There was a Newton's Cradle on Doctor Wheeler's desk. Five silver ball bearings suspended by wire strings, like five bodiless heads hanging from the gallows. I wondered if that was how he saw the inmates: a bunch of head-cases eager to bash into each other.
"Do you understand what I'm saying, Isaac?"
I stared at the cradle, hearing my voice as if from afar. "How?"
"He suffered a heart attack. Late yesterday evening. I'm very sorry for your loss."
I reached out and pulled one of the ball bearings, watching the little heads slam into each other. There was something oddly satisfying about the sharp, metronomic crack. I told Doctor Wheeler I'd better go home.
"Now, Isaac," he said, taking a solemn breath, "let's not have this conversation again, hm?"
"What conversation?"
"Isaac, please. Traumatic as this news is, we must not allow it to derail the good work we've been doing."
I stared at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I will ask that you do not raise your voice."
"I'm not raising my voice," I said. "Now get these restraints off of me. This facade is over. There are arrangements to be made."
"Your stepmother—"
My jaw clenched. "That she-devil can go to hell! I don't want her near the funeral!"
He held up a hand. "Isaac, I won't tell you again. Please calm down."
I ground my teeth. "All right, look. You take off these handcuffs or you'll be sorry."
"You're threatening me?"
I supposed I was but before I could figure out how exactly, the office door opened and Paul, the big ugly orderly, brought in a man wearing a sharkskin suit.
"Who the hell are you?" I asked.
"Winston Lane," he said. "I'm your father's attorney."
"Oh? Well, good. You can tell Doctor Wheeler that we'll be leaving now."
"I will do nothing of the sort. We have come to discuss the execution of your father's estate."
"We?" I was about to ask when suddenly my stepmother came strutting inside and smothered me in her ample bosom. "Oh, babe, it's just awful, isn't it? I can't believe he's gone."
I pushed her away. "What the hell are you doing? What is this?" I looked left and right, at each face that was twisted in a mixture of apprehension and pity. I charged at the doorway but Paul caught me easily. His meaty forearms squeezed tight around my chest, pushing out the air. I tried to elbow him in the stomach, heel his shins, even bite him—but I was exhausted in less than a minute.
"My God!" the sharkskin lawyer gasped. "He should be in a straitjacket."
"Oh don't say that, Winston!" cried my stepmother. "He's not well. Be careful with him, Doctor, I beg you."
Doctor Wheeler pointed to the chair in front of his desk and Paul swung me into it like a rag-doll. He slapped his thick hands on my shoulders, bearing down a fraction of his weight in order to keep me immobilised.
Winston Lane dusted his lapel and muttered: "…bloody lunatic…"
Doctor Wheeler clapped his hands. "Mr Lane, please. We do not use that term." He issued the lawyer a reprimanding look before taking a breath and easing back into his seat. "Obviously this is a trying time," he said, modulating his voice to a slower, deeper measure. "Emotions are high."
My stepmother sat down in another chair, removed a handkerchief from her purse and blew her nose. She was dressed in layers of black fabric with lace trimming, and she was wearing a huge black hat with a netted veil. Yet even beneath all that, her voluptuous silhouette swelled with sin.
"What the hell is going on?" I demanded.
Winston Lane cleared his throat and, taking queue from my stepmother, proceeded: "With your father's unfortunate passing we are faced with an immediate need to appoint his executor. That is, someone to fill his considerable shoes lest our shareholders lose confidence. According to your father's last will and testament, his appointed executor is you."
I nodded. "Exactly. Now let me go—"
"According to the law, however, in the event that the appointed executor is deemed incapable of fulfilling his duties, such responsibility is passed on to the next appointee—"
I started. "What!"
"It's all right, babe," said my stepmother,. "I'll make sure it's all taken care of."
"But this is ridiculous. I'm not incapable."
The lawyer's eyes dropped to my handcuffs. He snorted.
"Don't you snort at me you sharkskin pettifogger," I warned him.
"Babe, please," said my stepmother. "Forgive him, Winston, the poor babe's confused."
"I am not confused. And stop calling me babe." I turned to the doctor. "Here, you tell him."
Doctor Wheeler looked at me levelly. "It is true that we have made some considerable progress these past few days. However, in my professional opinion…" His eyes made a subtle movement towards the corner table whereupon I now noticed the video recorder.
My eyes stretched wide. I turned to my stepmother. "You bitch!"
But of course it was too late.
"No! You don't understand," I cried as Paul hauled me back to my cell. "This is all her doing. I'm not crazy. Let go of me!"