The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (20 page)

Though I knew he was right next to me, his
voice sounded hollow and distant. I started pushing myself up, but
as the pain phased through my body, the nausea took hold, and I
pitched forward again, expelling the remnants of my hospital
breakfast in a steaming lump. I gagged a second time but only
vomited a small stream of bile for my trouble. I could feel myself
hovering dangerously close to slipping across into the world of the
dead, and I knew Miranda was standing on the other side waiting for
me with ill intent. The worst part, however, was that I knew for
certain this whole thing was my fault and no one else’s.

I steeled myself and sucked in a deep breath,
holding it for a moment as I sought my mental footing once again in
the corporeal plane.

“Holy shit…” Ben exclaimed. “Rowan… What’s
wrong?”

His voice sounded normal once again, but the
pain wasn’t letting up. I pushed against the ground and lifted
myself to my knees. I felt my friend slip a hand under my arm to
help as I climbed to my feet and began my march toward the back of
the yard once again.

“Dammit, Row! Talk to me,” Ben demanded.

I still didn’t respond. I had to remain
focused; otherwise, I feared I would succumb to the force that was
now attempting to stop me. I picked up my pace and covered the last
several yards with Ben still holding my arm as if he feared I was
going to fall again. Arriving at the door of Felicity’s potting
shed, I shrugged away from him and grasped the handle with my good
hand. I gave it a quick tug, but it only moved outward a pair of
inches before resisting my attack. Looking down, I saw the padlock
seated firmly in place.

I knew the key was inside the house, but I
didn’t feel as though I had time to go in after it. I needed to do
this now. I pushed the door inward then yanked it hard, leaning all
of my weight back with the motion. I heard the sound of the wood
beginning to splinter as stress took hold of the screws anchoring
the hasp. The door came out another couple of inches and stopped. I
pushed it in and yanked again, and then a third time. On the fourth
try, the aging boards splintered and the door swung open wide with
a loud crack.

Stepping in through the doorway, I grabbed a
shovel then immediately turned and came back out. Continuing around
my dismayed friend, I waded out into the decorative garden at the
very back of the yard and set my sights on a large mound of
snow-covered rocks.

I was just slipping the point of the shovel
beneath one corner of the largest of the sponge rocks when Ben
grabbed my arm. I looked up at him and could see the concern in his
eyes had turned to something almost resembling fear.

“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck’s goin’
on here?!” he demanded.

“When I’m done,” I managed to croak. I could
feel hot tears beginning to stream down my face.

“Dammit! You’re actin’ like ya’ lost your
friggin’ mind, White Man,” he pressed.

“I’m trying to save my wife, okay?!” I
shouted. “Now, either help me or get the fuck out of my way!”

Before I finished the sentence, I was already
looking back down and shoving the business end of the garden
implement deeper under the large rock then lifting. The decorative
stone broke loose as I leaned my weight into the improvised lever,
then it rose slowly upward, teetered for a second and rolled away
with a heavy thump. I instantly began driving the point of the
shovel against the frozen ground, breaking up the hard soil and
scooping it away as fast as I could with only one good arm.

“Jeezus, I must be nuts,” Ben grumbled as he
reached out and yanked the shovel from my hand and started about
the process of digging. “What’re we lookin’ for? A quicker way ta’
hell?”

“A metal box,” I replied. “About a foot
down.”

“A foot? Is that all?” he replied, heavy
sarcasm in his words.

He continued to dig, ramming the shovel down
hard and tearing at the earth. After several minutes, we both heard
a hollow clunk as the spade struck home. He worked the point in
beneath the box and pried one end up from the depths.

I was already kneeling next to the hole,
tearing at the surrounding dirt with my hand. As soon as I could
get a grasp on the unearthed rectangle, I wrenched it from the
ground and fumbled with the clasp. Popping the latch on the small
toolbox, I yanked it open.

There, just as it had been when I placed it
there several weeks ago, was a fashion doll. Its ivory complexion
and fiery red hair were visible through the clear cellophane that
enveloped it. A dark purple ribbon criss-crossed around the poppet
holding the plastic wrapping securely in place.

“You buried a fuckin’ doll in your back
yard?” Ben asked, a mix of confusion and incredulity in his
voice.

Looking up at Ben, I said, “It’s her.”

“Her who?”

I could already hear an angry wail screeching
in my ears, getting louder with each heartbeat.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” I told him,
rushing the sentence from my mouth as fast as I could speak. I held
my hand out toward him and asked, “Do you have a pocketknife?”

He dug his hand in his pocket and withdrew a
lock blade, but before opening it he peered at me with curious
concern.

“Just give it to me, Ben!” I shouted.
“Now!”

The banshee scream was deafening now, and I
was starting to lose my grasp on reality once again.

My friend opened the pocketknife then handed
it to me, though I could still see reluctance in his eyes. I
snatched the doll from the box and flipped it over. Holding it
against the ground with my wounded hand, I slid the sharp blade
beneath the ribbon with my other and then drew it upward. The sharp
edge sliced cleanly through the criss-crossing purple bands, and
they fell away.

The world bloomed in front of me and settled
to a muted shade of reality. The scream was fading from my ears,
echoing the word “no” as it disappeared into nothingness. I let go
of the poppet then slowly twisted around from my kneeling position
and sat back in the snow. Pressing the blade lock with my thumb, I
slid the back side of it across my thigh and snapped the knife
closed. Holding it out toward my friend, I let out a heavy
sigh.

“That’s it?” he said as he took it from
me.

“That’s it,” I replied.

“Okay… So whaddid you just do?”

“I broke a binding.”

“Broke a binding…” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“That some kinda Witch thing?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shouldn’t there’ve been sparks, or flyin’
monkeys or somethin’?”

“Only in the movies, Ben…I’ve told you that
a…”

He cut me off. “I was kidding.”

“Sorry,” I breathed. “I’m just not in a very
humorous mood right now.”

“Yeah, no shit… Okay… So, what happens
now?”

“I get cleaned up and go see my wife. Maybe
even bring her home.”

“Good plan, but I was talkin’ about with the
Witch thing.”

“Nothing, Ben. It’s over. I’m done.”

He let out a harrumph and shook his head.
“Ya’know, the way you were actin’ I woulda thought you were
disarmin’ a bomb or somethin’.”

I hung my head and sighed again. “That’s
closer to the truth than you can possibly know.”

S
oft light was filtering
into the room when I awoke.

I hadn’t yet opened my eyes, but I could
definitely tell it was no longer dark. My brain was shrouded in the
warm fog that hovers in the void between wakefulness and deep
slumber. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew the pleasant
confusion would be wearing off soon, even if I would rather it did
not. I tried to embrace the sensation, but as always it was
fleeting, and my grey matter was already telling me it was time to
get on with the day.

A momentary panic gripped me as flashes of
memory were revealed through the rapidly dissipating haze. My heart
fluttered, and although I feared what I might see, I slowly opened
my eyes. The sudden palpitations began to settle as soon as I
focused on my surroundings and saw the familiar trappings of my
bedroom at home. I felt myself relaxing the moment I realized I
wasn’t in a hospital room or even a sleazy motel hundreds of miles
away.

However, no sooner had it faded than it
flared in a second attack when I rolled over and found myself alone
in the bed. It dawned on me that there was a huge gap missing in my
memory. I had absolutely no recollection of getting into the bed in
the first place. I concentrated on what I could remember. In the
forefront was the fact that I had checked Felicity out of the
hospital and brought her home.

Fortunately, that thought, combined with my
nose, caused the burgeoning wave of anxiety to die out before it
ever managed to fully take hold. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee
was drifting through the house, locked in a battle with the smell
of frying bacon as they both fought to overtake one another. That
was all it took to remind me the month long nightmare was over.

My stomach rumbled, expressing its
displeasure regarding the fact that I still hadn’t eaten since the
previous morning. Given that I hadn’t even managed to keep that
particular meal down long enough to digest, the growling was not at
all unexpected. It wasn’t that I hadn’t had an opportunity to eat;
I just hadn’t been especially interested in food, until now that
is.

Throwing back the covers, I rolled up to sit
on the edge of the bed. I rubbed my eyes then fumbled around on the
nightstand for my glasses. Once I had them seated on my face, I
stood and trudged into the bathroom before heading out to the
kitchen.

“What are you doing up, then?” Felicity asked
when I finally came around the corner a few minutes later. The
background Celtic lilt in her voice was a welcome sound in my
ears.

“Am I not supposed to be?” I asked.

“I was trying not to wake you,” she replied,
walking over then slipping her arms in around my waist and laying
her head against my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around her and hugged
tightly. “Pinch me so I know I’m not just dreaming this.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You aren’t.”

“That’s good. I don’t think I could handle it
if I was.”

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

“Good,” I said, pausing a moment before
adding, “I think.”

She pulled back and looked into my face. “You
think?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I don’t remember
much after… Well, much after sitting down on the couch last night
to be honest.”

“That’s because you fell asleep while we were
talking.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, if I fell asleep on the couch then how
did I end up…”

“In the bedroom? I managed to get you up and
guide you in there. You know, you actually follow orders very well
when you’re asleep.”

I let out a half chuckle. “Yeah. I bet you
enjoyed that.”

“It was amusing.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Aye, well it’s probably a good thing
you don’t,” she said with a small grin. “Like I said, you follow
orders
very
well.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m joking.”

“Yeah, so you say.”

She grinned again.

“I really am sorry. I finally get you home,
and then I pass out on you. Not exactly a homecoming to remember I
don’t suppose.”

“It’s okay. You needed the rest.”

“Bacon’s burning,” I told her.

“Ooops!” she said, slipping out of the
embrace and hurrying over to the stove.

I stepped over and pulled a mug from the
cabinet then filled it with coffee. After a swig I leaned against
the counter and offered, “I still shouldn’t have fallen asleep on
you.”

“Aye, it was obvious you needed it, Row. You
were snoring loud enough to wake the dead.”

“Trust me, they don’t need my help for that.”
I took another swallow of coffee then topped off my mug and slid
hers across the counter so she could reach it.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile.

“So, what about you?” I asked. “You’re the
one we need to be worried about here. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

There was something in the way she answered
that told me otherwise.

“I’m not convinced.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she focused on
placing the finished bacon on a paper towel covered plate and then
laying fresh strips into the skillet. When she was finished with
that task, she simply continued staring at the pan, occasionally
nudging the sizzling meat with a pair of tongs.

“Felicity?” I pressed.

She let out a sigh then looked up at me.
“Aye, I’m fine. I really am.”

“Honey, you’re sounding less convincing every
time you say it.”

Her shoulders drooped, and she gave her head
a barely perceptible shake. “I know.”

“So… Would you like to tell me the
truth?”

“I’m not sure what that is, Rowan.”

“Well, what do you think it is?”

“That’s the problem. I’m not even sure what
to think, either.”

I silently digested the comment for a short
span then asked, “Is it because I did the binding on you?”

“No,” she shook her head to punctuate the
reply.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure about that at least. I’ll
admit I’m not happy you did it, but I do understand why. The truth
is I don’t have the right to be angry with you over that. If you
recall, I once did the same thing to you for the very same
reasons.”

“That didn’t give me license to do it
though.”

“No, it didn’t. But, I would be a hypocrite
if I held it against you.”

“Okay… Then, is it something else I did?”

“No. I think it’s probably more the things
that I did.”