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| Nora's Visit |
Vince’s
form fell still. The head of his crutches vanished into the drapes of his shirt,
pallid against his now burgundy complexion. His tone clipped her ears with
economy. ‘You have no idea, Nora.’
Nancy’s
fingers trembled over the lever. ‘Yes, I do, Mr. Jonas. More than you will ever
know.’ Vince gaze remained resolute. He owned his self-denial and he could do
what he liked with it. Nancy raised her fist for the door knob. ‘I could grant you
access to this room, if I wanted Mr. Jonas. The police and all your payroll
riffraff could barge in and give you back your scotch and your TV and your CT
room and your phone and your wheelchair and your stupid silk sheets. But you
will never walk again.’
Vince’s
right crutch twitched. For the first time, his voice surrendered to rage. ‘That
is my business, Nora! Not yours!’ The plaster at his throat quivered with the
force.
Nancy
twisted the knob and nudged the door. The wheelchair clunked against the panel.
She reversed into the surveillance room. Her footplates clear, the door closed
in front of her. Vince’s canted yet stanch form complete with unwavering lour
slid from view. The green button sat at the corner of her vision. Her hands
shook. She didn’t care if the black man with the Mazda burst through the main
entrance. She didn’t care if the assigned police officer from Kirkby Magnor
station read out her rights and cuffed her. She only cared about the white hot
pulsar spinning within her gut. Lungs tightened, permitted but shallow sips of
air. The four-image composite on the monitor screen told her no one now waited
at Vince’s gates.
But
Davenport had remarked that there appeared to be a communication fault. Nancy
pushed the wheelchair aside and vertigo pulsed at her temples. Consistent with
Vince’s other applications, this security system typified the pinnacle of
design. All components ensconced within reinforced steel, no prying hands could
tamper. She would bet that any breach in connection would spur an alarm –
anything would spur an alarm. She foraged within a cabinet above to find funky
gadgets; remote control swat helicopters, magnetic levitators; anything to
while the hours of the surveillance staff. Plastic pieces toppled over the
desk. Amidst the plastic detritus, a mini golf ball bobbed yet
remained on the tee. She took to her seat. She strongly sensed Vince’s presence
on the other side of the door. Was he gazing at her if not for the barrier? In here,
time was arbitrary. He had her. She gave the ball a flick. Only after the third
go did the tee relinquish the ball.
A
zipped compartment within her satchel bag came in handy for small things like
keys, change, gum. Nancy unpeeled the wrapper and stuck an oblong into her
mouth. Spearmint spurred saliva overload. Her molars pummeled plasticity into
the gum. A second put. This time the ball rolled to the fourth flick. She stuck
another oblong into her mouth. The foyer on the other side remained quiet. Was
he still there? She attempted a third put. The ball came to rest at the edge of
the green. Golf proved not her forte after all. But she could chew. Chewing was
something she did to deter people from approaching her. She ejected the gum via
the tip of her tongue and pinched it between finger and thumb. Davenport’s
communication fault would soon become a prophesy. She pressed the gum over the
grid of holes next to the amber button. As though by magic the gum’s volume
decreased by half. One piece of gum became forty-five morsels. Gum could fill
the smallest space and liked to stay there.
With
her thumb, she scraped the surplus and rolled that into a second ball. She
pushed it into the seam around the star-shaped button. On doing so, override
became automatic, and back again. Gum liked narrow gaps. Gum tended to mushroom
out on the other side, creating a cushion for any object. This button now had a
cushion that liked to stay there. Nancy may still have wasted two sticks of
gum; how Vince keyed his chief code or alerted the station remained a mystery.
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