Was the choice that he was talking about loving her or turning her over to the authorities, she wondered? “You’re tired and upset, you’re not thinking rationally,” she said almost pleading with him. She didn’t know how to convince him of her innocence, if she couldn’t, then the price would be too high and unfathomable.
Oliver lifted his head, not realizing how close she had moved towards him. Her hair had fallen around her face where he had shaken her and guilt panged at his heart and again he saw the frightened girl in the woman that he cared about, fear that he caused but how could he justify being with her now as she would always be the one responsible for his uncle’s death, his family. Not until now did he actually see her as dangerous for his future happiness was threatened and she would leave him broken hearted, as Mona had predicted. This time he was the cause of her fear and he pushed back those feelings of guilt the best he could.
“Oh, I am thinking rationally for a change because you see, usually I follow my heart instead of my head where you’re concerned, Sophie,” he said her name breathlessly. “I wanted to believe you were capable of caring as much for me as I care you, but you can’t can you?” His voice was cracking and barely above a whisper.
Sophie was beginning to understand that he may be saddened by his uncle’s death but his belief in her betrayal distressed him just as much if not more and she truly believed he loved her and she knew that she loved him, maybe not on the same level and even when it was hard to show it, now that it might be too late. “I don’t go around poisoning people arbitrarily and how can you think that I would?”
Oliver pulled a photo out of his pocket and handed it to her.
Sophie studied it, “This isn’t me.” She handed the picture back to him, trying to seem uninterested, she recognized Sam from the pictures in his house and if it wasn’t her….
“So it’s Sydney? Why is she with Sam? To know Sam then that means she does know me.”
“You know as much as I do Oliver and it also doesn’t mean that she did it either. People have heart attacks all the time, if you doubt it, then have an autopsy done. Regardless, I have never seen Sam, ever, just the photos at the house.”
“Are you confident that the poison you use is untraceable so if I order an autopsy it won’t show anything?”
“I know nothing about the poison, what it is, or if it shows.”
“Someone is playing games with all of us whether it’s Sydney or someone that knows her and they’re communicating with us in photos. This was left at my flat last night.”
“When did he die?”
“Today. It can’t be a coincidence. Whoever sent this knew what would happen and wanted me to know who did it.”
“Or showing you what they want you to see.” Sophie didn’t realize how much she cared about him until she felt it threatened to be out of her life forever. Suddenly it occurred to her that he wanted to believe her, despite what his logic was telling him, otherwise, he would have left already. He wants to be convinced, she told herself and a tiny flicker of hope rose within her but quickly faded again when she didn’t know what to say, her mind went on autopilot and words poured out of her mouth without the preceding thoughts.
He slumped back in the chair and stared at the empty fireplace allowing a tear to fall down his cheek. Sophie continued, “If you need to blame someone or need to place your anger somewhere than you can do that with me, as long as you come around to believing the truth.”
“Which is?”
“At this point, the only truth I know, that I didn’t kill or poison Sam.”
“They are not exclusive, Sophie, no matter how you justify it,” he said slightly annoyed.
“Are you eliminating your doubts or questioning my reasoning?” Crouching down beside the chair, she touched his hand and he jerked it away; the same motion her victims did when she poked them with the needle, the natural inclination to move away from the source of the pain.
“I want to believe you,” his voice raspy, tears hovered on the edge of his eyes and spilling over.
She wanted to touch him but another movement like he just did would dissolve all her hopes of salvation. The trail of tears slid from both his eyes, dropping on his shirt. Sophie wiped them away with her thumbs and retreated again. “You say you know me so well. You say everything I feel, everything I think shows on my face. Then calm down, look at my face, and tell me I’m lying to you.”
“Go on then,” he said now holding his breath in anticipation, cradling her face in his hands, her dark eyes looking up at him unwaveringly.
“I never would do anything to hurt you or your family. I promise you that.”
He didn’t answer her but studied her face until he finally relaxed and put his forehead on hers, “It looks like Sydney might be responsible.”
“You don’t know that. The incidents could be completely unrelated.”
“What do I do now, if she is and when I look at you, I see her face,” he whispered, pulling her into him tightly, holding her head against his chest.
“I know you think you need an answer but an answer won’t bring him back. Don’t consume yourself,” she lifted her head still keeping her arms around him, “but instead be there for Phillipa and Evangeline. That’s all you can do that matters. If you want I will go with you,” finally she let go and walked towards the entrance, grabbing her coat.
Realizing she meant to go now, he took the coat from her and put it back on the hook and pulled her back, the tears flowing freely.
He dropped down on the sofa, she sat down beside him. Not sure what he wanted from her. Leaning over he put his head on her chest, she was a little shocked by it and he let his weight push her over and they fell over together, lying on the sofa. She let him cry, a lump formed in her throat when he clutched her. Sympathy for him and Sam’s family made her unusually wretched.
Lost in her own thoughts, playing with his hair with her fingertips, she had not realized that his crying had been replaced by soft snoring until his body had grown very heavy, her shirt wet with his tears but she didn’t want to move.
Chapter 24: Don Giovanni
“I’m early,” Oliver said when Sophie answered the door, a towel wrapped around her head and a terry robe on.
“I didn’t realize we were still going, under the circumstances and I haven’t heard from you.”
“I’ve been busy and I promised to take you. Can you get ready?” She nodded. He was wearing his usual trousers and button up shirt but with a jacket on. Seeing what he wore made her feel better about her selection of dress.
“Give me ten minutes, I’ll be ready,” she rushed off.
“That’s ok, doesn’t start until six thirty,” he lingered inside, pacing.
Everything in the flat was faded or dark except the yellow envelope that sat on the table beside the window stood out. Oliver could hear her walking between the bedroom and bathroom and then the bathroom door shut. Staring at the envelope and then the door that she was behind, he felt a loathing. This wasn’t her. Before, he didn’t care about it. The envelope and Sophie were as separate in his mind as the poison and killing in hers. But after Sam’s death it all became one and his intuition was telling him Sydney was more involved than Sophie wanted to acknowledge and when he saw Sophie’s face, he saw Sydney.
Sophie opened the door. They looked at each other wide eyed but for different reasons. “Is this alright, cause you’re gawping so I can’t tell if it’s good or bad,” biting her lip nervously.
“It’s perfect,” he said not so much of a compliment but matter of fact. The dress was long and black; it would have been boring except for the curves underneath. Instead of the dress accentuating her figure, her body complemented the dress. It was off the shoulder, exposing her pale, rounded shoulders but there were straps that crossed in front adorned with small, slightly metallic beads, put together almost like flowers but more abstract. He looked away from her. Her beauty was like looking directly at the sun.
�
�What’s the name of it again? Don….,” she couldn’t remember the rest.
“Don Giovanni.”
It was obvious that Oliver was troubled. He sat quietly in the taxi running his finger across his bottom lip deep in thought. He hardly spoke and she let him think uninterrupted until his silence drove her mad. “Are you alright,” she asked genuinely concerned.
“Hmm? It’s just that I came straight from the funeral.” He returned to thinking, muddling something over and over.
“We could have skipped tonight. I could have gone with you to the...”
“No,” he said abruptly, “It’s fine, it’s good for me to get out and I promised you.” He was still upset with her despite the crying on her; she didn’t touch or speak to him unless he spoke first. It was really unnecessary anyway, once the music started.
When the opera began, Sophie was confused at first not knowing any Italian she didn’t understand the appeal of it and didn’t know how she was going to follow. But she became captivated by the music and voices. Oliver looked over at Sophie, having been lost in thought about Sam and thinking about the part Sydney played in his death and slightly annoyed that Sophie did not. She sat mesmerized but her back was stiff and her hands folded delicately in her lap.
Sophie looked over, smiling at Oliver but she saw his brows furrowed together in worry. The lines between his brows went horizontal instead of vertical like most people’s she noticed; he absently rubbed his thumb over the side of his forefinger. She had not seen or heard from him since his accusation and she could tell there was still an internal battle on the subject.
He reached over to touch Sophie’s hand; she smiled, now her turn to make him feel reassured. At intermission he led her to the lobby and ordered a stout drink instead of his usual wine but she refused anything. He could hardly look at her but his hand was on her back. The tension between them was like a string pulled taught to the breaking point. As much as she loved the opera it was hard to enjoy it as long as his mood was so glum.
After a night of perpetual silence he broke it in the back of the cab he asked if she enjoyed it and she replied that she did but he didn’t really seem interested in having an answer. “I…won’t be available for a while. I’m going to be staying with Phillipa to help get Sam’s affairs in order.”
“Of course, I understand. If there’s anything I can do just let me know.”
“There is. If you see Sydney…,” he stared out the window, “find out what she knows about Sam. For God’s sake, talk to her.” The taxi pulled up outside her building. She took his hand and he squeezed briefly making no motion to look at her or come out with her but he kissed the top of it and so she went inside, alone.
She took off her coat and went straight to the fireplace starting the fire. Grabbing the envelope she walked over to the flames, her inclination to throw it in. Approaching, she held it closer and closer but she couldn’t do it. What if Oliver was right? What if Sydney is the centre to everything that had been happening? Sophie had no idea even where to start to find her. Nothing could be found of a Sydney Newton and if she was going under an alias she had no idea what it could be. There was only one person she knew that she could talk to.
Chapter 25: Sophie Asks Owen
Calls to check up on Oliver and Phillipa were ignored. He was upset and busy, she knew, she hoped it wasn’t that nagging voice inside his head still telling him she was guilty of what happened to Sam. Over the next fortnight Sophie spent her time studying up on the next receiver of the poison and going to the alley looking for the druggy but he was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps now that spring had arrived he was out and about more, straying more from the illusion of security of the alley. She had gone during the day and during the evening to no avail. Finally, after several days of an absentee Oliver and a fruitless search, he was there. A warm breeze picked up the random stenches of the alley she had not been so sensitive to before. Approaching his crouching figure, he stood slowly, cautiously when she approached, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.
“Which one are you then,” he asked, this time he wasn’t jittery or nervous just guarded.
“You know there are two of us,” Sophie asked, raising the bottom of her jumper exposing the scar.
“Yeah, that explains about the questions last time, don’t it? Syd was peeved about that,” he said indicating her scar.
Syd? She mouthed the word. “So was I,” Sophie said.
He just scoffed, hands in his pockets. The hair on his head matted his face dirty and un-kept. “Not like she was, fuckin’ hell, she threatened me because of that stunt so in fact why don’t you just leave me alone,” he looked around conspicuously and lowered his voice, turning away from her, resting a shoulder on the wall, hands in his pocket. “If she sees me talking to you, who knows, what she might do.”
Sophie really couldn’t believe this man was scared of her sister but the anxiety seemed to be genuine but he couldn’t resist the five quid she held up to him. “Not until you tell me if Sydney had asked you to do anything else, lately.”
“She asks me to do this and that all the time.”
“Has she threatened anyone else or told you to?”
“I’m sure she has but me? Nah, nothing like that.”
“Well then, like what? Anything strange or out of the ordinary that she’s asked of you lately.”
He clamped his mouth shut waiting and she handed him another five quid, “She had me follow a bloke, she told me to follow him around and then report to her everything and everywhere he goes. But all of a sudden she told me to stop, that I didn’t need to follow him anymore.”
“Why all of a sudden?”
“Well, it was a long time; she said a couple weeks ago I could stop. She said he was a dead man, anyway.”
Sophie waivered afraid to ask the question but knowing she had to. “Do you know his name?”
“Ah, hell no.”
“What did he look like,” her eyes became wide, scared. “Did…did he have auburn hair and blue eyes?”
He paused on purpose, knowing she was waiting in anticipation, looking off in the distance, tapping his chin, “Um….nooooo,” he drew it out to tease her. Sophie let the air escape her lungs that she had been holding in. She had not known she had been so taught until the relief rippled through her.
“He had dark hair and dark eyes, like you ladies,” he seemed surprised by that revelation, “important looking, works in The City and all; pretty posh.”
“Has she ever mentioned a Sam?”
“No, not to me.”
“And what about the dark haired man, why did she want you to follow him?”
“You think Syd tells me anything? We have a working relationship, she gives me money and drugs and I do what she tells me to do, she’s become my benefactor, as it were,” Sophie’s eyebrows shot up at his use of the word benefactor and that he used it referring to Sydney. “I tell her all the time, no more, but she ignores me, gives me what I need and I do what she wants.”
“With occasional improvising,” she said rubbing her waist.
“She doesn’t confide in me about any of the strange things she does. Now will you just go away? I don’t want her to see us talkin’.”
“What can you tell me about Sydney? Do you know where I can find her,” she handed him twenty quid this time.
He snatched it, “You don’t find her. She finds you.” It wasn’t spoken in jest; he was very serious about that fact.
“You don’t know where she lives or works or anything that would help me to find her?”
“Other than here when she comes to talk to me, I have no idea. And she’s on her own schedule,” he looked around again, concerned.
“Can you tell me what she’s like?” The warm breeze blew the stagnation out of the entrance of the alley.
“Like? Shouldn’t you know that better than me?”
Sophie looked down at the ground, “Yes well, I should but I don’t.”
Owen chose his words carefully and then he smiled, his rotten teeth flashed, “You’re the nice one, you know. She’s,” he blew out the air between pursed lips, “she’s sexy but she’s cruel. She likes her way and she’s protective of you.”
Sophie just nodded in acknowledgement at the dark picture that he painted of Sydney. Did it make her exactly the type of person to kill Sam? Sophie couldn’t believe that she would do such a thing but she was with him.
She wondered if she should call Oliver or not or wait for him to contact her. There would be no calling him tonight anyway. She had work to do and she dreaded it a little now. Whereas before she gave it very little thought just taking the few minutes it took and going on to the next but Oliver influenced her now. The things she thought not possible seemed to be now and the things that she cared about changed and now he abandoned her.
It was getting late; she would go straight to his flat. The needle was already in her pocket just in case. There was the feeling of dread the whole way there but a couple of stops later she loitered outside the building of penthouses in Battersea until someone buzzed the door open and she followed them in, head down and hair tucked under her hood.
The door was slightly ajar already. Waiting, she suspected for his ‘company’ to arrive but it would be her instead. She called the agency and cancelled for him. There was no plan, she knew there was no wisdom in doing it here but she had completely lost interest and she would pretend to have the wrong flat or something, she would just play it by ear.
But when she pushed the door open and walked inside a blow to the side of her face knocked her to the floor and she lost consciousness.
Chapter 26: Rooftop
Sophie woke with teeth chattering. She was thankful for the bitter cold. Coat and shoes gone, the uncontrollable shaking was caused by either the low temperatures or the situation she found herself in, probably both.
The Poison Morality Page 22
