Page 16 of Power of the Mind
The sideshow never performed again so far as I could tell.
Things with Rowena went quiet for close to fifteen years after her near-murder trial. I couldn’t find any record of further arrests or newspaper articles about her in the community. She hadn’t gone to prison, but she was definitely lying low.
It wasn’t until 2002 that she resurfaced. Another ding showed up on her police file. Two dings, to be precise. Identity theft and internet fraud. The missing years started to make sense. The woman had continued her manipulative ways but under several fake and stolen names, and it had taken the police a while to catch up with her. Using stolen aliases, Rowena had taken advantage of the birth of the internet, using its anonymity to scam people left and right from behind a screen.
It was bound to fail, and the law caught up with her again. She spent another couple of years locked up in a woman’s detention center outside of Toronto.
In 2011, at the ripe old age of fifty-two, I found a record that Rowena Fitspatrick—she was back to using her maiden name—had earned a certificate in spiritual and energy healing. She had gone on to open a legitimate practice in Toronto, doing psychic readings and offering spiritual healing. From that point on,nothing noteworthy was added to the list of crimes. Rowena, for all intents and purposes, had gotten herself clean.
Curious about what had happened to her husband, Mr. Wannabe Hypnotist, I dug into his background. William Hilty’s record was dull in comparison to his ex-wife. Apart from the incident back in eighty-six, where he was arrested and put on trial for the murder of two college students via mind control, he was squeaky clean. After the failed trial, the worst thing on his record was the fine he’d earned for practicing without a license. Hilty divorced Rowena in eighty-nine and went to the University of Guelph, where he earned a legitimate degree in psychology and hypnotherapy.
Presently, Dr. William Hilty ran a practice in East York.
I found the man’s website and gave it a browse. In a roundabout way, the list of medical and psychological issues he claimed to cure was similar to the ones the psycho bitch had on her website: Anxiety, depression, chronic pain, smoking, insomnia, phobias, and so on.
The desk chair protested as I leaned back, absorbing the information I’d discovered. Was it interesting? Sure. Why not? Did I think Rowena was able to mind-control people into committing suicide? Fuck no. Was she a manipulative bitch who had spent a lifetime scamming people? Yes. Could Amber or Allan have been manipulated by this woman in some way? Could she have blackmailed or threatened them with bad juju if they didn’t comply with her demands?
Maybe. Some people were gullible to a fault, and this psychic weirdo would know exactly how to fish for the right victim.
So, in a broad sense, could Madame Rowena have been somehow responsible for making Allan and Amber paranoid and delusional enough to the point they lost their heads and took their own lives?
I considered for a long minute. Growling, I slammed the laptop closed. “No, goddammit. Fucking no. No, no, no, no.”
I scrubbed my face, knowing Tallus would get his nose out of joint if I called him and explained his theory was a bunch of convoluted bullshit. To top it off, the second he found out what kind of person Madame Rowena was, he’d be all up in my face, telling meIwas wrong, using her criminal past as proof that shemusthave killed people.People escalate, he would tell me. Tallus’s investigative skills all came from prime-time TV.How can we know for sure if we don’t poke around more?
How was I going to approach this without making Tallus angry or getting sucked into further investigating some voodoo mind-control shit that wasn’t real? Tallus had a boner for snooping and sneaking around where he didn’t belong.
I would have to put my foot down.
I would have to be the bad guy.
He would hate me for it, and I might never get invited inside his apartment again when I showed up half in the bag after midnight looking for a fuck, but it was a risk I had to take. I couldn’t let Tallus lead me around by the balls anymore.
I didn’t investigate witchcraft.
I picked up my cell phone, found his number in my contacts, and stared at it a long time before putting it down again. First, I needed to figure out how to relay the information without getting tongue-tied. Tallus had a unique ability to turn me stupid.
Plus, if anyone was capable of mind-control manipulation, it was him. He had the power to talk me into almost anything, and I wouldn’t let it happen. Not this time.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and all of the next day stewing and pacing the office. On Sunday night, with a few beers in my system, I connected a call to Tallus.
He answered on the third ring.
“Well, well, well. He does know how to use a phone. I must say, I’m shocked. How long did it take? Wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You found answers about Madame Rowena right away. The second I left your office yesterday, you dove headfirst into looking her up even though you thought everything I shared was a convoluted load of crap.”
I growled under my breath. “I didn’t—”
“Come on, Guns. You did so. But, since we both know you’re halfway in love with me and don’t know how to tell me to fuck off, you looked into her anyhow. Maybe she intrigued you, but it’s okay, you don’t have to admit that part. I’m flattered you gave me the time of day even though I couldn’t pay you. Anyhow, I bet you found answers right away but didn’t want to contact me because it might have made you look too eager. No, no, wait. You didn’t contact me immediately because you were nervous and tongue-tied.” Tallus paused andhmmed. “Maybe both. Was it both?”
I didn’t answer and ground my teeth instead.
“Doesn’t matter. Either way, you needed time to figure out how to relay the information you found. I bet your carpet got a workout, too. Did you pace? You totally paced. Did you sleep last night? I’m surprised you didn’t show up at my door. I half expected it. I bet it took a few drinks before you could pick up the phone. I’m close, aren’t I? Did you find anything? Was I right about her?”
Tallus’s musical laughter traveled through the phone when I growled.
“Poor cuddle bear. Am I making you uncomfortable? It’s intentional. I love making you squirm. One of these days—”
“Stop fucking talking. And I’m not halfway in love with you.”