Chapter 2
The Doomed Date
Like many small art museums in rural states, along with the shock of a lesser known Picasso or Van Gogh in the regular collection, from time to time there are exhibitions of other pieces of famous and rare art. Northern New England drives to Boston for culture, but time brings culture in the opposite direction as well; though somewhat more slowly than traveling on I-95, depending on the traffic.
May checked the time on her cell phone again and was frowned at by a passing security guard who seemed to think that all cell phone usage meant that people were taking photos—a big no-no at the museum.
She was on the never ending date. Doomed to wander around an art museum with a guy with whom she had nothing to talk about, who made stupid jokes about every painting, and who had made it obvious that he didn't think she was even remotely attractive. Since she had been forcibly stripped of her parka by Sheila at the coat check room, Duncan had ceased to look at her whatsoever aside from brief glances. He rarely stood in one spot long and when he did, he shifted on his feet like he was going to bolt off any second. He seemed twitchy for the date to be over, which was fine with her. Didn't she want it over herself? So what did she care if this guy was making it completely obvious that he thought she was dull and unattractive?
Shortly after splitting up from Sheila and Charley, she had excused herself to the restroom and washed off the makeup that Sheila had puttied on her while getting ready for this last minute escapade. May couldn't get all the eyeliner off, but at least her eyes had stopped itching, and she felt less like she belonged in a circus.
Before she left the restroom, May stuck her tongue out at her reflection in the mirror as she adjusted the top of the low cut tank she was wearing. She was glad she could at least tuck the tank top into her pants because the sweater Sheila had made her wear was just weird. It didn't even go all the way to her waist. Sheila called it a 'shrug', and it was rightly named since she'd like to shrug it off. Thankfully Sheila didn't have any hot pants or high heels that would fit her, so May had been allowed to wear her own jeans and sneakers.
When Duncan wasn't avoiding looking at her, he was usually trying to keep track of his little brother. The open spaces of the art museum and the vanilla shake at the burger joint they had stopped at for lunch were wreaking havoc on the nervous system of the five year old. The kid was zooming around like a jet engine.
Literally.
Luckily, it was almost closing time and most people were finding their way out of the museum into the gloomy winter evening to find a restaurant. In a plea bargain deal, Shane had avoided having to hold his older brother's hand by agreeing to stay in the same room.
"That sure is a lot of blood," said Duncan, twisting around to catch sight of Shane. "Are they nurses?"
"Not likely." She pointed to the placard on the wall. "Judith Beheading Holofernes by Artemisia Gen-til-es-chi, yup, Gentileschi."
"By who?"
"By whom," she corrected.
She's got a little of her brother in her, thought Duncan. "Okay. By whom?"
"Artemisia Gentileschi."
"Not ringing any bells."
"Maybe because she's a woman?"
This date just keeps getting better and better, thought Duncan.
Shane buzzed by as a mock airplane. He wore a red Superman cape leftover from Halloween and it trailed out straight behind him as he zoomed around. He stopped making engine sounds for a second, halted in his tracks and said, "Look at all that blood!"
"They're cutting off his head," she told him. She sounded glad.
"Awesome!" said Shane before resuming his flight around the room. After a few seconds, the engine sounds cut out abruptly.
Duncan looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Shane prodding a spider on the floor with the toe of his sneaker. "Leave that alone," he said as his eyes traveled over the walls of the room, making sure there wasn't anything he'd have to explain to the kid later.
The rest of the paintings were pretty innocent looking: mostly still lifes of flowers and fruit, some ratty yellow tapestries in frames, a few portraits of people, (none of whom appeared to be living now and a few others, not when they were painted in the first place).
A couple paintings in the room were more interesting, like a peculiar one of a dog-faced girl and the one they were standing in front of which was of a guy getting massacred by two women.
Duncan thought he might know how the guy felt.
"What is this room supposed to be again?" he asked.
"The room is called Women in Art," she answered primly, reading from the museum guide in her hand which she hadn't let go of since they'd arrived.
"Oh right. Now, I get it. I thought it was—" He waved his hand. "Never mind."
It took her a moment. "Oh, you mean you thought it was pictures of women, not by women?" Without looking directly at him, she widened her eyes as though she thought he had expected the women to be naked.
"But ... it's not like I thought ... you know ..."
"No. What do you mean? Thought what?" She pursed her lips as she leafed through the guide.
"Never mind," he mumbled.
She found the page she was looking for and started reading out loud.
Again.
Every painting got the full treatment. He had hoped she would put the guide down somewhere so he could sneak it into a trash can, but she held onto it like it was a shield. The edges of the glossy paper were wrinkled and curled from how tight she was gripping it; he would have had to pry it out of her hands to get rid of it.
She read in a flat tone: "'Here we see Judith with her maidservant beheading Holofernes in order to save her people. The Book of Judith is generally considered apocryphal by the protestant church and is not included in most Bible versions. Holofernes, a general of Nebuchadnezzar, de ... um ... " her voice slowed down, "... d—desired the beautiful widow, Judith. One night, getting him drunk and ...." She wrinkled her forehead and started reading silently to herself.
The story was just getting interesting. "And?" Duncan prompted.
She closed the guide. "Yeah. He was bad. She chopped off his head."
"Maybe the dude should have headed for the exit?" said Duncan.
"Right."
Right, he thought, watching her check the time on her cellphone again.
He was aware suddenly that there was complete silence in the room and spun around on his heel. There was no sign of Shane. "That little puke. I think he went into the next room. I'll be right back." As he walked to the door, he said, "Let's find the other two and head for the exit ourselves. They're just about to close the museum anyway."
"Sure,” she answered, and he swore he heard relief in her voice.
The next room he walked into had an assortment of artwork in a mish-mash of styles, some unrecognizably shaped sculptures and for some unknown reason, a huge flat screen television—probably one of those modern art displays. The room did not, however, have any people whatsoever in it and definitely no five year olds in Superman capes.
Shane must have gone the other way, Duncan realized. He turned back around and felt the girl's eyes pinned on him as he continued straight through the room to the opposite door.
The room he entered was softly lighted and full of pottery and antique weapons. After checking around all the displays and glass stands, Duncan made up his mind to kill his little brother when he found him.
There was a security guard in the room. "Lose something?"
"Did a little kid run through here?" Duncan held a hand to his waist. "This high? Red cape?"
The guard shook his head.
Duncan must have missed Shane in the first room. He had only just glanced in it. Shane must be hiding behind one of the sculptures. The kid was probably just bored out of his mind and wanted to watch television. Heck, Duncan wanted to join him.
But he was still going to kill him anyway.
He turned around and nearly ran into the girl. They danced b
ack and forth a few times before they finally skittered out of each other's way. She followed after him along with the security guard.
The room with the television was on an end. Besides the entrance doorway which led to the rest of the museum, there was only an emergency exit to the outdoors. Duncan made a circuit around some modern sculptures which looked like mutant cats. When he came up with nothing, he headed for the emergency exit.
"I wouldn't do that," warned the guard loudly.
The alarm went off throughout the museum as Duncan skidded onto a frost covered fire escape. Covering his ears with his hands as the alarm continued to sound, he leaned over the railing and peered down through the winter darkness at the lighted street below. His breath huffed into frozen nothingness, then in and out harshly as the cold air stung his lungs.
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