“What are you saying?” I knew full well what he had just implied, but I couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.
“NCIC returned seven other unresolved cases in various states that have similar characteristics, datin’ back as far as oh-three. The kinky shit, the mutilation, and in a couple of ‘em some of the Voodoo stuff…” He allowed his voice to trail off as he ran through the list.
“Are they trying to say Felicity committed all of these murders?”
He nodded. “They’re definitely lookin’ into it. Right now Myrtle Beach is the only department to provide physical evidence that links. That, and they can positively place her there in the city at the time of the murder from the subpoenaed airline records.”
“Dammit…” I muttered.
“Just so ya’ know, they’re followin’ up on all her travelin’. Even if they don’t get any more matches with physical evidence from the other states, if they can show that she was in those cities around the times of the other murders…Well, circumstantial or not, put it together with what they already got, an’ it’s gonna make a major impression on a jury… And, it ain’t gonna be a good one, Row.”
I pondered what he had just said and felt my blood run cold. Instead of getting answers that would help me clear Felicity, I was just getting more and more signs pointing directly to her guilt. However, they were all detours I didn’t intend to follow. I knew my wife was innocent; I just had to prove it to everyone else. Given what Ben had told me over the past few minutes, it was obvious that I needed to do so very soon.
“You know that question you asked me earlier?” I finally asked.
“Which one?” he grunted.
“About if I was feeling better,” I replied.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Well, I thought about it and right now I want to hit you again.”
CHAPTER 12:
Intent and want can be very fickle concepts. More often than not, they are two completely different things, even though we might try to convince ourselves they are one and the same. This is true for both the practice of magick and everyday, mundane life as well. Right now just happened to be one of those classic instances of diametric opposition.
Put plainly and simply as possible, no matter what I had just said, I really had no intention of taking another poke at Ben. He knew that, and so did I. In fact, I’m fairly sure my fist couldn’t have handled it anyway, so the verbal jab would simply have to suffice.
On the other hand, want is a very strong emotion in and of itself. Considering that I felt like the man whom I had long called my friend was still at odds with me and wasn’t listening to reason, I definitely wanted to gift him with a black eye to go with the welt on his jaw.
Of course, having established that as being out of the question, and what with me being a magickal practitioner, I had to admit that other forms of retaliation had crossed my mind. For instance, if a bag of coffin nails were in my possession at the moment, I’d be hard pressed not to go ahead and slip a handful of them into his coat pocket along with a few muttered words of disdain. Not to kill him as one might surmise but just to make him miserably ill for a while. Either way, it was an act that wouldn’t exactly adhere to the generally accepted concept of “Harm None”, but what the hell. I had already thrown a punch in the physical realm; I might as well go for broke and take a swing in the ethereal.
All things considered, I suppose it was probably a good thing I didn’t really have those nails handy.
Of course, whether I wanted to admit it or not, the situation was without a doubt one of those proverbial Gordian knots. If I took a moment and put myself in Ben’s place, I’m sure that what I was calling “reason” certainly sounded like an outlandish fantasy. And, as usual, that pretty much seemed to be the way of things in my peculiar world. It was no wonder he used the term Twilight Zone in reference to me as often as he did. My life definitely played out like a marathon episode with no end in sight.
Still, I didn’t make any secret of the fact that even I didn’t consider the overabundance of ethereal happenings in Felicity’s and my life to be normal. But, be they normal or not, that didn’t make them any less real. I suppose it came down to the fact that I was just far more open-minded with regard to accepting that the events simply were what they were, and no amount of rationalizing or postulating on my part could change that. To paraphrase the worn out truism, magick happens. Much to our dismay, however, it just isn’t always the magick we want.
Fortunately, as I sat there mutely pondering what items might be readily available that I could substitute for coffin nails, common sense got a much-needed boost from the insistent warble of my cell phone. Shadowy emotions were instantly shoved onto the back burner once again, and considering just exactly how dark they had been getting, that was a very good thing.
“Rowan Gant,” I said into the mouthpiece as soon as I dug the device from my pocket, thumbed the answer button, and tucked it up to my ear.
“Rowan, it’s Jackie,” my attorney’s voice came back across the line. “Where are you?”
“At Forty, the diner right across the street. Do you want me to come over? Can I get in to see Felicity now?”
“Just stay right where you are,” she replied, circumventing my second question. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes and we can talk about that.”
The line clicked off without so much as a goodbye, so I hung up and laid the phone on the table in front of me.
“Lawyer?” Ben asked with a thrust of his chin toward the device.
“Yeah, apparently she’s on her way over here right now.”
“Well, then I guess I’d better get outta here,” he replied, gathering up his coat. “You’re gonna wanna talk to ‘er without me around.”
I shot a quick glance to the side and then over my shoulder. In less than five seconds I counted three cops who were easily within earshot, and those were just the ones wearing uniforms. I looked back over to Ben and said, “Yeah, well, we’ll probably want to go somewhere else to talk anyway.”
“Yeah,” he grunted as he slid out of the booth and stood up. “Prob’ly not a bad idea.”
Ben slipped into his jacket, shrugged it up onto his shoulders, and then took a moment to adjust his holster rig beneath its folds. Even after he was finished, however, he continued to stand next to the table, staring out through the window at Clark Avenue and the half dozen or so squad cars diagonally parked against the curb in front of police headquarters. After a quiet moment, he looked down toward me with a thoughtful stare.
“Listen…Row…Are we gonna make it? I mean…Is this…”
“I’m still pissed at you, Ben, if that’s what you mean,” I replied, meeting the clumsy question head on. “That’s not going to go away overnight.”
“Yeah…” he mumbled. “I pretty much figured that. But what I wanna know is are we gonna be able to make it right between you an’ me?”
“I honestly don’t know yet.”
“Fair enough,” he sighed. The heavy breath seemed to broadcast a sense of depression. He waited a second then added, “So, is there anything I can do ta’ fix it?”
“Yes. You can help me clear my wife.”
He shook his head slowly. “I dunno what I can do on that front, Row.”
“I’m not sure either, but it might help if you’d just start believing she’s innocent.”
“Yeah.” He let out what might have been a curious half-chuckle. “Well, I know you’re not gonna believe this, but Constance told me the same thing a coupla’ hours ago.”
I had been wondering how she was doing. The last time I had seen her was at the funeral, and she had been just as distant as Ben. I assumed it had to do with the ongoing investigation, but considering her run in with “Felicity in Miranda’s clothing,” I couldn’t help but worry that her forgiveness had worn off. Based on what Ben had just stated, obviously, it had not.
“So, she believes Felicity is innocent?” I asked.