Quiver (30 page)

“Which is why we will have you speak to someone today. We must go through the proper channels, Danica.”

“Of course.” My eyes well up.

“Take it easy today. Why don’t you stay in your office and catch up on some filing until the detective comes this afternoon?”

I find a white lab coat in my office, put it over my mismatched outfit. There’s a memo from Kelly stuck to my desk:
A police detective will see you in your office at 2 p.m.
The clock above my desk says ten past nine. I grab a stack of papers and head to the lobby.

“Just doing some photocopying, Kelly,” I call out to her as I pass by the desk. “Taking it easy. Just catching up on some filing.” I carry the paper high, tight to my chest.

“You can use the one back here.”

“I need the one down a floor. It has some special features on the collation thingy.” I keep walking, get around the corner and slip out into the stairwell. I gallop downstairs and out the back doors. Race across the lawn to the Paddock.

I pray Kelly hasn’t already managed to spread the gossip of my public meltdown as far as the Paddock. I pass through the doors as one of the orderlies walks out. I smile, motion to my ID. I know he won’t stop to check it; I don’t ask to check his. I say a polite hi to the nurses on duty. They give me a quick hello back as they’re loading up the meds cart for rounds. I wave to two special-help aides passing behind the station on their way to the patients’ shower rooms. Like I’m supposed to be here, just passing through.

Twenty feet past the station, just around a bend in the hallway, are the elevator doors. If she’s parking in the lot below, Maria has to come up here.

A minute later, the elevator pings and the doors slide open. It’s Maria, escorted by an orderly. She’s wearing tailored black dress pants, a baby blue bell-sleeved jacket.

“I’m Dr. Winston,” I tell the orderly. “I’m supposed to escort Ms. János as well.”

“Oh. I’m Nick. I thought I was to bring ‘er up to Bill.”

“Yes, I know,” I say, straightening the staff badge around my neck. “It’s just that some new information, things Mr. Foster’s solicitor should know about, came through today. I’ll debrief Ms. János before she meets with her client.”

Maria looks half annoyed, half amused. “Nick, it is fine,” she says. She smiles and tilts her head. “We are almost there, yes?”

“Yep,” Nick says, “Bill’s just on the other side of that door there.” He points. The door’s about fifteen feet away from us.

“Oh, it is so close. Then I will go with the doctor, here. Thank you so much for escorting me this far.”

“My pleasure, Ms. János,” Nick gives her a smile and a little salute before he walks away.

“The orderlies, they are so handsome here, Dani. You did not mention it.” Maria begins walking towards the door.

I block her path. “Leave. If you leave now, I won’t give your name to the police.”

She laughs. “Danica. You will not talk to the police. Take me to Foster and everything will be fine.”

“No, Maria. I’m speaking to the police this afternoon. Leave now. Don’t make it worse.”

“Dani,” she reaches a black-gloved hand into her large leather portfolio. “I care for you. I wanted what was best for you. You were good enough, I did think, to be a part of us.” She walks towards me, pulls her hand out of the bag. “I did not want to hurt you. I always wanted you.” Her arm is under my lab coat; I feel something sharp press against my abdomen. “That feeling,” murmurs Maria, “it is a blade against you. One push, I stab you. I know where to cut a girl so that she bleeds.”

I’m silent. My stomach churns like a cauldron. It’s probably not a knife. Probably not.

“You got a knife through security? Through the metal detector?”

“Ah, security.” She raises her eyebrows high, opens her bright blue eyes wide. “Yes, it has been such a strong point over the years here, yes?” She smiles and pushes the object against me, harder. It feels strong, sharp.

“Zirconium oxide blade,” says Maria. “The metal detector, not a problem. Walk.”

Maria knocks on the door and Bill lets us in. “This must be the visitor for Martin Foster,” he says, all polite formalities. “You escorting her in, Dr. Winston? Thought an orderly was bringing her up. Didn’t think you were seeing this patient any more.”

I nod. “The orderly did escort Ms. János here, but Dr. Sloane and Dr. Abbas decided they wanted an observer from Stowmoor staff. Everyone was busy on short notice except me.”

“Oh?” says Bill.

I feel pressure against my lower back. “Some new information has come up. I’m to debrief her.” I smile, look him in the eye.

“Hmm. Okay.” He pauses, about to say something, then closes his mouth. “If those are the orders...” He leads us down the hallway to the interview room.

Maria walks slightly behind me, still holding the blade to my abdomen and pushing me ahead of her. She’s hiding the knife from Bill in her bell sleeve. I imagine the blade biting through the fibres of my sweater and dress, finding my skin.

“Just a moment, ma’am,” Bill says to Maria as we arrive at the door. “I’m sure they told you downstairs, but I’m going to have to keep your briefcase outside here while you consult with Mr. Foster. Just take in your notebook, pens, what have you.”

“Are you quite sure?” Maria doesn’t look at him.

“I will have to insist.” Bill sounds annoyed, maybe even suspicious.

I look at him again, try to mouth “weapon” behind Maria’s back.

She hands him the case with her free hand. He takes it, but sees her arm around me.

“Ma’am,” he begins to drop the case and pull out his nightstick. “Could you step away from—”

She’s fast. A blur, I don’t even see her arm move. But the pressure of the blade against my torso lifts and the knife is in his neck, to the hilt. She rips it sideways, then pulls it out. Blood runs out from Bill’s neck like a tipped glass of water. He tries to speak, to scream, but he can’t get his breath, can’t push out a sound. A froth of saliva and blood seeps over his lips. He falls.

Do something, I think. Now is the time to do something. But I stand there, staring at Bill. I’ve never seen a stabbing before. There’s movies, of course, TV. I watch the news, see footage of bodies on gurneys. In anatomy class, there were cadavers, washed, preserved, splayed on stainless steel. But when I see Bill fall down, blood spilling out, litres of it—one moment he’s talking, breathing, the next his neck ripped open—I know until now I’ve seen nothing.

In a few seconds, first aid training kicks in. I take off my coat, ball it up and try to press it against Bill’s neck. Maria’s arm slides around my neck. She presses the blade, warm and wet, against my neck.

“There’s nothing you can do. Take the keys. Get up.” She increases the pressure against my skin. “Quiet. Be quiet.”

The lab coat is scarlet. I’m breathing hard, I’m crying.

“Now, Danica.”

I unhook the keys from Bill’s belt and open the door. At the end of the hallway, I see a surveillance camera. Is anyone watching?

Foster jumps up from the table. “You came. Are we leaving?”

“Darling, of course. We’re going now.”

“What’s happening with her?” He points to me. “I always enjoyed your visits, Dr. Winston. You’re very pretty.”

I start to bargain. “You don’t need to kill me. Just walk out. Walk out. You don’t need to hurt anyone else.”

“We haven’t decided yet, darling,” Maria says to Foster.

Foster walks over to me. He looks at the knife Maria has to my neck, wipes his index finger along the blade. He pulls it away, red with Bill’s blood.

“Whose is this?”

“Darling, I had to remove the guard out there. We must hurry.”

“Just an old man’s blood. No good.” He steps close to my face. Drags his bloody finger along my cheek.

Maria pushes me down the few feet of hallway to the elevator. “Not a sound, Danica.” How long since she stabbed Bill? Almost a minute? The cameras must have picked up something.

I glance back, think of Bill slumped there. Maybe he’s still alive, maybe the lab coat has stopped the bleeding. The nurses’ station is just down the hall, just around the corner. Maria’s moved the blade down, holds it against my abdomen again. I look in the direction of the station. No one comes around the corner. The line of blood Foster smeared on my cheek has dried and begins to itch. The elevator pings, doors open. Foster steps through first.

“In, Danica.” I take a quick step forward, move sideways, try to move back from the blade. I scream.

I’ve let out maybe half a second of sound when Maria shoves me from behind into the metal wall of the elevator, hard. She’s small, but holds me easily against the brushed steel, grabs my hair and bangs my head against the wall. The doors close behind us and the car moves down.

“That was not a good thing to do, Dr. Winston,” says Foster. “Should we kill her now?” he asks Maria.

“Danica, why do you make things difficult for me? Always, my only wish is to help you. For us to work together. “ Her lips graze my earlobe.

I hear the doors open. Musty, exhaust-tinged air. Maria twists my hand behind my back, returns the blade to my neck. She turns me around. “Out.” Then to Foster, “To the right. Twenty feet, the garage door. Go.”

He runs out of the elevator. Maria tells me to follow him. I count seconds in my head, calculate. If the nurses heard me, how long until they make it down the hall, until they find Bill? I walk, slowly.

“Faster, Danica.”

“You’ll never make it out.” I tell her. A siren starts to ring through the car park. The alarm. Someone pulled the alarm. “Hear that? They’re coming.”

“Who is coming? Is this not the alarm they test every Monday?”

We’re steps away from the garage door. It’s closed, Foster waits beside it.

“They’ll figure it out,” I say. “The cameras.” The alarm half-drowns out my words. We’re at the door. It starts to roll up, stops halfway. I see car tires outside.

“Go,” says Maria. “Outside.”

Foster ducks down, bounds out. Maria kicks the backs of my knees and I fall on the concrete. She presses the knife against my shoulder, hard, a hot saw digging through the acrylic knit of the cardigan. The alarm must be real. Security, the police, someone must be coming. It can’t just be the test.

I crawl under the door. I run into a pair of legs, a man’s black shoes. I look up. A handgun, pointed at me. “I’ve got her, Maria,” says a polite English voice.

Edward.

Foster is standing next to the door of a white van, the type they use for laundry. Its engine is idling. “You’re really here,” he keeps saying. “I’m really getting out.” Maria scoots under the garage door, stands beside Edward.

“What do you want to do with her?” says Edward. “We’ve got to leave, fast.”

“Just a moment.” She strokes Edward’s arm, the one that’s pointing the gun towards me.

He lowers the gun. “Only a second, Maria. I’ll get Foster in the van.” He walks over to Foster, puts his arm around his shoulders. “They treat you all right in there?” Foster smiles.

“It wasn’t too bad. But I’m very ready to get back to the world.” He laughs.

“Then let’s go.” Edward opens the back seat door and Foster gets in. He watches me through a small window at the back of the van.

“Danica.” Maria kneels down to me. “This is our last chance. Will you come with me?”

“Come with you? Maria, you just killed a man. You’re breaking out a patient. You were probably there when Foster killed that girl.”

“Danica, you know that together we can do good work.” She has her hands in my hair, pulling my face close to hers. She kisses me on the cheek, her lips warm.

Her gardenia perfume is cloying. “Good work? Like murder? You’re insane.”

“You still do not understand? You read the diaries. It is not about murder. Murder is an incidental.”

“An incidental?”

“Yes. It serves something bigger. Our ideas, our aesthetics. You say you love Báthory and still you understand nothing?” She stands up. For the first time, I see her emotional, upset. She looks like she might cry. Then, in an instant, she becomes calm, stony-faced. “You do not see.”

See?

“Maria, in the van, now. Is she coming?” Edward waves the gun at me.

She really believes she is indestructible.

“Edward, she is not. She is nothing.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He kisses her on the forehead. “Get in with Martin.” She walks away, gets in the front seat.

“I’m quite sorry you had to be wrapped up in all of this, Dani,” says Edward. “I always told her I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Foster opens a side window and sticks his head out. “Ooh, a show.”

Edward raises the gun. I close my eyes, hear Foster giggling. I’m crying, almost hyperventilating.

A bang. I wait for pain, for a feeling of my blood spilling. I just feel my lungs rasping hard, in, out. I open my eyes.

Edward is on the ground. Foster sees his crumpled body, jumps out of the van. He gets down and embraces him, his arms, his head nestled near Edward’s wound. Another shot. Foster screams in anger. He’s got Maria’s knife in his hand.

More shots from somewhere. Maria hits the gas. Stray bullets ricochet off the bumper, but the van doesn’t stop. Foster starts to scream. “Don’t leave!” Then, to me, “You ruined everything.” He picks up the knife and lunges.

I try to get up, to run backwards. I am trying. I see a blood-splattered fist raised above me, a thickly freckled arm. I hear the
clonk
of my head hitting concrete. The alarm is still ringing; what if this is a test, this is only a test. I feel something rip down my arm.

I was in the hospital for ten days. Edward was dead. So was Bill. Foster was back in custody.

Maria was gone.

I saw the headlines on Sky News. Watched the small, bolted-to-the-wall TV in my hospital room. “More on the story unfolding from Stowmoor,” said the news anchor. “The security guard critically injured in an escape attempt yesterday morning from the renowned psychiatric hospital has succumbed to his injuries.” The newswoman pressed her lips together, looked grave for a moment. “It is believed that members of an alleged cult organized the attempted escape of Martin Foster, who was convicted last year of the brutal slaying of fifteen-year-old Moira Price. Stowmoor security fatally shot one member of the group. A source has told Sky News that a second member remains at large.”