The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation (21 page)

The combination of words caused a twinge in
my brain, so I mentally sifted through the various Bible verses I’d
committed to memory over the years.

“Was it something like, ‘For the Lord thy God
is a consuming fire, even a jealous God,’” I said aloud. My words
were slow and even. A slight note of fear rode in the crest of my
voice as I finished.

“Yeah, that was it,” the paramedic
confirmed.

I looked across the aisle at Ben.
“Deuteronomy four, twenty-four.”

My friend was already rising as he spoke,
“Tell me this asshole isn’t tall with white hair.”

“Yeah.” He was nodding vigorously. “Did you
see him out there or something?”

“You stay here, Rowan,” Ben ordered as he
started to push past the paramedic.

“Detective Storm, I think you should…” he
began to object.

“Save it,” Ben shot back.

I spoke up. “Ben, you’re in no shape to do
this.”

He had already eased the ambulance door open
and was peering out the narrow gap.

“Goddammit,” he muttered. “I can’t see ‘im.
You got a radio?”

“No, sorry,” the paramedic answered.

“Shit!” Ben spat again and then turned to
him. “Okay. Get out there and tell the first coppers you see to
stop that van. Tell ‘em it’s on my authority and that there might
be an armed suspect in the vehicle. Got me?”

“Yeah, but what’s going on?”

“I ain’t got time to explain it,” my friend
returned with an impatient bite in his voice. “Now get out there
and do what I told you to do.”

The paramedic didn’t argue, and Ben pressed
himself back against the built-in cabinets of equipment and
supplies to make room for him to exit. Ben caught the door with his
hand and continued to hold it slightly open so he could watch what
was happening.

“Do you really think that it’s Porter?” I
asked.

I had already stood up and moved over next to
him, but I couldn’t get any kind of a vantage point where I could
see anything more than a small sliver of the street and the house
next door to the one from which we’d escaped.

“Somebody torched that house while we were in
it, Row,” he offered. “The door at the top of the stairs was
blocked by somethin’, I’m sure of it. And besides, the friggin’
place went up too quick. Way too quick. My money would be on
Porter.”

“But if it IS him then that would mean he had
to have followed us here from Randy and Nancy’s place.” I tossed
out the observation.

“Yeah, prob’ly,” he agreed.

My voice began to ramp up in pitch, audibly
noting my panic. “But that would mean he knows where Felicity
is…”

“Calm down!” Ben shot back, stopping me
before I could implode. “Mandalay is with Felicity. She’s safe.
Besides, if the fucker followed us here then he’s obviously leavin’
her alone and comin’ after you.”

His logic headed off my sudden run toward
hysteria and brought me back down to a controlled level of fear. I
took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. You’re right.”

“There they go,” he muttered as he pushed the
door open a few more inches and cocked his head to the side.

I winced as a sharp pain burrowed into my
shoulder and culminated in a grating ache throughout the joint. It
felt something akin to a knife blade—or perhaps an ice pick—being
thrust directly into the bone.

“It’s him,” I said aloud.

Ben glanced back at me,
“
Twilight Zone
?”

I nodded. “Yeah.
Twilight Zone
. It’s him.”

His lips formed a grim frown; he nodded at me
and then looked back out the gap in the door. “Jeezus H. Christ!”
he exclaimed almost immediately, slamming the door completely open
and leaping out the back of the vehicle. “Stay here!”

I could hear the roar of an engine being
gunned as I followed Ben out the opening, completely ignoring his
command. My brain was beginning to adjust to my uncorrected vision,
and while detail was still muddy, I could easily make out the white
panel van as it backed toward us with a quick lurch. The rear
corner of the vehicle slammed hard into the police cruiser that was
sitting diagonally in the center of the street no more than forty
feet away from us. The high-pitched tone of metal deeply creasing
blended with the hard sound of the crash and the hailstorm rattle
of broken glass as it spilled onto the street from the car’s
headlight.

Out of reflex I jumped backward as the patrol
vehicle moved several feet toward us and rocked up at one corner.
Toward the front of the sedan, a uniformed officer lay in a heap on
the slush-covered pavement as if thoughtlessly tossed aside. I
could only assume that he had been hit by the van and that was what
had prompted Ben to reveal his presence.

The familiar sound of a handgun popping
nearby combined with the simultaneous metallic thump of the rounds
impacting the side of the panel van. The handful of onlookers who
had gathered on the perimeter were now screaming and scattering
from the scene. The firefighters and paramedics in the immediate
area ducked for cover near rescue vehicles.

The driver’s side of the large van was angled
toward me, and I stood there mesmerized by sudden slow motion that
affected the scene. I could hear my own measured breathing echoing
in my ears as the cacophony surrounding me became a muted
background roar. There was a tingle in the back of my head, and my
face felt hot and flushed. I looked up from the prone officer and
turned my head to stare coldly at the open sliding door on the cab
of the van. I didn’t need my glasses to recognize the face staring
back at me nor to see the hatred burning in his eyes.

The underlying roar rose in volume and was
lacerated by the high-pitched grind of manual transmission gears as
the extended moment fast-forwarded into real time. I heard Ben
screaming my name as he crossed in front of me and pushed me back
toward the waiting door of the ambulance. The wrenching groan of
metal tearing apart scraped through the air once more.

I stumbled and slid on the icy pavement,
catching the door to steady myself as I continued to watch the
action play out. The van was already moving forward as Ben’s arm
whipped up from underneath his coat, his bandaged hand wrapped
around his Beretta. Eldon Porter was still glaring at us from the
open door of the vehicle, and I stared back with morbid fascination
as my friend took aim.

An ye harm none. The snippet of the Wiccan
Rede passed through my mind as I watched. It was the simplest of
instructions and a covenant by which I endeavored to live my life.
But now, it was something I was unable to embrace. I wanted Eldon
Porter to be dead. I wanted Ben to empty his handgun into the
bastard just as he had done with the lock on the basement door. I
wanted him eradicated from existence, and the hatred I felt for him
burned inside me hotter with each passing second.

From where I stood, the shot was clear. Ben
was even closer. I started to breathe a heavy sigh of relief
because I knew that at this distance my friend could not miss. It
was all about to be over. The nightmare was coming to an end.

I jerked my head quickly to the right as
several shots sounded from the opposite side. I saw the uninjured
Wood Dell officer firing once again into the panel van as it
lurched forward, allowing the patrol car to drop back down on the
front corner.

I heard an almost anguished expletive to my
left and whipped my gaze back. When my eyes fell on Ben, he was
standing there slapping a fresh magazine into his weapon and
jacking the slide back without having fired a single round.

I screamed, “What happened?!”

The tires on the panel van had bit through
the slush and were now making a wet squeal against the pavement as
the vehicle sped away.

“Goddammit!” my friend exclaimed once again,
as he centered the muzzle of his weapon on the van and tracked it.
However, the immediate opportunity for a clear shot had passed as
it was already rounding the corner. “Goddammit!”

He lowered the handgun and then slipped it
back into the shoulder rig as he turned. “Empty!” he shouted. “I
never fuckin’ reloaded after we got out of the basement!” His face
was contorted in a painful mask of self-loathing.

I didn’t blame him for what had happened, but
I was infuriated. Porter was getting away, and we had missed a
prime opportunity to stop him.

“Jeezus, I don’t believe this!” my friend
screamed as he ran toward the disabled police cruiser.

I released my grip on the ambulance door and
chased after him, dodging a paramedic who was racing for the downed
officer. I fought for steady footing on the grey slop that covered
the street and slipped several times before making it the
thirty-odd feet to where he was standing. He had cranked the
passenger door open on the patrol car and was speaking into the
microphone of the police radio.

I listened as he identified himself and then
began describing the van. The last thing I heard him tell the
dispatcher was the direction the vehicle had been headed and the
street on which it was traveling.

I didn’t hear anything else because I was
lying on my side in the icy slush with the metallic tang of
electricity coating my tongue and my body tensed in a violent
seizure.

It’s dark.

It’s cold.

I try to move, and then I remember that I
cannot.

How long have I been here? I can’t remember.
It seems like forever. A day? A week? A month?

I’m confused.

I’m trying to think. Where am I?

Where am I? Hell, who am I?

My head hurts. My whole body aches.

Fear grips me, and I don’t know why.

What is it?

Why am I afraid?

The feeling passes, and I just forget. It
seems easier than trying to remember. It doesn’t hurt as much.

I’m uncomfortable sitting here.

I try to move again.

That’s right, I can’t move. I wonder
why.

My hands wriggle, but when they do, my
wrists hurt. They are sore.

I can move my feet. Not much, just a little.
My ankles hurt just like my wrists.

I hear water splash, and I can feel it on my
feet.

Why are my feet in water?

Good question. Where am I again?

I listen.

It is quiet here in the dark.

Almost too quiet.

I don’t like it.

I wait.

I listen.

Footsteps.

I hear footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate.

I keep listening and try to remember who I
am.

T…

Tee?…

Tuh?…

Tay?…

Two?…

Two times two is four.

Two times three is six.

Two times four is twelve.

Twelve?

That’s right, isn’t it?

Two times four is twelve.

Two times twelve is sixteen.

Sixteen?

I’ll start over. Two times two is
eleven.

No, that’s not right.

What was I trying to remember?

I give up.

My mouth tastes funny. Metal. Weird. Hmph. I
can remember what metal is, why can’t I remember what time it
is?

It sure is dark.

There’s that sound again. It’s like a motor
running. I wonder what it is?

Fear.

Cold terror.

* * * * *

Muted sirens were warbling in a frantic bid
for attention, and they were filtering into my ears. I was cold,
and I felt myself physically shiver. I was laying flat on my back,
and there was something resembling a thin layer of permeable warmth
draped over me. It felt like it might be a blanket, but it
definitely wasn’t the one I had on my bed at home.

So if I wasn’t at home in my bed, I guess
that ruled out this whole day being a nightmare.

My shirt felt damp along my right side and
across my shoulders. My pants weren’t much better. The chill seemed
to seep in deeper and even drop a few degrees lower in the places
where the wet clothing touched my skin.

I twitched and felt a fork of pain spread
from one end of my body to the other. My head was pounding. My
shoulder was aching. My knees hurt. My face was sore… And, it
didn’t stop there. I finally gave up on taking inventory once the
individually identifiable aches and pains advanced past ten.

A familiar metallic tang had parked itself
somewhere in the region of the back of my tongue. On the front
half, my taste buds were being assaulted by the unmistakable woody
flavor of a tongue depressor. All of it was underscored by the
salty taste of blood.

Quiet voices and the crackle of a two-way
radio eased in beneath the sirens, and an occasional thump or bump
would fill in the gaps. There was an overwhelming sense of motion
vibrating through my prone body, and I decided that I must be in
the back of an ambulance. It was a new experience for me, and I had
nothing to compare it to, but it seemed logical considering the
sensory input I was working with.

I heard myself groan and then felt my stomach
turn a quick flip as my body pitched to the side. At first, I
thought I was going to fall, but then I felt myself pressed against
straps that crossed my chest and legs. My muscles tensed anyway,
and I paid the price as my various aches snapped to attention,
letting me know beyond any doubt that they were still intact and
intent on continuing to produce the agony for which they were
conceived.

I groaned again.

“You awake, Row?” I heard Ben’s gravelly
voice over the mélange of sounds bouncing around the inside of the
vehicle.

I started out by slowly opening one eye and
rolling it around until I found his face. Then I opened the other
and gained at least some sense of depth perception. I focused in
and just stared back at him mutely.