At least Jacki out of the hospital was a silver lining. She wouldn’t be bothering him anymore at least other than the denial and innocence he would have to portray when the authorities will inevitably question him about her accusation. He felt sorry for her, going to prison, but he couldn’t help her stupidity.
All night, he heard the whispers, Jacki’s name and his name, the speculation. No one else felt sorry for her either and she probably treated him the worst. He had been approached by the female staff mostly because he no longer smiled, no longer laughed with them and now with what happened with Jacki, they were speculating about the change in his demeanour also, believing in their own assumptions after a while.
There was no joy in what he did any longer, his empathy put on hold, when he felt love had abandoned him. In between helping his patients, he stared out towards the direction of the alley, yearning for the day he took her home, stitched her up, fed her, introduced her to music, wine, and theatre. Missing her was like a black hole that sucked everything into a void with no feeling.
There was no asking anyone if they were ready to go, even though some of his patients were, he just gave them enough medicine to ease the pain. He didn’t care, he didn’t care about anything but finding Sophie and he had been all the places he could think of to try to find her, including the alley. Even asking the people there if they saw here, once finding Owen but he said he had seen neither sister for weeks.
When he was home, he wanted to look at her paintings, feel them, trace the brush strokes with his fingertips or flip through her sketch books but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, picking it up and sliding his fingers across the cover but not opening it.
The telly was on in the background but he didn’t hear it until there was an announcement about a strange fire that killed Declan Hannigan under suspicious circumstances. Apparently, upon his death it had been revealed that he had been doing lots of underhanded dealings with the wrong people. It was all the better for the truth, Oliver thought.
It was raining, on his way home. He saw Adam and Mona in the window of the pub. They were laughing and sitting close. The way she had sat next to Oliver. He went in, soaking, not caring if he left watermarks on the floor. They looked up at him; he just stood dripping beside the table.
“Hello Oliver, are you alright,” Mona asked. Why did everyone ask him that when it was obvious he wasn’t and didn’t want to talk about it? She had never seen him not clean shaven except for a little stubble at the end of the day but he obviously had not shaved in a couple of days and he had not been eating properly.
“Have you seen Sophie,” he coughed, clearing his throat. Mona knew the hurt he was feeling, he had done it to her, broken her heart which explained his un-kept state. But a broken hearted man was much more pitiful than a broken hearted woman.
“No we haven’t? Did she leave you,” she hid a smile, feeling empathy for his pain but she liked being right.
“Yes, but not as you predicted,” he replied, noticing her smile, and then walking back out into the rain.
Trudging back to Sophie’s flat, head bowed, he preferred to walk the distance across Westminster Bridge, the rain the only thing he could feel which was better than the void. If he thought it would do any good, he would have ripped the crucifix off Camille’s neck and said a prayer of his own but in truth, he fell asleep every night begging the universe or God or whoever or whatever was listening to bring her back to him and tonight was no different when he fell asleep, cold and wet on top of the duvet, clutching her pillow.
***
Only the blocking of the light woke him. Half asleep and half awake, his eyes could barely stay open for a few seconds at a time. He could only make out a figure in front of the window, the light behind shadowing. He was sure he must be dreaming his eyes drifting closed again until...
“Hello, Ollie.” It was Sophie’s voice here in the flesh; she was hovering over him, not in his mind but in the room and his eyes flew open, his heart pounding in excitement pumping him back to life. But there was something off his drowsy mind couldn’t comprehend.
“Sophie?” he muttered.
“Not really,” her voice flat and without emotion.
His reaction was instant and he was on the edge of the bed pulling her to him, arms around her waist, and his cheek on her stomach. The lack of affection and the ‘not really’ answer went around and around in his head as something not ‘right’ but he wasn’t sure why. She was here; she came back but quite different.
Not resisting but not embracing him either, he started to question her indifference but was distracted by her stomach that was now sticking out a bit further than usual obviously hardened by the baby inside. He snapped backwards, staring at it, and then he slid his fingers down her belly in awe.
He was so pleasantly surprised, his excitement multiplied so far outside himself that it seemed to fill the whole room, like Sophie’s description of her pain and her happiness. Jumping to his feet, “Sophie, where…” he said reaching to caress her face but she stepped back.
The corners of his mouth turned down when he looked into the face of the woman he loved but the conscience of someone he did not particularly like. He noticed the dress, with its short sleeves and Sydney’s favourite colour of crimson, which did not hide the fact that she had a baby swell. She stood there motionless with a dispassionate look.
He gasped, the hope and joy flew out of him, “Oh no,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, frustrated, “Sydney, why are you here,” the reality of who was standing in front of him was disappointing but he was still relieved to see that she was well, not just well but pregnant.
“I’m here because Sophie misses you, and she’s anxious about this,” she said nodding down at her protrusion. His attention diverted to her stomach, both hands roaming over her slightly swollen belly, he smiled despite the situation, regardless whether it was Sophie or Sydney, the body held his child.
“It’s mine,” he stated without question.
“So sure are you, because Sophie’s not.” He didn’t answer still enthralled by the idea of being a father and then the realization that Sophie might not let him. “Have you ever noticed how people, even complete strangers feel the need to touch a pregnant woman’s stomach? It’s,” she grabbed both of his wrists in a tight grip, gritting her teeth, raising an eyebrow, “quite annoying,” she let go of him.
“Why doesn’t she come to me? After all we’ve been through together, why can’t she come to me,” Oliver considered the absurdity of looking at Sophie and talking about her like she wasn’t there, here she was and yet not. He didn’t have to keep reminding himself, this was Sydney. It was an extraordinary thing that he could be so in love with Sophie and so irritated with Sydney.
“Aside from the fact Sophie is afraid you can’t handle that she’s,” she paused, tapping her lips and looking at the ceiling searching for the right word, “mental and she believes the baby isn’t yours and how could you love a mad woman and a baby that’s not yours,” she fingered the torn curtain passively.
“That’s ridiculous, she knows I would do anything for her, I have done unspeakable things for her. And I would still, none of that has changed.” He dropped down on the side of the bed exhausted not wanting to go down the path that Sydney was leading him but knowing he had to as she was the key to getting to Sophie.
She sat beside him, “Can you know, can you understand, the difference between us? Because if you can’t….”
“Oh yes,” he interrupted, jumping up again, staring down at her, “even my heart knows the difference. The body is there but I could never love you as I do Sophie. And if I wanted to blame her for anything,” he squinted, accusingly at her, “I don’t have to when I can blame you,” he pointed at her with every word he said. “Why would she think that the baby’s not mine, unless, you’ve been with someone else,” he looked suspiciously at her, she sat on the bed, he sat beside her, leaning back on one hand partially turned towards
her, and the other hand lingered on her middle.
“It’s a matter of timing…” she paused, “you and Sophie were only together the once,” she revealed, waiting for him to do the math. “And believe it or not, I’ve only been with you… and Josie.”
There was quiet contemplation and then the realization that…, “The first time… was with you,” he was suddenly repulsed at the idea that he had been tricked by her.
“Precisely. Ironically, I can’t really tell her so you have to. That’s why I asked if you could tell the difference between us because you couldn’t that night and you couldn’t when I told you to get rid of Mariella.”
Oliver frowned at her, his brows furrowed together, “Any other time I need to know about?”
“No.”
“But you were pretending to be Sophie; I can see it, now I know you and what to look for. But it wasn’t you the whole night,” his thoughts lingered on thoughts of the kiss, her apprehension, and then her acquiesce and sudden eagerness.
“When she started to leave that night, I was the one who decided to stay,” her mouth tilted at the corner, pleased.
“Why not let her go instead?”
Sydney rolled her eyes and sighed, leaning back on her hands, the baby taking up too much space, “Did you want her to go?”
“No, of course not, but I wanted her to want to be there. Not very intuitive are you,” he said, sarcastically; it was like a slap in the face, wiping the smirk off of it.
“I had to have sex with you. If she left, you might have lost interest. Oh, believe me, she wanted to be there all right,” she replied defensively.
“Your ideas about men are as distorted as Sophie’s. You had no need to have sex with me to keep me interested, as you told me before, you know what I wanted,” he said the anger rising and dissipating almost immediately; his hand went from the baby to his heart. “I already adored her.” He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, elbows on knees, “Was getting pregnant part of your plan to seduce me? Becoming what you thought I wanted the most,” he asked repeating her definition.
“No, but we weren’t very careful were we,” they both became quiet, both to blame for the happy predicament. “Ollie, I just want you to know, what you said at the house about,” she fingered the duvet nervously, “well basically telling me I’m no different than Declan. You’re right except my intentions were good, you see that don’t you?”
He stood in front of the window, leaning on the wall with his hands behind his back trying to keep from touching her, “I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that she was almost killed because of you. You gambled with her life,” his tone changed, cold and solemn.
“Is this your warning to me,” both her eyebrows shot up defiantly, “Look, I can feel guilty about it and that emotion will take its toll on Sophie as well or we can be relieved that it’s over and Sophie will get the normality she’s always wished for. You do the same thing with your injections.”
“I never put her in danger.”
“No but you kill, you fill people up with morphine, is it,” the sarcasm dripped from her words.
“To end their suffering,” he justified.
“And if you get caught, what happens to Sophie, to your baby? You can’t be married to the job anymore, if you’re going to be a father.”
“I know,” he nodded in agreement. “I’ve known for a while that I was going to have to change just to be with Sophie but now, I want to be there for both of them. Does she know the men she killed and why she killed them?”
“Yes.”
He waited for her to elaborate but when she didn’t he asked, “Is she alright with it?”
“There’s something you have to understand about Sophie and why I did what I did,” she struggled on her feet, instinctively he reached a hand to her but she didn’t need to take it. “Any of them could have done it to someone else, strangers, teenagers, their children, or someone else’s. Sophie would have felt the weight of that possibility her whole life. Eventually, she could have remembered and it would have pressed down on her until everything became too painful to bear. And I couldn’t let that happen,” she was so close now, he could smell her, bend over slightly and put his lips on hers but they were so distinct, he wasn’t even tempted, “Sophie… feels… everything,” emphasizing every word to underline its truth.
“It was one of the first things I learned about her, even though she tried to hide it.” He reached to take her hand but thought twice about it, his fingertips brushing her knuckles.
“One mistake or a thousand, it doesn’t matter. Sometimes to forget a memory you have to eliminate the source of it, just to survive, just to know for sure it can’t happen again,” it was a random thought not meant to justify, she looked beyond him, out the window at the city skyline.
A few moments of silent contemplation passed between them, each taking the meaning. It cancelled out his belief in memories, what Mariella told him and what he told Sophie. It was true sometimes but not all the time.
“I’m sorry about Sam. I really am. I had no idea that Josie was capable of such a thing.” Oliver took a deep breath, trying to read her face but all he could find was the sincerity of the apology in her dark eyes.
“If Declan was telling the truth,” Oliver crossed his arms across his chest and stared at his bare feet.
“I’m sure he was. She was foolish when it came to Declan; she did anything he asked of her willingly but she turned the tables on him.”
“Did you love her?”
Sydney squinted suspiciously but he didn’t say it to be callous. “She could have had my heart if it was mine to give and she hadn’t already given hers to Declan only to be wasted. She loved me I’m sure and I guess she just couldn’t resist doing what he wanted her to do.” She seemed hurt and disappointed, “Don’t tell Sophie whatever you do. When you’re filling in gaps, leave that one empty, otherwise, it will set you back beyond the point of return.”
His head shot up, “Are you saying you’ll tell me where to find her?”
“I’m here to tell you where you can find her so you can tell her all she needs to know including what she doesn’t remember and needs to know about that night in the house and that you’re the father of her child.”
Aggravated, he grabbed her arms, she flinched, “I can’t stand this, I am telling her. I’m talking to her now!”
“This is what I’m talking about,” jerking away, “You have to know the difference.”
“Why won’t she come home to me, talk to me, come out now?” His eyebrows creased together concerned.
“She’s found a new home, much nicer than this dump,” she wrinkled her nose as she looked around, “don’t know how she lived here so long.”
“Tell me where she lives,” approaching her, he was inches from her face but didn’t touch her again.
“That wouldn’t be very wise, would it? You know Sophie; if you show up on her doorstep suddenly she will panic. No I’m here to tell you that she frequents Regent’s Park and she can tell you where she lives when she’s ready.”
“Regent’s Park is….,” he was going to say huge but he grabbed the sketch book that sat by the bedside that he wanted desperately to look at but couldn’t since the night they ate Chinese takeaway in her living room. Picture after picture of people, places, and things but most of them were areas of Regent’s Park and when he saw the drawings of the Triton Fountain, located in the Queen Mary’s Gardens, he knew that was her special place.
He looked at Sydney knowingly, yet dismayed, “The answer was here the whole time and I,” he sat on the edge of the bed staring at the pictures, berating himself. Her words came back to him, ‘Regent’s Park is my favourite in the whole city. It was my safe haven’, one fist pressed against his lips and he choked on more tears, “I missed it, how could I miss it?”
One tear slid down his cheek and he looked up at Sydney, “How did I miss it?”
Sydney looked a little surprised that he wa
s asking her that question with sincerity. She could feel the love between them, caught in the middle as it were, his blue eyes filled with tears, staring at her, waiting for an answer, “Love can reveal and conceal, you know that as well as I. If she hadn’t broken your heart you might have remembered but Ollie, all it took was a reminder. Sometimes that’s how the mind works; it just needs a key to open where the heart has shut it.”
He chuckled slightly, “That sounds like something Mariella would say.” He sniffed back the tears.
“For God’s sake Ollie, don’t compare me to both parents, Declan was enough thank you.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“I came now because…” she was thinking, “she was distraught about me and she ran from you, because of her love for you. Then she went to Declan’s funeral and then found out she was pregnant. When the math didn’t add up she was…is terrified to be a mother without you. She’s been trying to figure out a way to communicate with you but she’s just too scared to tell you and thinks that you are in danger from me.” She answered matter of fact. “She needs you.”
“And if she has me, you might become obsolete. Is that what you want?”
“What I want is peace for Sophie. It’s my job to protect her from herself and your job to protect her from everything else,” she said with emphasis and turning to walk back out the door without so much as a peck on the cheek. And as much as it was killing him to watch her go, he knew he had to let her.
“Sydney,” it was the first time he actually addressed her by name since the house, she turned, “thank you.”
“If Sophie is happy, I’m happy. I can do a lot of things for her but that’s not one of them. That’s all you.”
“Will she be there tomorrow?”
“It depends on how she feels because of this,” she said, pointing a finger at her middle. “Some days she goes, some days she doesn’t depending on how much she’s sicked up or how tired she is.” Turning, she walked another step and turned back around.
The Poison Morality Page 37
