The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (18 page)

“I can’t really explain it.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess—I wouldn’t
believe you if you told me.”

Instead of responding to his sarcasm, I
simply replied, “You’re just going to have to trust me on
this.”

“I did that once already, and look what it
got me.”

“Listen, Detective Fairbanks…”

“No, Gant,
you
listen. You’ve been in town less than
forty-eight hours and you’re already vying for your own position
next to Katrina as the worst natural disaster ever to hit this
city. You rank somewhere on the order of an empty-handed FEMA
bureaucrat at this point, so nobody is really interested in what
you have to say.”

“Fine,” I spat. “So what now? Am I under
arrest?”

“If I had my way, you sure as hell would be,”
he barked in return. “But apparently Storm isn’t the only friend
you have in high places, so technically you’re in protective
custody.”

“Constance?” I asked.

“I have no idea who,” he replied with a shake
of his head. “But, based on the call we received, somebody at the
FBI has a vested interest in you for some unknown reason. Hell,
we’ve actually been looking for you for them since this
morning.”

“Looking for me?”

“That’s right. Apparently, the feds would
like for you to come home.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, as much as we’d like to bury you
under the jail right now, we aren’t going to. But, as soon as the
doctor cuts you loose, I’m personally sticking your ass on a plane
back to Saint Louis and letting them deal with you.”

I
nitially, I was adamant
that I had no intention of allowing them to admit me to the
hospital. However, my argument didn’t last long. To his credit,
Detective Fairbanks did give me a choice, limited as it was. The
way he explained it, my options were to get on the first airplane
bound for Saint Louis, to stay at the hospital until the doctor
released me, or to spend the remainder of my time here in New
Orleans inspecting the inside of their lockup. Since I was already
dwelling on his bad side, I had no doubt he was serious.

Unfortunately, after a short exchange with
Doctor Miller, he retracted the option of immediate travel home,
which had been my preferred choice. And, since I was technically in
police custody, there was no room for me to negotiate that point.
Apparently, disliked as I was, they were still intent on me not
dying until they were in the clear. I had no doubt this was based
solely on an issue of liability rather than any true concern for my
continued well-being.

So, while I was no fan of hospitals, the idea
of spending the night in jail was even less appealing; therefore,
the decision became an instantaneous no-brainer. At least I was
going to have a clean bed in which to sleep for a change.

I was also told that my rental car had been
impounded, which I’m certain wasn’t going to sit well with the
company that owned it, but there wasn’t much I could do. And, of
course, it didn’t stop there. They took the key to my room at the
Airline Courts in order to collect my luggage and anything else I
had felt comfortable with leaving there unattended. I was, however,
assured they would be returned to me, as well as the rest of my
personal effects, upon my release and once I had been escorted to
the airport.

Since the police had already taken Velvet’s
statement, and they didn’t see her as the threat they saw me, she
was free to leave. She had graciously offered to hang loose for a
while once I was settled in, however I was well aware she still had
an hour or so drive ahead of her to get back to Baton Rouge. As
much as I would have appreciated the company, I felt as though I
had disrupted her life more than enough already, so I urged her to
go home. Eventually, she gave in, though only after I promised to
contact her if I needed any further help. It seemed I had made at
least one friend while I was here.

Now, to occupy the void, I had been
trying to watch TV. I managed to catch the last half of a
re-broadcast episode of
Firefly
on a cable station, but after that, all I seemed to be able
to find were so-called “reality shows” that were worse than a waste
of time. After running up and down the gamut of channels, I
switched it off. Dragging myself out of the bed for the third time
since arriving in the room, I made my way to the bathroom to empty
my bladder. They were still running IV’s into me at full bore.
While I had insisted after my second trip to the toilet that I must
be fully re-hydrated by now, I was informed that I was being
flushed out. A catheter was offered if I felt the repeated trips
were too annoying, but I declined, promising instead to fill the
sample cups each time I went. Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy
them.

I finished executing my duty and had just
rolled the IV stand back into place next to the bed before sitting
down when a nurse came into the room.

“How are you feelin’, Mistuh Gant?” she
asked.

“About as good as can be expected,” I
grumbled. “By the way, I just left you a present in the
bathroom.”

“For me? Why, thank you. Ya’ shouldn’t have,”
she replied in a bubbly voice.

“You’re way too cheerful,” I told her.

She ignored the statement and went about
checking my IV then my pulse and blood pressure. When she was
finished, she asked, “Do ya’ need anythin’?”

“Not that I can think of,” I replied.

“All right then, my name is Adrienne, and
I’ll be takin’ care of you this shift. If you need anythin’…”

I held up my hand and interrupted her, my
voice somewhat astringent. “Just press the call button, yeah, I
know…” When I finished the comment, I sighed heavily then said,
“Look, Adrienne. I apologize. That was rude. This just hasn’t been
a particularly wonderful day for me, so my mood isn’t what you
would call good.”

“I understand,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks.”

“Besides, dawlin’,” she added, grinning.
“Dawn already warned me you were a grouch.”

“Yeah, making friends and influencing people.
That’s me.”

“I’ll just pick up your specimen an’ I’ll be
back ta’ check on ya’ later. Okay?”

“Looking forward to it,” I told her as I
twisted around and lay back on the bed.

She headed out, stopping by the bathroom as
she went. When she came out I called over to her, “Hey, Adrienne.
You wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?”

She glanced at her watch. “Ten to eight.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

When she was gone, I sat back up on the bed
and reached over to the telephone. I dialed for an outside line
then started punching in the toll free line and pass code of my
calling card. Once I heard the fresh dial tone, I stabbed in a
number I’d come to memorize over the past week. After a pair of
rings, the operator came on the line.

“Felicity O’Brien’s room, please,” I
asked.

“Whom should I say is calling?”

“Her husband, Rowan Gant.”

“Mister Gant, please hold,” she replied.

After a short wait the line was picked
up.

“Rowan?” Instead of hearing Felicity’s voice,
I was greeted with Helen Storm’s issuing from the handset. She
seemed calm, but her tone held an underlying note of concern. “We
have been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Is something wrong?” I asked immediately, my
own concern rising to the surface. “Is Felicity okay?”

“At the moment, she is fine. However, earlier
today she experienced a somewhat bizarre psychotic episode.”

“Miranda?” I asked.

“I am not certain. All I can tell you is that
for a period of several minutes, she believed someone was chasing
her, and she was doing everything in her power to get away. At one
point she actually bit one of the staff. Afterwards, she was
frantic, asking repeatedly to speak with you.”

I sighed heavily as I hung my head. “It was
me.”

“You? What do you mean?”

“I mean she was trying to get away from me,”
I said then explained further by filling her in on the details of
the afternoon.

“At this point I would say the question is,
are you okay?” she said when I finished.

“I’ll be fine,” I told her. “But, unless I
find a way to stop all this, Felicity isn’t.”

“You do not know that, Rowan.”

“Yes I do, Helen,” I replied. “This
connection between her and Miranda…or her and Annalise…or both…I
don’t know…whatever it is, it’s getting stronger.”

“But, this is the first episode she has
experienced in several days.”

“Maybe so, but just look at what triggered
it.”

“The chase?”

“Not exactly. The fear.”

“A strong emotion.”

“Exactly. I think that is what’s driving all
of this. I just don’t know what’s making the connection, other than
the fact that Annalise and Felicity are related.”

“Do you think that could be it?”

“I’m positive it has something to do with it,
but if it was the only factor then I think Felicity would have
started experiencing this before now. If the evidence in all of the
unsolved murders adds up, Annalise has been at this for at least
two years, maybe more.”

“Perhaps what triggered the connection was
her visit to Saint Louis,” she suggested.

“Proximity? Maybe so, but then why hasn’t the
connection faded now that she’s no longer there?”

“Maybe once the connection was made that was
all it took.”

“I’m not willing to entertain that
option.”

“Why not?”

“Because if it’s true then there’s nothing I
can do to save my wife.”

“You cannot be certain of that, Rowan.”

“Helen, I’ve read everything about Voodoo and
hoodoo I can get my hands on. I’ve even had lengthy conversations
with a published expert on the subject. But, I still don’t know
enough about how it works to be sure of anything.”

“What did Doctor Rieth have to say about
this?”

“Pretty much the same thing she said
before I ever came down here. She agrees with me for the most part.
While the familial tie is almost certainly fueling this, something
from the outside has to be working on Felicity as well. It isn’t
completely unheard of for a
Lwa
to jump from one horse to another, but it isn’t typical or
even common. The faithful invite them in, which is what allows the
possession to take place. Popping into someone uninvited isn’t
their preferred method of corporeal manifestation. And, that’s not
even taking into account that a devout practitioner of Vodoun can
go an entire lifetime without ever being a horse. So, for this to
be happening to a non-practitioner, something external almost has
to be involved.”

“However, you have stated yourself that
Miranda is not a typical
Lwa
.”

“That’s true, but she’s still a spirit. She’s
going to take the path of least resistance. If they didn’t,
everyone would hear them…” My voiced trailed off at the end of the
sentence, then I added, “Just like me.”

“And, Felicity,” Helen reminded me. “She is a
Witch as well, and she has demonstrated her own propensity for
communicating with the dead.”

“Yeah, I know,” I breathed. “But we both know
that isn’t the normal way of things. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s
my fault that she’s been cursed with that affliction.”

“You cannot constantly take blame on yourself
for the things over which you have no control, Rowan,” she
admonished. “We have had this discussion before.”

“We’ll have to save my therapy session for
later, Helen. Right now I have to figure out why my wife is being
randomly possessed by a sadistic dead woman.”

“Were you able to find anything at the
cemetery?”

“Besides Annalise? Actually, I didn’t even
get a chance to look at the tomb. I had it in my head to go back
and check it out, but that’s pretty much not happening at this
point.”

“Can someone check for you?”

“I’m sure I can get Velvet—Doctor Rieth—to do
it,” I said. “But, I really hate asking her to do that even though
she’s offered. I’ve imposed upon her enough as it is.”

“She might be your only option.”

“True. But, to be honest, I’m probably
grabbing at straws anyway. Felicity didn’t know about Annalise
until recently, and by all indications, Annalise has only recently
become aware of Felicity—although I’m fairly certain it is only
cursory. I don’t get the impression she knows any specifics. So,
the odds of her being responsible for any intentional
gris-gris
directed toward her are
pretty low.”

“Who would be responsible then?”

“That’s the big question, Helen. People don’t
work magick on someone without a reason. I’m not saying that the
reasons are always pure, by any means, but just picking someone at
random and working magick on them isn’t terribly effective.”

“So, what other options are there?”

“Just what Velvet mentioned originally.
Felicity has something that belonged to Miranda, or possibly
Annalise. Something like a piece of jewelry maybe, or it could even
be the other way around. Of course, we can obviously rule out
Miranda being in possession of any corporeal items falling into
that category, so if that were the case, it would have to be
Annalise who has something of Felicity’s.”

“And, you have had no luck in that area of
investigation?”

“Not really. One would think it would have to
be something obtained recently, but Felicity can’t remember
purchasing or selling anything over the past few months. Of course,
that doesn’t mean that Annalise didn’t somehow come by a piece of
jewelry that Felicity sold on an auction website or something in
the past. These things do change hands.”