I heard a damp snort and looked over to see our English setter staring at me with sad eyes. Taking a tentative step forward, he nudged my hand then nuzzled in and brought his head to rest on my thigh. I absently stroked his crown and gave him a half-hearted scritch behind the ears. Usually, Quigley the Australian cattle dog was hot on his heels, but last I’d seen him he was sitting in the dining room looking just about as confused as the cats.
Our animals were as close as we had to children-not that we hadn’t tried for one of our own species. Unfortunately, Felicity’s only pregnancy to date had been abruptly terminated by a physical altercation between her and a murder suspect who was making a getaway attempt. Since then, even though everything checked out for both of us according to doctors, we hadn’t had much luck in the conception department.
In truth, it was probably a good thing that we didn’t have children because I had the feeling that right now I would be completely lost. I could easily comfort a dog with a few pats on the head even if he could still sense that something was amiss. On the other hand, I had no clue what I could possibly tell a child that would quell his or her fears in a situation such as this.
“Mommy is going to go with the nice policemen for a while,” just didn’t seem to me like it would do the trick. And, right now, saying something like “Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay” could very well be a flat-out lie. Primarily, because I wasn’t so sure that it was going to be okay. On top of that, I knew that my own mental state wouldn’t be particularly healthy for a child to endure either.
I looked down at the dog, only to find his large brown eyes peering back up at me. As he watched, the small sprigs of hair that passed for eyebrows began rocking back and forth on his expressive face then his tail began slowly thumping against the side of the bed.
“Kind of a mess, isn’t it, buddy?” I mumbled, turning my head and looking around the room while my hand continued automatically stroking his fur.
My brain was more or less chasing itself around in a circle at this point. What I felt like I wanted to do right now was to jump in my truck and head down to the police station. But, that was just the surface reaction. What I truly wanted more than anything else was Felicity back home, safe and free of this insanity. Short of “busting her out,” there wasn’t really much I could do to make that happen. At least not by showing up there and causing a scene, anyway. Since Jackie had told me to stay put, I had no choice but to fight back the urge to make a beeline for Clark Avenue downtown.
Our attorney was certainly right about one thing. I would definitely cause more trouble than anything else, and I knew that. I just had to trust her to take care of this, but that was becoming harder to do with each passing moment. A quick glance at the clock told me that better than two hours had passed since she had told me she was on her way to the police station, and I still hadn’t heard anything from her. I suppose that in the grand scheme of things, two hours isn’t really that much time, but for me it had already been an eternity.
As I continued looking around the room, my eyes fell on a picture frame resting in a niche on our headboard. From all outward appearances, it was apparently the only thing that hadn’t been touched by the uncaring hands of the crime scene technicians. The frame was small but intricately designed-the kind of heirloom that readily evokes sentimentality at first glance. Centered within its rectangular border was a semi-candid shot of Felicity and me.
I stared at the photo, studying it to the exclusion of everything around me. Though I had pretty much forgotten that it was there, I remembered the snapshot well. It had been taken at a party some years before. My petite wife was perched on my lap with her arms around my neck, and mine were encircling her waist, hugging her close. We were both grinning, obviously filled to overflowing with the happiness of the moment. The vivid memory played back inside my skull as I recalled the gathering. What stood out most of all was the fact that only moments before that particular photo had been snapped, we had all been playing the “trust game”. In essence, it was an old pseudo-psychological exercise where you demonstrate your trust in your partner by falling backwards into their arms. We had all really just been clowning around, but in truth, there was an underlying seriousness to the results.
Almost all of the people at the get-together had faltered to some extent, much to one another’s chagrin. However, Felicity and I had fallen freely into one another without hesitation and without so much as a flinch of doubt. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, as it simply seemed natural, but in the final analysis these were acts of absolute, blind faith. We both knew that neither of us would allow any harm to befall the other. I trusted her, she trusted me.
Trust. A concept I had only recently been forced by my overactive psyche to revisit. Fortunately, the reminder had taken hold and flourished.
I trusted in the fact that I knew Felicity was innocent, and moreover, I trusted her. Just as, even at this moment she was trusting me. Trusting me to take care of her, to get her out of this mess. But, instead of honoring that trust, here I was perched on the edge of the bed, feeling sorry for myself because she wasn’t here.
I’m not sure how long I had been sitting there staring at the photograph. To be perfectly honest, it could have been a minute, or it could have been five. My perception of time was so far off kilter that I probably wouldn’t have known the difference between the two even if I had been watching the clock instead of the picture.
However, when my epiphany finally forced my reticent gaze to loosen its grip on me, I slowly turned back to the canine using my lap as a pillow and looked into his eyes again.
I shook my head and muttered to him, “Dammit…What the hell am I doing here? Watch the house. I’ve got to go.”
I had already shrugged into my coat and tapped in the code to set the house alarm when the phone began to ring.
CHAPTER 8:
“Hello?” I barked into the phone, stretching the handset’s cord almost to its breaking point while I spoke.
The warble of the alarm system’s countdown tone was speeding up as it approached its armed state. I knew if I let it get that far I’d end up setting off a motion detector, and then I’d have cops crawling all over my house yet again. Extending as far as I could I leaned across the chair and quickly stabbed in the master code then punched the off button, sending the raucous electronic beeping into silence.
Unfortunately, as annoying as the tone was, I would have preferred it to what I heard coming back at me across the phone line.
“You bastard!” An angry, heavily accented voice struck my ear with the insult. “What have you done?!”
This was absolutely the last thing I needed at the moment, but I couldn’t say that I hadn’t been expecting it all along. I just wished that I’d checked the caller ID before snatching up the handset with such haste because now I was committed to the call even though this definitely wasn’t the time for it.
My father-in-law Shamus O’Brien had never made a secret of his dislike for me. Ostensibly it was due to my religious beliefs, and given his tirades, I had no reason to doubt they truly were the cause. In fact, he had stated on more than one occasion that he was firmly convinced that it was I who had corrupted his only daughter. The fact that she was already following a Pagan path long before I met her didn’t seem to have any bearing on his conviction either.
With my public identity as a Witch having become even higher profile over the past few years because of my involvement with the police, what had long been at least an outward tolerance of me on his part had slowly and surely waned. Given his staunch, though distorted views, I wasn’t at all shocked that he would blame me for Felicity’s current predicament.