The Museum Date

“Are you coming tonight?”

I looked at my watch, the phone held to my ear as the voice on the other end silently waited for my answer. I bit my lip anxiously, tapping my feet against the tiled floor in a worrisome manner. I tried not to let my eyes wander around, the clock on the wall ticking ominously. 

“You aren’t, are you?” The voice was low. I could feel the disappointment swirling around in the voice as I sighed inwardly, rubbing my temples. The harsh white light in the coroner’s office beat down on me, burning my eyes and further exacerbating my headache. I didn’t know what to say, no; my voice wouldn’t work. I wanted to let them speak.

“Why?”

The question hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t have an answer to this, as my mind leapt to all sorts of excuses I had often used; it was sifting through a drawer, trying to see which one would fit the best, but none of them made sense now. What could I say?

The distinct feminine voice could be heard from behind the door. I moved to cut the call, when a shiver ran down my spine, rooting me to the spot. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t feel, but I could hear the huffing on the end of the phone and the sharp command that echoed through my ears:

“Don’t hang up on me, Oliver.”

No, I thought, desolately. I couldn’t hang up on you, even if I wanted to. I could feel tears welling up, but I didn’t know if it was because of my headache that had now propelled towards a deep stab in the temples, or longing. Whatever it was, I thought, sinking my nails into my thumb, eyeing the door as I hunched up over the sofa, I was in no position to see anyone. Thankfully, the voice from behind the door faded away, the obscure heels clicking off into the distance.

“Oliver,” the voice was soft now. “You said you were going to come.” 

The voice was in sync with the clock on the wall. Every syllable of my name, every word that rolled off their cursed tongue, it was like grating against a chalkboard. I couldn’t comprehend them well anymore. And why on earth could no one shut off the light?

“Yeah,” my voice sounded foreign, as I forced out the answer. The lump in my throat threatened to choke me any moment. “Yeah, I did say that… sorry, something… something came up… You should go without me, it’ll still be fun.”

“I don’t think it will,” the voice sounded relaxed for the first time. I could picture them grinning, deciding to come back to where I was. But I didn’t want them to come. “It was a museum; you obviously know a lot more about it. You were more excited than me, you know, to come here.”

I know.

We agreed to go to a museum. Thinking back on it now, I should have seen it coming. The entire need for me to show someone something that I cared about; it was like opening myself to vulnerability. But it was them, it was her. It was her we were talking about. She was always interested in everything I did. When she came over straight from work, the first thing she did in my somewhat messy room, was pick up the history book and proposed we check out the newest exhibition at the museum down the road. She smiled when she said it. 

“When do you not work?” she asked, indicating towards all the open books lying around me. I followed her gaze, raising my eyebrows. That was rich, coming from her. She worked around the clock as if the company relied on her. Maybe it did. 

“Whenever we have a dead body,” I sighed, closing the nearest book with a snap. “The police request autopsies as if they end in a couple of minutes.” As if on cue, my phone lit up, illuminating the rest of the rather dark room with an unnatural glow. It gave her slender stature a haunting silhouette. “Like right now.” I smiled faintly. 

“Keep your schedule clear for Saturday then,” she handed me the book, her sharp eyes boring into me. “I’ll slip past my boss as well.” She sounded playful now. I shrugged, turning away from her. 

“Sure, I’ll try.”

I’ll try? I shook my head now, trying to get rid of the sharp pain that was slowly spreading all over my head like a wildfire. I tried. I tried like hell. I got the tickets, set a time, and read up on the exhibition. Her mouth curled up into a small grin when I handed her the ticket, my cheeks red from the running and the cold wind biting at my face. 

“At least I got you out of your room and the office for some time to yourself,” she nudged me. I scoffed.

“Look who’s talking!”

She laughed. For the first time, I felt somewhat warm inside.

“Oliver.”

The voice came back, sharper than usual. The buzz from the lights above me was starting to get on my nerves. It was too loud in the silent office to hear what she was saying.

“Yes?” I managed to sputter out.

“You all right?”

No, I screamed in my head. Not at all. You need to get out of there. Don’t come back to my house, or your home. Go to a police station. Don’t come after me. Don’t do that, ever. 

“The police station,” I gasped. “Go straight to the police station now; don’t go back to your house, don’t come to mine either and steer clear of the--”

“I’m sorry!” she gasped. “There was a lot of static; what did you say?”

“The goddamn police station!” I leapt to my feet, nearly screaming in desperation. I paced around the office in a maddened state. My nails had left deep engravings in my skin, but I could hardly feel the pain. “Don’t you dare go home or come to mine. Either go to the museum and blend in with everyone or go to the police station.”

“But going to the museum without you isn’t fun,” she mused.

Why on earth wasn’t she listening to me? I thought in frustration, circling around the room. This wasn’t something I was joking about, she had to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Should we keep this for a different day then?” she sighed. Could she not hear me, I thought, as I sank back onto the sofa, the deafening silence around me threatening to crush me at any moment now. I wish we could keep this for a different day.

“Listen to me,” my voice was cold now. “Where’s the nearest police station?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, suspicion in her voice. I could feel her second guess her commitment to the friendship we had created over the past two weeks. “Oliver, a police station? What’s wrong?”

“Mia,” I narrowed my eyes. “I want you to go to that police station and ask for help. Say somebody was following you, and I’m pretty sure they were. Do not leave till morning.” Till then, I’d be gone, and you’ll be safe. “Do not go back home, do not go to my house, do not attempt to find out my location.”

“Oliver,” doubt had settled itself very well into her usually carefree voice. “You’re scaring me. What do you mean someone has been following me?”

The clicking of heels was growing closer now. I could see the vague shadows coming closer to the door through the frosted glass. “I trust you understood what I just told you and will do the needful.” The doorknob twisted, my breath catching in my throat. “Bye, Mia. It was nice knowing you.”

The door flew open, as I cut the call. I barely registered her scream my name as the phone line went dead. At the door, stood a woman, dressed sharply in white, her hair piled into a bun, her thin-framed glasses giving her a terrifying aura. She seemed unperturbed, almost calm.

“Hello, doctor,” she smiled, walking inside the room, gently shutting the room door. “Shall we start by taking your statement now?” She ruffled some papers, before taking a seat. Her eyes drifted over to me, a faint smile teasing the corners of her mouth. I looked at her in dull pain. “Now, tell me; why did you murder Mia Crawford?”