“This would be so much easier if you were using your left hand like a normal person!” Debbie barked in my ears.
“Jeezus, Rowan, put the fuckin’ gun down!” Ben ordered again.
I felt the control over my index finger slip and watched in horror as the cylinder began turning again. It was less than a second away from rolling over and being struck by the hammer when I made my decision. If Debbie Schaeffer needed to exert that much force on my finger and arm because I was using my right hand, maybe her control over the rest of my body was severely weakened.
In a final bid I gave up fighting against her and thrust every ounce of energy I had left into changing the target instead. With a scream I twisted hard at the waist. My finger squeezed tight on the trigger, but I was already swinging to the side and brought the weapon to bear on a blank wall just as the hammer released. There was a loud roar and fire flashed from the muzzle in a bright burst. Dust flew as the projectile punched a hole in the sheetrock well away from any human targets. The gunshot echoed in my eardrums as the explosive sound bounced from the walls. My ears instantly felt clogged, and they began to ring with a painful stab deep inside. The recoil jerked my arm upward and its force allowed me to loosen my grip on the weapon. As my hand opened, it went flying and clattered across the concrete floor.
As I continued to spin I detected motion from the corner of my eye, and I saw Ben rushing toward Harold, then slamming into him full force, and knocking him to the floor.
It was all over in the proverbial blink of an eye. Harold was screaming, “SHE’S MINE, SHE’S MINE… FELICITY, HONEY, TELL THEM!” as Ben snapped a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists and patted him down. I scrambled across the floor, putting as much distance as possible between the discarded revolver and me before finally climbing to my feet and bolting for my wife.
I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around her, not saying a word. I was simply listening to the soft sounds of her breath and feeling the rhythmic thump of her heartbeat. Tears were streaming down my face as I hugged her close and felt her warmth against me-alive and unharmed.
We were starting to hear sirens and squealing tires in the near distance as squad cars from the Briarwood Police Department arrived outside. Whether summoned by a silent alarm or by Ben, I didn’t know. I was glad to hear them nonetheless.
Ben slipped his Beretta into its holster beneath his arm then folded himself to the floor next to me with a tired sigh. Harold was on his stomach, several feet away, hands securely cuffed behind his back. His head was turned to face us, and he wore a pained mask of loss. Through choked sobs he continued to call out, “Felicity…tell them…you’re mine…”
My friend pulled out his badge and held it up in preparation for the impending invasion of local police officers that would be descending upon us at any second. Somewhere inside the building, a clock finished chiming out the hour with the final bong in a series of twelve consecutive notes.
Still holding his shield and ID aloft, Ben looked over at me and said, “Merry Christmas, Kemosabe. Merry fuckin’ Christmas.”
CHAPTER 30
“I am actually very proud of you, Rowan,” Helen Storm told me as we stood at the railing of the outdoor smoking lounge in her office building.
She was working on a cigarette, but for a change I was not. I hadn’t had a craving for one since Christmas, go figure. I did, however, have a Maduro Cruz Real #2 hooked under my index finger, and it was slowly growing a grey-white ash at its tip.
I took a puff, consciously placing the cigar in the left corner of my mouth to avoid the pair of stitches that were holding my lip together on the right. The bruises had worked their way into the reddish-purple and yellow haloed stages, so I still looked pretty frightening. My injuries had come from crashing the van into the building for the most part. Mainly just the bruises and split lip, although the jolt had fractured my left wrist, and it was securely taped. My shoulder was sore, and my entire body had ached for several days, but even that was now subsiding.
“What for?” I asked. “Waiting until you were out of the van before running it into the building?”
This was the first chance I’d had to talk with Helen since Christmas Eve; not that it had been all that long ago. New Year’s Eve was tomorrow, so less than one week had passed. Still, it seemed like forever.
“For not killing Harold McCree,” she answered. “You retained your strength. That is very important.”
“I think it was more along the lines of luck,” I offered as I stared out across the dull sky. “Because I can guarantee you that it wasn’t for a lack of desire.”
“The fact still remains that you did not kill him.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know… Given another chance, with different circumstances, the outcome could be different.”
She ignored my comment, and we stood in silence for a moment. I had grown accustomed to her periods of quiet thoughtfulness interspersed throughout our conversations and realized they were as much a signal as an action. They were, in part, her way of triggering my own introspection.
“How is Felicity doing?” she finally asked.
“Good,” I nodded. “As well as one can expect. The Rohypnol was a bit of a blessing in a sense because she doesn’t really remember much of what occurred after Harold dropped by to deliver those photos.
“She’s having a little trouble coming to terms with the fact that nine women were raped and two are dead, all because he was playing out a fantasy that revolved around her.”
“She should come visit me,” Helen offered. “She needs to understand that what transpired is in no way her fault.”
“She knows that, I think. But emotionally…” I allowed my voice to trail off.
“Yes?” she looked at me with a smile.
“Okay, so I forgot who I was talking to for a minute.” I smiled back. “Like I’ve said before, you don’t come off as your average shrink.”
She laughed musically. “How are you both handling the change of scenery?”
We were now living in an apartment in a secure building for the time being. It had been a clandestine move, made in the middle of the night the day after Christmas. It had happened without fanfare, and very little warning, even to us. All in all, it was comfortable enough, but it definitely wasn’t home. Until Eldon Porter was in custody, however, it was something we were getting used to dealing with-for a while, anyway.
“It’s okay,” I shrugged. “Not the same. And we miss having the animals around.”
“Are you boarding them?”
“We thought about it but couldn’t do it to them.” I shook my head. “Some friends took them in. That way they’ll get some attention from people they’re familiar with.”
“Well,” she announced with a sigh after glancing at her watch. “Unfortunately, I am afraid our time is up for today, and I do have another appointment this time.”
“It flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?” I grinned.
“Funny,” she replied. “Of course, you are the only patient I see who is willing to stand out here and watch me smoke. So in a way it is a big plus for me.”
“Therapists need love too,” I joked.
She smiled at me. “I see that your sense of humor is returning. That is a very good sign, Rowan.”
I gave an abbreviated chuckle as I knocked the ash from the end of my cigar then carefully sealed it into a spring-loaded tube designed to tamp out the coal and keep the remainder somewhat fresh. “Maybe,” I half agreed with a shrug. “But I get the feeling I’m not out of the woods yet.”
“But the terrain is different, Rowan. You can now see the trail, and that is important. As long as you can keep it in sight, you will not lose your way.”