M Sellars - Miranda

“Yeah. It wasn’t very likely, but if the conditions were just right, it could have. Especially with me like I am right now.”

“That’s fucked up, white man.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I mumbled. I took a couple of deep breaths then asked, “What about the second crime scene. I guess that one would be Miranda herself?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Body belongs ta’ a Lisa Carlson actually, accordin’ to her driver’s license. She’s the one who came in posin’ as the sister, and apparently who you were talkin’ to. Found ‘er cell phone about fifty feet across the parkin’ lot from the impact site, and it actually still kinda works believe it or not. This room was the last number dialed. And…well, I’m sure ya’ already know she took a header off the roof of the hospital. Right in front of the main entrance.” He grimaced a bit then exhaled heavily before continuing. “Not pretty at all.”

“How did she know to call this particular room?” Constance asked.

Ben shrugged. “Dunno. We’re lookin’ inta’ that, especially since ICU rooms don’t normally have phones in ‘em. But we’re thinkin’ it was probably the hospital. She was able ta’ find out about the vic, so maybe she asked the right person an’ got Row’s room number and just took a chance.

“Anyhow, once we had an ID, we sent a unit to this Carlson woman’s address in Saint Flora… They found…well…I’m not gonna get into it. Let’s just say it’s more than a little disturbing, and the DNA guys are gonna be busy for a while. Plus, the whole vampire thing suddenly adds up, if ya’ get my drift. And from what I hear, there might even be some evidence connectin’ the vics from last month. Right now they’re waitin’ for the county crime scene unit ta’ come process the place.” Ben paused for a moment then shrugged again. “At any rate, that’s pretty much it. Right now, we’re still puttin’ pieces together, but best guess is that when the hospital got locked down and she couldn’t escape, and still couldn’t get to you or Firehair, she just took the only way out she could find.”

“She said she was tired,” I offered.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Miranda. She told me she was tired. That she couldn’t keep fighting me.”

Ben pursed his lips thoughtfully then gestured as he offered a hypothesis. “So maybe your Witch-fu is better’n you thought it was.”

“I dunno. Maybe…” I sighed and pushed my head back into the pillow then spit out a flat, “Dammit.”

Despite what I had said to Miranda during that final conversation, I was now taking ownership of the tragedy in full. The fresh guilt was already assuming its place next to my overabundance of other self-condemnations-each of which had been bought and paid for by my curse.

In the back of my mind, I wondered if there was anything I could have done differently that might have affected the outcome. If I hadn’t been so fixated on that necklace… If I had just refused to go to Texas in the first place… If I had left it all alone… Then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have provoked her into taking action. And then, perhaps four people would still be alive. On top of that, maybe Felicity wouldn’t be dwelling in a catatonic stupor either.

As if she were reading my mind, Constance spoke up and said, “You can’t take this on yourself, Rowan. It wasn’t your fault. She committed these murders, not you.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” I replied.

“She’s right, Row,” Ben added. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“Rationally, I get that,” I said. “But I live in a pretty irrational world, so it doesn’t stop me from wondering.”

“Yeah, well, trust me. Rational or not, nothing ever does,” he grunted. “You ain’t the only one with baggage, white man.”

A strong knock came at the door, and then it popped open and an unfamiliar face poked through the gap. The countenance belonged to a striking dark-haired woman of conspicuous Asian descent. She looked to be in her late thirties, and from what I could see she appeared to be dressed in regular business casual street clothes as opposed to scrubs like the nurses working the ICU.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked. Her voice held a nondescript but very definite Southern affectation.

I thought I felt a tickle run along the back of my neck, but I wasn’t sure. Ever since I’d been injected with the diazepam, I had been a bit dulled to the outside world. I just wished it would work for my headache as well because that was still hammering inside my skull.

“Can I help you?” Ben returned.

“You must be Detective Storm,” she said as she stepped farther into the room after pushing the door so that it would swing shut behind her.

I noticed Constance stepping forward and carefully shifting her position so as to place herself in between the woman and me. Apparently even though Miranda was gone, she was operating on automatic.

“Yeah,” Ben acknowledged.

Even with Constance between us, I could see that the woman was carrying a folding notepad under her left arm and had what appeared to be a Glock riding high in a retention holster on her right hip. A gold shield was clipped to her belt in plain view.

“Wow. The lieutenant told me you were tall. He definitely wasn’t kidding,” she said and then glanced over at Constance. “So that would make you Special Agent Mandalay.”

“Guilty,” Constance replied. “And you are?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Detective Shen. I thought you were expecting me.” The woman reached into her back pocket and withdrew a leather case, which she then flipped open with practiced ease and proceeded to display her official ID. “Saint Flora P.D. Lieutenant Sheets with the Major Case Squad commandeered me to come up and take Mister Gant’s statement.” She glanced past Constance at me and added, “If you’re ready that is.”

The honey dipped drawl was even more prominent now that she had spoken more than three words in a row. I looked over at Ben and saw that he had an eyebrow cocked upward. He had first hand dealings with Felicity when Miranda had taken over her body, so he knew the uncharacteristic onset of a Southern accent was something that happened to her hosts.

He glanced quickly at me then gave the woman a suspect stare. “Detective Shen… Huh. Ya’ mind if I ask…”

“Chinese, but I was born and raised in Mississippi,” she replied before he could complete the question. She was already shoving her credentials back into her pocket as she spoke. “You were going to ask about the accent, right?” Her hand now free, she pointed her index finger at her own face and wound it in a trio of quick circles. “It’s a little hard to reconcile Southern Belle coming out of this face, I know.”

“Sorry,” Ben replied. “Wasn’t tryin’ ta’ be a jerk.”

Detective Shen gave him a quick shake of her head and a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it. Besides, at least you didn’t scalp me first and then ask.”

Ben snorted. “Yeah, okay. I guess I deserved that.”

“So, I guess we’re even,” Shen replied, a good-natured air to the comment.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said with a nod.

“So, is this a bad time?” she asked.

“Just a sec and I’ll let ya’ know,” Ben told her. He stepped around the end of the bed and crossed behind Constance then snatched the handset from the phone. With a series of deliberate punches from his finger, he dialed a number then held the phone up to his ear. After a short pause he said, “Yeah, L. T., it’s Storm. Yeah… Well, he’s doin’ as good as can be expected I guess. Yeah… So listen, I got a Saint Flora copper up here… Uh-huh… Yeah… That’s her… Yeah… Okay, just had ta’ check… Yeah… I’ll be down in a few… Thanks.”