Epiphany Jones Read Online Free Page B

clear: it’s the medicine or shock therapy. And I’m not going to turn out like that. Tomorrow I’ll go to my shrink and get a refill; maybe ask him to up the dose. For now I hail a cab. I tell the driver to take me to my place. I’ve got that one pill I saw buried in my carpet this morning. Donald will just have to believe whatever lie I tell him.

    B y the time I get back to the museum I’m over two hours late. I couldn’t catch a return cab and had to walk most of the way. I’m freezing. The temperature has really dropped.
    I run up the marble steps, hurrying to get out of the cold rain, which stabs like ice picks. Donald’s going to kill me.
    ‘Museum’s closed, sir,’ a security guard says, blocking my entrance.
    Closed? It’s three-fifteen. ‘What do you mean it’s closed?’ I say.
    ‘It’s closed, sir.’
    ‘Yes, I heard you,’ I say, showing him my red museum badge. ‘I work here. Why is the museum closed?’
    ‘This is North Entrance,’ the guard says into his walkie-talkie. ‘I have an employee trying to enter. Yes, sir. Sir.’ He holsters his walkie-talkie. ‘Please wait here.’
    Minutes pass and the rain continues to fall before Donald emerges from the emergency exit door. He waves me inside where a museum guard waits with two strange men; one is considerably taller than the other. The strangers don’t have museum badges.
    ‘It’s OK, we just need to talk,’ Donald says with a coldness that almost crawls from his skin.
    The five of us walk in silence down two floors. The construction-lined corridors are practically deserted. The few people we do pass are silent. Some look scared when they see me with the two strangers. And then it hits me: these men are from HR. They’re the guys employees here talk about in whispers. They call them financial assassins because their job is to roam around and find useless employees to lay off. Fewer employees mean more money for the renovation.
    We enter a small conference room I’ve never seen before. The museum guard waits outside.
    ‘Please sit down,’ the tall financial assassin says.
    ‘Why is the museum closed?’ I say.
    ‘Where have you been for the past three hours?’ the short financial assassin says. He sounds like he’s trying to channel Magnum, PI.
    ‘Lunch,’ I say, pretending I didn’t take two hours longer than normal. ‘Donald, what’s going on?’
    But ‘Please just answer their questions’ is all Donald offers.
    ‘Do you normally take a three-hour lunch?’ the tall assassin asks.
    Mom will be so disappointed if I lose my job. She was so happy when I took it.
    So I say, ‘OK, look, I know I shouldn’t have done it.’
    My answer, it causes the two assassins to lean closer and Donald to look a little frightened.
    I say, ‘I’m sorry, but you’re not gonna believe what happened.’ And I tell them the events of the past three hours. I lie about the medicine though. They wouldn’t understand. You tell someone you see thingsand they’ll never look at you in the same way again. Hell, they’ll find a way to fire you just because you’re on psych meds. So instead I tell them that after the coffee house I had to go to my girlfriend’s because she was feeling sick.
    To Donald I say, ‘You’ve heard me talk about her before. Harriett?’
    But Donald just shakes his head. ‘Why would you leave work for so long to visit a sick friend?’
    ‘Please,’ the short assassin says. ‘Let us ask the questions.’
    ‘ Girl friend,’ I say.
    Donald looks at me like I’m a liar.
    ‘Fine, ex . We’re on a break,’ my voice cracks. And I say that my ex-girlfriend , she gets scared when she’s sick. Besides, I needed to wash up. And I shove my hand beneath Donald’s nose so he can smell the dried homeless vomit that’s crusted under my nails.
    ‘It’s not everyday someone gets to be a hero,’ I say.
    ‘Can we call your girlfriend to verify all this?’ the tall assassin asks.
    ‘No,’ I say.
    ‘Why