The Poison Morality

by Stacey Kathleen

  “Yes well we did that but Sydney…and I,” Sophie’s eyes grew wide, “I didn’t know it was her.”

  Her mouth hung open, her shoulders dropped the tension and she almost smiled with relief, “You had sex with her?” It wasn’t an accusation, “Which means you’re the father?”

  Oliver nodded and smiled, “Which means I’m the father,” he confirmed.

  Sophie felt so much relief, she stared at the dark clouds threatening rain, not caring if it rained on them or not. The array of flowers that surrounded the little nook of the park was excessively bright all of a sudden and her face hurt from the smiling and then she remembered….her smile faded, “What about Sydney? I don’t know what to do about her.” Thunder rolled in the distance.

  “You don’t have to do anything. She’s a part of you and you’re a part of her. She revealed a lot at the house that night.”

  “I don’t remember much but when I… heard your voice, angry, yelling and I couldn’t stand that you were angry with me and it was me that got you in the middle of everything. And then she was aiming a gun at you…”

  “No Sophie, that was Sydney, it was Sydney I raised my voice to, not you my darling. And she pointed the gun at me because she was frightened that what I was said was true.”

  She moved her hand away, nervously shifting on the bench, “You’ve talked a lot with her. Odd that you would have talked to her so much and yet I cannot.”

  “She’s here,” he pressed a finger to the side of her head, “to protect you. She hasn’t done a very good job of it and she knows that but it’s all over now and she knows that too. She understands that she can’t make you happy however but I can, I want to, and I will if you let me.” His nuzzled her face, his lips brushing her cheek. The thunder cracked, startling her. “When you love someone, you take the good and the bad.”

  “But, what if she…”

  “For God’s sake Sophie,” he interrupted her, irritated suddenly, “even after she introduced herself to me, I didn’t stop loving you, not for a second did I falter and I killed Declan for you. That was for you.” He cupped her face.

  “I feel like there are whole chunks of my life I didn’t get to live because she was living it for me.”

  “Starting here and now, we start over. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past, the three of us,” he took her hand and placed it on her stomach, his on top again. “There are things about that night you don’t remember and I was going to tell you but,” he kissed her lips, missing the feel of them, “there’s no need, the most important thing, I’ve told you. Let me take you to your flat before it rains on us.”

  She slid to the edge of the bench, struggling to stand but he was there to help her. “Is that my shirt you’re wearing,” he asked amused, taking the sketch book and pencils for her.

  “It’s one of the few things I have that fits. I need to go shopping.”

  On the way to her flat, they walked along the canal, the ducks quacking at them, the drops of rain rippled in the water. They made it to her flat just before the rain came down harder and the thunder was closer.

  The building was old but well kept, not like the flat across town. Inside, he walked over to the window watching the rain fall across the city, the boats in the canal washed down from the spring rains. Her easel stood to the side; she was working on a painting of what she saw from her window, the canal, the budding trees, the birds.

  He turned, thinking she was busy in another room, she was so quiet but she stood watching him, breathing heavily, his shirt stretched across her body, she had on a skirt, black but he could still see the outline of her legs through it.

  They took one step towards each other and in his excitement he closed the remaining of the space between them, his arm thrown around her waist, pulling her so close to him, she was on her tip toes, their kiss consumed.

  Desperately she clutched him, already off balance by being front heavy, he had her almost off her feet but she could not get enough of him. The whole of the front of her body pressed against him and it still wasn’t close enough. His hand cupped her head, his mouth moved over her lips, his tongue sliding beyond them and met it all equally. Without any hesitation, she now realized she had no excuse not to be happy.

  Pulling away, he took the box out of his pocket, her heart stopped for a second, it was too big to be a ring and he opened it pulling the necklace out, holding it up for her, and unclasping it. She lifted her hair for him to place it there.

  “How did you know?”

  “Sydney told me and the lady at the shop was very happy it was going to you.”

  Sophie thanked him by throwing her arms around him and picking up the kissing where they left off. Walking her backwards, he found his way to her bedroom, she rain pelting the window, the lace curtains allowed the light in, the bed coverings bright and new. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his tee shirt up to kiss his stomach and chest, leaving a trail of kisses across his ribs to the top of his trousers, undoing his belt, looking up at him, her mouth open.

  He bent over to kiss her lips again, laying her back on the bed pulling her fully on top of the duvet. He unbuttoned his shirt that she wore exposing her fuller breasts, kissing gently, tickling, pulling the shirt off her arms and sliding it out from under her and unhooking the bra and throwing both on the floor.

  He sat back on his heels, straddling her legs, his hands sliding down the sides of the bump, kissing her stomach to kiss his baby underneath. Pulling the skirt and underwear off she was naked, staring at him, not apprehensive but her hands covered his, caressing his arms, not to stop him this time.

  Standing he took off the rest of his clothes and she opened up for him and he slid easily into her. Moving gently inside her, his hips moved more in circles and less in and out to keep from going to deep as not to cause any discomfort. His tongue circled her nipples that protruded and hardened by his touch.

  She was moving with him, they found a rhythm that worked for both of them but unable to put his weight on her he was dissatisfied by not being able to hold her. He pulled out and she gave a small cry of disappointment but he moved up the bed beside her, his arm under turning her on her side so that he could enter her from behind and put one arm around her and the other around his child.

  He kissed the back of her neck, pinching her nipples lightly. She reached a hand up and cupped his head pulling it closer to her when he deposited kisses along her shoulder. The position pushed against the spot inside her, she was moaning tiny cries of bliss, her muscles clutching him and she openly cried out, her leg over his convulsed and he could feel her orgasm pushing him to his until he too trembled and released.

  They lay there, his arms around her, she holding his arms and even though his erection was gone, he stayed inside her for a few minutes; his hand was massaging hers, moving up her arms to her back, and then back around to settle on a breast.

  It was getting darker outside as the rain would cease for a minute and then begin again, “I love the rain,” she said, absently tickling his arm with her nails.

  “Hmm,” he agreed. “Sophie?”

  “Yes Oliver.”

  “Will you come home with me?”

  “I am home,” she stiffened, “this is home now.”

  He sighed, “I mean our home. The home I bought for us.”

  She shifted to look at him, “You bought a house?”

  “Yes, actually just a few streets over. I knew you loved this area. It has a room for your art. There’s a garden out back, a room for the nursery with plenty of light. I’m selling my flat; everything I have is either in the house or your old flat anyway. Keep this flat if it makes you happy, I just thought if we were going to be a family, a house would be nicer.”

  She smiled, “A house, for us, okay,” she replied and rolled back over.

  Oliver was stunned, no argument, no questioning, no resistance. He wouldn’t press his luck so he didn’t say anything else. They fell asleep to the sound of the rain.
r />   ***

  Oliver awoke when Sophie’s hand flew over and landed on his chest in her sleep. She was mumbling something and whimpering something, he thought she said Josie’s name but he couldn’t be sure, so he scooped her up again and held her until her restlessness subsided.

  He thought about Sam and it made him horribly sad not only that he was dead but that Josie killed him trying to retrieve a relationship with Sydney. He couldn’t bring himself to be mad at her; tired of all the mystery and lunacy that had happened already.

  He would go check on Phillipa and Evangeline after he tendered his resignation at the hospital tomorrow. He forgot to tell Sophie that bit. There were prospective jobs on the horizon with some private practices and as much as he enjoyed what he did at the hospital, he loved the idea of being there for Sophie and the baby more. Mariella was right, when the right woman came along, it wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice at all.

  Tucking Sophie in and putting a pillow to her back, he got up and put his shorts on and closed the bedroom door. He rummaged around the kitchen to make a cup of tea, clicking the kettle on and waiting. Walking around the flat, he only saw Sophie, nothing of Sydney at all.

  His mind kept going back to Josie. He didn’t want to confront her but what if Declan lied? What if he did confront her and she lied? He could go to the building she works to see if she’s still there, Sophie had told him where it was when she discovered her. Maybe since Declan’s demise she wasn’t there but he could go, talk to the girl if she was.

  Even if he did confront her and she confessed all, what would he do with the information? Sophie’s feet treaded softly on the wooden floor, finding Oliver in the kitchen sipping a cuppa, she stood in his shirt, the outline of her body visible when the streetlight from the front window shown through it. He was instantly aroused again.

  “I thought you had gone or that what happened was a dream,” she said drowsily, putting her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

  He kissed the top of her head, her stomach pushing against his slight erection and every time she breathed in it pressed against him. He was kissing her neck, “I’m still here.”

  Her hands clasped his head, urging him. She took his hand and led him to the nice plush, new sofa and pushed him down on it, pulling his shorts off. She unbuttoned his shirt slowly and let it drop to the floor. Her beautiful white skin glowed in the dim light from outside.

  Straddling him, she easily put him inside her and moved to her own rhythm. The only thing she wore was the necklace he had given. Her hands caressed his chest, the soft hair under her palms. She interlaced her fingers in his and used his hands to push against, increasing her up and down motion until they both came together.

  Sitting up, he put his hands around her, his head between her breasts and she held his head there, rocking him, one hand tickling above his ear, the other around his shoulders, her cheek on top of his head. It was the first time he actually felt the love come from her and then she said the words. “I love you, Oliver.” And he said them back; nothing had changed since the first time he told her except that she said the same.

  It was getting colder in the flat but they didn’t move for a long time until she started shaking and he carried her, legs wrapped around his waist back to the warmth of the bed. Both awake, she asked about the necklace and what it said and what the lady at the shop told him and they laughed together, falling asleep again.

  Chapter 43: Josie Gone

  Oliver entered the McKinnon, Barclay, and Milden building and approached one of the receptionists. “I’m looking for Josie; I don’t know her last name, worked with Declan Hannigan?”

  The woman all but broke down into tears when the other answered, “She…,” her voice wavered, “she was found dead on the Thames yesterday.”

  Oliver stumbled backwards and the woman started crying also, “Apparently it was a suicide. I just can’t believe it. She seemed fine but,” the woman clutched a tissue to her and broke down.

  “Did they say how she killed herself?”

  The woman stopped long enough to give Oliver a hateful look, “Jumped off a bridge apparently.”

  “Did she leave a note?”

  “The authorities said there is a note but we don’t know what it said of course.”

  Oliver acknowledged what she said and walked numbly out the front door, the women behind him still weeping. There would be no answers where she was concerned and the word justice kept floating around in his head. Sydney said there was no justice just the price to be paid. Oliver didn’t believe that either.

  It would be the first time he could remember that he didn’t feel the frustration from a lack of an explanation. Sam was gone and Josie was gone and there was nothing to be done about it and no one left to ask.

  Chapter 44: Sydney in the Kitchen

  They had settled easily into their new house, Sophie and the baby growing bigger by the day and ready to go into labour anytime. Oliver worked with a private practice, still working long hours but not as long and not as demanding as the hospital.

  Oliver walked into the kitchen, the smell of curry wafted in the air. He loved Indian but she detested it, she must have had a craving for it. Small white cartons sat scattered opened on the table. In turn she scraped out bits of chicken masala, rice, vegetables, and naan bread along with lit candles and an open bottle of wine, Sophie sipping from her glass.

  “Ah, what do you think you’re doing young lady,” he scolded, taking the glass from her.

  “Ollie,” she pouted.

  Damn, he thought, sighing. “Sydney,” he stated flatly, going to the fridge and opening a water bottle, slamming it down by her plate, some of it splashing on the table. Dropping into the chair opposite and downing the wine from the glass he took from her, he glared at her over the rim.

  “Do you mind? I’m starving.” Without waiting for an answer, she picked up the fork with her left hand and dove into the food, ravenous.

  “Go easy,” he urged, watching her overload with foods Sophie wouldn’t eat. “You haven’t been around in a while, have you?”

  “No need, since you’ve been here.”

  “You haven’t taken on any new projects have you?”

  “Look, I know you don’t like me very much, and believe me I don’t want to be here anymore than you do. I mean look at this,” she said putting one foot up as far as she could and raising her leg, pulling the sundress up to her knee, “look at this ankle, I mean it’s not even identifiable as one, tits hurt, back aches, and seriously,” she said twisting slightly from side to side, “how the hell does Sophie reach anything in this state? And the moving around in there,” she said poking her stomach, “well it’s just peculiar to say the least. Ugh, why would anyone do this on purpose?” Oliver gave her a look, not giving in to her protesting, “No, I have not taken on any new projects.”

  “Why are you here, then?”

  “Are you not going to eat,” she asked pointing with her fork.

  “I’m more interested in where Sophie is and more importantly when she will be coming back.” He spoke firmly, like chastising a child.

  “She’s just kind of recuperating,” she ripped a piece of naan apart and chewed on it, then looking at his expression, “don’t look at me that way, it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Can you tell me what happened at least,” he asked, refilling the glass and sitting back in the chair, ready to hear some elaborate explanation.

  “Well as you may or may not know, Sophie has been reading Mariella’s diaries. Did you know Mariella wanted to be a writer? Her diaries are full of poetry; pretty good actually, didn’t know she had it in her.”

  “I did,” Oliver recalled. “Well the poetry part not that Sophie was reading her diaries. Anyway, she’s been reading your mum’s diaries. What of it?”

  “Her mum, let’s not make that mistake again, she wasn’t mine. That’s probably the one thing, other than Sophie, that you and I have in common. Neither one of us liked M
ariella. The way you feel about me, I felt about her times ten.”

  “I did like Mariella until I found out who she was.”

  “Right, so anyway, turns out Mariella and Declan were having an affair while she was married to Sophie’s father,” Sydney paused waiting for Oliver to make the deduction himself while she bit into a piece of the feathery light bread dipped in curry sauce, eyebrows raised in question. Sydney rolled her eyes and sighed exasperated. “Declan was really the father of the twins. And ‘all the love she felt for Declan went to them,’ as she put it in her diary.”

  “Ah,” downing the glass of wine, “fuck.” Taking a deep breath and then Oliver sat silent as Sydney stuffed herself. The information she gave explaining Sophie’s disappearance and Sydney’s presence. How in the name of all that’s holy was he ever going to get her to not give a damn that she was raped by her own father? He gave an exasperated growl. “No wonder Mariella didn’t want to believe it. She was the only one that knew the truth.”

  Sydney stopped chewing, looking at Oliver curiously not having heard him swear so violently or had the inclination to do so but then she resumed eating completely unaffected by the knowledge. “Slow down, you’re going to make Sophie ill,” he said agitated. “Do you think she could come back now?”

  “She’s not ready.”

  Oliver took Sydney’s hand and pried the fork from it and kissed it, squatting beside her chair. “Sophie, I know you can hear me. You don’t have to run away, I’m here now, we can talk about it, cry about it, whatever you need. Just come back to me, please.”

  “She needs me.”

  “No! No, she doesn’t, Sophie come back, please.”

  Sydney’s elbow knocked the fork to the floor. She abruptly reached over to pick it up forgetting her limited mobility of Sophie’s pregnant body and couldn’t reach it.

  She looked at Oliver but when he made no attempt to pick it up, she set out to do what she needed to do. Standing with some strain, she clutched it between her toes, held onto the chair bent her leg as far as it would go, balancing on one foot, she reached behind her and took it, a look of triumph on her face.