from the accent, huh?”

As usual, my wife retorted, “I don’t have an accent. You do.”

“Oh yeah, I can see you’re just fine,” he replied with a slightly relieved tone and then jerked his head toward the illuminated yard. “So, anyway, Row, ya’ wanna have a look at this before they haul the body off ta’ the morgue?”

I looked over my shoulder then reluctantly let go of Felicity and turned fully toward the horror. The crime scene investigator was still walking her grid-like search pattern around the involved section of the lawn. Thus far, not a single one of the numbered markers had left her hands, which wasn’t a big surprise. From all appearances, the dump had been quick, and since the ground was fairly dry, the chances of any collateral evidence such as shoeprints would be slim. Still, it was always a possibility, so they had to go through all the motions just in case.