“Ya’ mean like physically, or like the la-la land shit?”
“The la-la land,” I echoed as I shook my head. “I’m not connecting. It’s weird.”
“It’s prob’ly just ‘cause you’re wore out, Row.”
“Maybe… But that’s never made…” Before I could finish the thought, I was interrupted by the uniformed officer returning with the crime scene log.
“Here,” he said as he came walking back toward us and offered Ben a clipboard. “You know the drill.”
My friend quickly scribbled his information on the page and then handed it to me. “So…you were sayin’?”
“Being exhausted has never affected me like this before.” I mimicked my friend’s actions and then returned the log to the officer. “Usually it’s the opposite.”
Ben shrugged. “Yeah, well you’re good for a lotta firsts, ya’know. Maybe this is just somethin’ new.”
“Maybe,” I returned. “But whatever it is, something just isn’t right.”
“Man…” he mumbled as he shook his head. “I hate when you say shit like that. It usually means somethin’ bad’s about ta’ happen, and we’re gonna be in the middle of it.”
“It’s already happening, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but I mean somethin’ worse. You’re pretty fuckin’ good for that darkest before it goes completely black crap too, ya’know.” Ben pulled the crime scene tape upward and jerked his head toward the house. “Well c’mon…”
I started to duck under but stopped halfway through and asked, “Where’s Constance?”
“She was makin’ some calls,” he answered, glancing back toward his van then back to me. “Yeah…she’s still sittin’ there. Looks like she ain’t done just yet. She’ll prob’ly be along in a bit.” As he finished the sentence, he motioned for me to keep moving.
I nodded then continued beneath the tape and started up the driveway with my friend close behind. I was still several yards from the near end of the flagstone walk when the front door of the house opened and a man I recognized to be one of the aforementioned detectives stepped out onto the porch. My wife followed behind him almost immediately.
With the exception of a few stray curls, her fiery auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing her pale ivory face. Her expression was hard, and I could see her lips moving as she spoke to the cop, but at this distance I couldn’t actually hear what she was saying. The moment I saw her I broke into a jog and yelled out, “Felicity!”
Several people on the scene turned and glanced toward me when I made the abrupt call, but my wife was the only one who mattered. The second she made eye contact she came bounding down the front stairs. Increasing my jog to a brisk run, I met her at the bottom.
“Damnaigh go saigh…” She growled the words softly in my ear as she fell into me and looped her arms around my neck. “ Damnaigh a, damnaigh a… ”
Not only was she slipping into Irish Gaelic, her normal background Celtic lilt had thickened noticeably. That was a sure sign she was either tired, angry, or both. Judging from the hour and harshness of the words themselves, my money was on the latter of the three.
“I know,” I soothed, slipping my arms about her waist and pulling her close. “I know… I said the same thing when I heard… Are you okay?”
“No,” she said, her heavy brogue wrapping itself around a voice sharply edged with sarcasm. “I’m not okay. And I won’t be okay until that ban-aibhistear is gone forever.”
“I understand…”
“I wish you’d just killed her then.”
Given our present company, I was glad that our conversation was taking place in close quarters and hushed tones, although I had no doubt we could still be heard.
I replied, “You don’t mean that.”
“Aye, but I do.”
“That wouldn’t stop Miranda, honey. You know that.”
“Aye…” she sighed heavily. “But this has to end, Rowan… It has to…” Her words were a staunch demand as opposed to a weeping lament.
“It will. It will…”
“Aye, but how?”
I sighed. Right now I was just trying to say the right thing, whether it was true or not. Unfortunately, I simply didn’t have a solid answer for her. “We’ll figure something out…”
“We’d better soon or I’ll just go kill her myself. I swear I will…”
I felt a tap on my shoulder then heard Ben’s questioning voice, “Hey… Row?”
“Yeah, Ben?” I replied, turning slightly though still holding tight to my wife.
“I…” he started hesitantly, giving us a careful once over. It was obvious he wasn’t sure quite what either of our emotional states might be at the moment, so he was treading lightly. “Look…I hate ta’ interrupt ya’… And, listen…Felicity…if ya’ still need some time or somethin’ I can back off… But…”
Hearing his comment, she immediately loosened her grip and pushed back from me enough so that she could look him in the eye. Shaking her head, she admonished, “Aye, Ben, get your fekking head out of your arse. You know I’m not some whining sap, then. I’m just pissed off.”
He huffed out a breath and nodded. “Yeah…s’pose I forgot who I was dealin’ with there for a minute… Guess I shoulda figured that out from the accent, huh?”
As usual, my wife retorted, “I don’t have an accent. You do.”
“Oh yeah, I can see you’re just fine,” he replied with a slightly relieved tone and then jerked his head toward the illuminated yard. “So, anyway, Row, ya’ wanna have a look at this before they haul the body off ta’ the morgue?”
I looked over my shoulder then reluctantly let go of Felicity and turned fully toward the horror. The crime scene investigator was still walking her grid-like search pattern around the involved section of the lawn. Thus far, not a single one of the numbered markers had left her hands, which wasn’t a big surprise. From all appearances, the dump had been quick, and since the ground was fairly dry, the chances of any collateral evidence such as shoeprints would be slim. Still, it was always a possibility, so they had to go through all the motions just in case.
Allowing my gaze to drift to the center of the tableau, I could see that a death investigator from the county medical examiner’s office had recently joined the fray. I didn’t think he could have been on-site very long because I hadn’t noticed him when we signed in. Of course, at this point there was little for him to do here, save for transport the body, which is something he appeared to be preparing to do. He had a rubberized body bag already spread out nearby, and at the moment, he was engaged in the process of paper-bagging the victim’s hands so as to protect any possible evidence.
I continued to watch in silence as the two of them worked independently of one another. Usually by this point on a scene, I would be all but blinded by a preternatural migraine, as the dead would be attempting to use my brain as a stage for an esoteric play. A disjointed horror drama, fraught with hidden messages I would then be forced to decipher. This was my unofficial job-to be a lightning rod and personal translator for tortured spirits with a story to tell. It was what I was used to doing.
But at this particular moment, I wasn’t being a very good employee.
All I could sense was a mind-numbing silence filling my skull. The constant din of voices was still squelched for the first time in many years, and in that quiet, it occurred to me that this really was what it was like to be “normal.” Then, as I stood there wondering why this was happening, a recent conversation rolled through my tired grey matter.
“Them,” she repeated. “The dead. I can make them leave you alone.”
At that moment I realized exactly who had control of the ethereal volume knob. Unfortunately, it definitely wasn’t me.
Ben gave me a verbal nudge. “Row?”
“I’m sorry,” I replied, my voice flat.
“Seriously, Kemosabe…ya’ sure you’re not goin’ Twilight Zone?”
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“Whaddaya’ mean, ya’ can’t?”
“I mean I can’t. Not anymore.”
“Are you okay?”
I sighed. “I guess that depends on what you mean by okay.”