Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (33 page)

As I watch, she lifts her other arm, bringing a pale
hand into the air before me, index finger stiffly extended as the
others curl against her palm. As she stretches out, I follow her
finger with my eyes, turning my head slowly to gaze upon where she
is pointing. Sitting atop a metal post, directly in my line of
sight, I find a rectangular sign that reads South Millston
Street.

The faceless woman tugs on my hand, and I turn to
see that she has already stepped onto the curb. She starts up the
leaf-strewn walkway, and I follow her without question.

As we silently make our way up the crumbling stairs,
time shifts, leaping forward, then back, then forward again. There
is no warning, yet there is no surprise.

It simply is.

I am standing in an empty room. The walls bear soot
marks from the fire. There is water damage to the sheetrock,
causing it to warp and crumble, leaving holes that reveal the bare
wooden studs beneath. Trash litters the floor, and a heavy coat of
grime and dust seems to coat every surface. I know that I am in the
house.

I glance around and see that the woman is now
gone.

I understand that she has brought me here for a
reason but has left it unspoken. I am beginning to feel like I am
acting out a scene from a twisted parody of a Dickens novel. As if
the ghost of murders past, present, and future has brought me to
witness my own fate.

I wonder at the feeling.

Curiosity at my lucid state creeps in and tries to
usurp the vision before me. The grainy tableau shifts and
flickers.

A sharp odor assaults my nostrils—metallic, harsh,
and unique as it overwhelms me. It is liver being cooked. I feel a
thin wave of nausea tickle the back of my throat. I can tell by the
stench that it isn’t being properly prepared.

The softness touches my hand again.

The faceless woman is pulling on me now. She seems
impatient, as if dealing with a small child who won’t listen.

I realize that I am the reason for her irascible
state.

I follow her as she tugs, leading me through the
trash-scattered room and deeper into the house. We stop before a
door. It is partially burned. A pattern of thin cracks spreads out
along the edge of the charred wood in a scaly pattern, like those
on a burnt out shard of blackened log from a fireplace.

I look at the woman and she merely points.

I turn back to the door then reach out and touch the
surface. The fire-ravaged wood is stone-like to the touch. I grasp
the handle and pull it toward me. The barrier opens, and I see a
long flight of stairs descending into blackness.

I look to my guide, but once again she is no longer
there, so I bring my gaze back to the stairs. As I stand there, for
the first time since crossing the veil, I hear something besides
the sound of my own heart.

Wafting up from the darkness comes an androgynous
voice. “Just a little sting… Don’t worry it will all be over
soon…very soon… I envy you. To be chosen like this. It’s such an
honor… I wish it were me…”

I feel a slight pressure on my back.

I turn around and find the faceless woman standing
there. Without a word she thrusts her palms outward against my
chest, and I fall backward into the darkness.

A barrage of words assaulted my ears with an
unmistakable Celtic accent wrapped firmly around them. “Damn your
eyes, Rowan Linden Gant!”

Behind the crystal clear exclamation, a flood of
other voices were chattering, yelling, and generally creating an
unintelligible cacophony. Some sounded authoritative, while others
came across as excited, and still others seemed almost
conversational. In any event, they blended together to create a
boisterous hum in the cold air that only served to add to my
disorientation.

My head was pounding again, my too brief respite
from the migraine now over with a vengeance. However, that wasn’t
the only pain with which I was forced to contend. My shoulders were
arched up into the sides of my neck, and it seemed that someone was
manhandling me. I could feel knuckles digging into my chest as a
pair of arms hugged beneath my own. It took me a second to realize
I was still moving backwards, but instead of a sensation of falling
as before, I could tell I was now being dragged.

“Is he bleedin’?” Ben Storm’s gruff voice penetrated
the overbearing murmur.

“I can’t see,” Felicity said. “His shoulder is in
the way…”

“Get that paramedic over here!” my friend
shouted.

My wife’s soft hand slipped into the fold between my
neck and shoulder then pulled away.

“No blood,” she announced. “Thank the Gods.”

We had stopped moving, but Ben was still holding me
up in a bear hug from behind. Disorientation was now giving way to
a thin thread of lucidity, and I seemed to be remembering where I
was. Of course, knowing my location didn’t keep me from being
completely out of synch with my surroundings. After such an intense
trip through the veil between the worlds, my mind was still trying
to sort out what was real here, what was real there, and the in
between where it all overlapped. This was far from a new experience
for me, but old hat or not, it was never an easy process.

It crossed my mind that it would probably be a good
idea to let them know that I was okay, instead of letting them run
amok as they seemed to be doing at the moment. I tried to say
something but couldn’t seem to get the words out. It was then I
realized that Ben was holding so tightly around my chest that
breathing, in and of itself, was more than enough effort on its
own. Talking was simply out of the question. However, before I
could attempt to wave my hand or try to grab their attention some
other way, a fresh voice entered the mix.

“We need to get his jacket off,” the paramedic
ordered.

The pressure released on my chest as Ben let go and
supported me with a single arm while the paramedic quickly stripped
off my coat. I immediately wheezed in a deep breath then exhaled
heavily. After drawing in another, I started to speak, but
apparently I still wasn’t able to form actual words, and all that
came out was a moan. By then, they were already lowering me onto
the asphalt. A shadow immediately came over me as I felt a pair of
hands groping around my neck and another pushing up my sleeve.

I sputtered as I tried to demand that they stop, but
for my trouble I was treated to a flashlight in my face and a pair
of gloved fingers in my mouth as my head was tilted back.

“Labored respirations, but there’s no obstruction,”
the paramedic barked. “Get the oxygen.”

A soft hand pressed against my forehead as my wife
brought her face in close to mine. “Rowan, can you hear me?”

“Ma’am,” the paramedic said, trying to push her
away. “You need to step back so we can work.”

As he pushed her, I was already moving my arms to
fend him off before he hurt her or could continued gagging me. I
slapped his hand from Felicity then grabbed his wrist and wrestled
his other hand away from my mouth. I was still out of breath from
the bear hug, but I managed to suck in a fresh lungful of air and
finally form words that made some kind of sense as I groaned,
“Better watch it. She’ll make your hair fall out.”

“Rowan?” Felicity was up in my face again.

“Yeah…”

Her concern made a quick metamorphosis into anger,
“What the hell were you thinking?”

I gulped air again and said, “That you were going to
be really pissed.”

“Aye,” she replied. “You’re right about that.”

“We still need to check you out, Mister Gant,” the
paramedic told me.

I tried to shake my head as I objected, “I’m
fine.”

“Best see if you can do something about his thick
skull while you’re at it then,” my wife snipped as she pulled
herself up to her feet and stalked off.

I was going to have to worry about patching things
up with her later. Right now, I needed to talk to Ben.

“Get off me, dammit,” I exclaimed as I pushed the
paramedic away and levered myself up into a sitting position. “Ben?
Where’s Ben?”

My friend’s voice hit my ears. “I’m right here,
Kemosabe. You really better let ‘em check you out.”

“There’s no time for that,” I said, as I started
struggling to my feet.

With a quizzical look on his face, Ben reached out
and gave me a hand up. “What’s up, you see another dead swan or
somethin’ over in la-la land?”

“No,” I said as I focused on the grainy memory
looping through my mind and rushed to get the words out in a
frantic declaration. “I saw the killer’s address.”

“Is Judith all right?” Captain Albright
demanded.

I had barely finished blurting out the revelation
about the address to Ben when her words came at me from behind. I
turned to find her staring at me with the same look of concern she
had been wearing earlier, but there was no mistaking the thread of
hopefulness in her voice.

“I don’t know,” I replied, shaking my head. “I
didn’t see her.”

“What do you mean you didn’t see her?” she
insisted.

“I mean I didn’t see her,” I replied before swinging
back around to face Ben and fire off, “Twenty-three oh two South
Millston Street. The killer is there. Right now.”

“You sure?” Ben asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said.

Albright stepped around and grabbed me by the
collar. With urgent panic in her tone, she shouted, “Damn you,
Gant! Where is my daughter?”

I reached up and grasped her wrists as I started to
respond, but the moment the question sank in I hesitated. Instead
of struggling, I simply stood there motionless and stared back into
her contorted face. Her outburst brought an instantaneous halt to
all conversation around me, or so it seemed.

After a few seconds that felt as if they dragged on
for minutes, Ben cleared his throat and said, “Um, Captain… Don’t
ya’ mean niece?”

Albright didn’t even bother to look at him. A dim
flicker of realization over her slip showed in her eyes, but rather
than respond to my friend’s question, she let out a small shriek
then pushed me. I stumbled back but maintained my footing.

“Is Judith with the killer?” she spat.

“Maybe…” I replied, shaking my head. “I don’t know.
All I can say is that I think he had someone…”

She cut me off. “You think?”

“Barbara, I told you I didn’t see her. I just heard
the killer talking to someone.”

“Are you certain it wasn’t Judith?”

“Whoever it was didn’t say anything,” I replied.
“But, you’re missing the point here. I saw the killer’s address and
yes, he has someone with him. Don’t you think you should send
someone to at least check out what I’m telling you?”

She huffed out a heavy breath and glared at me.
After a moment she looked over to my friend and said, “He’s your
devil worshipper, Storm. Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

I sighed and dropped my forehead into my hand. I
couldn’t win with this woman no matter what I did. I had to bite my
tongue, but I knew getting into another altercation with her would
just be wasting valuable time.

“Listen, Row… This address you gave me. Is it around
here?” Ben asked, gesturing with a sweep of his arm.

“I don’t know,” I told him.

“But you’re sure about the number and the
street?”

“Yes.” I nodded vigorously. “Absolutely.”

“Okay, what I can do is call it in
and have dispatch run a search on Millston Streets,” he offered.
“But here’s the problem—we either need a warrant or some serious
probable cause to kick down a door. Like I’ve told ya’ before, you
and the
Twilight Zone
don’t qualify on either count.”

“Hey, if I remember correctly, it was the police who
insisted on my involvement in this,” I countered. “Especially you,
Barbara.”

“I know,” my friend replied. “I’m just sayin’ this
is a sticky situation. And if you’re wrong and what we end up with
is a grandma sittin’ there readin’ ‘er Bible…”

“I’m not wrong, Ben,” I appealed before he could
finish. “Besides, it’s an old, boarded up house. It looked like it
had been burned at one time, so you aren’t going to find a grandma
with a Bible there. Just a killer and a potential victim, unless
you keep screwing around and let her become a statistic.”

“Chill out… Now, you’re sure about all this?”

“Goddammit, will you stop asking me that?” I shot
back. “Why the hell are you doubting me all of a sudden?”

He reached up and smoothed back his
hair then rested his hand on the side of his neck while gesturing
with the other. “No offense, white man, but this ain’t how you
usually work. Normally, ya’ don’t just hand us an address and say
go get the bad guy. Ya’ tell me somethin’ like ya’ saw a bunch of
blood and a flash of light, or a spirit makes ya’ write bad poems
and ya’ have nightmares about flyin’ monkeys or some shit.” He
shrugged. “Somethin’ off the wall like that… Ya’know…
Twilight Zone
…”

“So maybe I’m getting better at this,” I snapped.
“Are you going to completely discount what I’m saying just because
I’m being specific this time?”

“Okay… Okay… Calm down.”

“How can I calm down? I just told you where to find
the killer and that he has someone with him. But instead of doing
something about it, you’re just standing here giving me the third
degree.”

He glanced over at Albright who was remaining
completely silent.

“Look, Row, I told ya’, we’ll check it out,” he
replied, turning back to me and pulling out his notebook. “Gimme
that exact address again.”

“Twenty-three oh two South Millston Street,” I
repeated.

“Twenty-three oh two…” he mumbled back to me.
“You’re…”

My frustrated retort was already poised on the end
of my tongue, but fortunately he stopped himself before completing
the question.