M Sellars - Miranda

Allowing my gaze to drift to the center of the tableau, I could see that a death investigator from the county medical examiner’s office had recently joined the fray. I didn’t think he could have been on-site very long because I hadn’t noticed him when we signed in. Of course, at this point there was little for him to do here, save for transport the body, which is something he appeared to be preparing to do. He had a rubberized body bag already spread out nearby, and at the moment, he was engaged in the process of paper-bagging the victim’s hands so as to protect any possible evidence.

I continued to watch in silence as the two of them worked independently of one another. Usually by this point on a scene, I would be all but blinded by a preternatural migraine, as the dead would be attempting to use my brain as a stage for an esoteric play. A disjointed horror drama, fraught with hidden messages I would then be forced to decipher. This was my unofficial job-to be a lightning rod and personal translator for tortured spirits with a story to tell. It was what I was used to doing.

But at this particular moment, I wasn’t being a very good employee.

All I could sense was a mind-numbing silence filling my skull. The constant din of voices was still squelched for the first time in many years, and in that quiet, it occurred to me that this really was what it was like to be “normal.” Then, as I stood there wondering why this was happening, a recent conversation rolled through my tired grey matter.

“Them,” she repeated. “The dead. I can make them leave you alone.”

At that moment I realized exactly who had control of the ethereal volume knob. Unfortunately, it definitely wasn’t me.

Ben gave me a verbal nudge. “Row?”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, my voice flat.

“Seriously, Kemosabe…ya’ sure you’re not goin’ Twilight Zone?”

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“Whaddaya’ mean, ya’ can’t?”

“I mean I can’t. Not anymore.”

“Are you okay?”

I sighed. “I guess that depends on what you mean by okay.”

“Dammit, Row… Don’t be difficult. You know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry… I’m not trying to be… But…they’re gone… I don’t think I can help you with this, Ben.”

“You still ain’t makin’ sense. Whaddaya mean gone? They who?”

“The visions… The voices… All of it…”

He shook his head. “No Twilight Zone?”

“No,” I replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes…I’m sure. I can’t help you with this, Ben… To be honest, right now I’m not even sure I can help myself…”

Steam spewed from the gap around the small filter basket on the half-sized coffeemaker, alternating between light wisps and briefly pressurized jets, as the machine slurped the last of the water from its reservoir with a loud gurgle. Still caught up in a misty haze somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I watched it with quiet anticipation while standing at the counter and holding an empty ceramic mug cradled in my hand.

The machine heaved a final moist sigh, sending out a cloud of dissipating vapor as it sputtered and then wheezed itself into silence. I gave a languid glance to the side at the small microwave positioned immediately next to it. If the clock on its face was correct, it was pushing 7 a.m. That meant I was already more than an hour off my normal morning schedule. But then, I didn’t really have any place to be but here, so I don’t suppose it mattered all that much.

“Mmmmm…” my wife murmured sleepily as she padded up and slipped her arms around me from behind then squeezed, pressing herself against my back. Letting out a long sigh, she mumbled, “You’re being awfully noisy this morning, you know.”

“Sorry…” I told her. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I desperately needed coffee, and this thing apparently wasn’t built for stealth.”

“It’s okay, me too,” she said. “Is it ready then?”

“Yeah,” I grunted. “Finally. You’d think since it only holds two or three cups it’d work a little faster.”

I filled the mug I was already holding and then set it to the side in front of the microwave as I said, “There you go.”

Knowing she would want to doctor the brew as usual, I pushed a cellophane-wrapped packet of sugar and creamer over next to it. Then I grabbed a fresh cup from the small tray and tossed its packet of the same on top of the first. After inspecting the inside of the empty mug out of habit and finding it clean, I poured some coffee for myself.

Felicity let go of me then stepped over to her cup. She immediately began tearing open the thin plastic wrapper on the drink condiments, biting the sealed edge to get it started then ripping it lengthwise with her nails.

“I should have just had you bring it to me in bed then,” she announced with a slight chuckle.

I cocked an eyebrow as I looked at her and said, “That’s just one of your regular ‘dominant Irish Princess’ moods talking, I hope?”

“Aye. It is.”

“Good. That I can do.”

“Don’t worry,” she said with a pained softness to her voice. “I’m not her. I’m me…”

“I’m sorry hon. I didn’t mean… I just guess I’m a little gun-shy after…”

“I know,” she said as my voice trailed off. Her tone was still hushed but now carried with it a note of sympathy. “It’s okay. I understand. I probably shouldn’t be bringing that sort of thing up right now anyway.”

“Don’t worry about it. As long as it’s you, I’m all good with it.”

I gave her shoulder a squeeze then turned and leaned back against the counter and watched as she emptied both powdered creamers and then all four packets of sugar into her cup. Once she finished mixing the concoction she quickly drew the plastic stirrer between her lips and then tossed it onto the counter.

“So, how did you sleep?” she asked before taking a sip of her coffee.

“Okay, I guess,” I replied with a shrug. “Not great by any stretch. But then I wasn’t expecting to come home just to end up staying in another hotel, so my whole system is a little off I think.”

“Aye, I can imagine.” She shook her head as she continued, “But Ben was pretty insistent that we not stay at the house, and when you agreed… Well, I just wasn’t up to arguing.”

“I think that’s a first for you, isn’t it?” I quipped.

“Very funny,” she admonished, but her good humor was betrayed by a slight grin.

I smiled. “Just making an observation. After all, you have to admit that you’re pretty stubborn.”

“True.”

“And, you were wound pretty tight last night too.”

“At first, but I think I finally just crashed once you were here.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Been down that road.”

“Well, in my defense I did make him take the dogs home with him, so they wouldn’t be left alone,” she countered.

“Yes, you did do that,” I agreed. “I wonder how that’s working out?”

“I’m sure they’re fine.”

“I’m not actually worried about them. I’m wondering about him.”

“He’ll live,” she chuckled and then paused before lowering her voice to a more soothing timbre. “I know this wasn’t a very good homecoming, Rowan…”

I sighed. “It’s not like it’s anything all that new, sweetheart…”

“Well, I know it’s not exactly a silver lining, but you have to admit, this really is a nice suite we’re in.”

“Yeah…it is…” I looked around and then added with more than a hint of sarcasm, “It has a really nice price tag too, which is coming out of our pockets.”

“It’s not like we can’t afford it then.”

“I know, but that’s not the point.”