Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation (6 page)

“He’s on the bed with her. On top of her.” I
relayed the vision to Ben. “His voice seems familiar to her, but
she can’t place it. He has something in his hand.”

My athamè! What are you doing with my
athamè? No! No, don’t do that! STOP!

My head exploded. At least, that is how it
felt as a desperate scream that only I could hear echoed forever
inside my skull. My skin burst into a violent blaze, and starting
at my throat, running the length of my chest then spreading rapidly
outward, I felt as if every single nerve were raw and suddenly
plunged into a vat of alcohol. I clawed at my own chest, fighting
to push away the ethereal knife that was ripping my flesh.

“Dear Mother Goddess!” I cried. “The
son-of-a-bitch is skinning her alive with her own athamè!”

I fell to my knees and continued to claw at
the air in front of me. I was faintly aware of Ben’s concerned
voice screaming my name, but I couldn’t respond. I was trapped in
the vision. I could see nothing but dull red and black as I
squeezed my eyes tightly shut, fighting to deny the searing pain. I
could feel the blade of the athamè, at once steely cold and white
hot, as it slid beneath my skin, separating the layer of nerve
impregnated flesh from the rest of my body. I was certain I could
hear thick tearing as my hide was peeled away, exposing muscle,
nerves, and hot viscid blood. I screamed my own guttural wail of
agony as I struggled to break free of this vision I knew could
easily kill me. It seemed to last an eternity. It seemed to last
only a second. Time no longer meant anything.

Why doesn’t somebody make him stop?

“I can’t Ariel. I can’t,” I sobbed.

Why? Why are you doing this? Where are you
going? I hurt so bad! Why did you do this? I have to see you. Who
are you? What are you doing with those candles? Why are you drawing
a Pentacle on the wall? It’s such a bright red? Where did you get
that red? What are you writing? I hurt so bad.

“What the hell is he doing?” I whimpered
aloud.

What are you doing with that wine glass? No.
Don’t come back over here. Go away. Go away. What are you doing?!
NO!

Again blinding pain.

Again a scream, but unlike the other, cut
short at its peak to become a faint gurgle followed by silence. He
had cut her throat. Her slowly fading misery continued to play its
sickening scenes inside my head. I saw, as she saw through dying
eyes, her killer raising a wine goblet filled with blood. A goblet
to be used for his own perverse distortion of an Expiation spell as
he prepared to forgive himself for the unspeakable things he had
just done.

I was just beginning to lose sight of
consciousness when I was unceremoniously lurched back into the
physical realm.

“Rowan! Talk ta’ me! What’s goin’ on?!” Ben
screamed frantically. He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and
shook me so violently that his knuckles pounded into my chest.
“ROWAN!”

“He was practicing,” I sobbed, pressing the
heels of my palms against my eyes, driving back the tears and
fighting to bring my breathing back to normal. “The bastard was
just practicing.”

“What the hell are ya’ talkin’ about?!” Ben
practically screamed. “Practicin’ what?”

“Practicing the
art
of flaying,” I spat,
pulling my hands away from my eyes. “He didn’t even try to perform
an invocation ritual. He was just teaching himself how to skin
someone alive.”

“What the hell for?”

“To prepare,” I answered, climbing to my feet
and steadying myself against the wall. “He’s trying to learn...
Most likely so that he can actually perform the invocation sometime
in the near future. Trust me, he’s not going to stop here. This is
only the beginning.”

“This is fucked up, man,” Ben stated wildly,
turning in place, looking about the room as if some unseen creature
was about to sneak up on him. “You saw all that?! You felt what she
felt?!”

“Yes.” I had begun to regain some composure.
“That’s exactly what I did. The fact that she was a Witch made it
easier to do and...” I paused, “much more intense than I was
expecting.”

“Okay, look,” Ben told me sternly. “I’m not
entirely sure what I think about this, but I can damn sure tell you
no one else at the department is gonna believe it, so this stays
between you and me, got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” I answered. “Just let me
help you get this S.O.B.”

“If any of this stuff matches up with the
coroner’s report,” he waved his notepad in front of me, “you better
believe you’re gonna help.”

“Good,” I told him. “Now let’s get out of
here. I need to get away from this before it sucks me in
again.”

I walked past Ben to the door and reached
into my shirt pocket for my glasses. I looked back to see that he
was following me then turned back to the doorway.

I turned back just in time to see a young man
with long dark hair and the lamp he was swinging at me.

I
lifted my arm instinctively to guard my face, and the table
lamp met it with violent force. The vase-like, imitation china base
shattered and continued its arc, glancing against my forehead. The
blow struck hard enough to stun, causing me to lose my balance and
fall backward to the floor. A gash had been opened at my hairline,
and blood immediately began to trickle down my face and into my
right eye. I had deflected enough of the impact that I felt certain
I wasn’t seriously injured, but my ears were ringing, and I knew I
was going to have one hell of a headache.

In the same moment I was falling to the
floor, I saw Ben’s large form flash in front of me as he took two
large strides and slammed my attacker forcefully against the
wall.

“You better get out of here,” the near
breathless young man croaked. “I called the cops. They’ll be here
any minute.”

Ben held the young man against the wall,
twisting one arm up behind his back while pressing him into the
painted plaster. With his free hand, he ripped his badge from his
belt and shoved the gold shield into the attacker’s face.

“I AM the cops!” he shouted angrily. “Who the
hell are you, and what’re ya’ doin’ here?!”

“I’m sorry, man!” The young man now seemed a
bit more frightened as the realization of what he had done set in.
“I didn’t know who you guys were. I came by to water Ariel’s
plants, and I heard voices. I thought you guys were burglars or
something. Really, man, I’m sorry,” he spoke frantically.

“You okay, Row?” Ben queried, looking back at
me as I dragged myself from the floor and stood up shakily.

“A bit rattled,” I answered. “I think I’m
okay. There always have been four of you, right?”

Ben cracked a smile and turned back to the
young man who was still held firmly in place against the wall.

“So we know why you’re here,” he continued.
“But ya’ still didn’t tell us who ya’ are.”

“R.J.,” he answered. “My name’s R.J. Does
Ariel know you’re here? What’s going on?”

I looked at Ben, then back at the gory sight
of the bedroom. He immediately picked up on my cue and maintaining
his grip on the young man, pulled him away from the wall and guided
him out the door into the hallway. I followed along, stooping to
pick up my glasses, which had been knocked from my hands, then
exited the room, closing the door behind me. While Ben still held
R.J. in the hall, I went into the bathroom and found a washcloth.
After running it under cold water, I wiped the blood from my eye
and forehead and then used it as a compress on the gash and the
rapidly rising welt.

“What’s going on man?” R.J. exclaimed as I
came out of the washroom. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going
on?”

Ben had him spread eagle against the wall and
had apparently searched him while I was tending to my wound. He was
studying what I assumed to be R.J.’s identification. He nodded to
me and released his grip on R.J.’s shoulder. For the second time
this morning, I was confronted with being the bearer of bad news.
After a brief moment of indecision, I elected to treat it like
removing a bandage and take a “get it over with quickly”
approach.

“Ariel’s dead, R.J.,” I told him as he turned
to face me, rubbing his shoulder where Ben’s viselike grip had
been. “She was murdered.”

“She was what?!” he exclaimed. “No way, man,
I don’t believe you. She’s visiting a friend in Chicago for a week.
She can’t be dead.”

“I haven’t got any reason to lie to you about
something like this,” I replied.

“He’s serious, man,” Ben echoed as he
returned the wallet to him.

R.J. stared at Ben, then at me. I could see
in his eyes that the reality was sinking in, but he was still
desperately fighting to deny it. Ben had relaxed his guard, and I
was tending to my wound, so when the young man bolted for the
bedroom door, neither of us were prepared to stop him. He rushed
past me and flung open the door, bursting into the room. He only
managed to travel three steps into the horror before freezing in
place. Ben and I were immediately behind him as he stared at the
blood-soaked bed like a frightened child. The stunned silence was
finally broken as his head dropped and his shoulders began to
heave. I led him gently from the room as he buried his face in his
hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

* * * * *

In the small backyard of Ariel Tanner’s flat,
we waited for R.J. to calm down. I had the impression that Ben
wasn’t necessarily convinced that he wasn’t putting on a
performance for our benefit. Of course, Ben was suspicious of
everyone, and that was one of the things that made him such a good
cop.

Personally, I could feel the anguish exuding
from the young man, and I seriously doubted that it was an act.

“When did this happen?” R.J. queried at last,
wiping his reddened eyes with his shirtsleeve.

“Wednesday,” Ben told him. “Sometime after
six in the evening.” He was holding a small notebook and ever
vigilant, continued, “So, were you her boyfriend?”

“No,” he sniffed. “Just a friend.”

“You said you were here ta’ water the plants.
I assume Miz Tanner gave you a key?”

“Yeah.”

“When would that have been?” Ben pressed as
he scribbled more notes.

“Last Sunday. She was supposed to leave last
night, and she asked me if I’d keep an eye on the place.”

“And that’s the last time you saw ‘er?”

“Yeah.”

Ben paused for a second as he turned to a
fresh page, then tilted his head to look directly into R.J.’s face.
“Mind tellin’ me where you were Wednesday night?”

“I was...” He started to speak and then
caught himself. He almost visibly pondered his answer for a split
second before continuing, “I was out of town on a camping
trip.”

“Were you with anyone?”

“My dad. It was our annual fishing trip,”
R.J. answered, then his eyes grew wide with sudden realization. “Am
I a suspect?!”

“It’s just routine,” Ben told him. “But I’d
prefer it if ya’ kept yourself available.”

“How long did you know Ariel?” I asked
him.

“A couple of years,” he replied. “I was a
member of...” he paused uneasily, “...a club she was in.”

“You mean you were a member of her coven?” I
questioned.

He stared back at me with a shocked, almost
frightened, expression. He reached up to his chest and fingered a
silver Pentacle hanging about his neck as if he had forgotten it
was there.

“It’s not what you cops think...” he
started.

“Whoa,” I stopped him and jerked my thumb
over my shoulder at Ben. “He’s the only cop here. My name’s Rowan
Gant.” I held my hand out to him. “I’m a Witch too.”

“Rowan Gant,” he repeated my name as he took
my hand and shook it. “The Rowan Gant that Ariel studied with?”

“Yeah,” I returned. “That’s me. I’m just here
as a consultant.”

“Ariel talked about you and your wife all the
time,” he continued. “She even had a picture of all you guys
together on a camping retreat you took.”

I smiled slightly, remembering the trip well.
Felicity and I had taken Ariel and a number of other Wiccan friends
on a weeklong retreat to the Shawnee National Forest in southern
Illinois just over two years ago. We had camped, studied nature,
and become closer to Mother Earth as well as one another. We had
ended that trip with a ritual circle on Summer Solstice, one of the
religion’s four Lesser Sabbats.

After what I had experienced in the apartment
less than an hour before, the memories of that holiday were
pleasant and very welcome.

“I’m glad it was a happy time for her,” I
told him.

“I thought she told me you were into
computers or something like that,” he said.

“I am.”

“Then what are you consulting with the police
about?” he queried.

“You probably didn’t notice the walls in her
bedroom,” I started carefully. “There were some symbols left
behind. Her death is apparently related to The Craft in some
way.”

“Devon!” he screamed suddenly. “I’ll kill
him! I’ll kill the son-of-a-bitch!”

With that, he once again bolted past both Ben
and me as he ran full speed up the small space between the
buildings with my friend on his heels. Being shorter of stature and
much wirier, R.J. was able to negotiate the cramped alleyway with
slippery ease, quickly widening his lead and bursting out on to the
street. I, with my throbbing skull, arrived in front of the
building just in time to see Ben trying to yank open the door of a
gold Trans Am.

R.J. gunned the engine, and the car jumped
away from the curb, tires squealing against asphalt. Ben managed to
follow alongside for a few steps before losing his grip on the
handle, and choosing discretion over valor, back-peddled from the
vehicle as it sped away.