Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Read Free

we felt. It was all based in pure
emotion. There was nothing any of us could do, and I knew that. I
was certain Felicity and Agent Parker did as well. But, knowing
didn’t keep us from rushing headlong toward some glimmer of hope.
Whether or not it would actually be there when we arrived was
another story.
    Within seconds, the quick thud of our feet
against the tile turned to a soft, thump, as the harder flooring
gave way to the carpeted expanse of the waiting area. Entering
through the wide archway, we slowed to a halt. I quickly glanced
around, searching the hidden corners of the room with my eyes.
Felicity and Parker were doing the same.
    The lounge was devoid of anyone and anything
save the furniture and dog-eared magazines resting in a haphazard
pile on the center of a low coffee table. The glimmer we sought
wasn’t here. All was empty and still, utterly silent except for the
last flat echoes of our footsteps.
    “Are we on the right floor, then?” Felicity
asked, becoming the first to break our collective reticence. Her
pronounced Irish brogue was an audible betrayal of the fatigue we
were all feeling. Normally her accent was a mild lilt, noticeable,
but not terribly prominent. However, when she was tired it would
thicken as it did now. The accent highlighted her words in broad
strokes with each syllable she uttered. Given the uncharacteristic
Southern twang that had overcome her voice during the height of
this nightmare, the familiar Celtic affectation was a welcome
sound.
    “The seventh floor waiting area is where they
said they were,” Agent Parker responded. “They should be here.”
    I had been fumbling in my coat pocket and now
had my cell phone in hand. I began dialing a number as quickly as I
could. “Yeah, well they should be but they aren’t,” I said, eyes
never leaving my thumb as it stabbed buttons on the keypad.
    “Could it be they’ve gone for coffee or
something?” Felicity offered the question with a note of
uncertainty in her voice.
    “Maybe,” Parker replied, surety lacking in
her tone as well.
    Just as I was about to place the phone
against my ear, a distant mechanical chime sounded from behind,
prompting all three of us to turn in near unison. At the far end of
the hallway, from whence we had come only moments before, a set of
doors in the dual bank of elevators began to slide open with a
muted rumble. As the stainless steel parted, a lumbering janitor
exited, pushing in front of him a wheeled bin. Without looking up
he aimed himself toward a nearby trash receptacle as if on
autopilot.
    The fresh expectation of hope instantly
dashed, I felt myself sag right where I stood, slumping into a
dejected posture that physically announced my disappointment. To be
honest, at this point the only thing really keeping me upright and
focused was adrenalin augmented with caffeine, but both of those
were swiftly running out.
    Of course, the rapid depletion of the
chemicals from my bloodstream was the least of my worries. They
were only keeping me awake. My emotional self-flagellation was
quickly starting to get the better of me, and no amount of caffeine
could fix that. I knew that if it weren’t for the immediacy of the
current crisis, Felicity and I probably would have already given
ourselves over to the post-traumatic breakdowns we both had looming
on our personal horizons. There was no doubt they were coming—the
only questions that remained were how soon and which one of us was
going to have the worst time of it. Something told me neither
journey was going to be a cakewalk. But, one thing I knew for
certain was that the level of severity for both of us was presently
hinging on Constance’s survival.
    We had faced down far too much already, and
this was just a sadistic extension of the horror we had now been
living for better than a month. It was as if we were waking up only
to find our fleeting relief shattered by a fresh terror in an
endless cycle.
    I felt someone nudge me, then a voice