Warhol's Prophecy

‘. . . Will you be there, am I the one who waits for you, or are you unforgiven too? . . .’

They didn’t speak during the drive home.

8

THE SILENCE WAS oppressive.

Broken only by the steady click-click of Hailey’s high heels on the polished floor of the corridor, it seemed to surround her like a blanket.

She walked slowly, eyes fixed ahead, not glancing left or right, concerned only with the door at the far end of the corridor. It was dark wood polished so vigorously it practically shone.

Hailey paused at the door and wondered whether or not she should knock.

As she waited, she turned and looked behind her.

The corridor was empty.

It was filled only with that deafening silence.

She shifted slowly from one foot to the other, embarrassed by the noise her heels made on the floor. She raised herself up onto her toes to minimize the tattoo they clattered out. She tapped gently on the door, then walked in without invitation.

The room was barely twenty feet square and, if anything, the silence here was even more palpable than out in the corridor.

Red velvet curtains were draped across the far wall, and between them was suspended a large wooden cross. On either side of it two candles burned, their flames unmoved by the slightest breeze.

There were two tables inside the room, the occupant of each covered by a heavy black cloth.

Hailey tried to suck in a breath, but the air seemed as static as it was noiseless. At least her heels made no sound on the thick carpet as she moved towards the first of the tables.

She thrust out a hand and gripped the edge of the dark cloth, preparing to ease it back, but also afraid to.

She closed her eyes so tightly that white stars danced behind her lids, and she tried again to breathe deeply.

Hailey lifted the cloth . . .

Becky’s body seemed a mass of dark blue, violet and yellow bruises. Hardly an inch of flesh seemed to have escaped the massive onslaught – not even her face. The skin around her eyes was so swollen that the orbs seemed to have sunk down into the skull itself. Those few areas of her body that weren’t discoloured looked as white as milk.

Two jagged cuts bisected her throat: hacked so deeply into the flesh that her head was practically severed. The two savage gashes joined to form one bloodied chasm that, to Hailey’s tortured gaze, looked like another mouth smiling obscenely up at her.

She wanted to scream, wanted to cry out, but it was as if her emotions were as paralysed as her larynx. All she could do was stare helplessly at Becky’s body. She wanted so much to touch it. To hold it one last time. Embrace it. Kiss those ragged, torn lips, to say sorry.

Sorry for letting her get lost in the crowded shopping centre.

Sorry that she couldn’t help her now.

Hailey felt a solitary tear run down her cheek.

She turned towards the second table, pulling the cloth away with more certainty.

There were two bodies on this one.

Unblemished. Uninjured.

Both naked.

They were locked together in an embrace, pressed urgently against each other.

As one, their heads turned towards her and they smiled.

Her husband and Sandy Bennett.

Both naked. Both smiling.

From behind her she heard movement and she turned to see that Becky had sat up.

She was pointing at the entwined figures opposite – and laughing.

But she was laughing through that gaping rent in her throat.

It was then that Hailey finally began to scream.

9

PROPELLED FROM HER nightmare with ferocious speed, Hailey sat bolt upright, breathing in gasps.

She looked around her, at details of the room.

It took a second or two for her to realize that there was no velvet draped across one wall, no thick carpet. No tables bearing the bodies of her daughter or of her husband and his lover.

Instead she saw the luminous red digits of the radio alarm, the bedside lamps, the outline of built-in wardrobes across the room.

Normality.

She swallowed hard and let out a deep breath, the last residue of the nightmare fading slowly.

Rob rolled over and saw her sitting up, eyes staring wide, unkempt hair plastered across one cheek.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, reaching out to touch her arm.

She nodded.

‘Bad dream?’ His voice was thick with sleep.

She lay down and felt him snake one arm around her shoulder, drawing her towards him.

Hailey slid a hand across his chest, running her fingers across his flesh.

‘Did she have bad dreams?’ she asked.

Rob sighed.

‘Not now, Hailey. Please.’

‘Did she?’

‘Sometimes. Does it matter?’

‘And did you comfort her like this?’

‘Why is it so important for you to know?’

‘I want everything clear in my own mind. I need to know.’

‘We’ve been over these things so many times before. Why torture yourself by coming back to it again and again? It’s over: I told you that. Christ, I can’t even remember half of what happened between us.’

‘Was she good in bed? You must remember that.’

He rolled onto his side to face her, kissing her gently on the forehead.

‘How many times, Hailey?’ he said evenly. ‘How many times do I have to tell you before you’ve heard enough?’

‘Was she good?’ Hailey persisted.

‘I’m not an expert.’

‘Did she do things I wouldn’t? Did she dress up for you? Did she act out your little fantasies?’

‘She didn’t do anything that you haven’t done.’

‘Did she come when you fucked her?’

He drew in a weary breath.

‘Tell me, Rob,’ Hailey insisted.

‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘You’ve asked me that before and I’ve told you before.’

‘Did you go down on her?’

‘Jesus Christ, let it go, Hailey. Please.’ There was a hint of irritation creeping into his tone, but she ignored it.

‘Tell me,’ she implored.

‘Yes.’