Asylum by Jeannette de Beauvoir

Author:Jeannette de Beauvoir [Beauvoir, Jeannette de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466844032
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Julian went home armed with the thumb drive and prepared to continue the search. I kicked off my shoes and stayed in the office, not ready to face the Métro, not willing to call Ivan and have him pick me up. There was something pricking the back of my brain; a little time alone doing mechanical tasks like answering the e-mails that were piling up might, I thought, be able to jar it loose.

After about half an hour, I slipped my office key in my pocket and padded down the back corridor to use the restroom. I washed my hands and dampened my cheeks, repositioning my chignon, which had slipped a little, blotting a place where my mascara had smudged. On my way back to the office I heard a door shut, somewhere close.

Curious, when it was clear that everybody—on my floor at least—was out of the building. Probably a security guard, I decided. Yes: it had to be a security guard.

As I put the key in my office door, the hallway lights went out.

My pulse started racing. I got the key to turn, slipped in, and closed the door, locking it behind me faster than I’d ever done before. The lights were still on in my office; everything was the way I’d left it. There was a logical explanation for this, there must be.

But it was on tiptoe that I made my way across to the other door, the one that connected with Chantal’s office and the main entrance to our suite. I opened it slowly, just a crack; the lights were turned off out there, too.

Had they been on when Julian left?

I couldn’t remember. I closed the door again, silently, and forced myself to take several deep breaths. I am fervently anti-handgun so obviously that wasn’t an option. The closest thing I had to a weapon was the hairspray I kept in my desk drawer.

I remembered the police reports describing the women who had been killed, how they’d been raped, how they’d been mutilated. My mouth went dry.

I padded back across to my desk, reaching for the telephone. I heard some footsteps in the hallway and the door handle turned.

I screamed. I’ll admit it. I am no Nancy Drew; I’m not accustomed to anything more frightening than the child support checks in my life. Screaming is probably not the best response to an emergency situation. I can’t say I ran through a whole lot of other options in my mind before I did it.

There was a pause, then someone rapped on the door. “Mrs. LeDuc! Are you all right?”

I froze. Deer-in-the-headlights time. I think I had my hand over my own mouth to keep myself from screaming again.

“Mrs. LeDuc? Please open the door. I know you’re there. I don’t wish you any harm.” This time, I recognized the voice.

Dr. Christopher MacDougal.

I woke up then, I think. Realized that if I was going to handle this, I was going to have to start handling it. I picked up the telephone, checked for a dial tone, and started punching in Julian’s number.

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