Still Life (Still Life Series Book 1)

by Isobel Hart

  I nodded, imagining the worst.

  “They were upstairs together. It was just so unlike him – he’s never even had a girlfriend before.” She flushed with embarrassment, and I knew exactly what Richard had been doing with the woman upstairs.

  “Edward nearly died. I keep wondering whether that made him think differently about life.”

  “Richard too. His father and I said the exact same thing.”

  “Do you know how they met?”

  “No. I assumed they knew one another through the university. Richard is a researcher.”

  “No, Edward’s a banker. I was told they met in the hospital–”

  The front door opened then slammed closed, with enough force it made the windows rattle. Mrs Rawson jumped to her feet as my shoulders tensed, heart hammering in my chest.

  “Richard,” she said in a tremulous voice. “You’ve got a visitor, dear. We’re in the kitchen.” Footsteps approached before he appeared in the doorway.

  He looked markedly different than the last time I’d seen him, wearing more fashionable clothes. He’d also restyled his hair into a modern cut. He’d even stopped wearing the glasses I’d seen him in before – I could only assume he’d replaced them with contacts. He stared at me, his eyes cold, and unconsciously I reached for my throat. “I . . .” My voice croaked as I struggled to get any words out. “I . . . I was hoping you could advise me. I thought you might be able to help Edward and me,” I managed.

  He raised an eyebrow; “You called the police on him, I’m not sure what help you were after. As I understand it, you’re the one who needs help. You need to move on and recognise the relationship is over.”

  “Why is he being like this? He’s changed . . .” I tried again.

  Richard scowled at me, glancing quickly at his mother, then turning back to me. “I’d like you to leave,” he said, with no trace of the friendliness he’d displayed during our previous encounters. “You need to leave Edward alone and stop making false accusations before you get into trouble yourself.” His mother shrank in on herself a little more.

  I gathered my coat and bag and stood. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Rawson,” I said, focusing on the small nervous woman in front of me while deliberately avoiding looking at Richard. “I’m sorry to have caused you any bother.” It was a ridiculous understatement given the train wreck this visit had become.

  “No bother,” she said, as eager as I was to have this over and done with. “I’m sorry we couldn’t offer more help. I do hope you sort things out with Edward, dear.”

  I nodded. I wanted to tell her to call me if she needed to, I knew she still had my card in her pocket, but I didn’t dare. Richard stood and glared at me, remaining behind her like an ominous shadow all the while his mother showed me out. When we reached the doorstep, she turned to face me, and we shared one final look. I stood directly in front of her while she kept her back to him. She looked so afraid, I wanted to cry, or grab her hand and tell her to leave now and come with me; a small shake of her head told me she knew what I was thinking. Neither of us spoke a word. I squeezed her hands quickly, one last symbol of solidarity, before I turned, crunching my way back up the gravel path to where Elliott waited. Richard’s eyes felt like lasers on my back as I moved away. Somehow, I resisted the urge to run.

  Only when I had opened the car door did I allow myself one last look back. They were standing side by side, her posture rigid. Richard’s expression chilled me, the arm he had slung around his mother’s shoulder somehow menacing as they stood together on the doorstep. I shivered, slid into the car seat beside Elliott, slammed the door closed and locked it.

  Chapter 15

  “Drive.” I said as soon as I could assemble my wits, my voice sharpened by fear.

  Elliott fumbled to start the car. “Are you alright? What happened in there?” he said, as we turned the corner onto the main road, clipping the kerb. “Jesus, Sam, talk to me. What the hell happened? I saw him come back . . . Jesus.” He wiped his palm on his trouser leg. “I didn’t know whether to come in there and get you, or stay in the car . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “I figured I’d give you another couple of minutes and then I was going to come in, regardless–”

  “You were right,” I said quickly, stopping him in full flow. “They’ve changed somehow. His mother admitted it to me. He used to be a quiet boy with a bad heart who lived at home with his parents. Since the last visit to the hospital, the time he nearly died, or actually died, he’s changed. He’s altered his physical appearance and is behaving differently – he brought a woman home and shagged her while his parents were both downstairs.”

  Elliott looked across at her and raised an eyebrow.

  “Quite. Judging by the setup there, and believe me you couldn’t find a more straight-laced family, that’s not the sort of behaviour they’re used to. I mean, his mother uses a teapot and cosy, for God’s sake, and the time I saw him in the hospital he was wearing Star Wars pyjamas.”

  “Okay,” Elliott said, focused back onto the task at hand. “Okay, so we now have two people we believe to have active virus with reports of behaviour change. We need to find more.” He pulled up in front of his house.

  “How do you propose we do that?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, if we’re seeing it here, we can’t be the only ones. There are reports of all the samples globally containing the virus. If the trigger is what we have suggested it is, then we need to connect with other places, because there must be others who are picking up on this.”

  “Why would they link it to the virus? I mean, it’s only because we randomly connected and you know a microbiologist that we even thought to look. Behaviour change is not uncommon after trauma, especially head trauma . . . or at least not unheard of.”

  “You’re right, they may not have made the connection to the virus . . . we just need to make the connection for them. First, we need to find families that are trying to cope with their loved one having had a personality shift.”

  “Have you got any buddies who deal with this?”

  “A few from med school. I’ll try and track some down.”

  “I’ll take a look at a few chat rooms online. You never know, if people are struggling they may look for anonymous help there.”

  “Good idea.” He switched off the engine and we both got out, but stopped when we saw two shadowed figures waiting for us on the doorstep. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realised both were too stocky to be Edward. A couple of steps towards them and I recognised the larger figure as the police officer I’d met, Frank Murray.

  “Good afternoon,” he called from the doorstep, his colleague moving to his side as we approached.

  “Officers,” Elliott greeted them. “What can we do for you? Have you picked him up yet?”

  “We have had a chance to speak to Mr Patterson. That’s why I’m here,” Murray confirmed.

  “Won’t you come in?” Elliott fished out his key and opened the door, then ushered us all inside. I didn’t miss the way Murray stared at me when he stood back to let me pass. He thought I hadn’t noticed. It didn’t feel like a friendly look, in fact, I got a bad vibe from the pair of them. His partner hadn’t spoken a word. It made me wonder what Edward’s version of events had reported, a twist of anxiety gripping my already fragile stomach.

  By the time we were all seated and Elliott had made us the obligatory cup of tea, the tension in the room was thick. Elliott looked at Officer Murray. “So, do you mind telling us what happened when you picked Edward up?” he said, our cups cooling on the table in front of us.

  “We located Mr Patterson at just after eleven this morning. He was staying with a friend. We questioned him about your allegations.” He paused, looking over at his colleague before pulling out his notebook, as if for reference, then returning his cool gaze towards me. “I need to inform you that Mr Patterson refutes the claim that he tried to strangle you. In fact, he claims you are paranoid and delusional, Ms Davis.”
r />   “He’s lying!” I said, incensed. “You can see the bruises yourself.” I pointed at my neck.

  “Mr Patterson claims you did that to yourself. He alleges that when he tried to finish the relationship with you, you were so upset you claimed you would hurt yourself if he didn’t stay. In fact, he claims that you did indeed hit him, but that you did it because you were jealous of his new relationship.”

  “That’s a complete lie! He attacked me when I refused to have a baby with him. He tried to strangle me. I hit him to protect myself.”

  “So you say, Ms Davis. But I have to tell you, if you did hit him – in the manner you described – there was no evidence of it. He had virtually no bruises, only a minor abrasion on the side of his head, and certainly nothing that fits with your version of events.”

  Elliott sat in silence, watching the exchange as Officer Murray continued, “I have to warn you, Ms Davis, Mr Patterson accused you of being unstable, that your jealousy had pushed you over the edge. He was concerned you would do either yourself or one of them harm.”

  “Jealous!” I had to laugh. “I was the one who finished the relationship with him originally . . . Hold on, you said one of them? One of whom? Who are you talking about?”

  “We located Mr Patterson with Ms Serena Sutton. She claims they were together when you allege the attack took place–”

  “She’s lying!” I cried. “It happened exactly as I said it did . . . she’s lying . . .” I could already tell he didn’t believe me.

  “Mr Patterson asks that you remove the remainder of your possessions from his apartment as soon as possible and return the key. He’s threatened to take out a restraining order if you persist in harassing either him or Ms Sutton. I would strongly suggest that you be accompanied on any visits to the apartment.”

  I looked at Elliott, who had still to say anything, then turned my attention back to the officer. “I don’t need anything . . . I collected everything important this morning. He can keep the rest. Believe me, I have no desire to see him ever again. Here . . .” I said, rummaging in my bag for the key to the apartment, hands trembling as I detached it from the keyring and held it out towards him. “Take the key. You can give it to him yourself.”

  He took it from me. “Well then, I believe that brings everything to a close.” He stood.

  “What about my allegation that he tried to strangle me? He just gets away with it?”

  “Ms Davis, there is little evidence to support your allegation. You are, of course, welcome to proceed with the charges if you wish, but based on what I have seen so far, I believe your chances of success are slim: Mr Patterson has an alibi for the time you say the incident happened, and there is no physical evidence that cannot be given an alternative explanation or that doesn’t support Mr Patterson’s version of events. In fact, being completely honest with you, I don’t believe there is anything to suggest the events you described happened at all. Frankly, I think you’re lucky Mr Patterson isn’t pressing his own charges against you.” I started to interrupt again, but he stopped me. “You seem like a nice enough person, miss. Maybe you should just put this bad relationship behind you and move on,” he said, looking over at Elliott.

  The three men stood. Murray nodded at me one last time before Elliott showed them out. The low mutterings of deliberately quiet conversation carried from the front door, and I knew, without a doubt, they were talking about me. Left alone, I reflected on the exchange, mortified to think the police believed I’d made it all up. Worse, they thought I had inflicted the injuries on my neck to myself – was that even possible? – and that I had, unprovoked, attacked Edward. God only knew what Elliott thought. I could only imagine he seriously regretted letting a deranged woman into his life. For a moment, even I questioned my version of events.

  I ran into the bedroom and started scooping up the few possessions I had left there – my shift dress and blouse from the day of the attack – it seemed incredible that had only been yesterday. Elliott walked in as I picked up the shoes. He stood watching me for a second before he asked; “What are you doing?”

  “I’m so sorry, I’ll be out your way in five minutes. Please believe me, I didn’t do it to myself . . . I don’t know why he’s lying, but I didn’t do what they said . . . I’ll get my stuff from your car and get out of your hair. I’m so sorry you got caught up in all this shit.” The words tumbled from me, uncontrolled, my cheeks heated with humiliation.

  Elliott walked over to me and pulled me to my feet, holding both my hands as he looked at me. “I know you’re not lying.” His gaze seemed sure.

  My fear and anger morphed into tears. A large tear ran down my cheek and dripped off my chin onto my chest. “How? How do you know?” I needed him to tell me.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “first of all, I know you. I’ve known you since before the attack, not well admittedly, even though you barely noticed me. Even back then I could see the sort of person you were. The person you still are. It’s what attracted me to you in the first place,” he admitted, blushing as he stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. “You’re solid and strong, not the sort given to jealous rages.” He smiled and took a deep breath before he continued; “Secondly, I knew about the state of your relationship well before the attack . . . and why. His story doesn’t make sense. He’s been all over you these last weeks, you said so yourself, and now suddenly he’s all about this Serena woman? Seriously? It just doesn’t add up. I’m sure your friends would say the exact same thing. And then there are the injuries on your neck. The bruises show a clear handprint. You have small hands, Sam, and the bruises suggest a much larger grip – we could prove it if we needed to – let alone the likelihood of anyone actually trying to throttle themselves. It just seems so unlikely. Finally, even if it were possible that you had, you forget we still have the wooden elephant. That proves your version of events. No one who’d been hit on the head with that lump of wood – twice – should be walking and talking a day later.”

  “The elephant!” I’d forgotten all about it. “We need to take it to Frank Murray. You’re right, we need to show him he’s wrong.”

  “We could do that,” Elliott said slowly, “but just hold on a minute. We need to think about this first. The elephant proves your version of events, it’s true, but this whole situation is bigger than just your attack. If what Officer Murray reports is true, then you hit Edward over the head with a large lump of wood and now, only a day later, there is virtually no evidence of it. Somehow he’s healed sufficiently to mask his wound. In the same way he healed his lacerated liver. As I said, there’s more to this than just what he did to you, awful though that was. We need to figure out what the fuck they are and, more to the point, what they want.”

  Chapter 16

  I stared at Elliott as I considered what he’d just said. Edward had changed, that was irrefutable, but the meaning behind that change was less clear.

  “Right now Edward and Richard don’t know we suspect there is more to this than your failed relationship,” Elliott said. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

  My eyes sprang to meet his. “You think they’re all dangerous?”

  “I don’t know.” He sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair. “I do know he tried to strangle you. I also know Richard freaked you out and, no offence, but you’re hardly a complete pushover as girls go.”

  I grinned, despite the serious tone to his voice. It broke some of the tension. Until he spoke again.

  “Look, I just don’t want to risk taking them on until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Then why the hell are we taking them on at all? We should be telling someone . . . the police, the army . . . I don’t know . . . someone!”

  “And what exactly would you tell them? That your boyfriend had a personality change after surviving a life-threatening accident? It’s hardly something that’s likely to set alarm bells off.”

  “But the active virus in their blood – that’s something.”
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br />   “Once we put that out there. We need to be damn sure we know our facts.” He took a long, tired breath. “Look, I need to catch up with Malcolm and see how he’s getting on. See if you can find any other people reporting personality changes and if they survived some sort of life-threatening episode. We need to prove the link, and we need more people than just us reporting it.”

  “We should find someone who’s dying and see if they come back to life – that would prove it,” I muttered, irritated that he couldn’t see we were not equipped to handle this alone.

  Elliott sat back in his chair. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “I was joking – that’s just sick.”

  “But it would prove the point,” he argued. “If someone with a terminal illness recovers, then people will have to pay attention. I’ll give it some thought.”

  It was all too much. The experience at Richard’s house, the police, and now Elliott suggesting we should watch people die to see if they came back to life. Fatigue hit me, and my body sagged. “I need a break from all this,” I told him. “I’m going to lie down. I’ve got to get my head together – this has all been too much to take in for one day. When I wake up, I’ll do some research, just give me some time to get my head together.”

  His gaze softened. “Sure,” he agreed. “Go and lie down. You look bushed. It’s not surprising. Your body’s been through a lot. Everything else can wait.” He pulled me into a hug and pressed a gentle kiss into the top of my head. Comfortable, for a moment I let myself rest there, safe within his arms. It soothed me like an emotional balm. His strength, the press of his hard chest against me, reassuring. I liked it too much.

  I mentally shook myself and pulled away. Only a few days ago I’d been willingly having sex with Edward, even contemplating having a child with him, and now I was already physically responding to Elliott? And I’d thought Edward had a problem! Maybe I was the sick one.