Page 10 of The Silent Muse
Finding her cell phone in her pocket, I dial 9-1-1 and sink down onto the couch, placing my head in my palms. My headis throbbing, and I’m spinning from whatever she drugged me with, but I am determined to get help.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“Hi, I need help. A woman drugged me and—”Tied me up with string?The words sound ridiculous, even in my head.Would they believe me?“I—I fought back in self-defense and, well, she fell, and now she’s not moving.” I am breathing hard, unable to catch my breath. And yet a warm sensation spreads through my body.The truth.Whether or not they believe me, telling the truth feels good.
“Ma’am, what is your location and phone number?”
I give her my phone number and Maude’s address.
“Is the person conscious?” she asks.
“No—no, she’s not. But she has a pulse. She’s breathing.”
I can hear the operator typing. She’s asking me to describe what happened when a loud knocking at the door interrupts me.
The sound of a familiar voice sends a chill down my spine: “Mom? I got your text. Is she still here?”
It’s Brooks. If he sees his mother in this state, who knows how he’ll react. Legs weak, I sink onto the couch.
With a loud bang, the door breaks open, and Brooks rushes in. When he sees his mother lying unconscious on the floor, he swears under his breath and crouches down to check her pulse. “What have you done?” I cannot respond—the drugs and the adrenaline are too strong. He begins chest compressions.
A minute or so later Maude gasps back to life. Brooks hugs his mother and then looks up at me, furious. He takes out a pocketknife and points it at me. “Don’t move. I’m calling the police.”
A strange calm washes over me, perhaps relief that she is alive and breathing. “I already called them. They’re on theirway,” I tell him, still sitting on the couch as he rises, hand shaking, and makes his way to my side. I gaze up at him, right into his eyes. I can’t tell whether it is the effects of the drugs or a new understanding of my situation, but I don’t even flinch when he holds the blade to my throat.
Go ahead, do it,I think, refusing to break his stare.I dare you.He and Maude may try to charge me with assault, but I’ll claim self-defense. Demand a drug test. Besides the Ring camera photo, they don’t have much proof that I stole Ivan’s painting, nor do I have proof that Maude killed my mother.
I may have done a terrible thing that led to all this, but it is done. And now I know the truth. With Christine gone, I have no ties to New York. I’ll move, delete my social media, and open a small studio somewhere far away. All my art will be my own.
You won’t kill me,I think, smiling at Brooks as his trembling hand inches the blade toward my neck. “Did your mother tell you the good news?” I ask. He stares at me as if I am insane. “We’re related. Ivan was my father, too.” He lowers the knife, and from the horrified expression on his face, it is clear that she did not. “Sit down,” I tell him as a siren grows louder outside. “I’ll tell you as much of the story as I can.”
