But, the fact that my friend’s hand was also filled with a pistol made me physically ill. Deep inside I wanted to despise him for it. I just hoped that the dark feeling was something I would be able to get over.
I kept staring at the doorway, now fully open. Dim yellow light spilled outward, only to be immediately consumed by the harsh glare of the spotlights directed toward the front of the building.
A new shadow began to move in the framed opening, and I saw Felicity step forward to the threshold. Even at this distance, I could make out a wealth of detail, and I could see that her face was painted with a heavier than usual application of makeup. Considering both that and the harsh shadows, I almost wouldn’t have recognized her, save for her petite build and fiery mane of auburn hair. Still, I knew the person standing there was my wife, and I could see the fear twisting her face as she trembled.
She was clad in all black, not that there was much of it mind you; it was a stark contrast against her ivory skin. Of course, the ensemble was obviously intended to be the trappings of the dominatrix persona who had possessed her, and it certainly succeeded, consisting of no more than a flared miniskirt, cropped mesh top, thigh high stockings, and stiletto heels.
I watched her, unblinking, as the blood began rushing in my ears. My heart was pumping furiously, driving against my ribcage at an ever-quickening pace. Of course, I’m sure the fact that I still hadn’t taken a breath wasn’t helping in the least.
Felicity moved forward slowly then hesitated. My eyes darted about, and though I couldn’t hear him, I could see that Ben’s lips were moving as he instructed her on what to do.
The rapid thud in my chest ramped upward, strove toward a summit, and upon reaching the peak, began to turn back in on itself. Harsh light bloomed in front of me, washing color in and out of the scene as my heartbeat became an off-balance metronome ticking along a wholly different timeline from the rest of the world.
The radio in the front of the vehicle stuttered once again, but this time it became a droning mix of unintelligible noise. The sound slid past my ears in a stream of Doppler distorted gibberish.
Felicity finally moved again, coming forward with fluid lethargy, as my world transformed into a slow motion video clip. She was now standing only a few paces in front of the doorway, and Ben’s mouth began moving again as he held his Beretta pointed at her back. My gaze remained frozen on that single point as my wife’s arms started floating upward through a protracted arc.
I stared hard at the pistol in my friend’s hands then to the weapons held by Ackman and Drew. Bile seared up my throat and I swallowed hard.
My eyes were beginning to burn as they dried, but I forced them to stay open. I simply could not blink until this was over. If I did, I would break the spell. And, if I broke the spell, something bad would happen.
My wife’s arms finally came perpendicular to the rest of her body, then they began folding inward with the same hurtful torpidity. A handful of seconds transformed into what seemed like minutes before her hands landed firmly atop her head, and she began to ooze downward onto her knees. Ben was now in motion, moving in behind her and holstering his sidearm as she knelt. With equal lethargy he brought his hand up and placed it on top of hers. In his other hand I saw the light glint from the shiny metal of the handcuffs as he slapped them against her dainty wrist.
Detective Ackman was already going through the door of the motel room, pistol stiff-armed before him as he skirted behind Ben. Agent Drew was continuing to hold his weapon pointed at my wife as my friend pulled one of her arms down behind her back, then the other, each with painfully unnatural slowness.
A discordant rhythm suddenly began to rattle around me, driving into my skull and threatening to shatter my eardrums. The tableau beyond the window shifted in that instant, making the leap from slow motion to real time, and I watched Ben placing my wife face down on the sidewalk.
Detective Ackman came back out of the door and said something to Agent Drew as they were both holstering their own sidearms. Drew looked toward the emergency vehicles and began gesturing quickly as he beckoned someone.
The crescendo continued unabated, transforming from merely discordant to horrifically painful.
Sharp agony started biting into my shoulder from nowhere, disappearing one moment, only to return the next. My hands were beginning to ache, and I was almost certain that what felt like a blow had just landed against my forehead. I had no clue from where the sudden attack was coming; I only knew that I refused to succumb. Even as the pain continued, the scene before me began fading into obscurity behind a bloom of frosty white.
The deafening noise warbled into nothingness, then returned anew, immediately on the heels of the dying sound.
It was at that moment, I realized that the pain I felt was the product of me slamming my own body against the locked door of the squad car in a futile attempt to reach Felicity.
And, the ghastly wail was none other than my own voice screaming out her name.
Thursday, November 10
8:27 A.M.
FBI Field Office
Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 36:
I thought I heard a noise, but given that it was so quiet in the room and the sound itself had been so soft, I wasn’t really certain. I thought it might simply be my imagination. Since it didn’t seem particularly important, I just ignored it. Instead, I continued staring at the blob of metal bits that made up the magnetic sculpture sitting on the edge of the desk in front of me, absently pondering just exactly what the current shape was meant to be.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept, and while my body was screaming at me to allow it to shut down, I staunchly refused. Although I am sure that to the outside world I looked like I had slipped into a vegetative state, I actually had a singular mission in mind, and it required that I remain conscious.
A louder noise eventually followed the first, but I disregarded it too. Apparently, it didn’t want to be ignored, so it poked me in the eardrum once again, sharper and louder. This time I had no choice but to take notice of a looming presence at my side. I broke my stare away from the desk art and turned my face upward.
Initially, I couldn’t muster anything more than a questioning grunt of “Huh?”
Ben looked down at me and asked, “I said, do ya’ want some more coffee?”
I glanced down at my hands and noticed that they were fiddling with a Styrofoam cup, moving deliberately but completely of their own accord. Then, I looked back up to him. “No. What I want is to see my wife.”
“I’ve been workin’ on it.”
“You’ve been sitting here with me.”
“No, I’ve been gone for twenty minutes, Row.”
“You were?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Just now. I just walked in the room two seconds ago.”
“What’s taking so long?”
“I dunno.”
“That’s not a very good answer.”
“Yeah, well, I prob’ly got less pull around here than you do, so gimme a break. I’m tryin’.”
In all the years I had been involved with police investigations, I had never set foot inside the FBI field office. Of course, like most anyone living in Saint Louis, I had driven past it numerous times when traveling along Market Street. Still, it had never been on my top ten list of places to visit, and there was a huge difference between absently cruising past a building and occupying a chair in one of its offices for so long that you literally lose track of the passing hours.
I had to admit, however, that the seating here was vastly more comfortable than the molded plastic dinette refugees I was used to warming when sitting next to Ben’s desk at city police headquarters. The coffee was far better too. I just didn’t think my stomach could take any more of it, good or not.