The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (32 page)

I waited a moment, struggling with the memory
of my earlier conversation with her out on the deck. I’d kept it to
myself, but now it was hard not to mention it.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” I
began, hesitation in my voice. “But, earlier today… Before you and
I left for the crime scene… She was having a bit of an emotional
crisis.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he replied. “That’s kinda
obvious.”

I continued. “She told me she couldn’t feel
sorry for Lewis. In fact, she said he deserved it.”

My friend turned to look at me with a deep
frown creasing his face. “And you’re just now mentionin’ this?”

“It may be a symptom of post-traumatic
stress,” I offered. “She’s been through way too much the past
couple of months. Put that together with the shock…” I shrugged.
“It concerns me, but I’m not sure if it’s something to get worked
up over or not.”

“Your wife told you that Lewis deserved to
die?” he posed the question like a statement. “Row, that’s just not
like ‘er.”

“I know,” I replied. “Believe me, I know.
But, Helen told me after everything that’s happened, she would
probably have some emotional issues for a while. A feeling of
disconnection. Possible identity issues. She even said there was a
good chance she might have some manic-depressive type of mood
swings.” After a short pause I added, “She’s definitely seen some
moments of depression since she’s been home. So I have to assume
that’s what’s happening now.”

“Well, I guess now we’re gettin’ the flip
side,” my friend huffed. “‘Cause I’d say manic is a pretty good
description of the whole hair thing. Not ta’ mention the whole mood
thing. Did ya’ see the way she just kept smilin’ when we were
arguin’? She wasn’t about ta’ give in, but she never got mad about
it.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

“Well? Was that weird or what?”

I nodded. “A little. But she does tend to
grin when she feels like she’s won an argument, and in her mind,
she had that one conquered from the outset. So, all I really saw
was my wife feeling like she had the upper hand. Maybe I’m just too
close to her to see.”

“She told ya’ Lewis deserved to die,” he
repeated in a half questioning tone.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “But, I don’t
think she really believes that. That was the problem. She knew she
was supposed to be upset. She just couldn’t make herself feel the
remorse.”

“I’m tellin’ ya’, Row, that’s fucked up.
She’s actin’ flaky.”

“Maybe so, but I also think we need to cut
her some slack. Like I said, Helen expected some type of odd
behavior from her when the effects of the stress bubbled to the
surface. I doubt you could come up with a better trigger for it
than the package today combined with the visit from Lewis
yesterday.”

“Yeah, well speakin’ of Helen, what I think
is that Firehair needs ta’ have a sit down with ‘er. Right
away.”

“I don’t disagree with you there, but I can’t
force her to do it.”

“I bet we can. I got handcuffs.”

“She’d just use them on
you
if she got the chance,” I told
him with a half-hearted chuckle.

“Jeez, let’s not go there, ‘kay?”

“You brought it up.”

“Yeah, you’re right. My bad.”

“Seriously, though. She’ll talk to Helen when
she’s ready.”

“Yeah, well let’s hope she’s ready before she
shaves ‘er head or somethin’.”

“You know, Ben, I get the feeling you’re even
more disturbed by her change of appearance than anything else.”

“It ain’t right. She looks like one of those
goth chicks or somethin’,” he replied then tucked his cigar into
his mouth and puffed. After a second unproductive draw, he pulled
it out and inspected the end. “Damn. Went out. Lemme see your
lighter.”

I dug the device out of my pocket and handed
it to him. “Actually, with it dyed black, it’s more of a Bettie
Page look.”

“Who’s Bettie Page?”

“She’s a pinup model from the fifties.”

“Pinup model, huh?”

“Yeah. Her claim to fame was cheesecake
bondage and fetish photos.”

“Awww, Jeez…” He mumbled, casting me a
sideways glance as he re-ignited his cigar. “I shoulda known.”

“Uh-huh,” I grunted, accepting the lighter
back. “But, as shocking as the change is, I have to admit it still
looks good on her.”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed. “Never said it
looked bad. It just don’t look right ta’ me. I mean it’s Firehair.
She’s s’posed ta’ have red hair.”

“I guess you’ll just have to call her
something else for a while.”

“Yeah. I’m workin’ on that, but I got a
feelin’ she ain’t gonna like Blackhead.”

“I think you’re probably right about
that.”

I took a puff off my own cigar then rolled
the smoke around on my tongue before blowing it out in a long
stream on the cold air. The cloud of condensed breath quickly
dissipated, leaving behind only the thin, blue-white haze lofting
on a gentle breeze.

Looking out into the night, I stared at the
neighborhood. It was relatively peaceful and pretty much always had
been. Up until a few years ago, that is. But, everything that
happened to shatter that quiet seemed to center around this
house—and me. We’d never had any sort of close relationship with
any of our neighbors, but these days they weren’t even interested
in waving to us from across the street.

I sighed as thoughts of pulling up stakes and
moving crossed my mind once again. Finally, I looked over at my
friend and asked, “Do you really think Annalise is going to come
here?”

“Dunno,” he grunted after a moment of
thought. “But, she’s been here at least once already.”

“You don’t know that for a fact,” I
countered.

“Gut feelin’,” he told me. “She was
here.”

I didn’t refute what he said. I’d learned to
trust his instincts just as much as he trusted mine. After a moment
I mused aloud, “Why does this sort of thing always get so out of
hand?”

My friend huffed out what passed for an
apathetic chuckle then replied, “Just lucky, I guess.”

I was getting ready to tell him that his
answer didn’t make me feel any better, but as I opened my mouth to
speak, I heard a distant echo that sounded almost like my name
being called. I left my comment unspoken and cocked my head to the
side, listening intently.

A second later, I heard it again, louder.
This time it wasn’t only my name but Ben’s too. And, the voice was
recognizable, even through the panic in which it was encased. I
looked up at my friend whose expression was a mirror image of my
own. A heartbeat later we were both in motion. The only reason we
didn’t collide was that I started for the door a split second
sooner than he.

Felicity was already topping the basement
stairs and coming into the hall as we entered through the front
door. The look on her face instantly bolstered the rush of anxiety
that was already tightening my chest.

“What’s wrong?!” I asked, continuing toward
her.

“She called,” she replied, her eyes wide and
face even paler than usual.

“Devereaux?” Ben asked.

“Aye,” she replied. “Just now.”

“You talked to her?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. She called my
business line, and I just let the answering machine pick it
up.”

“Did you save the message?” Ben pressed.

“I was sitting there when she called. I
haven’t played it back yet.”

My friend pressed past us and headed
downward. We followed only a step or two behind. Hitting the bottom
of the stairs, we veered immediately left, past Felicity’s
darkroom, and then hooked around the corner into her actual office.
The answering machine was perched on the corner of her desk, where
it always sat, and the message light was winking on and off,
demanding attention.

Ben reached over and pressed the play button.
The device was digital, so it instantly chirped and an electronic
voice announced, “You have one new message. Received… December
four…teenth… at… nine thir… ty-two P.M…”

The machine-generated voice was then replaced
by the hiss of telephone static and the sound of a single, heavily
exhaled breath. On the heels of the sigh, a sweet,
Southern-accented voice issued from the speaker.

“Hello, Felicity,” it said. “I’m so
sorry I missed you. I was just calling to see if you enjoyed the
gift. You know, mat was just
dying
to be under them.” The voice snickered as if amused at the
sick joke. A second later it continued, a stern tone affecting its
cadence, “He never should have called me by your name. But, I don’t
guess we need to worry about him making that mistake again, do
we?”

There was a thick pause, and we could
hear her breathing, then Annalise spoke again, her words harsh and
demanding, “It isn’t yours,
chienne
! It belongs to me, and I won’t let her
give it to you!”

With that, the line clicked and went dead,
only to be replaced a moment later by an electro-mechanical
announcement saying, “End new messages.”

We all stared at the machine for what seemed
like a full minute, none of us saying a word. Finally, Ben sighed
then reached up to massage the back of his neck.

Leveling his gaze on my wife, he said, “Wanna
reconsider your decision ta’ stay here now?”

“I
t would appear the call
originated from a payphone at a gas station in Northwest County,”
Special Agent Constance Mandalay said, folding her cell and
slipping it into her pocket for what seemed like the hundredth time
since she arrived. “The local cops checked it out, but the
attendant doesn’t remember seeing anyone use it, much less anyone
who fit Devereaux’s description.”

“Yeah, figures,” Ben grunted.

Almost two hours had passed since the call
from Annalise. The clock was just starting its uphill climb toward
midnight, but none of us were particularly interested in sleeping
at the moment. None of us except Felicity, that is, who was lying
down in the bedroom. I suspected, however, she was really doing
more hiding from reality than actual resting.

Ben had called Constance after we listened to
the recording a second time, since at this point, the FBI was just
as deeply involved in this investigation as the Major Case Squad,
if not more so. She had arrived shortly thereafter, but until now
any conversation with her had been sparse since she was spending
the majority of her time on her cell phone conferring with other
agents and law enforcement personnel.

“That’s always the way,” Constance replied.
“To be on the safe side, we put a tap on all your phone lines just
in case she calls again.”

“She will,” I offered. “She’ll keep trying
until she gets Felicity on the line.”

“That’s typical,” she agreed. “I just didn’t
want to say it.”

“You know you don’t have to pull any punches
with me, Constance.”

“You’re right,” she replied with a shallow
nod. “Force of habit. Put the victim at ease.”

“I don’t think there is going to be any ease
around here until this is over, but thanks for trying.”

She smiled briefly before slipping back into
her serious façade. “So, obviously we expect her to call again. The
real question is when.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to wait long.
Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t tried again already.”

“Well, a delay is typical too,” she told me.
“Stalkers use it to instill fear in their victims. They draw their
power from terrorizing their chosen subject, and the waiting game
tends to be very effective where that is concerned.”

“I know, but Annalise isn’t your average
stalker.”

“None of them ever are, Rowan,” she said with
a nod. “But, what she has done so far fits the basic profile.”

“So far,” I said. “But, I’m sure that will
change. Soon.”

“One of your feelings?” she asked, no
skepticism in her voice whatsoever. She was among the few who had
come to readily accept without question the intangible evidences
provided by my curse.

“That, and something she said,” I replied
with a shrug. “Her last comment was ‘I won’t let her give it to
you.’”

“The ‘it’ being the sexual gratification
you’ve mentioned before, I assume?”

“That would be my theory. I’m certain
she’s livid about Miranda using Felicity as a horse. But,
projecting the anger at a
Lwa
isn’t going to help. For example, it would be no different
than a Christian taking God to task for not giving them the new car
they prayed for… Or me blaming the universe for not winning the
lottery just because I did a money spell… That’s certainly not
going to get a positive result. Negativity begets
negativity.

“So, for Annalise to vent her anger at
Miranda will only further deny her the gratification. In the end
it’s really a simple matter of transference. Felicity becomes the
object of her disdain because she views her as a rival for that
which she desires.”

“I don’t understand. How is Felicity a
rival?” she asked. “Ben said you’d done away with the connection
that allowed all this to happen.”

“I did. But, I believe Miranda brought
Annalise back here in order to re-establish that connection
somehow. The
how
, I haven’t
yet figured out, but she may have already done it. I’m hoping not,
but I can’t really be sure. Either way, Annalise almost certainly
knows exactly what Miranda wants, but she isn’t about to let it
happen if she can help it. And, the only way for her to accomplish
that is to remove Felicity from the picture entirely.”

“Okay, so that’s her motivation,” Constance
replied. “I suppose you believe that is what’s driving the
escalation as well?”