Read Online The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars - Free Book Online

pain wasn’t exactly what I would call welcome, but
it was preferable to the sickening idea of being turned on by what
had happened here, and that was the ethereal sensation I needed to
deny.
    Extreme arousal was almost too mild a
description for the feeling that had been coming over me as I stood
out on the walkway, and now that I was directly exposed to the
scene, the excitation was taking over. Though I was alone and had
no need to speak, what little of my rational self that remained
wanted desperately to put what I was feeling into words. However,
try as I might, nouns, adjectives and any other modifier for that
matter had become all but meaningless. I could think of no way to
accurately convey the sensation with simple syllables. Even the
verbal theatrics of an adult film didn’t seem as though they would
do it justice.
    I had felt something very similar to this at
the crime scenes in Saint Louis and had thought it close to
overwhelming then. I had even experienced it all first hand the
night Felicity had tried to kill me while under Miranda’s control.
However, each of those instances was merely a faint hint in
comparison to now.
    I’m sure that at the other scenes the
sensation had probably been masked by a host of conflicting
energies occupying the room, namely evidence technicians and cops.
As for the night of my direct encounter, I was too busy dealing
with my own fear to take much notice of anything else.
    This, however, was different. It was
the first instance in which I had been alone and unthreatened
in her world. Although,
whether or not I was truly unthreatened remained to be
seen.
    Even as I concentrated on the aching in my
skull, an intense and very pleasant tickle slowly undulated through
my groin. I instantly caught my breath and even felt myself rock
slightly as my knees seemed to buckle momentarily. Even though it
was a shock, the level of pleasure the sensation carried with it
was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I felt sick to my
stomach at the thought of what had caused it, but at the same time
it felt so amazing that I found myself consciously wishing it would
happen again.
    Out of reflex I looked down. Even though no
one was here but me, I couldn’t keep from making a self-conscious
check to be certain I wasn’t embarrassing myself. Surprisingly,
given the nature and intensity of the sensation, what one would
assume to be the affected body part appeared to be at rest, and
nothing was out of place.
    But, then, when I gave it some thought, I
suppose it shouldn’t have been such a surprise after all. There was
something about the sexual energy that was alien, and having been
down this road before, I knew exactly what it was. The arousal was
patently feminine, just as the fear was wholly masculine.
    I simply stood there for at least a solid
minute, maybe even two, struggling to center my thoughts on the
ethereal migraine and deny the other sensation. If my ploy was
truly working I couldn’t say, but since there was no repeat of the
tickle, I pressed forward.
    Continuing around the end of the bed, I made
my way over to the table. Its surface was crusted with
reddish-brown smears of dried blood in various patterns just like
the mattress cover. One recognizable outline was almost certainly
that of a knife or maybe even a pair of scissors. Others were not
so defined, some of them large, some of them small. I had seen what
Miranda had done to Officer Hobbes back in Saint Louis, so I knew
mutilation was a big part of her sick turn-on. Therefore, it really
wasn’t a stretch for me to imagine a severed body part or two from
the victim being responsible for the more generous stains.
    Here and there, around the edges of the
table, a silvery glint of bi-chromatic fingerprint powder glimmered
in the soft light. A basic effort to go through the motions, I
assumed, because I’m sure the police didn’t really expect to find
anything by way of a usable print here.
    Thus far I had been observing a hands