“What happened?” I pressed.
He sighed again. “You let go of ‘er and pulled out one of those salt packets…and that was it. Like it was some kinda trigger or somethin’…” He shook his head. “Next thing I knew she had an autopsy knife off’a one of the trays in ‘er hand…one of the big ones… Jeezus… You were all the way across the room… And the stiff was between us… I just couldn’t get to you in time, Row… She managed ta’ stab ya’ twice before I could tackle ‘er.”
A flash of memory rolled through my grey matter.
“You will know. But if it will help, I will wear something… or someone… special.”
I swallowed hard. “That wasn’t Felicity, Ben. She didn’t do this. Miranda did. Somehow she managed to get in…”
“I know that…” he said. “I know… I could tell just by the look on ‘er face that it wasn’t Firehair… And don’t worry. I already talked ta’ Doc Kingston about it. She’s freaked, but I don’t think she’ll be a problem. I got ‘er ta’ erase the tape that was runnin’, so Felicity ain’t gonna get charged with anything. Not if I can help it.”
“Thanks…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Where’s the necklace?” I asked.
“Right here,” he said, pulling the small bottle out of his pocket and holding it up where I could see it. “Ya’ made me take it right before ya’ passed out.”
I sighed. “Okay…good.”
“Ya’ want it back?”
“No. Not yet. Hang on to it for me, okay?” I could tell he wasn’t excited by the prospect.
“Yeah… Okay,” He nodded and then glanced warily at the vial before shoving it back into his pocket. With a sigh he added, “Feel like I’m carryin’ the goddamn nuclear football.”
Silence fell between us as the sound of his voice trailed off. I closed my eyes and lay there, trying to find even an inkling of remembrance that connected with what I’d just been told. But there was nothing there. My mind had apparently shifted into self-preservation mode and was blocking out the trauma.
Finally I asked, “What about Felicity? How did she end up in a coma?”
“I dunno,” he said. “It just happened outta the blue. I pulled her off ya’ and managed ta’ get ‘er cuffed before she could stab ya’ any more. She kept screamin’ and kickin’… The doc was with you… Jeezus… There was blood everywhere, and you were just layin’ there… But ya’ kept tryin’ ta’ tell me somethin’.”
“You needed to give her salt.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Ya’ still had it in your hand, and ya’ kept tryin’ ta’ hold it out to me. So I pulled out one of the ones you gave me, held Firehair down and poured it into ‘er mouth. She kept fightin’ right at first, but it didn’t take long, and all of a sudden she just went limp. A few minutes after that it was like she was unconscious or somethin’.”
“She’s not unconscious, Ben,” I said with a soft lament. “She’s gone.”
“Whaddaya mean gone?”
“Miranda pushed her out,” I said. “And then you pushed Miranda out. Now she’s holding my wife hostage.”
“How?”
“That’s what I have to find out,” I said, starting to lever myself up. “I need to see her.”
“Whoa, Kemosabe, I get what you’re sayin’, but you ain’t in any condition ta’ do anything right now.”
“I don’t care,” I growled between clenched teeth as a fresh wave of pain ripped through me.
He put a large hand on my shoulder and carefully pushed me back. It didn’t take much because I didn’t have enough strength to fight.
“Row,” he said. “You were in surgery for almost six friggin’ hours. Hell, I thought ya’ were gonna bleed ta’ death before we even got ya’ here.”
The door pushed open and the nurse walked back in. “Okay, time’s up,” she said, placing a Styrofoam cup onto the rolling tray at the end of the bed as she passed it by. “There’s your coffee, Detective.”
She continued up to the head of the bed and fiddled with my IV for a moment. “I just spoke with the doctor and he ordered something for you as well, Mister Gant,” she announced and then withdrew a hypodermic from her pocket, uncapped it, and slid it into a port on the tubing.
I didn’t give what she had said much thought. Instead, I continued pressing my friend. “Ben, I need to see her.”
“You will, Row,” he told me. “But right now ya’ need ta’ rest.”
“The detective is right,” the nurse echoed as she recapped the needle on the now empty syringe. “Just relax. This should take effect in just a minute or two.”
“Was that a sedative?” I asked.
“Uhm-hmmm.”
“No…” I objected. “I have to see Felicity.”
“That will have to wait,” she said.
“You bitch!” I spat with everything I could muster.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that, Mister Gant,” she replied. “Now like I said, just relax. I’ll be back in to check on you in a bit.”
It wasn’t long before the darkness came to take me again.
CHAPTER 27
“Some people just don’t want to stay dead, Rowan.”
The voice coming from behind me was familiar and under the circumstances not entirely unexpected, so I didn’t turn around. Instead, I kept my gaze focused straight ahead on the remnants of the inscription in the weatherworn stone before me. There was actually very little of it still visible, but that didn’t matter. The particular mystery surrounding the missing letters had already been solved, and though only a few fragments of the letters remained, I knew exactly what it was supposed to say-Miranda Blanque 1808 – 1851.
I was standing near the back of Saint Louis Cemetery Number One, not far from the French Quarter in New Orleans. Shafts of pale light were stenciling my surroundings in not-so-random patterns, all courtesy of the jagged template of tombs and monuments that formed the immediate skyline. Grey shadows filled the areas in-between, laying a darkened patina across aged masonry, narrow pathways, and me. The air was still, and other than the voice and the sound of my own breathing, there was nothing in my ears but silence.
I had been here before, but that time I had been chasing Miranda. Now in a very real sense, she was chasing me. I suppose it made a poetic statement of sorts that her tomb would once again be the center point of it all.
“Does anyone really want to be dead?” I finally asked aloud, responding to the comment.
“There are a few.”
I turned around to face Ariel Tanner’s ghost. “Like maybe you for instance?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re still dead,” I told her. “You died almost ten years ago.”
“That’s true.”
“And?” I asked.
“And what?”
“And shouldn’t you have moved on by now? Been reborn into a new life? Or is Summerland and the whole reincarnation thing just a pipe dream after all?”
“Don’t over think it, Rowan,” she replied. “You’ll find the answer when the time is right for you.”
“Pretty typical non-committal answer, don’t you think?”
“You just need to…”
“You aren’t going to tell me I just need to believe, are you?” I asked, cutting her off before she could finish. “Because I’m running a little short on faith these days.”
“Actually, I was going to say wait. But would it help revive your faith if I said believe?”
I ignored the question and held her gaze for a long while before finally speaking again. “I’m not really used to this, you know.”
“Used to what?” she asked.
“Well, for one thing, up until very recently you’ve been non-existent. I haven’t even seen you for several years. I just assumed that when I solved your murder you had moved on.”
“To Summerland?”