W I T C H: Chapter 3

The Ironwood Art and History Museum wasn’t terribly impressive (not that she thought it would be). It certainly didn’t look like the place one would find a long-lost amulet. But then again, since when did anyone know they were in possession of a long-lost amulet? Typical for a bunch of ‘Normies’ - they never knew what they had until it was gone. It took everything she had to hide her growing impatience as Nora’s tour group suddenly stopped at another display case, lined with carved arrowheads and beaded artwork.

“We are especially proud of these relics,” the blond guide chirped as she stood behind the case. “As American Indian culture is incredibly important to our larger community. As part of this museum’s grand opening celebration, philanthropists from all over the country have agreed to loan some of their personal exhibits to our new facility. These arrowheads and hand-crafted pieces, for example, have come all the way from the Museum of Natural History in New York…”

Nora glanced impatiently down the hall, searching in vain for the relic that had really drawn her there. Patience had never been her strong suit, but she knew very well she couldn’t just act as she pleased. Especially with so many people around. It was like what Madam Iris used to say…

Her heart skipped a beat and she forced the thought out of her head. She turned her gaze back to the arrowheads, silently cursing herself for even thinking of that woman.

Not much longer now, she reassured herself. Just be a little more patient...

When their guide led them down the halls, ready to take them upstairs to visit some of the statues on loan, Nora breathed slowly through her nose, emboldened by the knowledge that there was only one more floor to go. One more floor until her prize was in sight. She turned and followed the group up the main stairs, unaware of the footfalls thundering up behind her.

“Miss?” a voice asked loudly, causing her to jump. She spun around and saw a handsome security guard, his shoulder-length hair combed back from his face. She eyed him curiously for a moment before noticing the gold chain that dangled from his fingers.

“Did you drop this?” he asked in a smooth, rich voice.

“Must have,” she replied coyly, taking it from him. She observed him silently, inspecting him from head to toe.

Not bad. Not bad at all…

“Thank you,” she said more demurely. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost it.” She slipped the charm bracelet back into place and observed the glittering bobbles thoughtfully: an ember rhinestone, an empty cage; a star encircled by a moon, and a dove in mid-flight, its wings outstretched. While at first glance they seemed to have been gathered with no sense of continuity, she knew deep down that this small chain was quite literally the story of her life. She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. They were bright green, just like hers.

“Very welcome,” he replied with a smile that made her stomach squirm. Then he nodded graciously and headed back toward the main door. She continued up the stairs, hurrying after her group. When she got to the top, an alabaster rotunda spilled out before her, adorned with a wide array of paintings and antiqued décor. As she caught up with the other tourists, she realized (to her dismay) her heart was still fluttering.

I must be getting out of shape, she thought unconvincingly. Suddenly, the face of the young guard flashed through her thoughts.

Enough, she scolded herself. Put it out of your mind, there’s more important work to do.

It wasn’t until her tour group reached the third floor that she finally felt at ease again. There, in the very first room they visited, was her prize. Waiting patiently behind polished glass and surrounded by dazzling jewels.

Her heart leapt for joy and the image of the handsome guard was lost.

***

The outer oak doors were closed and locked at 8:00 pm on the dot, and the cleaned and polished glass doors were secured only seconds later. By 8:30 that evening I was already bored to tears.

Walking through the lower levels of the museum, I wondered briefly if the board was going to keep the extended hours (now that there was plenty of buzz about Ironwood) or if they were going to close up sooner once their touring exhibits were shipped back to their normal homes. Ultimately I decided I didn’t care too much, since I knew I wouldn’t be with them for much longer anyway.

As I shined my flashlight steadily around the exhibits, I realized just how right Nick had been about this place: every painting, carving, photograph, every statue and miniscule relic, all seemed to have a life of their own; a voice whispering through their cases and past their ropes just hoping to be heard by some passerby. Without even realizing it, my thoughts seemed to explode with new ideas and possibilities. Where did these items come from? Who made them? What are some of the events they’ve witnessed? Who did the encounter in their vast lifetimes? By the time midnight rolled around I was giddy with excitement, and longing for my typewriter.

In order to keep everything fresh, I sat at the information desk after making my first rounds and scribbled down as many thoughts as I could. Before I knew it I was falling into the steady rhythm of crafting a long and dramatic tale I no longer even remember. That was when I heard it: a soft, but noticeable “thud” coming from upstairs. I sat back in the chair and listened for a moment. At first I thought the building was just settling or I’d only just imagined it. When I didn’t hear anything else, I turned back eagerly to my notes thinking that was that. But then an unusual feeling came over me.

My hand froze as I wrote, the pencil halted in mid-sentence. Something’s not right, I remember thinking. Something’s just not right…

I leaned back in the chair and looked up at the main stairs. Someone’s here. It wasn’t a thought so much as it was an instinct; something I just knew though I wasn’t sure how. I leapt up from my seat and grabbed my flashlight from the desk. I climbed the stairs two at a time, trying to reassure myself that no one else could be there. All the doors are locked, all the windows are locked, last call was hours ago and everyone left. I saw them all go. I reached out my hand and grasped the door firmly, jiggling it slightly. It refused to budge, the lock still tightly secure. I sighed with relief and was about to turn away, until the little instinct returned with a little mocking jab: Open it.

I paused at the top of the stairs, uncertain of my next move. This is ridiculous, I thought more irritably. There’s no one else here. Why am I being so stupid? But the instinct wouldn’t relent. Unable to take it anymore, I pulled the key ring from my pocket and quickly undid the lock. I held my breath as I pushed the door open slowly, shining my flashlight carefully around the room.

The space was dark and ominous, the only inhabitants being the numerous paintings and sculptures that stood eerily against the black of night. I stepped forward, retracing the light slowly around the room, looking for even the tiniest inconsistency. I don’t know what I expected to find, only that I needed to quell this mounting storm of worry that twisted my stomach into knots. I checked the rotunda three times before I cursed myself and turned to retreat. It was then I saw it, glinting brightly under my flashlight. I reached down and picked up the gold bracelet and instantly recognized the mix-matched assortment of charms.

I spun around and charged down the hallway as fast as I could to get the third floor staircase. I sprint up as fast as could, once tripping and nearly breaking my neck in the process. At the time, the third floor landing, for whatever reason, was the only level in the museum that hadn’t been built with a door and lock. Once someone had access to the second floor’s hall-of-paintings, they could easily access the third level – where glittering gems and jewels were kept. But unlike the second floor, with its open-floor design, the third had been constructed to form a series of hallways, each with a series of cubical rooms, and each one leading directly into the other. To put it another way: the bastards built a godforsaken maze! But fortunately for me, I managed to catch her just inside the first room.

She was dressed in black from head to toe, very reminiscent of the cat-buglers in old movies, and stood crouching slightly over a glass case positioned next to a mannequin dressed in satin and lace. She bolted upright when she saw me, her long, curly hair tied back into a ponytail. She let out a little gasp, her eyes round and fearful in the beam of my flashlight. We stood frozen for what felt like hours, regarding each other quietly as a strange familiarity passed between us. It was like nothing I can ever hope to describe; like nothing I ever experienced since. But then reality set it and I screamed authoritatively,

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Slowly she backed away, glimpsing quickly at the case.

“Hold it!” I demanded, “Wait right there!” She spun around and ran into the next room. Without thinking, without question, I sprinted after her as fast as I could.

“Stop!!” I exclaimed as I followed her winding trek around the maze. She’s fast! I remember thinking stupidly. She’s very fast!

She ducked into the next room like a rabbit diving into its hole, but I managed to keep up and followed her just as closely as she tried to lose me in the Civil War Exhibit. I kept up with her from one room to the next and even when she bolted for the exit. I was closing in on her, reaching out to grab her from right behind. My fingertips grazed the back of her shirt when suddenly –

THUD!!!

I yelped as I hit the floor, and watched her escape up the next flight of stairs. I looked around and nearly laughed when I saw the crumpled rug half-covering my foot. In another time and place, it could’ve been funny even if it was embarrassing. Idiot! I thought before scrambling to my feet. As I followed her into the next exhibit I began to wonder when she would give this up. The museum itself was only so big; there were very few, if any, places left to run and hide. There was only one way in and one way out: through the main entrance. Unless…

I turned around slowly in the middle of the fourth floor exhibit, my heart pounding frantically when I realized that she was gone. An opened grand room with cushioned benches lined up in the center for visitors. The walls were covered with wide and dusty tapestries, each too heavy for one person to lift let alone hide behind. There was no other furniture, no other hiding spots, nowhere to hide or run away. I spun around again and my stomach lurched when I saw the fire escape window thrown wide open. I raced over and stuck my head outside the building: the clatter of footsteps on metal was undeniable.

You would think that a perfectly rational person would simply turn around and go back to the front lobby to call for help. Back in those days, many emergency exits were built without automatic alarms (much like how decades earlier, automobiles didn’t come with seat belts). And I was certainly no cop - at that point I’d never even held a gun and the only things I had at my disposal were a flashlight and a nightstick. Yes, a perfectly sane and reasonable person would’ve turned away from certain danger.

Which is why, to this day, I still have no idea why I followed her out that window.

-Edited 1/19/24