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“Mind if I have a word with Nora first? I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Fine.” Menzies left and shut the door behind him.
Wicherly sat himself down, uninvited, in the wing chair Menzies had just vacated. Nora felt a twitch of a
When he spoke again, his voice was laced with sarcasm. “Worrying that I might try to slip something unwelcome into your knickers?”
“Adrian, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and so do you. Give it a rest.”
“Not after your abominable behavior.”
“My behavior?” Nora took a breath: this was not the time to get into it. “The door is over there. Please use it.”
“Not until we settle this thing.”
Nora looked at Wicherly more closely, feeling a twinge of alarm. She was suddenly struck by how tired he looked-wiped out, even. His face was white; gray pouches had formed under his blue eyes; and his hair was damp and disordered. Most surprising of all, his suit and tie, always immaculate, looked untidy, even disheveled. Beads of sweat stood on his brow.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine!” But as he spoke, one side of his face suddenly contracted in a grotesque twitch.
“Adrian, I honestly think you need a break. You’ve been working too hard.” She kept her voice calm and cool. As soon as he left, she would call Menzies and suggest he order Wicherly home for the day. Much as they needed his expertise-and despite his obnoxious behavior, he’d proved invaluable-they couldn’t afford a crack-up just before the opening.
His face twitched again, a horrible muscular contraction that screwed his handsome features into a brief grimace before allowing them to spring back into normalcy.
“Why did you ask me that, Nora? Don’t I seem all right?”
His voice had risen in volume. She noticed his hands were gripping the arm of the chair so hard that the fingernails were digging into the fabric.
Nora rose from her seat. “You know, with all your hard work, I really think you’ve earned a day off.” She decided she wouldn’t even check with Menzies: she was the curator of the show, and she was going to send him home. Wicherly was in no condition to be supervising the moving of millions of dollars’ worth of artifacts.
Another hideous twitch. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“You’re exhausted, that’s all. I’m giving you the day off. This is not optional, Adrian. I want you to go home and get some rest.”
“Not optional? And since when have you been my boss?”
“Since the day you arrived here. Now, please go home or I’ll be forced to call security.”
“Security? They’re a ruddy joke!”
“Please remove yourself from my office.” And Nora reached for the phone.
But suddenly Wicherly-rising-lunged forward and swept it from the desk to the floor, stomped on the cradle, yanked the wire out the back, and tossed it aside.
Nora froze. Something terrible was happening to Wicherly, something utterly beyond her experience.
“Look, Adrian,” she said calmly. “Let’s just cool down here.” She stood up, then began edging along the desk.
“You bloody tart,” he said in a low, menacing tone.
Nora could see his fingers twitching now, contracting a little more with each twitch until they formed a spastically clutching fist. She could almost smell the air of violence gathering around him. She came around the desk, not fast, but with slow determination.
“I’m leaving,” she said as firmly as she could. At the same time, she braced for a fight. If he came at her, she’d go straight for his eyes.
“The fuck you are.” Wicherly stepped across her path while at the same time reaching behind his back and turning the lock in the door.
“Get away from me now!”
He stood his ground, eyes bloodshot, pupils like tiny black bullets. She struggled against a rising panic. What would work: calm persuasion or stern command? She could smell his sweat, almost as strong as urine. His face had screwed itself up again in a series of spastic jerks, his right fist clenching and unclenching. He looked exactly as if he’d been possessed by demonic forces.
“Adrian, everything’s okay,” she said, working a soothing note into her trembling voice. “You just need help. Let me call for a doctor.”
More twitching, his neck muscles knotting and bulging.
“I think you might be having a seizure of some kind,” she said. “Do you understand, Adrian? You need a doctor immediately. Please let me help you.”
He tried to say something but instead he spluttered, spittle drooling down his chin.
“Adrian, I’m going to step outside now and call you a doctor-”
His right hand jerked up like a shot, striking her hard across the face, but she had been tensing for just such an attack and she managed to sidestep the main force of the blow. She fell backward. “Somebody help me! Guards! Call the guards!”
“Shut up, bitch!” He shuffled forward, dragging one leg, and struck at her again, wildly. She stumbled against the side of her desk, off balance, and he leaped on top of her immediately, slamming her down and sending her laptop crashing to the floor.
“Help! I’m being attacked!”
She stabbed at his eyes with the rigid fingers of her hand, but he swatted her arm away and dealt her a blow across the side of her head, while his other hand grabbed the top of her blouse and ripped downward, scattering buttons.
She screamed again and tried to twist away from his grip, but his free hand came around and wrapped around her neck with shocking force, cutting off the sound. She scrabbled with her legs, trying to find a purchase, but he scissored them in his own.
“So, you think you’re the boss?” He raised his other hand and together they began squeezing her neck harder. She flailed, tore at his hair, pounded his back, but he seemed not even to notice, so fixated was he on the grip of his hands, his sweaty, stinking, twitching face shoved into hers.
“I’ll show you who’s boss around here.”
Nora punched and clawed helplessly, her diaphragm heaving to suck in air that wouldn’t come. Her larynx felt nearly crushed under the awful pressure. He’d blocked the blood flow to her brain and she felt the strength draining away like water from a burst hose; her eyes were suddenly flecked with a million exploding stars, and a spreading stain of darkness began clouding the edges of her vision like ink poured into water.
“How does it feel, bitch?”
She heard sounds in the background, as if from far away; a violent hammering and splintering of wood; and then, from the furthest edge of consciousness, she felt the iron grip of his hands loosen and fall away. She was still swimming in a sea of dimness when she was jolted by a burst of shouting and an incredibly loud bang.
She rolled over, coughing violently and holding her bruised neck… and suddenly Menzies was there, cradling her in his arms and calling for a doctor. She felt utter confusion. There seemed to be a terrific commotion beyond the desk, a knot of museum guards, shouting… and then she saw a river of blood spreading out across the floor. What had happened?
“I had to do it, he came at me with a knife!” came a desperate voice, edging into her returning consciousness.
“… just a letter opener, you idiot!”
“… a doctor! Now!”
“… tried to strangle her…”
The cacophony of loud, panicky voices continued, the shattered phrases sounding in her head as it all began to come back… She coughed, trying to block it all out, trying not to think, while Menzies eased her down into the wing chair, whispering all the time: “You’re all right, my dear, everything’s fine, the doctor’s on his way. No, don’t look over there… Close your eyes and all will be fine… Don’t look, don’t look…”