The High Priestess - The Darkest Desires Series

XIX

M

cQueen didn't apologise to Hale as he followed him to their desks. Echo's words were running so fast around his head, quite frankly, the real killer could have walked up and socked him in the face and he wouldn't have noticed. Questions tumbled through his thoughts, the main one: How could she be so blind to her actions? It made him sick. She drugged the victims. She'd helped the killer, consciously or not, and yet she defended herself. She fought her corner with explanations and technicalities... it was appalling.

Sitting down hard at his desk, McQueen bounced a pencil between his fingers, the lead tip snapping off instantly as it smashed against the hard top, while the rubber end bounced with renewed force each time. His breaths came out heavy and harsh. The chatter of the people became a distant buzz as his mind focused on the fake wood under his fingertips. Running his fingers around in circles he felt every grain, every bump and ridge, focusing on only that.

He was-... He was angry. Yes, angry for obvious reasons; the injustice of her actions. But he was also-... something. He couldn't concentrate on any paperwork. The toxicology report still lay in front of him, the herb names blurring behind unfocused eyes. She didn't think she'd done wrong. If you told any sane person they had contributed to the events leading to someone's murder, they'd be horrified. But Echo, she just... laughed... she'd laughed and said, 'so what'. And then-, then she'd dragged him screaming back to that night. His mind had literally filled with a hot buzz as everything they'd done, said and felt had come rushing back to him. The pencil snapped beneath his fist.

"McQueen?" Hale asked but McQueen couldn't look at him. He mumbled a quick, 'sorry boss', before turning to look at his computer screen, not registering anything that he saw.

Dizziness. Yes, he'd been overwhelmingly dizzy. That was... his eyes scanned the blurry page he'd just been looking at-, Henbane or Devils Eyes. It had been in the victim's system. Had it been in his that night. Had she laced his drink? He looked at the rest of the list. Yes, he'd felt dry mouth, his throat had been parched... but that could have been the alcohol too, his mind whispered. Restlessness; Yes, he'd been up and walking a lot. He'd felt restless in the Summer Annex... but what good Catholic wouldn't in that den of sex and lust. McQueen hung his head in his hands.

Like a breath on a breeze, McQueen remembered a quote his mother had only ever said to him once. He remembered it because it led him to where he was today. 'For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth, and hath not another to lift him up.' Echo was alone, she wanted to be, and she didn't need a hand to stand up. She could do that all on her own. McQueen almost laughed hanging his head in his hands. He pitied Echo, that was what made his head run in circles. How could he pity the damned? How could he pity such a-... a criminal?

"Can't be because I fucked her, because I didn't." He muttered under his breath.