The Poison Morality (39 page)

***

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.

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.

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 Mariella.  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.

She plopped down on the chair holding it up in Oliver’s face like trophy exclaiming, “Ah ha!” smiling proudly.

Oliver gave an exasperated grunt and jerked it from her hand.  The clatter of it being thrown into the sink made a distinct loud noise, followed by the rattle of silverware and the slamming of the drawer.

Standing behind her, he reached over taking her right wrist and thrusting the fork into her hand.

“Thank you,” she said as he lingered behind her.  Instinctively, she took the fork into her left hand.  Immediately, he grabbed her hand before she could scoop up the rice and placing it forcefully into her right hand again but not letting go. 

He crouched beside her chair again.  “I want Sophie to come out
now
,” he said firmly through his clenched teeth, his patience all but dissolved where Sydney was concerned.

“I can’t just go away; she has to want to come back too, Ollie.  Maybe she isn’t ready to come back yet.”

“She’s got no reason not to and every reason to come out and live her life,” he said, letting go of her wrist and moving her hand to her swollen stomach, hoping to make an appeal.

Sydney looked down at him, shifting nervously in the chair.

“This is so uncomfortable, how can she stand this?”

“Then go away if you don’t like it.”

“As a matter of fact, I really don’t.”

“You do realize that it’s technically you’re doing, right?”

“My fault?  It takes two Ollie,” she winced, “oohh”. 

Provoking her was how Sophie came back before but it was a dangerous game to play in her condition.

“Look at that you’ve upset her,” Sydney said in a whiny voice.

“Sophie?”

“The baby, you git, she’s hurting me now,” struggling to stand up, she faced Oliver again standing looking down at her.

“How do you know it’s a girl, we never found out the sex of the baby.”

“I just know okay.  I don’t feel so good.”  Oliver noticed the sweat beads on her forehead and that she went pale, plopping back down in the chair.  Sydney was rubbing the side of her stomach.  Odd since as far as she was concerned it was a separate entity she had no use for.

“Maybe you ate too much curry.”

“Oh, that’s a great dig Ollie.  Is that the best you’ve got?”

“No, I mean you probably ate too much.  And while we’re on the subject, why would you purposely eat something you know Sophie hates?”

“Is that a real question?”     Her face cringed.  He watched and waited, she was concentrating on not throwing up, pushing the plate away.  After a few minutes, she picked up the train of thought, “I mean, how often do I get to come out and she’s not tasting it, what does she care?”

“I care what you do with Sophie’s body and my child.  And her mind for that matter.”

“I told you I wouldn’t come out if she doesn’t go in.  This isn’t my fault; if you want to blame someone blame Mariella, stupid cow.”

“So she uses you as a crutch?  Is that what you’re saying?  You deserve it after using her to do your dirty work.”

“Going to cover this again are we?”  Sydney stopped abruptly; she slammed her fist on the table and gritted her teeth, breathing slowly, her eyes closed.  Oliver looked at his watch. 

Anger dissipated when he realized she was probably actually in
labour whether it was the real thing or not, she was in pain.  Taking her elbow, he urged her to stand once the pain dissipated and his tone became soft but urgent, appealing to her, “Sydney,” she looked up at him like an animal ready to pounce, breathing heavily, “do you want to go through labour and have this baby?”

“What?  Have
you
completely gone mental now?”  He took her hands in his, his thumbs pressing into the palms of her hands, Sydney looked at him bewildered, trying to pull her hands out of his but he grasped firmly, “What are you saying?”  It was the first time he saw fear in Sydney’s eyes.

“I think you might be in
labour now,” frantically she started to pace, like it was possible to run away from it.

“Relax, there’s time but I know you don’t want to go through this and Sophie would feel terrible if she missed it so can you please, appeal to her and tell her, make her aware, whatever you need to do.”

Panicking, Sydney almost broke into tears, closing her eyes again; she seemed to be concentrating, another pain shooting through her.  “I can’t,” she opened her red rimmed eyes, “she won’t and I can’t do this.”  She was beginning to hyperventilate.

Oliver was telling her how to breath but she panicked instead, “Sydney!  Pay attention, breathe like this.”  Once he observed that she was doing as she was told he said, “Okay whatever happens is going to happen, whichever of you gives birth, we have to go to the hospital.”  He ran upstairs and grabbed her bag and flung it in the car and then assisting her, he deposited her in the passenger side and buckled her in.

Driving, he was trying to think of anything he could say to get Sophie to come back out, he was yelling at her to come out and deliver their baby but it was no use and Sydney was going to be hard to deal with.  It wasn’t going to be the joyful moment he was hoping for if the wrong personality gave birth.

Once at the hospital and among the staff that stayed cool and collected, Oliver trying to coax Sophie out and Sydney yelling at him, she stood by the bed, not yet having dilated enough and not wanting to lie down.  Being a doctor he urged them to let him take care of her alone as much as possible knowing Sophie would want less fuss as opposed to more.

He massaged her back but she swiped his hand away growling at him.  And he realized that if he really wanted to get technical it was his and Sydney’s baby but the thought made him cringe.  He couldn’t speak anymore; there was nothing else to say, he could only deal with the woman he had at the time and the baby that was coming.

Her contractions were coming closer and when one hit particularly sudden, Sydney screamed, “Sophie, this will kill us both!”  Her water broke.  Oliver knew what she was doing, the threat of something happening to the baby and Sophie was there, panting, her Lamaze kicking in immediately and she whimpered his name like she did in the house but this time she didn’t crumble. 

“She told you?”  Her chin trembled and he was beside her massaging her back and holding her hand.

“She did and it doesn’t matter now.  The baby matters now.  Declan and Mariella are gone for good, forever.  And our daughter will never have to endure what you did; will never know of it or anything like it, you don’t have to worry.”

“How do you know it’s a girl,” she asked between panting, her face red, and sweating.

“Sydney thinks it is.”

Sophie growled and gave him the look that women in labour give the fathers but it wasn’t just directed at him but the other half of her conscience.

She just looked at him, knowing he spoke the truth.  She would feel the pain of what she found out in the contractions and she promised that when they were gone and the baby was there, she would forget about them.