“You aren’t coming anywhere near my wife, you fucking bitch!” I growled.
I allowed myself to fall across the table as I brought both hands to bear on her. In a flash I had my left tangled into her hair, wrenching her head back as my right gripped her throat. I heard no sound coming from her as I dug my thumb into her windpipe, but she kept her eyes locked with mine. There was no mistaking the contented look they now held. The smug air only served to enrage me further, and I resolved to bring about her end, here and now.
My blindly stupid act, however, was terminated before I could follow through.
I heard shouting filtering in through the sound of blood rushing in my ears. It was faint but unmistakable. I felt my fingers being pried off Miranda’s thin neck, although there didn’t seem to be much sense of urgency behind her rescue. I suspect that given what she had done to his colleague, the corrections officer wasn’t overly concerned for her welfare. Eventually I heard a sharp gasp from Miranda as my grip was broken, but I saw no change in her expression. In fact, she didn’t even blink.
Several seconds later my left arm was twisted behind my back, then I was pulled backwards and restrained, even though my rational self had instantly kicked in and I was no longer struggling.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to end this interview, Mister Grant.” The voice belonged to Baker, the officer who had searched me prior to my entry into this room. He sounded almost apologetic.
I didn’t realize he had joined us until now, but it only took a quick glance for me to see that both he and Officer Bardwell were holding me back.
“Not yet,” Miranda said. “I’m not through with him.”
“It’s not your call, Devereaux,” he shot back, adopting a far more gruff tone with her than he had with me.
“Look, I’m sorry…” I stuttered.
“Yeah, me too,” he replied, softening again before grumbling. “But sometimes the job gets in the way.” Directing himself at the other guard with a jerk of his head, he ordered, “Bardwell, take Devereaux to the infirmary. I’ll take care of Mister Grant.”
I didn’t bother to correct him this time. I had far more serious matters to worry about than the massacre of my name. Of all the times I had found a way to screw up, if this one wasn’t the crowning jewel of them all, at the very least it definitely ranked among the top three. I simply stood there with my mouth shut. I knew there was nothing I could say to fix this, and unfortunately I didn’t believe in miracles.
A low warble sounded in the room, quickly increasing in volume. Officer Baker pulled a cell phone from his belt, glanced at the face of it, then muttered, “Hang on a sec there, Bardwell.”
The other corrections officer had just unlocked one of Miranda’s cuffs, so he clicked the restraint back into place and stepped back, keeping watch on the situation while he waited.
“This is Jeb,” Officer Baker said into the cell phone as he placed it against the side of his head. “Yeah… Yeah… I thought you might have…”
I looked away from him and centered my gaze on Miranda once again. She stared back at me with a satisfied smile perched on her lips. Her earlier grayish pallor was now flushed, a fact less obvious than the smile but still a visual cue that she was stimulated. Blood trickled from one corner of her mouth where my hand had made contact when I first threw myself at her, and a bright red welt was already forming on her neck.
She arched her eyebrow and then asked, “Feel better now, little man?”
“Not really,” I replied.
“I do.”
“I’m not surprised. You got what you wanted.”
“Not everything.”
“…Are you sure about this?” Officer Baker’s voice interrupted. He wasn’t actually speaking to anyone in the room, but the obvious change in his tone diverted my attention all the same.
I glanced over at him and saw that he was looking up into the security camera while still talking into his cell. “All right. You’re the boss.”
He closed the phone and stuffed it back into the holder on his belt before addressing me. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “Like I said before, you must be one hell of an important sonofabitch, Grant.” He turned to Miranda and thrust his chin at her. “I’m only asking this once, Devereaux. Do you want to go to the infirmary?”
“No,” she replied. “I do not.”
“So, am I to understand that you are refusing medical treatment?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Bardwell, did you hear the inmate?”
“Yes sir, she is refusing treatment.”
Baker let go of my arm and took a few steps over to the toppled chair. He righted it, slid it behind me, then put a hand on my shoulder and somewhat forcefully guided me into the seat. As I sat down he said, “Psychological advantage, huh?”
“Apparently not,” I replied sheepishly.
“Yeah, no kidding. Well, do us all a favor. Stay in the chair until the interview is over, and keep your hands to yourself, Mister Grant. Just like I told you the first time, okay?”
I nodded and answered, “Yes sir.” Under the circumstances I still thought it best not to correct him about my name.
Once he had exited and Officer Bardwell resumed his station, I glared across the table at Miranda.
She smirked. “That was fun.”
“You aren’t getting Felicity,” I told her. I kept my voice at an even timbre, but it was impossible to mask the hatred that drove it.
“And who is going to stop me? You?”
“Obviously I already have.”
“Do you really think so?”
“You’re here.”
“No. Annalise is here. I am wherever I wish to be.”
“No, you aren’t. You’re trapped here with her.”
“Really?” She actually chuckled. “How do you know I am not trying Felicity on for size again right now?”
I steeled myself and clenched my fists at her question. What made it almost intolerable was her casual use of my wife’s name. To an outside observer it wouldn’t have meant a thing, but to me it inferred an unwanted intimacy between them.
As my fingernails bit deeply into my palms, I replied, “Because you’re here talking to me.”
“That means nothing, and you know it. Connections, little man.”
“Not anymore. I broke your connection to her.”
“Did you?”
“You know I did.”
She laughed. “Is that the lie you have been telling yourself these past months?”
“It isn’t a lie, it’s a fact.”
“Be truthful, little man. You do not believe that.”
“How do you figure?”
“That is easy. You came here, did you not? If you truly believed you had broken all of the connections, you would never have shown up.”
She was a step ahead of me all the way. Maybe even two. However, I had already given up too much, so I wasn’t about to surrender anything else if I could help it.
“You’re the one who demanded to see me,” I spat. “Besides, if you know so much, you should be well aware that I came here to talk to Annalise. Not you.”
“Of course you did.”
“Then let me,” I said. “Or are you the one who’s afraid?”
She snorted out a laugh. “What is it you think I fear?”
“What Annalise might tell me.”
“Such a sad little man,” she told me, shaking her head. “Annalise has nothing to tell.”
“Then let me talk to her.”
“No.”
“I can make you go away.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“Thirsty at all, Miranda?” I threatened but remained still in my seat.
All it took was that simple phrase for her to know exactly what I meant. I had used salt water on more than one occasion to chase her out of Felicity’s body when she had managed to sneak her way in. That was before I had discovered the gateway that was allowing it to happen in the first place-one half of a paired necklace that had been charmed by magick well over a century ago, and more recently, re-empowered by blood.