The Poison Morality (11 page)

“How did you know?”

“You mentioned her last night before you went back to sleep.”

“Oh yes.  Well I returned to the alley to find the man that attacked me,” she was so passive about her safety in a dark alley and yet warned Oliver not to make any moves on her.

“Wait,” he stopped her, a hand in the air, becoming serious, “you went back to the man that attacked you with a knife?  Sophie.”

Here we go, she thought.

“Do you have no regard for your own safety?  You’re worried that I might try to kiss you but you’re not afraid of confronting someone that could have killed you,”
wiping his mouth on a napkin, agitated, he came around to sit on the sofa beside her.

“I’m not worried that you might try to kiss me, it’s not kissing that bothers me,” she was annoyed that somehow the conversation shifted to kissing, she glanced at his mouth, set rigid now, “besides he was no threat.  He’s a junky, he was high and he didn’t mean to hurt me, just chase me a bit.”

“So that makes him less dangerous, does it?”

“Are you going to let me tell you or not?”   He gave her a warning glance, relaxing back in the corner of the sofa after refilling his glass.

“He said, they were ‘putting on a show’ for someone,” she used the air quotes with her fingers, “when he saw me, he was to chase me.  He thought that she was talking about her, that’s how she put it to him knowing I would be there at some point.”

“Sydney told him to do this,” pointing to her left side.

“No, not to cut me, just to chase me,” she shook her head, “her I mean and he thought I was her today.  I didn’t correct him.  Apparently they have some kind of rapport.”

“Do you think he was telling the truth?”

“Yes, because he then asked
me
if you were the one they put the show on for and did I get what I wanted.”  Sophie sipped the wine cautiously.

“Did you,” he asked, setting the glass on the table.

“Did she?   And if you are, the only time she would have known of you would have been that night on the train.”

Oliver had a distant look and sipped the wine, “No, it was just the three of us, I’m sure of it.  You didn’t pay attention but I did.  But why would she want to scare you like that?”  His brows furrowed together.

She ignored the jibe, “He said that she said it was for my own good, or her own good, or something.  But she didn’t tell him it was me, he thought that they were acting it out together and she never referred to me.”

Oliver thought about that for a minute, Sophie waited for him to share his thought.  “Meaning not to go into that alley again?”

“That’s what I thought,” she agreed.

“Well it backfired,” he looked disapprovingly at her, “if that’s the case, because you did go back, didn’t you?”

“I do go back occasionally,” he had put her on the defensive and then the revelation; “Maybe that’s where she saw me before, maybe that’s how she found me.”

“Why?”

“Well it makes sense if….”

“No, I mean why you go back there occasionally,” his voice was calmer, back to the smooth relaxed tone.

“To remind me what it’s like to live with nothing,” Sophie took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Expecting a sympathetic look when she met his gaze, he just looked at her affectionately, “I may not be deserving of what I have but I appreciate it.”

“Sophie,” he said her name, and it lingered in the air tangible, he put his hand on her arm, she moved it and he retracted.  “How did you end up living on the streets?”  Her face became taught again and she finished her wine.  He started to refill but she nodded no.

“Because I… had to leave home.  I couldn’t stay there anymore.  I didn’t go straight to living on the streets,” she folded and unfolded a napkin, “It was a gradual process of things costing more than I was making and supplies dwindling.  Eventually I lost everything I had.”

“So you went back home,” he leaned over, placing his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together.

“God, no,” she looked as if he had slapped her face.  “I could never do that, not ever,” Oliver opened his mouth, “Don’t ask why.”  He snapped his jaws shut.

“So how did you go from living on the streets to thousands of pounds on your bed?  Does it have something to do with the envelope at your door?”  What he thought her to be by profession and what she seemed to be around him was a contradiction, maybe he was completely wrong after all. He was reminded what he told Jacki, that anyone could play God, the gentle balance of life and death.

She turned to put the glass on the table, avoiding his look because of the lie she was about to tell, “No.”

Her back was to him but he could still distinguish, it wasn’t just in her face but her voice as well, “You’re lying.”

“Damn it Oliver.  Don’t ask me questions you know I have to…lie…to,” the wine made her tongue loose.

He tossed his head back, laughing openly, “Why don’t you just tell me?  You know I know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Are you going to try to find Sydney then,” he asked, still smiling.

“How do I find her when she doesn’t want to be found?  She knows where I am, why be so allusive?”

“Maybe she’s letting you know that she’s around by leaving the picture first, possibly building up her own courage to see you.  Meanwhile she’s become your guardian angel.”

“Well if being my guardian angel results in bleeding, I think I can take better care of myself,” she stared into the fire, “Still, somehow…it’s comforting to know she’s there.  If I look around, I’ll find her, if she’s watching me, and she must be, I’ll find her.  Our paths have to cross at some point,” Sophie stood arms crossed staring out at the street below.  No one lingered unless they were deep in the shadows.

“There’s only one person that can solve that mystery,” standing behind her, he looked out at the city scape while she looked down towards the street.

“And under the circumstances, I think I’ll wait till she wants to introduce herself.  Don’t know if I can take anymore family.”

Oliver picked up on her strained family ties.  She had yet to mention a family
member without a look of hatred, disdain, or pain.  Something terrible happened to her, there was no doubt about it.  He was surer about that than her profession.

Oliver checked his watch, it was getting late.  He wanted to stay but thought it best to leave her be.  If he overstayed his welcome, there’s no telling how much rebound there would be to the progress tonight.  “I should go,” he sounded disappointed.

Cleaning up the mess on the table, he took all to the kitchen, putting the plates in the sink and the food in her fridge.  “Looks like that’s the most food you’ve had in your fridge in a while.  Do you want me to check your stitches before I go?”

“No need.”

He noticed a sketchbook on the side table and picked it up, she made a motion to protest and he stopped, “May I?”

She shrugged pretending not to care but watched his face while he flipped through it. The sketches were of places around the city he recognized and some he didn’t, buildings, landmarks, she frequented the many parks.  She captured the emotions, happiness of people that were there, couples and children.   He smiled at her and then back to the drawings.  It seemed that she was so melancholy, obviously she had issues with her family, her profession morbid, she lived in a cheap run down flat, and as far as he could tell was a total recluse, but that wasn’t what she sketched or painted.

There was no way he could kiss her, even though he wanted to with every fibre of his being.  “My aunt has invited me to her house. I’ve mentioned you and I’m long overdue for a visit.”

Her eyes grew wide, taking the sketch book from him, “Why would you mention me to your aunt?”

“That’s what friends do, talk about what’s going on in their lives.  She’s wonderful, you’ll like her.  She takes care of me and has become my confidant since my mum died.”

“Oh Oliver, are you saying you want me to go with you,” she tried not to look terrified.

“How do you think people learn about each other?  She’s already waiting in anticipation to meet you and I know you wouldn’t want to disappoint her or me.”

“Hang on, why would you make the assumption that I care?”

“You’re a nice person, I know you don’t believe that but you are.”

“We barely know anything about each other.”

“You reveal more than you know or probably want to.”

Her back stiffened as she thought about it, “So you’re saying this is one of those normal things that people do?”

She did it again, revealing to him or is it perhaps that he paid so much attention to her knowing that was the way he was going to get to know her, not by what she said but what she inadvertently revealed.  Looking down at her and smiling he said, “Yes, exactly, a normal thing that people do.  So I can spend time with them…and you.  Sometimes my schedule is so tight; it’s hard to fit everything in.”

She sighed.  Why on earth did he think she would want to?  They weren’t familiar enough to meet family.

“It’s not going out, like a date,” he said, appealing, still she hesitated.  “She’s even a better cook than I am not that you’ve tasted much of my cooking…yet,” still she hesitated.  Her instincts telling her to say no but it’s what normal people do, normal and then he said, “I’ll take you on the London Eye one night as a thank you.”

Her eyes lit up, she tried to hide it, shrugging, “Alright.”  He turned to go when she stopped him.

“Oliver, I know you want to be my friend.  I haven’t had one for a long time; it will take a while to get used to the idea.”

“That’s alright, Sophie.  Everything will happen just as it should when it should,” he said putting his coat on.

“What about the things that should never have happened in the first place?”  She turned away, not expecting an answer.

Oliver stared at the painting across the room, looking at the beauty, evoking the pain of the loss of his mother, contemplating an answer, “Maybe that’s where you’re wrong.”

Sophie turned quickly to face him; he tied the scarf around his neck, ready for the challenge he saw welling up in her.  “Wrong?  Wrong, am I?”

“The things you think shouldn’t have happened have yielded one of two things, or both,” he paused when her eyebrow shot up in speculation.  “Pure creation,” he nodded towards the paintings, “and…,” damn he shouldn’t have said anything; he should have let the question hang in the air unanswered.

She looked over at the paintings, not seeing so much of what he was referring to and then slowly faced him again, “And?”

“Strength to ascend from under whatever agony, hurt, or anguish you might feel to find the treasures life can bring you.  Sometimes it takes a little assistance from someone else to see it…or feel it.”

Sophie would have thought that he was making up an explanation to show off any wisdom he thought he had but he was relaying to himself and her, trying to convince himself of the same thing, she could see it. 

Oliver could tell she comprehended what he was saying, both lost in thought for a minute when she finally replied, “That’s a quixotic notion, Oliver.”

“Oh?”

Misinterpreting his remark as a request for clarification on, “Quixotic, romantic, idealistic,” she gave him the definition.

“I know what it means,” actually he didn’t and his lips curled in amusement at this mysterious young woman.  “I’ll ring you.”  And before she could contradict it, he was out the door.

Owen hovered on the corner, crouching, hiding the pills; not wanting anyone to know he had them.  You never knew when someone else might want some.  He felt like they were all staring at him, wanting some of his stash, wanting the same high but they were his.  His hands shook, poised to pop them in his mouth when he saw her again making a line straight for him.  Stuffing the pills back in his pocket, he stood.

One by one, she pulled on the fingers of her gloves, taking them off and shoving them in the pockets of her leather jacket; she had her poker face on today.  A few days ago she was confused with what he was telling her more than he was confused by the questions he answered knowing bloody well she knew more than he did.  It seemed that she was testing him. Not like she was then, when she looked at him with pity and then a twinge of anger and completely….

Her left hand shot out so fast and slapped him across the cheek, he didn’t see it coming and the cracking sound echoed throughout the alley.  He could feel eyes on them.  Her hand had to have stung as much as his face but she gave no indication of it.  “What the fuck?”

“I said nothing about knives, did I?  In fact I specifically remember saying to chase.”

“I apologized for that day before yesterday and you were fine with it.  Right as rain you were.  I said I was sorry but those fucking pills you gave me, made me crazy.”  His hand was rubbing the welt on his cheek.

For the first time her face showed an emotion, only briefly and that was it.  “She was here?  You talked to her?”  There it was again, that incredulous look, like she couldn’t believe it.

“Are you insane?  You were here asking questions about what you told me to do and I did what you told me to do,” his hands were pleading, palms up at her.

“So even after that, she came right back here and spoke to you?  How do I not know….And what did you tell her?”  She advanced on him and he hunched against the wall.

“Wait…,” he paused trying to make sense of the whole thing and then the cloudiness of his muddled mind cleared.  “You’re twins.  There are two of you,” the words came out slowly, as a revelation.  He smiled revealing the yellowed teeth and cracked lips.

Owen cowered when she grabbed his lapels, “Look at me Owen.”  He kept his head down but looked up at her, ready to brace himself for another attack, the last one still stinging a bit.  “If she comes here again and you lay a finger on her,” if he didn’t know better he would have thought her eyes turned black, they were so dark and the fury filled up behind them, “they will find your body on the shore of the Thames and it will look like a suicide.  Do you understand me?”

Nodding his head he didn’t know what else to do.

“You believe me don’t you?”  He nodded again.

She stood up straight and released him, pulling a plastic bag out of her pocket with a wad of cash and some pills.  “I need you to do something else for me.”  He reached for the bag and she pulled away, “You’ll do what I ask in exactly the way that I tell you.”

“If it has anything to do with the other one you can forget it.”

“No, never again.  I want you to follow someone.  Under no circumstances are you to interact with him.  You come back here next week and tell me what you saw, where he went and what he did.”  She handed him the bag and turned on her heel, flipping the hair over her shoulder, ignoring the hands outreached to her and disappeared around the corner.  He noticed the redhead falling in step behind her but thought nothing else about it more interested in the gift he was given, putting a tab under his tongue.  He closed his eyes and slid down the wall and crouched low until it hit him.