Warhol's Prophecy

108

HAILEY TRIED TO twist her arms behind her back, to free them from the rope cutting into her flesh.

It was useless. Walker had tied her too tightly.

She could only sit helplessly opposite Caroline who was weeping silently, tears coursing down her cheeks.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Hailey finally asked. Each word seemed like an effort; her voice cracked as she spoke.

He flicked on the light in the study and walked to one end of it.

Towards the huge canvas covered by a sheet.

‘Adam, please,’ Hailey said imploringly, forced to fight back her own tears.

He paused for a second and looked first at Caroline, then at Hailey.

‘You really don’t understand, do you?’ he murmured.

Hailey shook her head and sniffed.

Walker crossed to her and wiped away the single tear that trickled down her cheek.

For precious seconds Hailey found herself gazing deep into his eyes. He stepped back slightly.

‘You don’t realize that all this is for you,’ he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

‘All what?’ Hailey tried to control her breathing.

‘The first time we ever met, I helped you. I found your daughter. I saved her. I brought her back to you.’

‘And I appreciate that,’ Hailey said, sniffing back more tears.

Walker smiled crookedly. ‘You had a funny way of showing it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Hailey blurted out.

‘Sorry. I’ve heard that word so many times during my life,’ he muttered. ‘And it’s never meant anything.’

Caroline was still crying softly. Hailey looked across, saw her body quivering.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Walker continued, his gaze never leaving Hailey.

‘Then what do you want, Adam?’ Hailey asked. ‘Just tell me. If there’s anything I can do to help, just . . .’

‘Like showing my work to Waterhole?’ he chided. ‘You were going to help me, weren’t you? But you didn’t.’ He moved towards the study door. Stood there a moment, then slipped out.

Hailey could hear his footsteps in the next room.

‘Caroline,’ she whispered, trying to control her breathing.

Her friend looked at her blankly.

‘We’ve got to get out,’ Hailey insisted.

As she spoke, she twisted frantically within the confines of the rope, wincing as it cut into her flesh.

‘Help me,’ she rasped.

Caroline could only shake her head.

Walker re-entered the room. Hailey could see the pistol jammed into his belt.

If only she could get her hands free. Could she reach it?

And . . .

And what? Grab it? Wrestle it from his grip? Shoot him?

There was a large wooden chest close by. It looked antique. Expensive.

Walker crossed to it and lifted the lid.

‘I tried to help you,’ he said, reaching inside.

He turned to face her, arms outstretched.

‘This was just for you,’ snarled Walker.

Hailey’s eyes bulged in their sockets.

Walker was holding up the severed heads of Sandra Bennett and David Layton.

Hailey finally found the breath to scream.