Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (25 page)

“Rowan?” Ben’s voice hurtled past me once again,
pausing in its flight just long enough to send a distorted echo
down my ear canal before continuing along its random trajectory
through the room.

I don’t know how long it actually took me to figure
out that the ricocheting noise was my name being called, but it
really wasn’t important. Whether minutes or only fractions of a
second passed, the point was moot. For me, time was no longer a
constant.

For a third time, he called my name, adding even
more insistence as if I simply wasn’t listening. I still didn’t
answer. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I simply couldn’t form the
words, either physically or mentally. In fact, all I could manage
to do was stare downward at the edge of the slide out drawer but,
more specifically, at my hand resting upon it. Of course, it wasn’t
so much that my hand was resting on the metal as much as the fact
that it was also in full contact with Emily Foster’s arm.

I couldn’t help but stare in wonderment. My right
hand was still sheathed in the surgical glove Doctor Sanders had
insisted I wear. Heretofore, even such a thin layer of latex had
seemed to be an insurmountable barrier whenever I was purposely
attempting to connect with the dead. But now, that had obviously
changed. With a single accidental touch I was now spiraling into an
encounter with this dead woman’s horrors, and there was little I
could do to stop it from happening.

The dizziness was taking over now, swirling around
behind my eyes as my stomach churned out of synch, making a strong
bid to work itself into a frenzy of nausea. I could feel my heart
thumping just behind my face instead of in my chest where it
belonged, and an odd pressure forced outward from inside my skull.
The headache that had been knocking on the back of my head let
itself in and fell into a wildly syncopated rhythm with the frantic
beat.

Ben’s voice corkscrewed its way through the rush of
blood in my ears. “Somethin’s wrong… Felicity? You with us?”

Hearing him call my wife’s name sent a wave of panic
ripping through my intestines. In the past few moments, I had all
but forgotten that she was fighting to anchor me in the realm of
the living. I now feared that the solid connection she had formed
to protect me was now placing her in jeopardy.

I tried to alleviate the threat by releasing my grip
on her hand but immediately found that the signals from my brain
were being stopped well before they made it to my fingers.
Realizing that there was nothing I could do, the terror now shot
upward through the pit of my stomach and settled into my chest. As
it began spreading out into a cold fear, a second voice slammed
headlong against my eardrums.

“
Caorthann
,” my wife said, calling my
name in Gaelic.

What I managed to glean from the sound was not that
she was in distress but that she was concerned. While that fact
didn’t completely quell the panic, it at least put a damper on the
fear that she was in any danger. If she was talking to me, then she
was obviously in much better shape than I was at the moment.

The influx of relief forced my guard down just
enough that the incorporeal Emily Foster gained an even more solid
foothold in my psyche. In a flash she slipped through and demanded
to be heard. I had no other choice but to listen.

I felt myself falling, but it wasn’t the dreamlike
sensation of endless descent to which I was accustomed. This was
the real thing. My knees buckled. Soon, what followed was my body
pitching to the side and then back. The fall came slowly at first,
then with an ever-increasing rate as I crumpled in place.

I heard Felicity yelp. “Rowan!”

As I hastened toward the floor, I felt a quick tug
on my hand. I thought I heard my wife let out another sharp cry,
and then I experienced the sensation of cold tile slamming against
my back and shoulder. Not to be outdone, my head cracked against
the floor, sending a fresh and very intense pain to join forces
with the migraine as everything shuddered. As it morphed into a
dull ache, I could feel the coolness of the floor seeping into my
cheek. A split second later the air was unexpectedly forced from my
lungs by a squirming weight landing hard on top of me. I realized,
as the object continued moving and then scrambled to the side, that
it was Felicity. My hand was still locked tight with hers, and I
had apparently dragged her down with me.

“Are you all right?” Ben’s voice bounced through the
room, but I knew he wasn’t speaking to me.

“Aye,” Felicity answered him in slow motion. “Rowan?
Rowan?!”

I could feel something prying at my fingers. I was
struggling to stay planted in this plane, but a tortured spirit had
a much different idea about where I needed to be. Emily Foster had
something to show me, and she was pulling me backward into darkness
in an insane tug of war across the veil.

And as I expected she was already starting to
win.

“
Just a little sting…” an androgynous and wholly
unfamiliar voice echoed. But it wasn’t in my ears; it was inside my
head.

I can’t see anything.

The world is completely black for me.

I feel pressure against my neck.

“
Don’t worry,” the voice says again. “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 still can’t move. I’m facing the tiled wall lined
with stainless steel doors, and I see shadows moving across it.
There is a hard pressure against my neck now. Although I can barely
make it out over the din of blood rushing in my ears, I can hear
what sounds to be a flurry of activity just out of my line of
sight.

My ankles are burning… The rope is biting into them
hard.

I can no longer feel my feet. They’ve gone
completely numb.

Dizziness…

Headache…

I wish I could see.

I won’t be afraid… I won’t be afraid…

I am chosen…

It is an honor…

I have been prepared…

I can hear the chanting now…

The time must be near…

It is an honor to be chosen…

It is an honor to be chosen…

I won’t be afraid…

The last thing I heard before blacking out was
Doctor Sanders voice puncturing the drone in my ears with a sharp
note of controlled alarm threaded through her words. “I can’t stop
the bleeding. Get the paramedics now!”

I slowly opened one eye and let it roam. There was
no mistaking where I was based simply on the institutional colors
now bleeding into my limited field of vision. But, even if the drab
hues didn’t give it away, there was a failsafe to back them up,
that being the antiseptic smell that was now tingling my nostrils.
I closed the eye once again and tried to remember what was going on
prior to this particular moment in my life.

Unfortunately, my head was throbbing too much to
allow for anything resembling deep thought. I remembered being at
the morgue, accidentally touching Emily Foster’s corpse, then
becoming acquainted with the floor of the autopsy suite. All of
that pretty much consumed the space I had left in my grey matter
that wasn’t being taken up with pain. However, there was still
enough room in between the cycling aches for me to wonder where my
wife happened to be.

“Felicity?” I barely croaked in a dry, wispy
voice.

I didn’t get an answer, but since I could barely
hear myself, maybe she couldn’t hear me at all. I cleared my throat
then opened both of my eyes this time and lifted my head slightly
as I sent them searching. To my disappointment, there wasn’t a
single petite redhead in sight. In fact, I appeared to be the only
one present here in hospital hell.

I laid my head back against the pillow as the
throbbing started to increase. I took a moment to slowly adjust my
position when I felt the sore spot on the right side of my scalp.
That triggered a vague memory of my head hitting the floor, which I
suppose would explain the whole lapse of memory. At least, as far
as my addled senses were concerned it did.

I ran down a mental list just for the sake of my
sanity. I knew who I was, I knew where I was, and I was fairly
certain I knew what day it was, although I didn’t have anything or
anyone handy to confirm those facts. I even remembered the incident
that had most likely landed me here. I just couldn’t remember the
time between then and now.

That annoyed me. But, what truly had me concerned
was the fact that I didn’t know where Felicity was or, more
importantly, her condition. I was relatively certain she was
uninjured. After all, she had been speaking to me, and I even
recalled Ben asking her if she was okay. Unfortunately, my brain
was in no hurry to remember any of the other pertinent details, no
matter how much I willed it to do so.

After a minute or two passed, I started pondering
the idea of getting out of the bed and going to find my wife or, at
the very least, someone who could tell me where she was. As I
started to reach for the side railing I felt a tug on my finger,
which led me to realize something was attached to it. Feeling
around with my other hand I felt a tug on it as well. I held them
both up for a bleary-eyed inspection that ended with a heavy sigh.
Getting out of the bed now became a bit more complicated between
the IV and the monitor hookups.

Of course, if I couldn’t go to them I figured I
might as well bring them to me. Taking hold of the pulse oximeter
probe that was firmly clamped to my finger, I popped it off, laid
back, closed my eyes, and waited.

As expected, a shrill tone immediately bit into my
ears. Even though I knew it was coming, I groaned in response to
the noise anyway. I didn’t bother to open my eyes, I simply laid
there, unmoving all except for the handful of muscles that were
necessary to twist my face into an annoyed grimace.

Soft but slightly hurried footfalls sounded a few
moments later. I felt someone fumbling with my finger, and then the
mild pressure clamped down upon it once again. There was a chirp,
and then relative quiet fell again.

“Where’s my wife?” I asked, still holding my eyes
tightly shut.

“Mister Gant, you’re awake I see,” a woman’s voice
said.

“Very astute observation, but I’m afraid that
doesn’t answer my question,” I grumbled.

“I believe she just went to the lounge down the hall
to get herself a soft drink,” the voice told me. “She should be
back any minute.”

“So, she’s okay?”

“Of course. And you will be too if you just
rest.”

I could hear her punching buttons on the monitor. It
would occasionally chirp, give an abbreviated alarm tone, and then
fall quiet again.

“Can’t you just shut that damn thing off?” I
asked.

“I’m resetting it. Don’t worry. The sensor just
slipped off your finger.”

“No, actually I pulled it off,” I replied.

“Why?”

“Because I needed someone to answer my
question.”

“We have call buttons for that.”

“I know. I’ve had the displeasure of visiting
several such accommodations in the past.”

“Then why didn’t you use it?”

“My way was faster.”

“Well, you can’t just take the probe off your
finger, Mister Gant.”

“Seems to me I just did. Want to see me do it
again?”

“Aye, is he giving you trouble then?” Felicity’s
voice entered the conversation from what sounded to be several feet
away. Hearing her prompted me to open my eyes, but of course the
first person I saw was the nurse, who was sporting an unnaturally
black, shoulder-length pageboy and scrubs patterned with a stylized
avian print.

“He was asking for you,” the nurse said. “He’s
grouchy but we’re used to that around here.”

“Just standing up for my rights,” I mumbled.

“More like being a curmudgeon, I would say,” my wife
replied. “Let Amanda do her job and stop giving her such a hard
time. She’s been taking very good care of you all afternoon.”

While she was talking, the nurse adjusted the angle
of the bed so that I was inclined enough to see her without
straining. Felicity was now standing near the footboard with a thin
smile on her lips.

“How is that?” the nurse asked. “Comfortable?”

“Close enough,” I muttered.

“You’re a horrible patient, do you know that?” my
wife asked.

“I happen to know you aren’t any better,” I
returned.

“Aye, but we’re talking about you.”

“The doctor should be coming by to check on you
shortly,” the nurse interjected. “If you need anything, please use
the call button.”

“Okay,” I told her. “Sorry to be a pain.”

“You’re forgiven,” she replied with a smile.
“Besides, shift changes in less than an hour. You can grumble at
someone else.”

“Can I ask you something?” I said to her as she
turned to go.

She twisted back around to face me. “Sure.”

“That design on your scrubs. Is it supposed to be
geese or ducks?”

“Swans, actually.”

“Really…” I mumbled.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“No… ummm… Thanks.”After the nurse left the room I
rested my gaze on Felicity. “Swans, go figure.”

“Do you think it’s some kind of sign?” she asked,
but I could tell she wasn’t all that serious.

“Hell, I don’t know…” I grumbled.

“I’m sure it’s just a bizarre coincidence. Don’t you
think?”

“Yeah… You’re probably right.”

She pulled a chair alongside the bed and took a seat
then carefully slipped her fingers around mine. When I looked down
I took notice of the fact that her right sleeve was rolled up and
an elastic bandage was woven around her hand and wrist.

I furrowed my brow and asked, “Are you okay?”