Free The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars Page A

planet. Whether or not that is a
scientific fact I cannot begin to say, but given the vision now
staring me in the face, I am inclined to believe it. This woman can
almost pass as Felicity Caitlin O’Brien’s twin.
    She turns, and showing little concern for
her victim, she drags her now bloody heel across him as she climbs
from the bed. She slowly saunters toward the window at the front of
the room and stands there, still listening for a repeat of the
sound.
    Though not fully nude as is her victim, she
is scantily dressed. What little of her wardrobe there is consists
of black lace and patent leather. Her red hair cascades in a loose
spiraling fall down her back. It feels hot in the room, and I can
see that her exposed ivory skin is damp with sweat. It glistens in
dim light as she remains still except for the rise and fall of her
shoulders as she breathes. On her left shoulder, I can see what
appears to be a tattoo of a stylized triskele.
    I have seen it before. It is
the mystery veve from the
previous crime scenes.
    After several minutes she reaches out and
slips a finger between the slats of the blinds. Slowly, she presses
down, opening a small gap through which she carefully peers.
    I watch her as she tilts her head from side
to side until finally she is satisfied that no one is there.
Turning, she saunters back to the bed and looks down at the bound
victim.
    “Don’t worry, little man. It
was nothing,” she says to him in a sweet drawl. She takes a moment
to flip an errant shock of hair back over her shoulder then adds
with a feigned pout, “Of course, that nothing interrupted me, so I guess we’ll just have to
start over.”
    Sliding one knee onto the bed, she dips
forward and scoops something into her hand before bringing the
other leg up. Kneeling next to him, she smiles sweetly and holds up
a stun gun.
    “Ready?” she asks.
    He begins to buck against the bonds, a
scream caught behind the duct tape gag and diverting to exit in the
form of a short, nasally whine through his nose before being
unceremoniously cut off as he chokes.
    “Good,” she giggles. “So am I. Just
remember, I love you.”
    With a wicked grin, she leans forward and
presses the business end of the device against his bare genitals
and squeezes the trigger.
    I buckle and begin falling backward as I
feel his pain.
    But what’s worse is that I also feel her
pleasure.
     
    In that moment everything shifted, and the
three-dimensional quality of the vision flattened then faded in a
bloom of light. I could instantly sense that I had stepped back
into my own world, but both the sensation of pain and arousal
remained.
    Though I had felt myself falling, I found
that in reality I hadn’t moved at all. I was still squatting next
to the bed, staring directly ahead, just as I had been at the
beginning. I did notice, however, that I was holding my breath. I
let it out with a heavy sigh. My eyes were itching and dry, so I
closed them, but the moment I did so I feared I would regret the
action. It seemed that blinking was getting me into a lot of
trouble right now. Still, I knew that sitting here forever with my
eyes closed wasn’t going to get me anywhere, so I steeled myself in
preparation for the onslaught of another round and allowed them to
flutter open.
    This time, the vision was still gone.
    Letting out another sigh, this one of a
semi-relieved nature, I rocked back on my heels and stood upright.
Reaching to my face, I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes.
Slipping the spectacles back on, I gazed around the room.
Everything was just as it had been when I entered. Nothing had
changed, no matter how real the things I had just witnessed may
have felt.
    Making a slow half turn exactly where I
stood, I finally wandered back to the small room housing the
vanity. Removing my glasses once again, I twisted on the faucet and
cupped my hands beneath it. Bending over the sink, I first pressed
one handful of water against my face and then another. After