CRUX: A Dark Romantic Suspense

by Stella Noir

  Which is exactly what I’m afraid of.

  Banishing those thoughts to a dark corner of my mind, I open the door, and there he is, right on my doorstep. He’s holding a bouquet of beautiful, fresh tulips in my favorite lilac color, with the tips light and white.

  “Where did you get those?” I ask in favor of a greeting since I’m feeling so awkward, taking the flowers, which are wrapped in brown paper.

  I love tulips, and you didn’t even know, I think, and realize at the same time Matthew always brought me roses. Romantic, but definitely not my favorite flower.

  Immediately, I feel like I’ve betrayed the memory of my husband, and it must show on my face.

  “Just went to the farmer’s market,” Dylan says simply, and then motions for us to go inside just as I realize flashes are going off behind him. “Come on, we’ll talk inside,” he says softly.

  Boy, they’ll have a good story tonight …

  We head into the kitchen, which has become the unlikely place where I host everyone who visits. Dylan doesn’t comment on the fact that the couch in the living room looks like a bed, and I’m thankful for that.

  Of course, Love is more than thrilled that he is here, attacking him with affection. He laughs and takes her in his arms even though she’s getting increasingly harder to heavy. But in his strong arms, she still resembles a puppy.

  “Do you want coffee?” I ask softly, and Dylan nods, so I prepare two cups, while we’re both quiet. I set them down at the counter and lean on it on the opposite side than Dylan is sitting.

  “I’ve been trying to call you,” he says, that tiredness again present in his voice, and in that moment I hate myself so much.

  “Oh,” I nod, and even though I thought I couldn’t dislike myself more, I’ve just been proved wrong. But the words just aren’t coming out of my mouth as they should – I feel embarrassed and shaken.

  “Lola,” Dylan begins, looking at me imploringly. “I talked to you and I explained. Did you know I’m still on probation for … what happened that summer?”

  I shake my head no, and he sighs heavily.

  “I am. I can’t get any kind of medication that could harm me or anyone else. I would have to obtain it illegally – including poison – and I’m under strict surveillance as it is. I didn’t even get allowed to leave England at first; I had to fight for it.”

  I think back on all the years I spent thinking about him, imagining he left me stranded in the States when really, he wasn’t allowed to leave his homeland. I blush at my past thoughts, condemning him of things I now know he wouldn’t do.

  “I got permission and came here as soon as possible, which was just in time for your engagement party,” he continues, and looks me straight in the eye. “I didn’t even know you were engaged, Lola. I tracked you down and there you were, beautiful as ever … on the arm of another man.”

  I look away because the pain in his eyes is just too much to handle at the moment.

  “But Matthew was good for you,” Dylan admits, and I know him well enough to realize he’s telling the truth. I look back up, and there’s a sad smile on his face. “I was so happy for you, Lola. Glad you found happiness … I would never hurt you, and if Matthew was best for you, I wanted it to stay that way.”

  I nod, understanding what he means. I would’ve done the same for him.

  “But you know, it hurt me terribly … It’s not easy to lose the woman you love.”

  I look right into his eyes.

  “Twice,” he finishes, and I nod slowly, knowing exactly what he means.

  “So I have to ask you, Lola,” he says, and now the fear is more present in his voice than ever, and it’s getting hard to keep my eyes on him, because I know we’re both hurting so badly.

  “Do you believe me?” he says. “Or do you think I was the one who killed Matthew?”

  I take a moment to think, but the answer is already clear in my mind. In some way, I guess it always has been … though I did stray on the way to admitting it.

  “I believe you,” I say softly, and Dylan springs forward, coming around the counter and gathering me in his arms roughly.

  But it feels damn good to be held like this, to be taken like I’m his lifeline. His strong hands are clutching me tightly, and my head is on his shoulder. I can feel his breath on my neck, and in that moment, I realize something.

  We may have lost touch.

  We may have committed a crime.

  He may be a killer.

  But I will always, no matter what, love Dylan Rawlings.

  I gasp softly as I acknowledge the admission in my mind, and Dylan moves back a few inches, which is so good yet so bad, because our lips are now only inches apart. I look right at them, his upper lip so full, it would look feminine if it weren’t for the ever-present smirk.

  Then, my eyes shoot up to his and I see all the things I just felt mirrored in his gaze. My heart begins to pound so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t say anything.

  But then his lips part slightly, and I have an insane desire to be kissed by him again. To make up for lost time, to feel those lips again. To know true love like I did when I was a teenager, innocent and pure, not spoiled by animalistic needs.

  “Kiss me, Dylan,” I say softly, and I don’t even regret my words, selfishly imploring him to do as I told him.

  His eyelashes flutter and he looks deep into my soul before lowering his lips onto mine. His kiss is soft, sweet, just like the ones we shared when we were in a relationship as teenagers.

  But I’m not satisfied. Today, I want more.

  I deepen our kiss, leaning into him like he’s the solution to every problem I’ve ever had. Our tongues crash together, hesitant on his side, needy on mine. But when I whimper against his lips, it’s as if I’ve broken a dam.

  He pulls me in and kisses me like he’s making up for lost time, his mouth demanding, his ragged breathing indicating he wants more.

  I melt in his mouth and for the first time in my life, I let a man have me completely.

  But before the kiss escalates, Dylan rips himself from my embrace, breathing heavily, not quite looking at me.

  “I have to …” he begins, and I flush violently as the thought of what we just did sinks in. Before I can stop him though, he’s almost running for the door and it closes loudly after he leaves.

  I crumple on the floor, my legs not being able to hold me up any longer.

  And I let myself have one final moment of happiness before I let the guilt take over.

  I’ve never been kissed like that before.

  If this is true love, I want to have it until the day I die.

  And I won’t give up until I do.

  Chapter 32

  The next day, I haven’t heard from Dylan and I’ve been up since 6 a.m. I’ve been lurking by the phone for hours and when it rings, I jump for it like it’s my lifeline.

  “Hello?” I ask, breathless.

  “Mrs. Roberts?” an unfamiliar voice asks me, and my heart drops.

  “No, I’m not giving interviews,” I answer and am about to slam the phone down, when the man on the other side begins speaking frantically.

  “No, I’m not the media. I’m from the police station; we talked when you were in the hospital.”

  “You never introduced yourself,” I realize out loud, and he breathes a sigh of relief when I stay on the line, then laughs nervously and I find myself smiling despite everything that has happened.

  “It’s Officer Andrews,” he says. “We need you to come to the station to answer a few questions. We’ve left it long enough, but now we really do need to speak to you. Are you available today? We can arrange for transport.”

  I stay quiet for a little while, contemplating what he just said. I am really in no mood to answer questions, but at the same time, I do realize they’ve been doing me a favor by leaving me alone for such a long time.

  “I’ll be there in an hour. My driver can take me,” I say, realizing I really have no choice. I en
d the call and look at myself in the mirror with a sigh, expecting a complete mess.

  I’m surprised when I see there’s some color back in my deathly pale complexion, my cheeks reddened, and my eyes gleaming for the first time in weeks. Mentally, I thank Dylan for making me feel a little bit better and then I start to get ready.

  *

  My driver drops me off at the police precinct, and I’m greeted by the officer that indeed visited me in the hospital.

  “Mrs. Roberts,” he greets me with a nod before extending his hand with a smile. “I’m Detective Andrews, in charge of the murder case of your husband.”

  I shake his hand, his grip strong and reassuring, and for some reason, it makes me feel better to know he might be able to do something about this, to bring me, and Matthew’s mother, some peace.

  “Do you mind if we head inside? I have a room ready,” he offers and I find myself nodding, following him into the precinct.

  It’s my first time in a place like this and I find myself quite nervous, especially when I see all the people in here. There are a few women in questionable outfits as well as some bums I recognize from around time. I protectively clutch my purse in front of me, but my gaze is so focused on my surroundings I don’t notice a man jump right in front of me.

  “My, my, aren’t you a pretty one,” a man hisses at me, and I notice he has a tooth missing. Even though his hands are handcuffed, he’s too close for comfort and I stumble backwards, feeling scared.

  Immediately, Detective Andrews appears by my side, supporting me so I don’t crumple to the floor. “Back off,” he growls at the man, and he does so in seconds, probably afraid of him.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to the detective, too weak to say much else.

  He accepts my thanks with a curt nod and places a hand on my forearm ever so gently, leading me to the interrogation room, not letting go once. It feels comforting to know he’s taking care of me, and a small smile appears on my lips.

  When I’m seated at a table, he explains the conversation will be filmed and offers me a drink. I ask for some water and a woman brings it over, after which we both sit down, and I prepare myself for the barrage of questions.

  “Mrs. Roberts, I have something to tell you,” he begins. “We have some new evidence when it comes to your husband’s face. I realize we haven’t been very forthcoming with what we discovered, because the media leak happened very early in the case. I trust you’re up to date with what’s been made public?”

  I nod, and can’t help but resent the fact that I learned everything I know from a TV screen. I’m about to tell him as much, but he speaks up before I can speak my mind.

  “We have some new evidence as I mentioned previously. Do you remember what your husband ate and drank during the day of your wedding?” he implores me to answer.

  I think hard. “He had the same as everyone else … we had cream of mushroom soup, filet mignon, new potatoes with herbs … we didn’t get to the cake.” I try hard to stop my eyes from watering, grateful to the detective for letting me have a moment for myself before I continue speaking.

  “As far as drinks are concerned, we had champagne, of course,” I end my confession, and Detective Andrews nods knowingly.

  “What?” I ask, my brows furrowed with confusion.

  “We talked to some witnesses, and they told us Mr. Roberts had a glass of champagne which you gave him,” he says softly.

  I think back to the day of the wedding, the events playing out in my head. I remember the bad stuff mostly, so I have to dig through the memories in my mind, hard, to find what he’s asking me.

  “Yes,” I say softly. “I had a headache. I gave him my glass,” I admit.

  “I thought so,” he says softly. “And how much champagne had you had by that point?”

  “Just that one sip, but it didn’t sit right in my stomach,” I confess.

  “Initially, everyone thought you were the one who poisoned your husband,” he tells me, and raises an arm in the air to stop me from speaking when he sees my horrified expression.

  “However, a witness told us she saw you take a sip first,” he says. “What we believe now is that you took a sip of the poison, and it affected you, which is why your head started to hurt.”

  I just stare at him, dumbfounded. “Are you saying someone was trying to poison me?” I ask doubtfully.

  “That is precisely what we believe,” he nods with a heavy sigh, and my heart pummels in my chest. “We believe someone poisoned your drink with the intent of killing you. What they didn’t expect was that you would pass the glass to your husband, who was heavier, of course, and the poison did not affect him, instead taking several hours to …”

  “Mrs. Roberts, are you alright? Mrs. Roberts?”

  The world in front of me blurs and I realize I’m slipping out of my seat, but Detective Andrews appears next to me in moments, holding me up when I’m about to land on the floor.

  My eyes are watering, my vision becoming bleary when I look up at him, realizing I’m going to lose consciousness. I need something to tie me to this world, because otherwise, I’ll end up right back in that psych ward.

  “What’s your name?” I whisper softly, and he looks utterly confused for a moment as he holds me in his arms. “Please, tell me,” I say, straining to get the words out and looking into his eyes helplessly.

  He clears his throat before he speaks.

  “Andrew,” he admits reluctantly.

  “Your name is Andrew Andrews?” I ask, and he nods regretfully.

  I smile softly before I slip away into the blissful world where nothing is wrong and nothing bad can ever happen. Mercifully, the darkness takes me.

  *

  “Mrs. Roberts? Mrs. Roberts?”

  A voice calls through to me, cutting like a blade through the darkness. I try to open my eyes, but it feels like somebody poured cement over my face, they’re that heavy.

  But the voice keeps calling me, and with every repetition of my name, it cuts a new fold into the darkness until some light breaks through. And my eyes flutter open.

  A semi-familiar face appears before me.

  “Andrew Andrews,” I say softly, and he chuckles.

  “I think she’ll be fine,” he says to someone, and I slowly come to.

  I’m still in the same room, propped up on a chair, and several people are in the room as well. I watch as the detective with the funny name dismisses them all, and then asks me to take a sip of water.

  I do as I’m told, and begin to feel better, the woozy feeling in my head dissipating until I can sit up straight by myself.

  Of course, as soon as that happens, the memories come back too, and I instantly wish I had stayed in the darkness, where everything was dimmed and I didn’t even know who I was, let alone what I caused …

  “He’s dead because of me,” I whisper softly, as I realize what we had been talking only minutes ago. “He died because someone tried to poison me.”

  “Mrs. Roberts, you mustn’t blame yourself,” the detective tells me sternly.

  I nod, even though we both know that’s exactly what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life.

  “What you need to tell me is if you have any idea who could have done this,” he asks me to think it over. “A jealous ex-girlfriend of Mr. Roberts’, perhaps someone you had a quarrel with … Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt you?”

  I think hard, realizing I am the only one who can help them find the culprit now, but every time, I come up blank.

  “I don’t have any enemies,” I admit to Andrews. “He had a few exes, but no one obsessive or anything like that. I led my life … quietly. I don’t have friends, merely acquaintances.”

  Things that would have been hard to admit to anyone else seem to be slipping off of my tongue so easily, it feels incredibly strange. But something leads me to believe I can trust this man, tell him the truth and he still won’t judge me, as strange as it is.

  “I am more of a loner,�
�� I admit, smiling weakly. “I like to keep to myself. I don’t even know anyone in the city … except for some people I worked with in the art gallery.

  He nods and takes down their names, telling me they’ll contact them in case anything comes up. But I have a burning question and I realize I have to ask it; otherwise it will be bugging me forever.

  “What about Dylan Rawlings?” I ask softly. “Is he … is he still a suspect?”

  The detective has already gotten up, gathering some files, and his back is to me. I see his shoulders tense, and he turns around slowly to face me.

  “We’ve questioned Mr. Rawlings several times, due to his past and his … connection to you,” he admits, and I nod, but manage not to look away, even though my past is something I never like to speak of.

  “But Mrs. Roberts, anyone who has spoken to that man can see he’s …” He looks embarrassed for a second, and laughs nervously. “I’m sorry, but they can clearly see he’s in love with you.”

  I blush, feeling embarrassed and wondering whether Dylan’s feelings are really that easy to see, but before I can question detective Andrews’ words, he continues.

  “And since we know now someone was trying to hurt you, we know it couldn’t have been him.”

  He smiles at me, and I think I see a hint of regret in his eyes as he finishes speaking.

  Chapter 33

  After the interrogation at the police precinct, I rack my brain for days, trying to figure the whole thing out. But every single time, I come up blank – I have interacted with so few people it’s hard to imagine who would hate me so much they’d try to kill me.

  I’m still figuring everything out a few days later, when my phone rings again.

  I reach for it hopefully, though my hopes have definitely diminished when it comes to Dylan. We haven’t spoken since our kiss in the kitchen, despite my attempts to contact him.

  He doesn’t answer his phone, doesn’t come here, and doesn’t attempt to make any contact at all. And since we’ve both been all over the news after his impromptu visit, and the grounds are flooded with media vans, I’m afraid to venture outside.

  After my interrogation, the media somehow got word of what they told me, and descended upon me like vultures. They realized I was the intended victim of the murder and everyone was dying to get an interview, a word, anything.