All Acts Of Pleasure Part 31

Just as I pulled open the door, the displaced Southern voice was screaming from her throat. But, even in my panicked haste, I easily made out the words "No! Stop!"

I didn't bother to pay them any heed.

CHAPTER 27:.

With everything that had been happening in that room, my attentions were obviously occupied. Even so, given the amount of noise I had made along with the various sounds emitting from my wife, it was a wonder the dogs hadn't been trying to tear down the door. That was something I would have had no choice but to notice, preoccupied or not. But now, in a sudden flash of gut-churning retrospect, their presence was something I realized had been conspicuously absent. Still, due to the circ.u.mstances, it hadn't even dawned on me that they were nowhere around until that very moment.

As if I wasn't biting back enough fear to begin with, a new one added itself to my list. Even though there was no doubt in my mind that unless I could bring an end to this possession, my wife was going to do everything in her power to kill me, a fresh concern took to rampantly overtaking my mind: What had she done to the dogs?

I quickly twisted through the opening and slammed the bedroom door shut behind me, but the lock was on the other side, and I had no way to barricade it. I knew it wasn't going to stop her if she came after me, which I was betting she would, but I hoped that it would at least slow her down. I immediately spun and lurched down the hallway as I was plunged into darkness, my eyes fighting to adjust as I bounced from the walls and tripped over my own panic-stricken feet. I wasn't hearing any movement behind me-yet. However, I was certain it would be coming at any moment.

For some reason I still couldn't stop thinking about the dogs. I suppose it was more comforting to be concerned for another being's life instead of my own. Whatever the motive, it bounced between the forefront of my brain and the pit of my stomach. I didn't know to exactly what extent Miranda's cruelty reached, except with regard to human beings of the male gender. Since killing animals is sometimes a part of a serial killer profile, I certainly wasn't going to put it past her. All I could really do, however, was hope that I was getting ahead of myself.

As callous as it felt, I fought to put the fear out of my mind because right now my brain had no business doing anything other than figuring out a way for both Felicity and me to survive this nightmare.

My wife's commandeered voice, still thick with the Southern accent and now filled with anger, was bellowing from the other side of the door, demanding that I stop. I wasn't about to pay it heed. Of course, at this particular moment that was just about the only thing I knew for a fact that I was or wasn't going to do. My next move was still a mystery, even to me. Her demand was followed by a shriek and a small crash, as if something had just been launched at the wall. I just kept moving.

The fresh blisters on my chest were still burning, sending hot pains inward through my flesh to join every other ache that was plaguing me. My hands were stinging and had grown sticky with the blood I already knew was seeping from the abrasions. The muscles in my arms throbbed from being stretched and overworked during my escape from the bonds. Tying it all together was the almost blinding pain in my skull. In the back of my mind, I knew grounding and centering would probably go a long way toward at least dulling that last angry stab, but I wasn't exactly in a position for such an exercise.

Exiting the hallway, I immediately slammed into the corner of a chair, catching it with my hip and yelping as I careened from it before stumbling out into the living room. Going from the lighted bedroom straight to the darkness of the rest of the house was playing havoc with my sight, not to mention that my eyes were still blurred and watering from the torture I'd just endured. If that weren't enough, my gla.s.ses were still on the nightstand.

I suddenly noticed that the atmosphere in the house actually felt warm against my skin. Since it was still dark, I knew the offset on the thermostat shouldn't have caused the temperature to rise just yet. It was then I realized that the warmth was relative. The bedroom had simply been colder than the rest of the house as a side effect of its unwanted ethereal occupant.

I aimed myself to the right, heading through the dining room and cras.h.i.+ng against the table then stubbing my toe on a chair leg. I knew it wasn't only the darkness causing me to keep falling over myself; it was the rampant fear as well.

Quite the opposite of what Helen Storm had a.s.sured me when I had relayed my suspicions about my dream, I truly was afraid of my wife. Not just of her, but for her as well. Of all the horrors I had so far experienced in my life, and they were countless, this combination was the worst of them. So much so, that even my body had stopped responding to the signals from my brain.

I tried to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and managed only to foul them somewhat with the blood. I pressed forward, trying to control my wild frenzy and blinking hard as my eyes continued adjusting to the dimness. There was a dull light coming from the kitchen, so I headed for it, still totally unsure what my plan of action was to be other than putting distance between the two of us.

For a split second, I thought of simply bolting out the back door, climbing into my truck and leaving. That would certainly get me out of harm's way. Of course, it would also mean turning around and getting my keys, but that wasn't the worst of it. If I left, it would mean Felicity would then be alone, except for the Lwa inhabiting her. I knew from experience that wasn't a stellar idea. The last time it had happened, she disappeared, and it had taken several hours to find her and almost cost a man his life. In reality, even finding her then had only been accomplished by the grace of pure luck.

My only option was to stay and face her down. Even with what she had done to me, I was still stronger than her and had both a height and weight advantage. Of course, the last time I had taken that particular path, she had fought back hard, and as much as I hated to admit it, she won. The simple fact that gave her the upper hand was that she had been perfectly willing to inflict damage. I, however, was not.

It was no different this time around. It didn't matter what she had done to me so far, or would do in the coming minutes, because I knew it really wasn't her. I simply couldn't bring myself to harm the vessel I knew as my wife, no matter what the consequences for myself.

I half fell through the doorway of the kitchen, grabbing the frame and swinging myself around behind the wall where I finally stopped and waited. Listening intently, at first all I could pick up was my own pounding heart and heaving breaths. I reached for my chest and flinched as my fingers brushed the blistering burns. Then I continued to hug the wall as I strained to hear anything more than the sounds made by my own body.

I furtively glanced up toward the microwave and saw the large, luminous numbers on the digital clock. They read 3:47. Turning my head back toward the doorway, I pressed myself against the cool wall and watched the darkness as my breathing began to slow and my heart rate s.h.i.+fted down from overdrive and into the lower gears of panic. I kept listening, but still, I heard nothing.

My fear was still fully intact, but it had become a manageable burden as I concentrated on picking up auditory cues. However, as I stood there, a new hollowness filled the pit of my stomach. My revolver was loaded and resting in my sock drawer back in the bedroom. Felicity knew right where it was, and that meant so did the Lwa. While I suspected she wasn't through torturing me for her pleasure just yet, she had also demonstrated a definite instinct for survival. I could easily conceive of a bullet shattering my future, and Felicity's as well.

Still hearing nothing out of the ordinary, my mind started to race. If she actually had the gun in hand, she was liable to take one of two different paths. Either she would come around the corner at any moment and splatter me across the front of the refrigerator, or she would simply sit and wait for me to come to her. I suppose it all depended on whether or not she was afraid I would actually leave.

Either way, simply sitting here waiting wasn't accomplis.h.i.+ng anything.

"Think, Rowan, think!" I admonished myself in a low whisper.

Unfortunately, ridding oneself of malevolent spirits wasn't as easy as it was made to look on television. Three drop-dead gorgeous sisters, clad in the latest fas.h.i.+ons, whipping up a "potion" from ingredients they had lying about the attic, then vanquis.h.i.+ng evil without mussing their hair or smudging their makeup was undeniably a spectacular visual. But, it was also flat out Hollywood fiction.

I knew there wasn't much of anything in this kitchen that was going to help me in that respect. Or, was there? I quickly flashed on the last time Felicity had been inhabited by the Lwa when we were in her Jeep. My remedy that time had a stolen bit of spellwork, and I had attempted to force her to drink salt water. The basis was sound. Salt would purify and protect. The water as well, while also acting as a rapid delivery system. I hadn't succeeded that time, so I had no idea if it would really work. However, I couldn't help but remember how agitated the Lwa had been when she became aware of what I was trying to do, so apparently I had been on to something.

I looked over at the clock on the microwave and saw that it read 3:54. Seven minutes had pa.s.sed while I stood there pondering a solution, and still nothing had happened. Shooting another glance at the dark doorway, I inched away from the wall and padded slowly toward the sink, keeping a nervous eye focused over my shoulder. It wasn't until I was actually up against the counter and reaching for the cabinet that I took my gaze away, and then it was only for a second.

Rummaging about, quietly as I could manage, I wrapped my hand around a sport bottle bearing the logo of a local computer repair company. A promotional giveaway I had picked up at a convention some time ago. Uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the top while shooting random glances toward the doorway, I began to fill the container with water.

The bottle had reached almost half full when I cast my eyes to the end of the room yet again. Finding it clear, I looked back to the faucet. A heartbeat later the sound of a soft thump hit my ears, coming from directly behind me. My heart instantly fluttered, jumping into my throat and staying there as my knees went weak, and the pit of my stomach tightened into a knot. My grip automatically went limp, sending the bottle to clunk down into the sink and begin spilling its contents. Whether out of reflex, fear, or my knees just stopped working, I cannot say, but I fell to the floor and stayed there.

I listened, waiting for the telltale click of the hammer on the revolver but none came. Finally, after a frightful pause, I heard a soft meow. Slowly rolling to the side and looking up, I saw Emily, our calico, perched on the edge of the island and looking down at me with feline curiosity in her expressive face. I focused my gaze on the door and saw nothing but darkness.

Under any other circ.u.mstances, I would have laughed at my own jumpiness. Right now, however, I didn't find it amusing.

I dragged myself up from the floor and fished the sport bottle back out of the sink and started the process of filling it once again. This time, I managed to get it to three-quarters full, which is what I was after. Shutting off the water, I shuffled quickly over to the stove and grabbed the saltshaker. I gave the lid a twist then dumped the contents into the sport bottle. Replacing the top on the drink container, I made sure the spout was closed and began shaking it as I slowly made my way back toward the doorway to the dining room.

It was now just after four a.m., and she still hadn't come after me which could only mean she was waiting for me to come to her. As much as I didn't want to do it, I was going to oblige. It just wasn't going to be on her terms, or so I hoped.

Still remaining cautious, I peeked carefully around the corner and saw nothing but dimness and furniture. I slipped quickly around the doorframe and kept close to the wall, skirting around the buffet and inching up to the archway that led into the living room. Another quick glance around the wall, and I stepped through and started into the hallway.

My heart was already climbing back up the scale, adding beats with each pa.s.sing second. I was straining to listen for any noise out of the ordinary but still heard none. I took a pair of steps and waited then advanced once again, creeping slowly up to the bedroom door. Stepping quickly past it, I took up a station against the wall next to it. I was positioned such that if she opened the door, I would be in her blind spot.

I waited for what seemed like several minutes, desperately trying to work up the courage to do something other than stand here in the shadows. I still hadn't heard a thing, and I was sure that another several minutes had pa.s.sed by now. Taking in a deep breath, I forced myself to reach to the side and grasp the door latch with my left hand. Pressing it down slowly, I heard the gentle click and then pushed the door open before quickly yanking my hand back.

Light from the bedroom flooded into the hall, and I continued standing there, c.o.c.ked and ready to jump while I allowed my eyes to readjust to the new influx of luminance. Letting out a quiet sigh, I dropped my head down and swallowed hard. I blinked as I grew accustomed to the oblique shaft of light spilling from the opening, and now, with my gaze angled downward, for the first time realized that I was stark naked. Yet another ridiculous moment that was less than amusing to me under the circ.u.mstances.

After several heartbeats with nothing happening, I shrugged into my thin cloak of bravado.

"Miranda?" I called out.

I waited for several seconds and heard nothing.

"Miranda?" I called louder.

Now, my ears picked up a thin whimper, but it sounded nothing like the distorted whines of pleasure I had heard from my wife earlier. On the heels of the whimper came a soft sob.

"Felicity?" I called out.

My ears were met only with a renewed combination of the whimper and sob.

Part of my brain kept telling me that this could very well be a trap. That I was going to step out from the wall, round the corner, and catch a very fast moving hunk of lead right about chest level. Another part, however, told me that the Lwa was gone and that Felicity needed me. As the two sides argued, I flashed on the fact that while my headache was still intact it was nowhere near what it had been earlier.

I decided to believe the hunk of grey matter that kept saying it was Felicity who was waiting for me, and not Miranda. Still, I slowly and cautiously peeked in around the doorframe before fully coming out of my hiding s.p.a.ce.

"Felicity?" I called once again as I carefully stepped into the room.

A harder sob met my ears, followed by a blubbered pair of syllables that sounded remotely like my name.

The twist of sheets were still lying on the floor and were streaked with blood from my hands where I had fought to disentangle myself. There was a smear or two marring the sheets that remained on the bed as well. The cuffs were still dangling from the bedposts by their straps, and while my uncorrected vision couldn't be sure, I was betting some of my skin was still attached to them.

I advanced farther into the room and worked slowly around the obstacles on the floor. After a few steps, I finally caught a glimpse of fiery auburn hair. The back of the top of my wife's head was barely peeking over the footboard of the bed. Still cautious, I moved slowly toward her until I could see fully over the edge of the blonde wood.

There she was, huddled on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking as she cried. In one hand was the framed picture that had been sitting on the headboard, the very photo that several days before had sent me waxing nostalgic about our trust in one another.

I knelt next to her and gently placed my hand on her shoulder as I softly called her name.

She started, looking up at me as if she hadn't realized I was there until just now. Her jade green eyes welled with even more tears while she quietly looked at my face and then my blistered chest.

"Oh G.o.ds..." she whimpered, her voice thick with her Celtic lilt. It was a welcome sound.

"Shhhhh," I soothed.

"I didn't know..." she blubbered as the tears streamed down her face. "I saw the blood...I didn't know...I can't remember..."

"It's okay..." I whispered.

She reached out with a trembling hand and gingerly touched my chest near the charred flesh and growing blisters. I winced as her fingers brushed the area.

"G.o.d..." she mewled. "Did...Did I do that to you?"

"No," I rea.s.sured her, shaking my head. "Miranda did."

"She was in me, wasn't she?" she asked.

I didn't answer.

She started shaking again as my silence filled in the blank.

I looked down and remembered the sport bottle in my hand. I pondered it for a moment then handed it to my sobbing wife.

"Here," I said. "Take a drink of this."

As she accepted the bottle she managed to choke out, "What is it?"

"Just humor me," I replied.

She fingered the spout, unable to open it with her shaking hands. I popped it up for her then gently guided her hands, supporting the bottle as she placed it to her lips and took a swig. I gave it a light squeeze, and she swallowed a mouthful quickly, before sputtering and pus.h.i.+ng it away. It didn't matter though; one drink was enough.

"Salt water?" she asked between choked sobs.

"Yeah. Sorry. I just want to make sure you stay Felicity for a while."

Thursday, November 24 Thanksgiving Day 9:53 A.M.

Saint Louis, Missouri

CHAPTER 28:.

I looked at my watch and glared, giving the digits on its face an impatient scowl before twisting my wrist back down and sliding my hand into my coat pocket.

For lack of anything better to do, I pulled it back out and stuck the fresh cigarette it now held between my lips. Digging out my lighter, I lit it and took a deep drag. I had commandeered the pack of smokes from the nightstand in our bedroom. They were the ones that Felicity-or should I say Miranda-was smoking only a few hours ago. Where my wife had come up with them, I wasn't sure. I suppose prior to trussing me up in my sleep, she could have made a run to the local quick-shop. She didn't remember, and I didn't press the point. It was obvious at first glance that emotionally she didn't need to be badgered about anything, much less such a trivial fact; and in truth, it wasn't really all that important.

Besides, just as I'd had the craving the day she was led out of the house in handcuffs, I had it again now. I'm sure I should have just ignored it, but anxiety isn't always very tolerant of getting the cold shoulder, and they were right there, so I gave in. Right now I needed something to calm my nerves, and it was too early in the day for me to start downing Scotch. This was my chosen alternative. If it ended up blossoming into a full-time habit, I'd just deal with it and quit later. It wouldn't be the first time the horrors of an investigation had forced me down this road.

I turned and looked out from the balcony of the office building. The sun was arcing along the clear, southern sky, but it was still cold. I vaguely recalled hearing the weather blurb on the radio saying something about the high for the day possibly making it into the upper forties. It definitely wasn't there just yet.

I hung my head as I leaned against the railing and exhaled a combination of smoke and steam then glanced at my watch again. The numbers hadn't really changed significantly, but then I hadn't given them much of a chance to do so. Hearing a noise, I cast a quick glance behind me, looking toward the door to see if anyone had come out here to the building's smoking lounge. Given that it was Thanksgiving Day and the place was deserted, it would have to be either Felicity or Helen, as they were the only other people here.

Helen had actually offered to come to our house when I called her, but even we weren't there. The only way I had been able to calm my wife was to remove her from the "scene of the crime," which she had all but begged me to do. As soon as she had changed and I had thrown on some clothes myself, I made it happen. We had been sitting in an all-night diner, drinking coffee and quietly staring at one another when Felicity finally took me up on my repeated offer to call Helen. As usual, she was more than accommodating. We met here on the parking lot of the building a short time later-all three of us looking as though we could use several more hours sleep.

Of course, that was a while ago. The two of them had now been sequestered in Helen's office for over an hour, and that wasn't even counting the sixty minutes or so spent prior to me being ejected from the impromptu emergency session.

It wasn't that I had caused a problem. In fact, I'd actually kept my mouth shut for a change. Felicity and Helen both just felt there were some things that needed discussing without my presence. I can't say that I was happy about it, but I kept my objections to myself and complied anyway because if it was going to help my wife, then I was all for it.

I started to turn my wrist and glance at the timepiece again then caught myself. The rampant impatience was only serving to fuel my anxiety, and looking at my watch every thirty seconds was more than just a symptom. It was aggravating the situation. I desperately needed to get a handle on it before I let it tear me any further apart than it already had. I turned and leaned back against the rail, shrugging my coat around me in response to a light breeze, then immediately winced. I leaned back forward then with extra care reached inside the folds and gingerly adjusted my s.h.i.+rt where it was rubbing against the blisters on my chest. After taking another long drag on the cigarette, I let out a heavy sigh and tried to think about something else.

The first thought that came to mind was the dogs.

To my relief I had found them, alive and well, in the garage without so much as a scratch. They were nonplussed and maybe a bit chilled, but fine. They did, however, seem happy to be released from their temporary prison.

"There," I told myself aloud. "Happy ending, next subject."

Unfortunately, thinking about the canines just led me around in a big circle. The next subject simply turned into a continuation of the original that I had been trying fruitlessly to avoid.

I simply couldn't help but think about the fact that, in a sense, where I found the dogs told me something about Miranda. While control and dominance were the things she relished holding over her victims, there was obviously a thread of compa.s.sion somewhere within. She wanted the dogs out of the way, so she could proceed unhindered, but she hadn't physically harmed them. She was perfectly happy to do unspeakable things to a human male, but a different type of animal such as a dog or cat was apparently safe.

Felicity, on the other hand, hadn't seemed to fare quite as well as the canines. Physically she was fine, but emotionally she was a shattered mess. Apparently, the Lwa had exited rather quickly after I had made it out of the room, which explained why she hadn't chased me as I expected she would.

As it was, however, the only thing my wife truly remembered was going to bed the night before. After that she professed a complete blank until she found herself standing in our bedroom, decked out in one of her old dominatrix ensembles, feeling extremely disoriented, and highly aroused. I had no reason to doubt the truth of her story. That was pretty much the hallmark of a Lwa-pop in, pop out, leave 'em bewildered.

Of course, that was only the beginning of her mental collapse. Like anyone else would have, she had looked about the room trying to get her bearings as she fought off the confusion and began to realize where she was. While in this case the surroundings were familiar, what first met her eyes, unfortunately, were the remnants of the scene that had been playing out moments before. The bigger problem was that said tableau included my blood on the twisted sheets and me nowhere in sight. She was completely unaware of how the blood had come to be there, but considering what she had done during the last possession and how she now found herself attired, she immediately feared the worst.

She hadn't been able to summon the courage to go in search of me, primarily for fear of what she might find. Having taken that first set of crime scene photos herself, she knew first hand the sadism Miranda was capable of exhibiting. To her, the thought of finding me dead and most likely mutilated, especially if it was by her own hand, was more than she could bear to witness. Instead, she had simply stood there in a state of shock for several minutes. By the time I returned to the room and found her on the floor clinging to the photograph of the two of us, the psychological damage had been done.

I only came to find out an hour or so later that when she first heard my voice, she had automatically a.s.sumed it was inside her head and that I was calling to her from the other side of the darkened veil.