Constance had told me that Felicity had been filled in on her escapades with the assault, taking the firearm, and even some sketchy details about the search that had ensued. My wife’s question, however, told me that they had completely left out any reference to her being a suspect in the two homicides. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but I knew for certain that I didn’t want to tell her. Unfortunately, it looked like I wasn’t going to have a choice.
“It isn’t important right now,” I said, stepping forward and reaching for her in an attempt to skirt the issue.
She backed away and cocked her head to the side, unwilling to yield to my half-hearted attempt. “No. Tell me.”
I dropped my forehead into my hand and massaged it for a moment before looking back to her frightened face. “They found several long red hairs at both of the homicide crime scenes. After what happened yesterday, you’re being considered a suspect.”
“Gods…” she murmured, as an icy terror frosted her eyes.
“It’s going to be okay, honey,” I offered. “When they compare your hair with the ones from the crime scenes, you’ll be cleared.”
“Aye, and what if I’m not?”
“You will be.”
“Rowan…” she started, then paused.
“What?”
“There is something else I remember then,” she said quietly.
“What?”
She swallowed hard, looked to the ceiling, then back to my face. “When I woke up in the motel room, I was standing on that man’s chest and stamping on his face.”
I shook my head hard and waved at her with a dismissive gesture. “That’s not important honey. You were under the influence of a spirit possession at the time.”
“No, you don’t understand,” she objected. “When I came to, that was what I was doing, and I was… I was… Aroused.”
“Again, that’s part of…”
“Listen to me, Rowan,” she interrupted. “I was VERY aroused.”
“So?”
“So… So…” She closed her eyes again as she took in a deep breath then opened them and blurted, “So I kept doing it.”
“You kept doing what?” I asked, even though I was afraid I already knew the answer.
“I kept stomping on him,” she said, her voice cracking with a mix of fear and excitement. “I didn’t stop. I just kept stomping on his body because it felt so good to do it… To be dominant… To punish him… I was enjoying it, and I kept going until… Until… Until I came to an orgasm.”
I stared back at her. I truly didn’t know what to say.
“Have you told anyone else about this?” I finally managed to ask.
“No.”
“Don’t.”
“Aye, but maybe I should,” she replied, her voice near a whisper. “Maybe it is me. Maybe I am the killer.”
CHAPTER 37:
Maybe I am the killer.
Those words echoed inside my skull as I stood there in the wake of my wife’s fading voice. She already had more than enough people who truly believed that speculation to be fact. She certainly didn’t need any more. Hell, even my own faith in her had been shaken for an instant during the night, but for her to now doubt her own sanity simply wouldn’t do. She couldn’t afford to let that happen right now, because the fear that came with questioning your own right-mindedness was a terror like no other, and it would consume you if you allowed it to take hold.
Unfortunately, I could already see it swelling behind her eyes, and she was looking to me to stop it. I couldn’t say that I didn’t understand what she was going through inside her head, because I did, all too well. I had been suspect of my own grasp on reality more than once over the past several years.
She and Ben had too.
Still, that didn’t give me the right to doubt hers now. In fact, it simply meant that I needed to stand by her just as she had by me, even while her certainty in my saneness was faltering.
She kept her gaze locked with mine, eyes searching my face, and I knew she was looking for a reaction. More than that, she was seeking a lifeline, a reason to maintain hope. And, it had to come from me, no one else.
I finally shook my head and said, “No, Felicity. You aren’t the killer.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“I wish I could be so sure.”
“You don’t really believe that you killed anyone, do you?”
“Right now, I don’t know.”
“Well, you didn’t.”
“How can you be so sure, then?” she asked, blatantly challenging me to prove my belief in her innocence.
“Simple. How did you feel when you came to?” I asked.
“I just told you,” she murmured. “I was turned on.”
“No, I mean other than that.”
“A bit dizzy,” she replied. “Disoriented for a moment, maybe. But that passed quickly.”
“Sounds like a possession, or at the very least an unchecked channeling, to me.”
“But you don’t understand how aroused…”
“Actually, yes, I do.” I cut her off, remembering the swell of internal pleasure that had accosted me at the last crime scene before I had managed to ground myself. “Believe it or not, I do. And, trust me, that doesn’t make you the killer.”
“I don’t know, then.”
“Like I said, I do,” I replied.
“I appreciate your blind faith, Rowan, but it doesn’t help me.”
“Okay, let me ask you this: Where were you Monday night?”
“Why?”
“Just tell me where you were.”
She shook her head then shrugged, and I could see by her expression that she was searching her memory for the answer. “Monday, I did a last minute product shoot for a new client and it ran late. But you know that.”
“Yes, I do,” I said with a nod. “But, now you need to remind yourself.”
She shrugged again but began reciting facts as if she was comforted by the fact that she could actually remember them. “Well, they were better than an hour outside Saint Louis, and when I left their office it was late… I took a wrong turn getting back to the highway and got lost for a bit… It was almost two when I finally got home… And then I’d barely gotten to sleep when Ben called.”
“There you go.”
“There I go what?”
“You just gave me your alibi for when Hammond Wentworth was murdered.”
“Perhaps, but what if I just don’t remember doing it?”
“You remember the details of the photo shoot and the trip home, don’t you?”
“Aye.”
“Any blackouts? Time you can’t account for?”
“No.”
“Then you’re in the clear.”
“But what if it’s a false memory?”
“Any seemingly false memories from last night?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I would think that if your psyche were going to produce false memories to account for your actions, it would have made some up to cover the ten or so hours you’re missing right now.”
“Aye, maybe so.”
“And, I bet we can call the client and verify your story.”
“All right then, but what of the other one?”
“Even simpler. I’m your alibi. That victim was killed while you and I were in bed asleep.”
“But are you sure I was there?”
“Honey, what are you trying to do? Make a case for the prosecution?”
“No,” she replied, frustration thick in her voice. “I just don’t remember anything after we went to bed. Just like last night.”
“That’s because we were both completely exhausted, Felicity,” I explained. “We were asleep. Hell, we over slept.”
“But, what if I was sleepwalking?”
“You weren’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“Were you awake, then? Did you sit and watch me sleeping?”
“No, but that doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does!” she exclaimed. “Rowan, you channeled a killer once, remember? And, you went out roaming the city without any memory of it. Just like is happening to me. But, maybe, just maybe I went that extra step and really did murder someone!”
“That was different.”
“Different how?”
“It just was.”