Rowan Gant - Perfect Trust Part 22

Gimme another D!

What's that spell?

DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!.

DEAD, Rowan.

I'm dead for G.o.d's sake; so quit feeling sorry for yourself.

Do something about it.

My decision was made for me. My gut told me there was something more than just my addled psyche at work here, and that I was going to have to figure it out on my own. As frightened by the prospect as I now was, I had no choice but to follow its lead.

CHAPTER 14.

When I exited the parking lot of the medical building, my head was telling me to turn left toward home. After all, Felicity would be expecting me and there were things that needed to get done before the gathering tomorrow evening.

My gut, on the other hand, a.s.serted its newly a.s.signed leaders.h.i.+p and pre-empted the turn with a pair of rights before finally making that left, and I was soon motoring north on the Innerbelt. Thirty minutes later I awoke from an absent minded daze as Ifound myself pulling off onto the shoulder of an isolated section of Highway Three Sixty-Seven, not far from the Clark Bridge and Alton, Illinois.

I sat for several minutes, engine running while I pondered the autopilot that had brought me here. I had traveled this road more times than I could remember, and had even pulled off along the side to watch the eagles that would winter in the area.

However, it wasn't yet the season for eagle watching, not to mention it was a bit late in the day for the activity. Besides, the prime spot for it was farther down the stretch of asphalt anyway. This particular spot on the roadside had attracted me for a far more sinister reason, and though I'd never stopped here before, I had arrived at this exact location with only my subconscious as a guide.

I sat staring through the pa.s.senger side window, peering past my own reflection in the gla.s.s and allowed my eyes to adjust to the cold shadows. In what little was left of the fading light I could just barely make out a twisted ribbon of yellow and black crime scene tape stretched between spindly tree trunks in the distance.

I finally switched off the headlights and cast a quick glance at the radio before twisting the key to kill the engine. The digital clock on its face showed it to be almost five PM. With tomorrow being winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, official sunset was rapidly approaching. In fact, it was less than an hour away. However, considering the thick blanket of grey clouds that was acting as a barrier to the sun's rays, dusk had been abbreviated, and for all intents and purposes nightfall was already upon us. The miniscule amount of illumination still available would be completely gone in a matter of heartbeats.

I felt more than a little queasy about being here. I wanted to believe that I was simply following my instincts by coming to the spot where Debbie Schaeffer's remains had been found. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if I was being guided by a tortured soul who had recently discovered she held a measure of control over me, even in this world. Realistically, she was probably pulling the strings and was the one directly responsible for bringing me to this place. What was left for me to come to terms with was whether or not I was capable of handling what she wanted to show me without outside help. The events of the previous night screamed, "No." My clouded judgment shouted back a resounding, "I don't know." Debbie Schaeffer's haunting voice just kept echoing in the back of my skull, "I'm dead, Rowan. Do something about it."

I continued to sit there, staring out the window while the grey shadows faded to inky black as if condensed into a single minute of time-lapse video. Taking a deep breath, I weighed my options and considered what was being presented. I was in no way naive enough to believe that I was going to stumble across some enlightening bit of physical evidence that would break the case wide open. That was the sort of thing that always happened in dime store mystery novels, but almost never in real life.

Trained crime scene investigators had already been over this area with eyes sharper than mine so the odds of my finding anything more than a pile of dead leaves were beyond astronomical.

Unless, perhaps, that piece of evidence was simply invisible to theunaware-latent, hidden from the view of those not able to see beyond this plane of existence. Still, it would need to be tangible for it to mean anything, and such a thing was far from likely.

Besides, something about that just didn't feel right either.

No, evidence was not why I was here. Not by a long shot.

I was here for the connection-for the proximity to ground zero. I was here for the express purpose of reliving someone else's nightmare-as if I didn't have enough of my own already. Deep down, I was beginning to resent the fact that these visions were being imposed on me against my will. I'd already had more than enough of them to last me a lifetime, but there seemed no end to the horrifying pictures that begged my attention. It was no wonder I felt like I was going mad.

I engaged in a few more moments of restless indecision before finally surrendering to the idea that I was already here so I might as well get out and take a look. I'd wasted enough time to deprive myself of any natural lighting so I rummaged about beneath the seat and eventually extracted a flashlight before climbing out of the cab and starting down the shallow embankment.

I wasn't entirely sure if it was just the darkness, or the place, or even if the temperature had actually dropped, but it felt far colder than it had just an hour or so before. I stopped for a moment to zip my jacket, shrugging it closer and turning up the collar to fend off the slight breeze. Standing there on the side of the small hill I looked to my left and saw the muted glow of the lights from the Clark Bridge just peeking over the barren treetops. Exhaling a frosty breath, I watched the foggy luminescence disappear from view as I ventured the last few steps down the grade and into the stand of trees.

My feet crunched noisily through the dry layer of leaves and with each step kicked up the damper stratum beneath, filling the air with the sharp, "composty"

odor of decay. The flashlight wasn't the most powerful in the world, but I'd expected better performance than I was getting. The batteries were apparently just this side of dead, so the faint yellow beam quickly dissipated less than two yards ahead, making my progress slow and unsteady.

To my back, commuters were making their way home from jobs on this side of the river, and an occasional car would rush by; the beams of its headlights cutting a swath through the trees well above my head and totally useless for illuminating my path. They did, however, create oblique shadows that would quickly arc through a semicircular pattern as the vehicle approached, then flitter to obscurity when it pa.s.sed. I'm sure it was nothing more than my anxiety fueled imagination, but some of the gloomy artifacts seemed to possess lives of their own-and they didn't look friendly.

I carefully picked my way through the scrub, tripping twice on the same fallen log, and only narrowly regaining my balance before almost being pitched to the ground.

Leaning against a tree for support, I decided to stop once again in order to get my bearings. The crime scene tape had looked to be some thirty or so yards from theroadside. In my estimation, I had probably managed to cover half that distance so far.

With each step, the world had seemed to close off behind me, leaving me isolated in the darkness. Even the swish of randomly pa.s.sing vehicles had faded so far into the background that the only sound left for me to hear was my labored breathing and pounding heart. As I stood in place, wheezing in the cold air, my body screamed for a dose of nicotine. I reached my hand inside my jacket at the impulse, but then thought better of the idea before fully withdrawing the pack of cigarettes. Shoving it back into my breast pocket I panned the dying flashlight across the landscape in search of a trail or break in the undergrowth.

A flicker of bright yellow lashed quickly through the weak beam as the wind swelled, and then fell off in a rolling wave. I had apparently made it further than I'd suspected. I c.o.c.ked my head to the side and listened carefully as a static-laden hum began inside my head. In my ears there came a faint whisper.

Dead I am. Dead I am. I do not like that dead I am.

"I know you are." I found myself answering the voice aloud. "Trust me, I know."

Aiming myself in the direction of the yellow flicker, I stiff armed my way through a close huddle of saplings and pushed closer. Hollowness began to invade the pit of my stomach as I inched forward, mixing with the ingredients of the night to spin itself into a thin thread of fear. I continued listening intently to the breeze, waiting for the voice that only I could hear.

"Talk to me, Debbie," I muttered under my breath. "Tell me your story."

The thread of foreboding began to embroider itself up my spine, bringing a chill that made me physically s.h.i.+ver and hug my coat tighter. I rubbed my palm against the day's growth of scratchy whiskers on my cheeks then tugged thoughtfully at my beard as I let out a nervous laugh. If I wanted proof that I was insane, then this was it. I was out here in the dark with a dying flashlight, completely and totally ungrounded and unprotected. What's more, I was actively inviting the spirit of a murdered woman to pop into my head when I knew for a fact that doing so was no less than inviting disaster. Yeah, I thought, I'm definitely pus.h.i.+ng the envelope with this one.

Silence still permeated the night, leaving me with the rattle of my breathing and thump of my adrenalin affected heart as the only audible companions. The burst of rational thought should have driven me to immediately turn and flee, but rationality wasn't my strong suit right now. I pressed forward and the droning hum began again.

"Dead, Rowan. Dead. That's what I am. Do something about it."

The voice whispered past me again, working its way around my head as it bounced between mono and stereo separation.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do, Debbie," I answered her out loud yet again.

"Talk to me. Tell me what you saw."

I could feel an energetic presence swirling unseen before me and I halted. Icy tendrils of death slapped outward from it and I felt them slice effortlessly through my body, making me gasp with each strike. I knew then that I'd gone that one step farther than I should, and needed to turn tail and run. Unfortunately, the message was being diverted upon leaving my brain and it never made it to my legs. I stood frozen in place, unable to move.

"You've done this before, Rowan," I told myself in a not quite calm voice. "This is nothing new."

My subconscious immediately objected, telling me in no uncertain terms that while I'd done this before, I had done it when I was capable of grounding and centering.

I didn't have time to argue with myself. I took in a deep breath through my nose and slowly exhaled through my mouth, trying desperately to relax and achieve a focal point. I could feel the hair on my arms rise as a field of static touched me. I became instantly aware that there was no time for the Wicca 101 exercises in which I was about to engage; I needed to be grounded now, and that simply wasn't happening.

I steeled myself against an invasion that I feared could very well bring about an end to what small sc.r.a.p of lucidity I still retained.

Dead I am! Dead I am! I do not like that dead I am!

Dead I am! Dead I am! I do not like that dead I am!

Debbie's disembodied voice began s.h.i.+fting in phases about me. Pitches rose and lowered as the chant doubled and echoed; increasing in speed with each revolution as if winding itself up to deliver a blow directly into my soul.

Dead I am! Dead I Am! DeadIAm! DeadIAm!

DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM!.

DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM!.

The mantra blended quickly as the words joined, becoming multi-syllabic noises that made my head vibrate with its ba.s.s staccato. The cadence continued to increase toward a roar of white noise and I felt as if my head was positioned between the jaws of an ever-tightening vise.

A shrill scream pierced the darkness without warning and my own voice joined it in absolute disharmony. I started quickly, physically tensing while my heart climbedinto my throat in search of refuge. When I jumped, I involuntarily released my grip on the near useless flashlight and it spiraled to the ground in slow motion, landing with a muted thud.

As if on a sudden gust of wind, the twirl of ethereal energy exploded outward, rus.h.i.+ng through me, around me, past me, only to dissipate into nothingness.

The sound of a car whoos.h.i.+ng past back up on the blacktop instantly faded in, and was followed by a repeat of the shrill scream. After a beat, a third warbling scream announced itself, now identifiable as the electronic peal of the cell phone in my jacket pocket.

I allowed myself to breathe and thrust my shaking hand into my pocket, then withdrew the chirruping device and stabbed the answer call b.u.t.ton.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Rowan?" Ben Storm's voice greeted me quizzically.

"Yeah, Ben," I answered; hoping the tremble in my voice wasn't noticeable.

"What's up?"

"You sound like you're out of breath white man," the earpiece buzzed with his voice.

"It's a long story," I answered, not sure what exactly to say.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I told him, then repeated, "What's up?"

"Well, I called the house and Felicity told me you'd gone to see Helen today."

"Yeah, she got me in this afternoon."

"Uh-huh," he grunted. "Well, I just talked to 'er and she said you'd left her office over an hour ago."

"Checking up on me?" I retorted, somewhat perturbed.

The leaves crunched as I shuffled about, then knelt down to retrieve the flashlight.

"Actually, no," he remarked, "but I get the feelin' maybe I should be."

I turned in place and could see in the distance the silhouette of my truck up on the shoulder. Aiming what little glow was coming from the flashlight toward the ground at my feet I began working my way toward the vehicle.

My friend was correct. Somebody needed to be checking up on me if I was going to make a habit of being this reckless. Truth was, his unexpected call had probably saved my sanity, if not my life.

"Yeah." I softened. "You probably should."

The rustle of the fallen foliage was loud and I was certain he could hear it.

"Row, where the h.e.l.l are you? Ya' sound like you're rakin' leaves or somethin'."

"Somewhere I shouldn't be," I told him, electing not to try hiding the truth."Where, Row?" he asked again, sternly this time.

"A little wooded grove out off of Three Sixty-Seven," I answered.

I could hear him sigh heavily at the other end. "Jeezus, Rowan. What the h.e.l.l are you trying to do? Make Felicity hate me? She's gonna have your a.s.s for this ya'know?"

"It's not my fault," I volunteered the thin excuse.

"You tellin' me Debbie Schaeffer made you do it this time too?" he queried.

"Kind of," I returned. "Something like that anyway."

"Yeah, whatever. Look, I want you to get yer a.s.s outta there right now," he instructed.

"I'm working on it."

"Don't lie to me, Rowan."

"I'm not."

Silence filled the earpiece for a moment while I picked my way through the last of the underbrush and started back up the embankment.

"s.h.i.+t," my friend exclaimed softly. "I shouldn't even ask, 'cause it'll just encourage you..." He sighed as he fell into a thoughtful silence, then finally spoke again. "Well did'ja figure anything out?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Man... I just don't know what to do with you... Jeez..." His voice trailed off.