At the back of the room was another set of doors that led, as I was told later, to the garage which was accessible from the back of the building. This was where recovered bodies were brought in and would begin their journey through the various stages of the postmortem process.
The attendant took us to a wheeled table positioned near the individual storage compartments. On it was a rubberized body bag, an identification tag affixed to the heavy-duty zipper pull. The faint malodor of decay had been noticeable ever since we entered the back area of the building. Upon entry into the cold room, the intensity of the strange funk began to increase several fold. Now as our proximity to the remains was within a matter of feet, the foulness was thick in the atmosphere.
“That’s great, thanks,” Ben told the attendant who was just starting to pull on a pair of latex gloves. “We can handle it from here.”
The young man stopped in the middle of sheathing his hands. Frozen in place like a statue, he simply stared at Ben as if waiting for him to say that he was only kidding.
“Really.” My friend nodded and coughed, wrinkling his nose at the smell. “We’ll call ya’ when we’re finished.”
I was right there with my friend, and I’m sure Felicity wasn’t far behind. My stomach was already starting to churn, and it was all I could do to keep from screwing up my face in disgust.
Giving a slight shrug the attendant pointed toward the sinks and, displaying perceptible effort, muttered, “Gloves.”
With the one syllable utterance out of the way, he left us alone in the chilled room.
“That was a little bizarre,” Felicity commented quietly after the young man disappeared out the door.
“If ya’ ask me, all of ‘em that work here are fuckin’ nut cases,” Ben asserted as he stepped across the room and began pulling a pair of oversized latex gloves onto his hands. With a nod, he indicated for us to do the same then turned his attention directly on my wife. “You said there were some precautions we need ta’ take for this?”
“Do you think he’s going to come back anytime soon?” She cocked her head toward the door.
For some wholly bizarre and unknown reason, I took great notice of the way her hair almost shimmered in the light when she tossed her head. The perfection of her auburn mane as it cascaded down her back in a fiery plume of loosely spiraling curls. The way it softly brushed against the ivory skin of her neck when she tilted her head to the side.
“You mean Mister Personality? Not likely,” he answered.
“It would be best if he doesn’t,” she continued. “Because what I need to do might look a bit strange to someone who doesn’t understand.”
“What, like he’s not strange enough on ‘is own?” Ben offered a rhetorical answer.
“Aye, but that’s beside the point.”
I watched her closely-observing the way the layered cut of her hair framed her face and accented her dainty features. I was amazed that I had never noticed it in such intense detail before.
“So how strange are you gonna get?”
“Not terribly. I just need to cast a spell.”
“Cast a spell? I thought you guys didn’t do shit like that.”
“No,” Felicity explained, “we do cast spells, just not the way most people think we do.”
“So you’re not gonna whip out some bat wings and crap like that, right?”
“Just some salt, Ben.”
She used the back of her hand to brush a tousle of her feathery coif back from the side of her face, and I was entranced as she let it linger there.
“Salt?” he queried with a shake of his head.
“Salt.”
“Where are you gonna get salt?”
Felicity rummaged about in one of the many pockets of her photo vest, and when she withdrew her hand she was holding some individual condiment packets of the substance. “Not exactly sea salt, but it’ll do.”
I felt a rush of excitement course through my body, and my skin literally prickled with the energy of overwhelming desire. I wanted to simply reach out and touch her.
“You always carry that stuff around with you?”
“Pretty much.”
“What, so ya’ can do shit like this?”
“No, not really. I just happen to like salt and you don’t always get any when you order at a busy drive-thru.”
I was beginning to have trouble containing the intense burst of longing for the woman in front of me. I couldn’t turn my gaze away, and if I continued to stare I was certain to embarrass myself.
“Yo, Rowan!” My friend’s urgent and concern-tinged voice slapped me hard in the face, breaking the trance. I felt his hand on my shoulder as he started to shake me lightly. “You all right? You aren’t goin’ all Twilight Zone, are ya’?”
“Wh-wh-what? No… No, I’m okay,” I managed to stammer as I blinked.
I had no idea what had just happened. I did know that I wasn’t about to tell the two of them that I had been standing there having some sort of disconnected, uncontrolled psychosexual fantasy about my wife’s hair. That was odd enough in and of itself, but considering where we were and what we were supposed to be doing, I was certain they would have me committed immediately. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t blame them if they did.
I was, to say the least, more than a little disturbed by the incident, but I tried not to let it show. I made a mental note to mention it to Helen Storm during my next session with her. I was really beginning to wonder if my sanity had finally fled in a futile attempt to save itself.
“Aye, help me out here,” Felicity demanded as she struggled to move the wheeled table out from the wall.
Ben stepped over to help her, and after a brief moment of mimicking her struggle, he located the parking brake and released it. The two of them moved the gurney out and, at my wife’s direction, centered it in the room before locking it down once again.
“What else ya need me ta’ do?” Ben asked.
“I’m a bit disoriented,” she returned as she looked around, trying to gain her bearings. “Which direction is east?”
“Shit, ummmmm,” he muttered as he spun around as well, slowly motioning his arms in various directions while mumbling aloud to himself. “Clark runs east and west, building faces Clark. Highway would be there… Headquarters…” he stopped and pointed at a wall, “this way.”
“Okay.” Felicity nodded as she directed her attention toward me and motioned for me to come over. “Rowan, you come stand here, then.”
I did as I was instructed, still feeling somewhat wistful at the sight of her and that auburn mane.
“Ben, you stand on the other side here,” she instructed.
“Okay.” He moved into position. “What now?”
“Just be quiet and don’t open that bag until I tell you to.”
“This isn’t gonna get all hinky, is it?”
Felicity had already stepped behind him, facing toward the east and was tearing open the salt packets. “Just be quiet and do what I tell you to do.”
“Yeah. Great,” he answered in a flat tone then mumbled, “Jeezus, I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.”
Felicity carefully began sprinkling the salt along an arc as she walked slowly clockwise around us. She would stop only briefly at each of the quarters-south, west, and north-and give a slight nod of her head, silently acknowledging the elements. By the time she made her way back around to the east, she had emptied a half dozen of the small paper packets onto the floor in a rough circle, leaving only a small opening unsalted. Though it was not visibly perceptible, the energy of the purified barrier was something I could easily feel.
In a fluid motion my wife moved smoothly deosil-or clockwise-around us a second time. Holding her arms outstretched, she moved silently until she was once again before the small opening where she started. After a slight pause she repeated the circuit twice more.
“What the hell’s she doin’?” Ben whispered the question to me from across the wheeled table.