The Art of Dying

by Amy Cross

  “With my life,” I reply as I make my way along the corridor.

  Most of the doors are locked, but finally I reach the end and lean through into a large workspace. To my shock, there are several bodies on the floor, and when I rush over to the first I realize that it's one of the third year art students from the college. I kneel next to him and check his pulse, and I find to my relief that he's still alive. Hurrying to the next body, I find the same thing, and I quickly determine that all the students are unconscious but still breathing. It's as if they've been drugged.

  “Call for medical back-up,” I tell Nick over the radio. “We have eleven unconscious people up here.”

  “What about Victoria?” he asks.

  “No sign.”

  “And Ophelia?”

  “No sign of her either. Just call for as many ambulances as they can send. I don't know how sick these people are.”

  Checking the pulse of another of the students, I'm shocked when his eyes start to flutter open.

  “Can you hear me?” I ask.

  He's clearly dazed, but as far as I can tell he seems to be slowly coming around.

  “Listen to me,” I continue, gently patting the side of his face, “you're going to be okay. Medical assistance is on the way, and they're going to take care of you. Can you tell me who did this?”

  He blinks a couple of times, but I'm pretty sure I'm not getting through. After a moment he closes his eyes again, slipping back into unconsciousness.

  “Hey!” I add, slapping his face. “Wake up! Did you see another girl here? Which way did they go?”

  No response.

  “Okay, just wait right here,” I mutter.

  Getting to my feet, I walk over to a nearby table and look at an open pot that contains some kind of light yellow substance, like paint but thicker. There are several similar pots nearby, as well as brushes and modeling tools. I can't even begin to work out what has been going on in here, but it's clear that we've found ground zero for the killer's plans. The students I found on the floor were obviously going to be used for something. Turning, I head toward the door.

  And then I see it.

  Stepping over to the side of the room, I reach down and pick up the phone. The screen is smashed and the back has come loose, dislodging the battery, but there can be little doubt: it's the exact same phone I gave to Ophelia a year ago. She's always prized that phone, claiming that it contains vital high scores for a game she's been playing, and I can only assume that it was destroyed deliberately, possibly to hinder any attempt to track its location.

  Getting to my feet, I slip the broken phone into my pocket before hurrying though the next door. I find myself at the top of a set of stairs, so I hurry down, only to end up in another nondescript corridor. So far, this whole building seems like something of a maze, and Victoria Middleton undoubtedly has an advantage since she must know the layout.

  “Ambulances are on the way,” Nick says over the radio. “You found anything else?”

  “Not yet. This place is pretty big.”

  “Maybe she's gone,” he replies. “We need to get her picture out all over the place in case someone sees her. If she's smart, she'll already be trying to get away. I'll send units to the train and coach stations just in case.”

  “Sure, but...”

  “It's time like this I wish we carried guns,” he adds.

  “That's just what this situation needs,” I reply. “Someone -”

  Suddenly hearing a noise over my shoulder, I turn to look along the corridor, but there's no sign of anyone. I make my way in that direction, however, convinced that someone is nearby. Seconds later I hear a distant clanging sound, as if someone has dropped a piece of metal.

  “Hello?” I call out. “Victoria Middleton? My name is Laura Foster and I'm a police officer. I need to talk to you about a very serious matter. If you're here, please make your presence known!”

  No reply.

  “Victoria Middleton,” I shout, “this is the police! I'm ordering you to come out and approach me with your hands in the air! If you won't come willingly, I'm authorized to use force!”

  Reaching the end of the corridor, I look left and right, but there's no sign of anyone in either direction.

  “I found her!” Nick shouts over the radio suddenly. “Laura, Ophelia's down here, she's hurt!”

  “Where are you?” I shout.

  “Ground floor!”

  Hurrying down the next set of stairs, I race along the corridor until I spot Nick up ahead, crouching next to a crumpled heap on the floor. As soon as I reach them I kneel next to Ophelia and look down to see that she's unconscious, with a large bruise already starting to show on the side of her head.

  “Ophelia -”

  “Don't touch her!” Nick replies, pushing my hand away. “We need to wait for medics. She's breathing, but I think she fell down those stairs. She might have a neck or back injury.”

  “Did you see Victoria Middleton at all?” I ask.

  “No sign of her.”

  Getting to my feet, I hurry along the corridor until I get to an emergency exit, which has been left partially open. I push the door all the way and step outside, only to find myself around the back of the building. Ahead, there's a low wooden fence and then nothing but a dark forest stretching away. Assuming that Victoria Middleton came this way, there's no way of tracking her fast enough. She's gone, and I'm the one who let her get away.

  In the distance, sirens are getting closer. Back-up has finally arrived, just a couple of minutes too late.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Ophelia

  I suddenly realize that people are touching me.

  “Stop!” I shout, opening my eyes as I sit up.

  “It's okay,” says a startled-looking paramedic, with his hand on my shoulder. “Just calm down.”

  “I don't -”

  Before I can finish, I realize that there's something strange and tight around my neck. Reaching up, I find that some kind of large plastic collar has been fitted to me.

  “It's a neck brace,” the paramedic explains. “You took a tumble down the stairs and -”

  “I don't need a neck brace,” I mutter, reaching around the back and starting to unfasten the damn thing. “Get it off!”

  “Hold on there -”

  “I don't have time for a neck brace,” I add, pulling it away. I try to get up, but my head suddenly feels heavy and I'm forced to pause for a moment while the whole world swings and pivots around me.

  “You have a concussion,” the paramedic explains.

  “No,” I reply, “I don't.”

  “There's a nasty-looking bruise on your head that suggests otherwise.”

  “I've got to find her,” I reply, getting to my feet. Everything still feels a little delicate and there's a dull pain throbbing just behind my eyes, but there's no way I can just sit around while Victoria gets further and further away. “Where's Laura?” I ask, turning to the paramedic.

  “Who?” he asks.

  “Detective Foster,” I continue. “Come on, you must know...” I pause for a few seconds as a wave of nausea ripples through my stomach; fortunately it passes, but I have no doubt it'll be back soon. My head feels like gravy.

  “Ophelia,” says a male voice nearby.

  Turning, I see a guy hurrying toward me. I recognize him as someone who works with Laura, although my mind isn't in quite the right state to put the pieces together any better than that.

  “Nick Jordan,” he explains helpfully. “I'm with -”

  “I know who you are,” I lie. “Where's Laura?”

  “She's supervising an operation to track down Victoria Middleton.”

  “How long was I unconscious?”

  “I don't know. We found you about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Excuse me,” the paramedic interjects, “but I need to get her to hospital.”

  “Fat chance,” I mutter.

  “Where's Victoria Middleton?” Nick asks.


  “She was...” I turn to look up the stairs, but the last thing I remember is being pushed. “She ran,” I add after a moment. “She's scared.”

  “No kidding,” Nick replies. “Have you got any idea where she might have gone? Does she have friends or family, or some kind of bolt-hole?”

  “She's all alone,” I tell him.

  “I'm sorry,” the paramedic continues, grabbing my arm, “but I can't allow you to leave. You could have a serious head injury.”

  “Wouldn't be the first time,” I reply, pulling free.

  “I'm not joking,” he says. “You're -”

  “I'm busy,” I tell him, before turning to Nick. “I'm coming with you.”

  “I'm not going anywhere,” Nick points out.

  “Yes you are,” I tell him, limping to the door on an ankle that feels badly bruised. “You're going to find Laura, and I'm coming with you.”

  “Actually,” he replies, “I was planning to -”

  “Come on,” I continue, “we don't have time to sit around here while I explain why I'm right and you're wrong. You don't know me well enough yet, but trust me, I'm always right.”

  “But -”

  “Don't argue with me! I've got concussion!”

  ***

  “Okay, hotshot,” Nick says as he pulls the car door shut. “Now what?”

  “Now you drive,” I tell him. “I can't do it in my state.”

  “And where do you want me to drive to?”

  “To...” I pause as I realize that, with my head throbbing worse than ever, I'm not sure I can quite think straight. “To Laura,” I add finally. “Just find Laura. I need to talk to her.”

  “But -”

  “This isn't going to work if you keep interrupting me,” I tell him. “Seriously, I've got a hell of a headache and you're making it worse. In fact, I'm thinking of naming the headache Nick, just to spite you.”

  “Maybe you should go to the hospital after all.”

  “You're not very good at this.”

  “Good at what?”

  “Being my sidekick.”

  “I'm not your -”

  “You are temporarily, until we find Laura.”

  “Hang on -”

  “Victoria Middleton isn't a killer,” I say suddenly, as I look out at the dark street ahead. After a moment, I turn to him. “She kills people as part of what she's doing, but the killing part isn't the main point. She doesn't enjoy killing them, in fact I think she finds it difficult, but she does it anyway because she's got this single-minded focus on the work she's doing. She's wrapped up in all these ideas about how to be an artist. The worst part is, she's right.”

  “About what?”

  “She wants to be remembered, and she will be. She wants people to think of her as an artist, and eventually I think they will. They'll also see her as a murderer, but she doesn't care about that part. We have to get past that, though. We have to stop trying to catch a murderer, and start trying to catch an artist.”

  “So where is she now?” he asks.

  “I have no idea,” I reply. “She's loose, she's got no ties to anyone, not even...” Suddenly it hits me and I realize exactly where Victoria's going to go. “This car,” I say after a moment. “Does it -” Instead of asking, I wind down the window and lean out, but to my disappointment the side of the car has no big police logos. “Damn,” I mutter.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Is there anything about this car that marks it out as a police vehicle?” I reply. “Any kind of sticker or sign that I'm not seeing? Do you have a siren?”

  “No.”

  “What kind of a man are you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why don't you have a siren?”

  “Because... It's not a patrol car.”

  “It should be,” I reply, turning to him. “It really should be.”

  “Okay,” he sighs, “I think maybe I'd better take you to Laura.”

  “Because I'm annoying you?”

  “Actually, yes, you are.”

  “Good,” I reply, opening the door and climbing back out. The whole street seems to swim around me for a moment, and the pain in my head is growing, but I don't have time to worry about that kind of thing right now. “Tell Laura that I'm sorry,” I add, as I push the door shut.

  “Sorry about what?” he asks.

  “That I lied to her,” I reply, turning to him. “I'll tell her myself if I get a chance.”

  “I can't just let you wander off,” he continues. “You either get in here with me, or you go with the paramedic.”

  “No way,” I tell him. “I've got something else to do.”

  “Listen,” he replies, getting out of the car, “Laura might put up with your bullshit but I haven't got time, okay?”

  “Try to arrest me,” I reply, keeping my voice low.

  “Sorry?”

  “Have you got handcuffs?”

  “Yes, but -”

  “Hallelujah. So try to arrest me.”

  “Ophelia -”

  “And hurry up about it,” I add. “I don't have all night. Don't worry, you won't succeed, but you have to try!”

  “Right, this is getting -”

  “No fucking way!” I shout suddenly, keen to make sure that if Victoria is hiding somewhere and watching us, she gets the impression that I'm fighting back. If she's going to make contact with me again, she needs to think that I'm not working with the police. “If you come near me,” I continue, “I'll hurt you!”

  “What?”

  “Can you be more convincing?” I hiss.

  “This is bollocks,” he replies, “I'm -”

  “Fuck you!” I shout, turning and starting to run. I only get a couple of steps before I have to stop, with the whole world swinging around me. There's definitely something wrong with my head, but I can't let it slow me down.

  “Ophelia -”

  I start running again, and this time I force myself to keep going even though I feel like I'm on the deck of a ship in a high storm. By the time I get to the end of the street and around the next corner, I have to stop and lean against the wall for a moment. Fortunately Nick doesn't seem to be following me, which is guess means that he doesn't take me too seriously. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm the sense of nausea in my stomach.

  “Where are you?” I whisper finally, turning and looking at the darkness all around.

  I wait.

  She's out there somewhere, she has to be.

  Victoria Middleton has no-one else in the whole world, and right now she's probably terrified. Despite everything, she's still human, and we still have a connection. Now that I've made a public display of running away from the police, Victoria will hopefully decide she can trust me again. All I have to do is wait for her to make a move.

  Forcing myself to get moving again, I start limping along the dark, empty street. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I'm convinced that she's nearby, watching me from the shadows.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Laura

  “What the hell is happening?” shouts Carol Livingstone as she runs down the steps at the front of the college. “My students -”

  “They're fine,” I tell her as I step out of the car. “They've been taken to Ashburton Hospital, but they're all expected to make a full recovery. Whatever she used to drug them, it's already starting to wear off.”

  “I'm holding you responsible for this mess,” she continues. “You told me you had the entire college under surveillance.”

  “And you didn't tell me you'd moved the third year students to a completely separate building and given them the keys for the night,” I point out. “I asked you to tell me anything that might be relevant!”

  “I had to do something to help them,” she replies. “Their final show is due to start in a few hours, and after Mike Wallace's death I felt that an extension was justified. Besides, they couldn't be interrupted by police crawling all over the place. They had work to do, and I was under the
impression that the killer was no longer at large!”

  “Next time someone asks for your complete cooperation,” I tell her, “it might be better if you actually cooperate.”

  “Don't tell me how to do my job,” she replies. “I thought you'd already caught the killer. Why is Bryony Hawthorne in a cell if she's not responsible?”

  “I can't divulge details of the police operation,” I reply. “We're looking for Victoria Middleton now. She's the killer.”

  “But you've caught her, haven't you?” she asks. “Please tell me you've got the Middleton girl in custody.”

  “I'm working on it,” I reply.

  “Working on it? What kind of answer is that?”

  Ignoring her, I make my way up the steps and through the main door. The huge sculpture in the darkened reception area looks even more menacing at night, but as I stare up at it, I can't help but think I'm in the wrong place. If Victoria is scared, she's never going to come back here. She'll want to be in control. I've been thinking of her as a murderer, but I need to start thinking of her as an artist instead, as someone who – no matter how things get – is going to want to treat the situation as some kind of artwork. She must know that it's over and that we're going to catch up to her sooner rather than later, so she has to move fast. She only has one more chance to seal her reputation.

  Reaching into my pocket, I'm about to call Ophelia when I realize that her phone is broken. Instead, I bring up Nick's number.

  “She's gone,” he says as soon as he answers.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ophelia,” he replies. “She woke up and started babbling, and then we went to my car and suddenly she bolted. The ambulance crew are worried about her, 'cause she's got a concussion and she needs constant observation.”

  “What exactly did she say?” I ask.

  “A load of nonsense.”

  “Ophelia doesn't do nonsense,” I continue, trying not to panic. I should never have left Nick to look after someone like Ophelia. “Tell me exactly what she said to you.”

  “She complained that the car wasn't a patrol vehicle,” he replies, sounding irritated, “and then she asked me to arrest her, and then she swore at me and ran.”