Read Online Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars - Free Book Online

view, but it was
becoming apparent to me that visible evidence wasn’t always going
to be what triggered my involvement.
    “Now, let me ask ya’ somethin’,” my friend
continued. “Did’ya know someone who lived in this apartment?”
    The shroud of disorientation was descending
on me again, rendering my fleeting clarity a thing of the past. My
scalp was starting to tighten, and the back of my head held fast to
a dull throb that was threatening to increase exponentially. I
still had no real clue what I was doing here, but the growing
pressure in my skull told me that there was definitely a reason. I
was just too mesmerized by the doorway to recognize what it
was.
    “Look, Rowan, you’re actin’ pretty weird. How
‘bout I call Felicity and get ‘er down here to pick you up.”
    “I’m fine,” I said, looking past him and
focusing on the door. Something unseen, but very powerful, was
compelling me to move toward that oblong patch of light.
    “No, man, you ain’t fine,” he told me,
emphasizing the word. “It’s two-friggin’-thirty in the mornin’, and
you just showed up outta nowhere at a crime scene. Uninvited mind
you. Then ya’ ducked under the barrier tape and started walkin’
across the yard like some kinda zombie, completely ignorin’ the
officers who told you to stop. I got news for ya’… not every copper
in Saint Louis knows who you are. You’re damn lucky ya’ didn’t get
hurt. I mean, Jeezus… Hey… Hey… HEY Rowan! Are you even listenin’
ta’ me?”
    “What?” I asked in a distracted timbre. I’d
only barely heard him talking and hadn’t actually registered any of
the words. The only thing that mattered right now was the
doorway.
    “Have you been drinkin’?”
    “What?” I stammered absently.
    “Pay fuckin’ attention! Have you been
drinkin’?”
    “No…” I shook my head as punctuation. “Of
course I haven’t been drinking.”
    At least I didn’t think I had. The truth was,
I had no earthly idea.
    “Okay… So… Ya’ don’t smell toast or somethin’
do ya’?” he asked in earnest.
    “What?” I shook my head, this time in
confusion, and stared at him briefly. “Toast?”
    “I read somewhere that ya’ smell toast when
you’re havin’ a stroke,” he offered.
    His words came to me in a random sputter of
sound as my cognizance shifted in and out of phase with the rest of
reality.
    “What?” I mumbled, not sure I had heard him
correctly.
    “That’s it,” Ben said, sounding as much
concerned as annoyed this time. “I’m gettin’ you to a hospital.
There’s definitely somethin’ not right with ya’.”
    Inside my skull I heard a loud electric snap
and felt a burning sting along the side of my neck. The nasty
tingling sensation that had been at the back of my concerns had now
burst into searing flame through my entire side. I tried to reach
upward but found my body was ignoring any instructions issued to it
by my brain. I felt myself shaking violently and beginning to
stiffen as my mind short-circuited into oblivious disorientation.
My chest tightened and began to sharply spasm with the same intense
pain that accompanies a nocturnal leg cramp.
    My sight was taken over by a darkened tunnel
of fading vision, and in a flash the ground leapt upward to meet
me. On impact, a sharp hammer blow of agony peened the side of my
skull and spread rapidly outward into a migraine-like ache that
settled in for the long haul.
    As I lay crumpled onto the cold lawn, I could
just barely make out the distant sound of my friend’s frantic voice
yelling, “Somebody get a paramedic! Now!”
    The last thought I remember clearly was that
I had a pair of red patent leather pumps in my closet that would go
perfectly with my new dress.
     
    * * * * *
     
    I’m not sure which assault on my senses was
the most disconcerting—the smell or the sound. I suppose it could
have been either one, or even a combination of both.
    On the one hand, there was no mistaking