"Nothing important. Just something about Barbie in a Prom dress."

"Do what?" Ben looked as confused as ever. Since I was no clearer on what I'djust said than he was, I couldn't blame him.

"Yeah, it was green and she didn't like her shoes, or something like that."

"Who didn't like whose shoes?"

"Barbie. Debbie. I don't know, both of 'em maybe."

"You are talking about the toy fashion doll, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Rowan," Felicity asked. "Are you absolutely certain you're okay?"

I slid number eleven from the pack and lit it up almost unconsciously. "I've been wondering that myself."

CHAPTER 11.

"Are you coming to bed or not?" Felicity called to me from the hallway. "We've a long day, then. In case you didn't remember, Yule is day after tomorrow."

"You mean, Yule IS tomorrow," I called back while in the process of exhaling a plume of smoke through the crack where I was holding the storm door just slightly open. Pushing it a bit wider, I dropped the cigarette into a sand-filled can we kept on the porch for our smoking friends. "It's pushing five A.M., so it's already today."

We'd all finally decided that we were far too exhausted to continue the discussion, and since we weren't getting anywhere to begin with, it wasn't a hard call. The caffeine was all we were running on and I think we'd even started becoming immune to its effects in short order. Our bout of speculation was terminated with the idea that a bit of sleep might bring some more of what I'd seen to the surface. While I agreed with the idea in theory, I most definitely wasn't looking forward to the possibility of yet another Technicolor nightmare.

Upon returning to Ben's house, we had bid him goodnight and I had apologized once again for getting him into trouble with his superiors. His response had simply been for me not to worry, they'd get over it. I hoped he was correct.

"Aye, don't remind me," she called back with a resigned sigh. "We've far too much to do and we'll need rest if we're to get everything done before Friday, and still be able to tend the fire through."

Like zombies, Felicity and I had piled into her Jeep and then made the trek down Highway Forty, and home. By the time we pulled into the driveway, the minute hand was already well into its climb toward the top of the coming hour. Fortunately for us, true to what Ben had told me earlier in the evening, Briarwood's finest had seen to discouraging the media from camping on our lawn. How they'd done it withoutinfringing upon the const.i.tutional freedom of the press, I had no idea-I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know either. I was just happy not to have to deal with them right now.

I pushed the front door shut and twisted the deadbolt until it gave a dull thunk.

"Yeah," I returned as I punched in the code to engage the alarm system. "Not to mention that if you don't get some rest everyone is going to think you just got off the boat."

"What's that, then?"

"The accent. It's gotten pretty thick over the past few hours. Kind of obvious that you're exhausted."

"Aye, I don't have an accent," she replied, calling out from the bedroom now.

"YOU do."

"Uh-huh. Whatever." I chuckled. "Are you done in here?"

"Aye. Did you let the dogs out?"

"Yeah, they've been out already. And yes, the back is all locked up."

"Did you check the answering machine, then? I noticed it blinking when we came in."

"So, why didn't YOU check it then."

"Because I wanted to go to bed."

"Uh-huh," I harrumphed. "Me too. I'll check it in the morning."

"Aye, I thought you said that it WAS morning."

"How about, I'll check it later then?"

"Aye, I suppose. And, Rowan?"

"Yeah?"

"Brush your teeth and gargle," she instructed sleepily, her voice fading along a deepening arc. "Sure'n I'm not sleepin' next to an ashtray, then."

Disorientation gave way to longing.

There was only one thing that I cared about.

Her.

She was here.

But was it really her?

No.

She was close, but it wasn't really her.

Her hair spiraled softly across her shoulders, streaked with highlights from thesun's rays filtering through the mini-blinds.

She sat motionless, legs crossed, lounging seductively in the chair.

Looking at me with l.u.s.t in her eyes.

Yes, the blinds worked. They were artistic.

But something still wasn't quite right.

Perhaps it was the sun.

Perhaps a bit less yellow.

Yes, that would help.

And maybe tweak the blinds just a bit more.

Yes, perfect.

Well almost.

It would only be perfect when she was really there.

She moaned softly.

Need to hurry.

She whimpered.

Yes, must hurry before she moves.

She slid downward, falling to the side, then off the chair; coming to rest as a tangled mess on the floor. She was no longer perfect.

A flash of light.

Fear.

Pain.

Loneliness.

l.u.s.t.

Animal pa.s.sion.

Needful desire.

Putrefaction sets in within twenty-four to forty eight hours. Purge fluids escape through the bodily orifices as the organs begin to decompose and breakdown of the vascular system occurs.

Almost perfect.

If she'll just stay in one place a bit longer this time.

If only she was her...

Then...

Then she would be perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

Death settles in, warming itself briefly on the fading embers of a pa.s.sing life.

I'm cold.

So very cold.

Why me ?

Darkness.

A mocking chant in the distance.

Listen everybody; I've got a story to tell, I'm lying here dead, and he just says, "Oh well. "

I called on Rowan; they said he was the best.

They told me, "Go see Rowan," and forget about the rest.

I called on Rowan, because I was afraid, But all he seems to want, is to get himself laid.

Dead I am, yes, dead today, Will Rowan find my killer?

h.e.l.l no! Not this way.

I awoke more exhausted than I'd been when I'd crawled into bed next to Felicity.

According to the clock almost seven hours had pa.s.sed, but considering how I was feeling it might just as well have been seven minutes. I remained perfectly still, watching until the numerals on the face of the digital timepiece incremented forward enough times to make it officially noon. Of course, since my wife had a penchant for setting clocks a bit fast to avoid being late, it was more like quarter till.A small voice rattled about between my ears-singing a song, or reciting a poem, I wasn't entirely sure. I couldn't actually make out the words, and the echo was so faint that I had no choice but to conclude that I was imagining things.

Still, something about it seemed intimately familiar.

My head was throbbing with a dull ache. Not enough to be debilitating, but more than enough to get my attention. All in all, annoying, and something that I hoped would disappear in the very near future.

After a moment, I started to sit up on the side of the bed and found myself bound in a wild tangle of sheets. When I finally managed to extricate myself, I wearily twisted my fists in my eyes to force the sleep away. I threw a slack-jawed glance over my shoulder and saw that the bed linens were in a chaotic jumble. One of us must have done some serious tossing and turning, and I presumed that I was the guilty party.

Taking in a deep breath, I started to let out a sigh, but was greeted instead by a grating cough. My throat was dry and felt a bit raw. Following the bout of hacking and sputtering, I wheezed in a deep breath and felt it rattle in my chest.