by D. L. EVANS
Lauren looked around the room as if she was looking for someone specific. I knew she was stalling. She asked if I would like to meet the rising star whose work was being featured in the gallery and who was causing quite a stir with the ‘in’ crowd. She leaned forward conspiratorially from habit, wasting her cleavage on me. “I can arrange an introduction to the great Morgan. You’ll kick yourself if you miss this opportunity to rub 'whatever' with the soon to be rich and famous, I’m telling you,” she laughed.
I followed her eyes to an apparition who was standing, holding court beside a nearby table. He, she, it, was wearing an ugly caftan that hung to the floor but exposed huge bare feet. The deeply tanned face appeared to be prematurely wrinkled by years of careless exposure to the sun and was topped by a mass of dreadlocks that would frighten a witch. We were far enough away that the white noise of the rock band starting up again distorted the apparition’s individual words, but the screechy falsetto of her voice was loud and clear, peppered with invisible italics and elaborate gestures. She (I noticed tits) was obviously revelling in the attention and the entire table of about twelve disciples were hanging on her every word.
“I’ll consider myself forewarned,” I replied acidly, “and I think I’ll pass on the intro. Did you actually say ‘rub whatever's’ with her? Lauren gave one of her impish smiles while I mentally tried to spit out the thought before it attached itself to my subconscious. The roving cameraman zeroed in on Morgan as she waved and nodded, caught up in her own performance.
“Besides,” I offered, “She’s obviously one of the gifted and we plebs know our place.”
“You’re a genius in your own immoral fashion." She gave me one of her warm sisterly smiles and I saw freckles and braces again. "You write one book and bingo, right to the top. I knew you could do it. I've always been your biggest fan... well, next to Mom.” Was that pride in her eyes? “There are lots of female types here giving you the eye too if you cared to notice." She turned to stare at the crowd and left something unsaid, hanging like smoke.
I finished my insipid drink and turned to leave when I noticed a sudden change in the old crone, the artist Morgan. She stood frozen in mid-gesture, her head turned towards the main staircase. I followed her eyes to see who was important enough to cause the reaction. There were at least thirty people milling around the huge entrance but I couldn’t spot anyone that warranted the response. When I looked back a moment later, Morgan was gone.
“Wonder what that was all about,” Lauren said. “Morgan never deserts a captive audience. Talking is the thing she likes to do best, after painting. She practically ran across the room on her way out. Strange... even for her.”
“Maybe she had to pee?”
Lauren laughed. “No. I’ve had the tour, remember? She headed toward the lower lobby. No washrooms there, just a private exit to the parking lot. She seemed positively terrified. Did you see her face?”
“Do you smell a story or a bit of scandal for your show?” I asked.
“Well, something’s up," she stated as though thinking out loud. "I’m going to see if Alice knows what could have upset her. Morgan’s supposed to be a guest on my show next week. I even like her work. By the way," she said switching subjects, "what did you think of the lovely Alison? Gorgeous eh? Single too, even if you did put her off a bit with your warped sense of humour.” She stabbed my arm with her pointy elbow.
“The landscape is no doubt littered with those I have offended,” I replied with disdain. “Look kiddo, don’t get out on a limb here or I’ll cut you off. I’m not interested in anyone, least of all Alice of this Wonderland, she of the cold eyes and frozen smile,” I said, trying to head her off at the pass. Fat chance.
“Spoken like a real writer,” she said to the back of my head as I turned back to the bar. The too handsome bartender, oblivious to Lauren’s charms, refilled her wine glass without expression. Then he turned to me with a large, warm smile, while topping up my glass, unasked. Lauren winked at him as she placed a possessive hand on my arm. Mr. Adonis frowned at the potential loss and sauntered off to another distraction at the far end of the bar. What would I do without her? She looked around appreciatively, “What do you really think of the renovation? It used to be a dark, depressing place. They’ve made a huge difference.”
“Yah, it does have the high gloss of 'money-no-object’ look about it. Look sis, this noise is really getting to me and you’re scaring off the possibles, I tilted my head towards the handsome bartender, (she giggled) and I’d rather open a vein than hear that rap music again, so I’m getting out of here. I can see your fans waiting for an audience so I’ll see you tomorrow. O.K.?”
Lauren smiled. “Sure, I’m taping a show until two o’clock” she answered, “but I’ll catch a cab and join you here right after. There are a few people I should chat up.” She gazed around, ignoring several flirting eyes that looked at me with envy. This was her turf. She actually felt at home in the company of strangers; able to open up common ground at every turn of a conversation, while I felt like a loose thread on a sweater; one pull and I would unravel. Her career was an extension of her personality, hence her success. How did we come from the same gene pool? She leaned forward into confidentiality range, “Sometimes these parties are just the place to pin an agent to the wall and land an interesting guest or two for an interview.” She kissed my cheek and disappeared into the crowd.
Chapter Four
ANNIE STANFORD:
Annie Stanford arrived at the Gallery, parked her car at the rear of the building beside her sister Alison’s brand new BMW and entered through the private security door. Two years of chaos, meeting after meeting with architects, fights with contractors, delays with construction and the unbelievable mess had finally ended, to be marked with this one night of celebration. The ‘who’s who’ of the art world and the cream of the ‘political crop’ would be here to pay homage to one of the city’s newest landmarks. Annie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For one moment, she wished the whole damn building would disappear. She felt the usual anticipatory twinge of nausea, an olfactory warning to brace herself. Be careful what you wish for, girl, she thought. She didn’t go through all that stress to arrive at a gaping hole in the ground. She laughed at herself. There would be over five hundred people gathered tonight to celebrate the gallery opening.
Winston Lucas, the gallery manager met her with a grimace that she recognized as his automatic smile of greeting.
“Going well, so far, Winnie?” she asked.
“Oh yes, going well, going well.” He nodded then looked down as if inspecting his shiny shoes. He took her arm and led her into the building. “You look especially lovely tonight Miss Annie. The band is playing so it’s hard to think in the main studio.”
Thank god, Annie thought. Dear sister Alison was screwing the band’s lead singer, Troy Cage, and they had fought earlier. Annie was afraid that Troy might actually walk away from this performance in a huff but he must have used his few remaining brain cells to figure out that Alison would have squashed his rising career like a bug if he tried anything that might embarrass her.
“Miss Alison informed me,” Winston continued, “that she’s personally greeted the ‘A’ list and has suggested that it would be nice if you to spent a minute or two with the mayor and his wife when you arrive.”
“I’ll bet she did,” Annie hissed, annoyed at the message. Winnie looked uncomfortable as he always did when Annie reacted to her sister’s constant social ‘suggestions’. She took pity on him and changed tack, “You’re looking rather spiffy yourself tonight in your new duds, Winnie.” The compliment was wasted on him. He still looked preoccupied with Alison’s orders. “Oh don’t worry for heaven’s sake.” Annie gave up. “I’ll even kneel and kiss his ring,” she smirked. Winnie nodded dryly, lips in a tight smile. “Do you know he’s an abusive husband?” When Winnie remained silent. Annie sighed. “Any other suggestions from Alison? I’m only staying an hour or so. It’s all I can ta
ke.” Winnie shook his head, knowing how she hated crowds.
He looked upwards with his cryptic, unblinking gaze. “No, nothing else. I do have a small request though…” he lowered his eyes.
“Come on, out with it,” she ordered.
“Well, there’s a storm out over the Lake and I was wondering….”
“You don’t want any of the ‘B’ list to get wet?” Annie laughed. “Winnie, you’re a snob, but a considerate one, at least.”
The grimace appeared as he allowed himself a small humourless smile. “It was just a thought. The parking lot isn’t quite finished and if it turns to mud…”
“Shall I make a small low pressure cell over Hamilton and direct the nasty weather away from us?” she said not making eye contact as they walked.
“That would be nice,” he stated, “if it’s not too much trouble. Umbrellas would be awkward and all….” He let the thought taper off.
“Are you sure you don’t want a full moon?” Annie laughed.
“I figured that would be pushing it,” he said taking her coat over his arm as they arrived at the end of the hall at the main entrance.
“Consider it done.” Annie smiled. It was an old joke between them but one day she would surprise him. “Has our guest of honour arrived?”
“Yes, yes.” He nodded at the ground again. “But she’s not at the head table as Miss Alison planned. She took a table at the back with a group of her personal friends, students mostly. They have all been checked against the reservation list. Nice people, nice people.” Again, he checked his shoes.
“So there’s no one else here that I haven’t met before?”
“You know all the reserved guests, Miss Annie, apart from the students there are no new faces although I’ve added the second security team. The caterer’s are our regulars. Your friend Miss Stone is here with her brother. You have not met him I think.” He drew his manicured fingers through his thin hair. Annie guessed that he didn’t like these events any more than she did. The extra work must weigh heavily on him at his age.
“No. But I know about him. That’s all?”
“Yes, Miss Annie. There are guards around the perimeter of the parking lot and all the cameras are activated. I’m sure we’re secure.” He said he would leave her coat in her studio and added that he would find her sister.
No doubt to let her know that I’ve arrived, Annie thought. Dear sister Alison had to know everything.
Annie walked down the staircase of the main gallery and knew at once that he was present. The voice in her head she called 'The Priest'. Damn, damn, damn, she thought. How did he get through the security? Why is he doing this? Several faces turned in her direction, open admiration projecting silent fantasies, but that was not the problem. He was definitely in the room somewhere and watching her. No one was dressed as a priest or minister that she could see but the prayer would come and force its way into her thoughts. Annie forced herself to smile as she passed through the throng of people; greeting them all with a warmth and affection she did not feel. She concentrated on the music, using it as insulation. Champagne appeared in her hand. Beautiful faces, beautiful dresses, she thought. Money and power laced with tendrils of fear, greed and lust. The mayor entered her focal range and started talking about his art collection but Annie’s mind was racing. Why could she not center on him? No matter where she moved, he did not feel any closer. The actress in her nodded and made appropriate remarks but she was riding another current through the crowd.
The music could not block him. She had never sensed such a powerful mind. Who was he? Where was he? A feeling of dread settled around her. Was she marked for some sort of execution? Annie knew that whoever he was, he had killed many times.
“THE LORD IS MY SHEPARD, I SHALL NOT WANT…” The voice resonated in her head. He had to be very close but no one reacted. The party continued. No one else could hear the prayer. Annie waited for the mayor to take a breath and politely excused herself, searching desperately for her sister. “HE MAKETH ME TO LIE DOWN IN GREEN PASTURES….”
Shut up!!! Annie yelled in her mind, careful to keep her smiling face mask in place. Leave me alone you sick bastard. Where are you? Annie looked around trying to appear calm. People nearby were dancing to the strong beat of the band, seemingly oblivious to her. She closed her eyes and probed the room with her mind. It was impossible to hide from her, but he was doing just that. What was happening to her and why?
Winston Lucas appeared and took the untouched champagne glass from her hand while leading her from the floor. When they reached the privacy of the empty hall he turned to her. “You heard voices again, didn’t you Miss Annie?”
Annie focused on the compassion in his eyes. There was no judgment, no question in them. He simply cared as always. “A voice, Winnie: a single voice saying another prayer. A killer… he’s a killer Winnie, quoting the Bible as though he wrote the words himself, as clear as a bell and loud enough to drown the music… He’s here and he can see me.” Annie felt faint. Winston led her further down the hall to her studio and retrieved a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. He poured it in a glass and held it out to her trembling hand.
“Thanks, Winnie. I’m all right now. I’m going home. Please tell Alison.”
Winston looked stared uncomfortably at the floor. “She actually sent me to ask you if you would smooth things over with Morgan before you leave. Of course, she didn’t know about…” He didn’t want to upset her by talking about 'voice' again.
Annie sensed his discomfort. “OK, OK, relax. Where is Morgan?” she asked.
He took a deep breath hoping he had dodged a bullet by getting Annie to obey her sister. “At the back of the room beside the bar," he said quickly. "Do you want me to ask her to come here?”
“No. Definitely not,” Annie ordered. “The VOICE is in that room and I’m going to find out who he is. He’s dangerous Winnie and I think he wants to kill me but first he needs to scare the crap out me for some reason. You know I’ve never been afraid of anything before and this man is not going to control my life with his damn prayers in my brain.”
Out of his depth, Winston agreed, head bobbing.
“I’ll join Morgan at her table,” Annie said. “She’ll be more comfortable with her friends there with us.”
Winston nodded again in agreement. In some ways Miss Annie was just as forceful as her demanding sister. He was relieved that things were going as planned, despite the upset.
Annie and Winston left the studio and returned to the staircase overlooking the main room. She scanned the crowd for the artist Morgan. Over the heads of hundreds of people their eyes met for a fraction of time across the room and then something unexpected happened. Morgan turned ran for the rear exit of the gallery towards the parking door.
Annie turned to Winston and said, “She’s making a run for it. Where’s her car parked?”
“In the private guest area in the southwest corner of the lot,” Winston answered. “What are you going to do?”
“Talk to her, of course. Isn’t that what Alison would want? I’m sure she doesn’t want her guest artist to disappear on my account.” She was secretly relieved not to have to enter the main studio again and risk another confrontation with ‘The Voice.’
Annie moved quickly out the front door and down the staircase, past late arriving guests. She reached down and took off her heels as she ran across the newly paved section of the parking lot cutting off the only way Morgan could get to her car.
Morgan saw Annie and froze while they were still several feet apart. Annie put up her hand, signalling Morgan to wait for Annie to catch her breath. She needn’t have bothered. Morgan was too terrified to move.
“Please, Morgan… I only want to talk to you for a minute…” Annie said.
Morgan eased alongside her car towards the door. Annie sensed the fear that Morgan felt. “You stay away from me, you fucking witch! I know you got the ‘eye’ and I want you to stay away from me!”
“I
’m not a witch for heaven’s sake,” Annie said calmly trying to diffuse the fear. “What century are you from? Can we talk for a minute? I want to explain….” Annie stopped in mid thought. Morgan was going in and out of focus. In slow motion Annie saw Morgan pull her necklace out of her dress and hold it out in front of her chest. A small golden cross glittered in the light of the huge windows. Morgan proceeded to cross herself continuously with her other hand as she unlocked her car door and got in.
Annie could not move.
Morgan revved the engine and blasted out of her parking space. Annie froze as the car veered towards her. She closed her eyes and felt herself jump out of the way to avoid being hit. Thinking about it later that evening, she could not remember actually moving. It was as though she was picked up and thrown out of the way. Her last memory of the incident was watching the rear of the Mercedes as it sped out of the lot and onto the street.
