After making a sketch of the triskele-like symbol for Felicity, she had informed me that she’d seen it several times before, and she wasn’t referring to the Celtic religious icon. According to her it was yet another emblem of the dom-sub bondage crowd. She explained that each third was meant to signify a facet of the subculture-D/S, B/D, S/M. Each dot residing within the thirds was also important, supposedly holding the individual meanings: safe, sane, and consensual.
Under the circumstances, I found that last set of details to be considerably ironic.
On the flip side of the coin, however, it seemed that more questions were being raised than were being answered. Just as I had suspected, while dealing with my foggy memories of what I’d read on the subject, Lwa didn’t tend to possess non-followers. They also didn’t even make a habit of taking over their followers just for something to do. And, while there were exceptions, spirit possessions did usually occur within the confines of a ritual.
That general idea certainly made sense where the killer was concerned but not necessarily where I was looking to apply it.
One of the primary questions that still remained was whether or not Felicity’s preternatural incident had actually been her body being used as a horse by a Lwa, or if it was something else entirely? And, if it was something else, just exactly what was it? Moreover, why had she been the victim of it in the first place?
It was for all of those reasons, as well as a host of others, that I once again found myself making a long distance call to yet another someone I had never met, nor had any reason to believe would be willing to talk to me, much less answer my questions.
I tilted my head up and peered at my screen through the bottom half of my bifocals as I punched in the phone number listed on the web page before me. Once I entered the string of digits, I rocked back in my chair and began idly moving the mouse across the surface of my desk. I watched the pointer move about the screen in the random patterns I was creating as the phone began to ring several hundred miles away.
“Louisiana State University Department of Sociology,” a woman’s voice eventually drawled into my ear. “How may I direct your call?”
“Doctor Rieth’s office, please,” I replied.
“Please hold.”
I continued watching the pointer as I nudged it around the screen. My real attention, however, remained focused on the hollow sound of the phone as I waited for the transfer to occur.
A minute or so passed before there was a dull click at the other end and a new voice issued from the handset. “Doctor Rieth’s office, this is Kathy, may I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Kathy,” I said as I rocked back forward and straightened my posture. “Is Doctor Rieth in by any chance?”
“No sir, I’m afraid she’s gone for the holiday break. I’m her assistant, can I help you?”
It hadn’t even dawned on me that Thanksgiving was less than one week away at this point. Considering that, I was probably fortunate to have reached anyone at the University at all.
“No offense, but probably not,” I replied. “I’m calling from Saint Louis, and I need to speak with the doctor about something in her book, Voodoo Practice in American Culture.”
I glanced at the corner of my desk where the tome was resting atop a pile of other books, all with the same general subject matter, Afro-Cuban religion and mysticism.
“I’m sorry, sir, but all queries regarding Doctor Rieth’s books should be made via the University Press,” Kathy replied, launching into a decidedly prepared sounding spiel. “The address can be found…”
“I understand that,” I spoke up, truncating her instructions. “Please understand that I’m not looking for an autograph or trying to dispute her or anything like that. I’m doing some research regarding a murder investigation here, and I think she might be able to help me.”
There was no reply from the other end, but I could still hear background noise, so I knew she hadn’t hung up.
“Hello?” I said.
“Yes, I’m here,” the assistant replied. “I’m sorry. Where did you say you were calling from again?”
“Saint Louis, Missouri, why?”
“Just curious. Doctor Rieth received a call a year or so back from a police officer in South Carolina regarding a murder investigation.”
My curiosity was immediately piqued. “Really? Do you remember any of the details?”
“No,” she replied. “And, honestly, I really shouldn’t have said anything.”
“That’s okay, I won’t tell,” I replied half jokingly then moved on rather than risk alienating her. “Is there any way I can reach Doctor Rieth? It’s very important.”
“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “She is scheduled to return the Monday after the holiday however.”
I wasn’t excited about the wait, but it was just that time of year, so there was little I could do. I went ahead and asked, “Do you think it would be possible for me to leave a message for the doctor then?”
“Yes sir, I can certainly do that,” she answered. “Which police department are you with again?”
“I’m actually an independent consultant,” I explained then took the truth and wrapped it into an interwoven pretzel before relaying it to her. “I’m currently working with the Greater Saint Louis Major Case Squad.”
It wasn’t a complete lie, but I hoped that the doctor didn’t elect to verify my story because I was betting no one would be willing to back me up. Right now I was apparently persona non grata, but even when I was actually working with them, my capacity wasn’t exactly what one could call official.
I finished giving her my contact information and bid her a pleasant afternoon before hanging up and pondering what the young woman had just let slip. Hopefully, if and when Doctor Rieth returned my call, she would be willing to share a bit more about what she had consulted on in South Carolina.
I picked up a pen and jotted a quick note about it in a steno pad I had been using for keeping track of my research. I heard the dogs barking outside and wondered for a moment if they were wanting back in the house. I started to get up, but they quieted down before I could get completely out of my seat, so I figured it must be a taunting squirrel or simply a passerby. When I settled back into the chair, however, a familiar prickling sensation crawled across the back of my neck as I felt my hair pivoting at the roots.
I reached up and rubbed the offending spot as I looked around the room. I couldn’t imagine a reason for the brief attack of shivers. It faded quickly so I tried to put it out of my mind.
Returning to the materials I had at hand, I shuffled through the stack of books on my desk and withdrew another one, heavily laden with bookmarks protruding from the end, and flipped it open to the copyright page. I was just about to begin typing in the publisher’s website address in search of contact information for the author when I heard the doorbell ring.
Now I had my answer as to why the dogs had been barking.
I knew Felicity was downstairs in her darkroom and probably wouldn’t be able to answer it. In reality, most of her work these days was digital and didn’t require the somewhat antiquated processes of chemicals and light sensitive papers. However, I had the impression that my wife was finding the familiarity and closeness of her analog workspace a comfort in the wake of her recent experience. Put simply, she was hiding from the world, and while I was willing to condone it for a brief period, I wasn’t going to allow her to do it forever. But, at this particular moment, I wasn’t going to press the issue.
I tossed the book back onto the pile and pushed away from my desk. I found that I had to skirt around Dickens, our black domestic feline, who had elected to take a nap almost immediately in front of the office door. He opened one yellow eye and regarded me silently as I stepped over him, but other than that he didn’t even twitch.