Rowan Gant - Perfect Trust Part 11

I might have simply given up, gone ahead without her, and then suffered the consequences later if it hadn't been for one simple fact-I needed Ben in order to get into the morgue, and his tenuous agreement with the idea was contingent upon her being present to keep an 'ethereal eye' on me just in case I started to slip.

At one point, in a failed attempt to change his mind, I had made the mistake of again mentioning the fact that Felicity may not be able to do anything about it whether she was there or not. For that remark I promptly ended up working double time not only to win over my wife, but to re-convince my friend as well.

When all was said and done, it was already half past eleven when we climbed into Ben's van and made the trek downtown. The intensity of my own stress level finally decreased a fraction as soon as we were under way. Unfortunately, the quiet ride also allowed for earlier forgotten nuisances to return full force.

I was completely out of nicotine gum, and my inexplicable desire for a cigarette was now reaching unnatural proportions. What was worse, I still had no idea why the cravings had come upon me. I hadn't even been this bad when I was actually addicted to them. It was becoming increasingly harder for me to keep the outward manifestations at bay. At the moment I was only slightly to one side of irritable and I was traveling directly toward it at high speed.

The impending collision wasn't going to be good at all."You aren't planning on doin' any of that hocus pocus stuff where you become 'one with the corpse' are you?" Ben asked me as he levered the gears.h.i.+ft into park and switched off the van's ignition.

"That's not something I actually 'plan,' Ben," I answered with an impatient edge to my voice. "It just has a tendency to happen."

"It might not if you kept yourself grounded," my wife expressed.

"I do."

"Yeah, right." Her voice held more than a hint of sarcasm.

"Don't even go there."

Felicity paused for a moment, obviously taken aback by the sudden bite of my words. "Excuse me?"

"Forget it," I answered, shaking my head. "Just forget it."

Emotionally, I was poised to bite her head off. Logically, I knew she was correct and that I had no valid reason to do so. But, that bit of reality didn't make the urge any easier to quell.

I simply couldn't afford to take it any further. If I let the comment bait me, it would only serve to re-kindle the argument we'd just barely settled less than thirty minutes ago. With all of us on edge as we were, such an altercation could turn ugly fast.

Given my current state, very ugly, very fast.

"Look," Ben interjected. "I've had enough arguin' for one night. Now, the last time we were here I seem to remember you havin' to come outside to get away from all the ooga-booga's or whatever you see in there."

"Lost souls," I offered flatly.

"Fine. Lost souls, ooga-booga's, whatever, it's all the same to me 'cause I can't see 'em. I just wanna know if all that is gonna send you over the edge or somethin'

like last time."

"They weren't the real problem last time," I explained, fighting to keep the annoyance out of my voice. "It was the fact that I was channeling the actual death of a victim that..."

"Don't split hairs with me, Row," he interrupted. "I need to know whether to take you in there or start the f.u.c.kin' van and get outta here right now."

"We already talked about this back at the house, Ben," I reb.u.t.ted harshly.

"Yeah, well B.F.D. Is it gonna be a problem or not?"

I gave up and told him what he wanted to hear. "They won't be a problem."

Apparently, he was a little short on trust at the moment.

"Is he yankin' my chain?" He directed his question to Felicity."If we take some precautions, I think it will be okay."

"You THINK it'll be okay?"

"Aye, what do you want? I don't do this every day then." A mild spark of anger flashed in her voice. She was tired; we all were. Her own irritability was showing just as Ben's was, and I'm certain my uncharacteristic moodiness wasn't helping in the least. As I had suspected it would, the night was getting longer by the moment.

"Okay, okay," Ben shot back defensively. "I'm not exactly an expert on this Twilight Zone c.r.a.p myself y'know."

"Are we going to sit here and fog up the windows or are we going to go in?" I asked impatiently.

"When I'm ready," Ben returned. "Why don't you tell me again just what it is that you're expecting to find out?"

"We've already discussed this."

"Yeah, and we're discussin' it again."

Truth was, I didn't really have a good answer for the question. All I knew was that someone was communicating with me from the other side, and all indicators pointed to that someone being Debbie Schaeffer. Coming here was the only way I knew to 'complete the call,' so to speak.

"I don't know." I gave him the only answer I could. "A clue or something. You know, it's not like this is the first time we've ever done this."

"Yeah, I know," he affirmed, "but in the times I've seen you do this I've also seen it go south. Way south. You've almost died on me twice. Three's a charm, white man."

"Think positive," I grumbled.

"I am thinking positive. I'm positive I ain't willin' to trade your life for a handful of flaky clues in a murder investigation."

"Look," I sighed, desperate to at least get out of the confines of the van. "It took me half the night to convince you two that we should come down here, so can we just dispense with this never ending 'committee meeting' ?"

"I just wanna make sure we're doin' the right thing here," my friend expressed.

'"Cause somethin' in my gut tells me I should put some distance between you and this place and not look back. I tend to trust my gut."

"That's just you being overprotective, AGAIN," I spat.

"There's no such thing as being overprotective when dyin' is one of the possibilities."

"Well, that's why you wanted Felicity here, right?"

"Don't be dragging me into this, then," my wife declared. "I want to hear you rationalize this too."I hadn't been backed completely into a corner, yet, but it was getting very close.

I'd had my fill of the ping-pong oration I'd had to repeatedly deliver just to get this far. I was exhausted. I was ready to kill for a cigarette. Moreover, I was getting very tired of being treated like a child. My resolve was set in concrete, and I wasn't about to let them make me turn back now.

I knew that exploding wasn't going to get me anywhere, even though it was what my knee jerk impulse was telling me to do. I drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling heavily. In my head I'd made a connection that they apparently had not. Thus far, I'd managed to hold it back as my one trump card and it appeared that now would be a good time to toss it onto the table.

"Look," I verbally threatened, "we can either do it this way, right now, or we can just wait until I go out sleepwalking again and see where that takes us."

"What's that got to do with it?" My wife shook her head slightly as confusion contorted her brow.

"Yeah, white man," Ben added, "you wanna expand on that?"

"Debbie Schaeffer went missing two months ago, right?"

"Yeah, so?" he returned.

"So, I started sleepwalking two months ago. You do the math."

My friend puffed out his cheeks and expelled a deep breath as he sent one large hand up to ma.s.sage the back of his neck.

"s.h.i.+t. I just can't win with you," was all he said.

Luck seemed to be on our side for a change, as Ben knew the security guard on duty for this s.h.i.+ft, so there were no prying questions or even odd looks. The two simply exchanged pleasantries, including what I'm certain was a tired joke about cadavers escaping, and then we were in. The watchman seemed perfectly content to return to the game of solitaire that was burning itself into the screen on the computer at the reception desk.

The dim lighting at this time of night lent an eerie feel to the corridors of the City Morgue. Pale shadows tempted your mind into playing s.a.d.i.s.tic tricks on your eyes, seeing movement where there was nothing to move.

Seeing light where there was dark.

Seeing dark where there was light.

In reality, some of those s.a.d.i.s.tic tricks weren't tricks at all, but anomalies within the veil between the worlds.

If they chose to listen, even those with closed minds could hear the tortured cries of spirits in transition-some in acceptance of their fate, some in utter disbelief, but, all with one thing in common. Each of them was trapped between the worlds of life and death, never making it fully to the other side.Unfortunately for me, I didn't have the luxury of that simple choice. A relentless cacophony echoed from the walls to a.s.sault me even before we pa.s.sed through the door. It was much like walking into a crowded party; only this party was one where most of the guests are screaming and sobbing with pain. It took almost everything I had to put up a mental s.h.i.+eld and block them out. Even then they remained, a static-plagued radio, tuned between stations and set at low volume, interrupted every now and again with a burst of angry noise.

A brief glance told me that Felicity was feeling a similar buzz inside her own head.

Earlier this year I had actually spent the night in this place when the worst snowstorm in a decade had brought Saint Louis to all but a complete standstill. Ben and I had been trapped here with the Chief Medical Examiner and a severely charred corpse whose spirit staunchly refused to move on. My ethereal dealing with that victim was yet another piece of the puzzle that made up the current fractured state of my psyche. I can say without a doubt that to date, that had been the longest night of my life.

In the back we were met by the night morgue attendant. Ben simply flashed his badge and told him that we needed to view the remains of Debbie Schaefer. The pallid young man never even uttered a word, and simply handed a clipboard to my friend so he could sign us in. That completed, he mutely led us into the cold storage area, flipping on the overhead lights as we entered.

The right wall of the tiled room was lined with rectangular stainless steel doors.

Each of them was a gateway to an individual compartment where a corpse would spend its stay with the Medical Examiner. On the opposite wall there were two large sinks, each equipped with a table capable of holding a body. Here were also such things as examination gloves, and implements I wasn't the least bit interested in knowing the purpose of.

At the back of the room was another set of doors which led, as I was told later, to the garage which was accessible from the back of the building. This was where recovered bodies were brought in, and would begin their journey through the various stages of the postmortem process.

The attendant took us to a wheeled table positioned near the individual storage compartments. On it was a rubberized body bag, an identification tag affixed to the heavy-duty zipper pull. The faint malodor of decay had been noticeable ever since we entered the back area of the building. Upon entry into the cold room the intensity of the strange funk began to increase several fold. Now, as our proximity to the remains was within a matter of feet, the foulness was thick in the atmosphere.

"That's great, thanks," Ben told the attendant who was just starting to pull on a pair of latex gloves. "We can handle it from here."

The young man stopped in the middle of sheathing his hands. Frozen in place like a statue he simply stared at Ben as if waiting for him to say that he was only kidding."Really." My friend nodded and coughed, wrinkling his nose at the smell. "We'll call you when we're finished."

I was right there with my friend, and I'm sure Felicity wasn't far behind. My stomach was already starting to churn and it was all I could do to keep from s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up my face in disgust.

Giving a slight shrug the attendant pointed toward the sinks and displaying perceptible effort, muttered, "Gloves."

With the one syllable utterance out of the way, he left us alone in the chilled room.

"That was bizarre," Felicity commented quietly after the young man disappeared out the door.

"If ya' ask me, all of 'em that work here are f.u.c.kin' nut cases," Ben a.s.serted as he stepped across the room and began pulling a pair of oversized latex gloves onto his hands. With a nod, he indicated for us to do the same then turned his attention directly on my wife. "You said there were some precautions we need to take for this?"

"Do you think he's going to come back anytime soon?" She c.o.c.ked her head toward the door.

For some wholly bizarre and unknown reason I took great notice of the way her hair almost s.h.i.+mmered in the light when she tossed her head. The perfection of her auburn mane as it cascaded down her back in a fiery plume of loosely spiraling curls. The way it softly brushed against the ivory skin of her neck when she tilted her head to the side.

"You mean mister personality? Not likely," he answered.

"It would be best if he doesn't," she continued. "Because what I need to do might look a bit strange to someone who doesn't understand."

"What, like he's not strange enough on his own?" Ben asked rhetorically.

"Aye, but that's beside the point."

I watched her closely-observing the way the layered cut of her hair framed her face and accented her dainty features. I was amazed that I had never noticed it in such intense detail before.

"So how strange are you gonna get?"

"Not terribly. I just need to cast a spell."

"Cast a spell? I thought you guys didn't do s.h.i.+t like that."

"No," Felicity explained, "we DO cast spells, just not the way most people thinkwe do."

"So you're not gonna whip out some bat wings and c.r.a.p like that, right?"

"Just some salt, Ben."

She used the back of her hand to brush a tousle of her feathery coif back from the side of her face, and I was entranced as she let it linger there.

"Salt?" he queried with a shake of his head.

"Salt."

"Where are you gonna get salt?"

Felicity rummaged about in one of the many pockets of her photo vest and when she withdrew her hand she was holding some individual condiment packets of the substance. "Not exactly sea salt, but it'll do."