M Sellars - Miranda

“Don’t lie.”

My wife always seemed to know when I was holding things back from her, although she didn’t usually point it out unless she was truly worried. She was also far more aware of what was really happening with me on a preternatural level than she tended to let on, but then, she too was a Witch. The simple fact of the matter was that I knew better than to try sheltering her from my ethereal curse with a mundane lie. However, protecting Felicity was a hard habit to break, especially after everything we had just been through, combined with the fact that it wasn’t quite over yet. If it were that easy, I wouldn’t even be making this trip.

Fortunately for me, she understood my motivation.

“Okay,” I conceded. “You’re right. It’s bad enough, yeah… But I’ve had worse.”

“Will you have a chance to rest? I mean…before you have to…” Her voice trailed off leaving even the barest details of the impending meeting unspoken.

I shook my head out of reflex and regretted the action immediately as it only served to enrage the ache inside my skull. Stifling a groan, I let out a sigh then answered, “Probably not. Someone from Carswell is supposed to pick us up, and based on what Constance was told by Doctor Jante, she thinks they might be taking us straight to the facility.”

“They aren’t even letting you check into your hotel first?”

“We aren’t really sure. Just speculating at this point. But I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“They should at least let you get some rest,” she said, concern making her voice rigid. “It’s not like this is your actual job. You’re doing the FBI a favor. You don’t owe them.”

“I know, honey, but in a way they’re doing us a favor too. You know that. Besides, it really wouldn’t matter,” I soothed. “I’m here now. You know I’m not going to be able to rest until this is over. I’m amazed I actually fell asleep on the flight.”

“Aye, I know…I know…”

“So, how are you doing?” I asked, changing the subject out of self-defense.

Felicity wasn’t going to allow it. “I’m fine. I’m just worried about you.”

“Well don’t. I’m doing okay.”

“We both know better than that, Rowan Linden Gant.”

She always invoked a maternalesque use of my full name whenever she wanted to make it clear that she was serious-especially if being relatively soft-spoken, as she was right now. Other than simply agreeing with the statement, I didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t be just another lie meant to protect her from the horrors that had become my world, so I said nothing.

After a healthy pause she demanded, “Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary chances then.”

“I promise.”

“You’re lying again,” she sighed.

“Yeah…but in my defense, you knew I would.”

“Aye… I did…” She paused again before adding, “I have a bad feeling about this, Row…”

I told the truth this time. “Yeah… Me too, honey. Me too…”

“Very bad…” she whispered.

The airplane had finally stopped moving, tones had chimed, and seatbelts signs had gone dark. Passengers both ahead of and behind us were crowding the aisle to wrestle carry-ons from the overhead bins, compounding the already claustrophobic atmosphere of the passenger jet’s cabin.

I hated for the call to end, but at the same time I knew if I stayed on the line with Felicity any longer, it was only going to make us both worry that much more. I had the distinct impression she was feeling the same way but simply couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye.

Noticing that the travelers ahead were actually beginning to move toward the exit, I seized the opportunity for a mutual escape and told my wife, “Listen, sweetheart, we’re at the gate. I’m afraid I need to go.”

“Okay… Be careful.”

“I will.”

“You’ll call me later then?”

“As soon as I’m settled in.”

Her voice softened even more as she cooed her Gaelic pet name for me. “ Caorthann…”

“Yes?”

“I’m loving you right now…”

“And I’m loving you right back.”

I knew her parting comment was heartfelt, but it still couldn’t mask the trepidation in her voice. I doubted mine was any better.

As planned, someone from Carswell was waiting for us at our baggage carousel holding a small pasteboard rectangle, which boasted R GANT in hastily scribed block letters. I can’t say it was welcome news, but having been forewarned I wasn’t at all surprised to discover that Agent Mandalay’s suspicion was dead on-a stop at our hotel was definitely not on the immediate itinerary.

“While inside the interview room you should remain seated until it is time for you to leave or unless there is an emergency. If for some reason you need to terminate the visit before the end of the allotted time simply inform the stationed officer. Do not engage in any physical contact with the prisoner. You are not permitted to give anything to the prisoner and you may not accept anything from her either. Do you understand?”

I nodded to the corrections officer while adding a vocal “yes” to back up my visible acknowledgement of the strict instructions. It hadn’t been all that long ago that I learned audible responses were considered mandatory while inside prison walls. I didn’t know for sure if this applied to visitors as well as prisoners, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. I couldn’t afford for anything to screw this up, least of all something stupid like me not following a basic procedure.

The simple truth was that this meeting held far more importance for me than it did for the case investigators from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit who had called me in. I’m certain they were well aware of that fact, but I doubted they knew exactly why. Only a small handful of individuals were privy to that answer, and even some of them didn’t actually understand the explanation; they merely accepted it because they’d known me for so long.

“It’s not like I have anything to give her anyway,” I commented purely out of nervousness. “They had me put everything I own in a locker when they searched me out front.”

“Then that should make this relatively easy. Raise your arms and hold them out to the side, sir,” the officer instructed.

“I just told you they searched me out front,” I said, somewhat confused.

“Yes, and I’m going to search you again, Mister Grant. It’s procedure when dealing with this type of inmate visit.”

“Gant.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Gant. G-A-N-T. No R.”

“Sorry. Raise your arms and hold them out to your sides, Mister Gant,” he replied, stressing the pronunciation of my name this time.

Without further objection, I did as I was told, and he began to pat me down. This second search was no less thorough than the one to which I’d been subjected upon my arrival. In fact, it may have been even more comprehensive, which took some doing since I was literally walking in with nothing more than the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet. Still, given the intense level of scrutiny, I couldn’t have felt more naked even if it had been a full-out strip search.

“Turn toward the wall,” he said and then continued to pat me down once I’d complied.

“I thought this place was less a prison and more of a medical facility,” I ventured.

“It’s a medical facility for federal inmates,” he answered without missing a beat. “Patients here are convicts, plain and simple. That makes it a prison.”

“Minimum security though, right?”

“Medium, with a few exceptions that lean toward maximum.”

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to get that.”