Deadly Sins

by Laura Read

  She found his mobile, which she switched on and began searching through. His phonebook contained only a few numbers, none of which she recognised apart from her own and Vincent’s. He had no internet history, no email accounts, no notes, photos or videos. In desperation she selected the audio files folder; inside were dozens of recordings that had been saved in the last few weeks. She opened the first file, holding her breath as she listened...

  ‘Do you believe in God?’ she heard Sean say, his voice distant and distorted.

  Angela froze when she recognised his words from the first time they met.

  There was a pause on the tape, followed by her stupid answer: ‘It depends on my mood.’

  Sean’s voice: ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

  ‘You didn’t introduce yourself.’

  ‘Fuck,’ she whispered, pausing the recording and staring at the phone in horror. She scrolled through the menu, reaching the latest file from the night before and pressing play. She heard a door opening and silence, distant movements, a door closing and distorted ruffles, then a long silence followed by moans. She hit pause and realised that he’d even recorded them having sex.

  Her angry eyes darted from the phone towards the bathroom door when she heard Sean switch off the shower and the cubicle door open. She didn’t care whether he discovered her going through his phone. She had proof that he’d only been using her, recording everything she said, perhaps to hand over the tapes to the police before he left town, or blackmail her family in exchange for further money.

  She selected another file. Sean’s voice: ‘Vincent told you to sober up.’

  ‘Fuck him,’ she heard herself say. ‘Drink?’

  ‘I’m fine…’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  She paused the recording, pressed fast-forward and hit play again.

  ‘... I didn’t mean what I just said,’ Sean told her.

  ‘You did. You were right,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not afraid of getting close to you... I lost someone, a long time ago, who I loved. I don’t want that to happen again.’

  Angela stopped the recording and closed her eyes, feeling stupid that she’d believed the story about his wife leaving him and wanting to get his son back. She wasn’t able to distinguish the truth from his series of lies. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she skipped further on and pressed play...

  ‘Promise me that you’ll keep what I’m about to tell you to yourself?’ she asked.

  There was a pause before she heard Sean’s lie: ‘I promise.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Angela looked up to see Sean staring at her, tears blurring her vision.

  ‘What am I doing?’ she shouted at him. She threw his phone across the room and it smashed against the far wall.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he yelled.

  He went to pick up the phone to survey the damage but Angela screamed at him, ‘Leave it the fuck alone!’

  He looked up at her, his face flushed and tainted with guilt. Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes but he forbade himself to cry in front of her.

  ‘I know what this looks like,’ he told her, walking towards her with a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked vulnerable, still wet from his shower. ‘But it was only ever for protection in case something happened to me, or to us. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be upset.’

  ‘Why should I believe you? Is there anything else you haven’t told me?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘There isn’t anything?’ she asked him sarcastically. She waited, wondering whether he would confess the truth to her. This would be his last chance: there would be no going back if he lied to her again.

  ‘No...’ he told her, shaking his head.

  Deception became him. Instantly Angela’s defences rose and anger surged through her body, her heart shattered. ‘Really? Not even that you’re not a real cop?’

  He froze. ‘Okay, you’re right. I’m not a detective... Let me explain –’

  ‘It’s too late,’ she told him. ‘You’ve lied to me about everything since I met you. I risked my life to save yours, we slept together, we were even going to fucking live together, and all the time you’ve been lying to me.’

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she supposed she’d never been able to before.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have told you the truth weeks ago.’

  ‘Yes, you should have. Now get dressed and get the fuck out of here.’

  ‘Angela, I –’

  ‘You think I want to live with you now? I’ll never be able to trust you again. I can’t believe I ever trusted you!’

  ‘You can trust me! I promise I won’t lie to you again. We can work this out.’

  ‘No, we can’t. We’re done. Get your things and get out.’

  Sean threw his towel onto the bed and began to get dressed. ‘Fine. If you don’t even want to try to talk things through, there’s no point in me staying.’

  A scowl etched on his face, he didn’t look at her as he threw on his clothes. She picked up a glass of water and sipped it coolly while she watched him, wanting him to hurry so that she could process his betrayal alone. Finally he grabbed his coat, marched to the hallway and unlocked the front door. She followed him and as he closed the door behind him she held his gaze, tinged with anger and regret.

  Suddenly he was gone and Angela had never felt so alone in her life. She wanted to ask him to come back so she could learn why he’d lied to her and what he was going to do with the money that her family paid him. Yet maybe she didn’t want to know the truth. It might kill her to know the full extent of his deception.

  Did he ever love her or had he always put on an act? Maybe she’d been too quick to judge him; he’d seemed genuinely upset when she confronted him, and surely that was a sign that he cared for her? She knew he hadn’t involved the police at any stage, which suggested he wasn’t interested in her family but more in milking them for their money.

  Her mind conjured memories from the last few weeks: the warmth she sensed in his arms, the indescribable feelings dormant in his eyes when he gazed at her, their shared conversations and heated sex. Was it possible to fake such affection?

  She didn’t know whether she’d regret it, but she decided to follow him. She threw on her clothes from the previous day, slipped on her coat and gloves, and grabbed her car keys. After running down the stairs, a cold breeze hit her when she flung open the front door. She needed to fight the elements.

  She made her way towards her car through the thick sludge on the ground and the snow falling again from the grey sky. If she truly loved Sean, maybe she could find it in herself to forgive him.

  A fist thundered against the frail door, urgency shaking the stained cardboard taped across the broken glass pane. A silent pause followed by further impatient thumps. The man inside the flat swore and strode over to the door to yank it open.

  ‘Shit,’ said Sean, standing face to face with Vincent, who had followed him from Angela’s apartment.

  Sean attempted to slam the door shut. Vincent smirked, firmly gripping the edge of the door while Sean pushed against him. Vincent’s face hardened and he kicked the door hard. One of the hinges buckled and the door swung sideways like a loose tooth hanging by a weakened root.

  ‘What’s the problem, detective?’ Vincent said, stepping through the doorway. ‘Not pleased to see me?’

  ‘What do you want?’ Sean asked, trying to stand his ground.

  ‘Honesty, but I don’t think I’ll get that out of you. You like to tell lies,’ said Vincent, making his way further into the room.

  ‘I’m sorry. I needed money to find my son.’

  ‘You think I care?’ Vincent picked up the thin coffee table and flung it towards Sean. It smashed into the kitchen counter, shattering soiled plates and mugs, broken shards falling to the floor. ‘Save your shitty apologies. It’s too late.’

&nb
sp; Sean glanced across the room towards the gun lying in his holster on the sofa, but Vincent had already aimed his gun at him.

  Sean put his hands in the air. ‘I’ll give you your money back,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll tell you where it is, just let me go.’

  Vincent laughed. ‘You think I don’t know where it is? I’ve been watching you for weeks.’

  Knowing he had to defend himself, Sean dived behind the sofa and made a grab for his holster. He rolled on the ground, gripping his holster tight in his hand, then ran towards the bedroom, crouching down as low as he could. Shots fired and he felt a bullet pierce his flesh, burying deep in his arm, and his scream of pain rang loudly in his ears.

  Running into the bedroom, he gritted his teeth and pushed the bed on its side, sheltering behind it and aiming his gun at the door while blood pooled beneath him on the carpet.

  ‘I’ll give you a minute to kiss goodbye to that bag of cash hidden under your floorboards,’ Vincent yelled, flattening himself against the wall. ‘You might as well have kept it hidden under your pillow. You’re a fucking amateur...’

  ‘I’m not the amateur,’ Sean shouted back. ‘How long did it take you to figure out that I wasn’t even a cop? I took thousands off you for doing fuck all.’

  Vincent emptied his gun into the corridor then leaned back against the wall to reload. He smiled when he noticed a small trail of blood on the carpet from where he’d injured Sean. ‘I can’t decide if I’d rather put a bullet between your eyes or wait until you bleed out.’

  ‘I’m sure you’d rather get me naked and torture me again,’ Sean mocked.

  Vincent took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, knowing that in gun battles he had to relax, ignore his anger and not let his guard down.

  He glanced out of the kitchen window and watched as blackbirds circled the roof on the opposite side of the street. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw Angela’s car pull up outside and he cursed as he realised that fate was repeating itself.

  ‘Here comes your girlfriend to try to save you again,’ Vincent yelled through the wall. ‘Which one of you should I kill first?’

  ‘Don’t touch her!’

  ‘Don’t beg. I can’t stand people who beg... You have a choice: either come out now or I’ll kill both of you.’

  ‘You would never kill her. She’s Leon’s daughter.’

  ‘She’s fucking you, isn’t she? I’ll just tell Leon that she tried to kill me.’

  ‘DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER!’

  Sean walked out and threw his gun at Vincent’s feet. His face showed defeat, his body limp and pale from blood loss. ‘Fine, it’s over. Tell Angela that I –’

  A bullet pierced his chest and he fell to the ground.

  ‘Sorry?’ Vincent asked as he holstered his gun. ‘I didn’t catch that last bit.’

  Angela heard the shot ring out as she made her way up the staircase and she ran up the rest of the stairs. Her eyes took in the broken door, the bullet holes in the wall, the damaged kitchen and upturned furniture. She turned to Vincent, tears streaming down her cheeks, and screamed, ‘What have you done?’

  Over his shoulder she saw Sean’s body on the floor and her eyes became unfocused. Vincent walked over to her and wrapped her in his arms, his eyes empty of compassion while she cried into his chest. He wondered how Angela could love and mourn such a feeble man, a spineless creature who deceived them all.

  ‘You always hated him,’ she muttered, becoming still and wiping the tears from her eyes.

  ‘He lied to you, to us all,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t trust him and neither did your parents. I couldn’t let him live.’

  ‘What do you mean that my parents didn’t trust him?’

  ‘Your mother told me to look into him again. That’s how I found out that he wasn’t a cop.’

  Angela realised that her own mother had betrayed her. She shouldn’t have told her that she wanted to leave town. Her family had killed the man she loved.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ Vincent told her, leading her towards the door.

  Angela looked over her shoulder at Sean, grey and lifeless, stained with blood. She’d never know whether he loved her, but her heart would always carry the hope.

  ‘Angela, come on!’ Vincent said, wiping his fingerprints from the door he’d smashed open.

  ‘What will happen to him?’ she asked.

  ‘He’ll end up in the ground after he’s sliced open at his autopsy,’ Vincent told her. ‘Maybe they’ll figure out who he was.’

  She wanted Vincent dead in this moment, thinking how cruel fate was deciding that he should survive and Sean had to die. He was heartless, detached, a sadist. He didn’t belong in this world; he should live underground with his demons.

  She wished that she was strong enough to kill him, but there had been too much death already and she couldn’t have someone else’s blood on her hands. She longed to make him suffer as much as he’d made her suffer.

  She hated that he breathed, existed, held her shoulder and guided her out of the apartment, down the stairs and away from the stench of death. He was part of her family and she needed to get away from them and their destruction.

  It wasn’t better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. She prayed for ignorance, to never have felt the brief joy of love or the self-hatred afterwards that she was powerless to escape its all-encompassing embrace. She hated that she’d become vulnerable, let her defences down and trusted someone implicitly. Her open heart had been wounded easily; without defences she became an easy target, and now she was a victim of love.

  In the snow she looked up at Sean’s flat and wondered about the man who used to live there. Did anyone know who he was or who he had been? Or would he forever remain a ghost, haunting her dreams and always causing her to doubt herself and her judgment? She wanted the truth.

  Snowflakes clouded the wraith’s eyes, her feet sinking through a soft white blanket. The funeral service over, a handful of black breathing bodies stood out against the pale landscape. They were surrounded by skeletal trees, branches smothered by white layers and reaching towards the skies for warmth and light.

  The sky mirrored the colour of the ground; delicate snowflakes graced the air with their gentle touch, descending from the sky to settle on her shoulders. Yet she didn’t sense the snow, eyes lost, empty, tears welling to blind her. She blinked and tears slid down her face, snowflakes on her coat melting to merge with the salty water. Gloved hands numb, she couldn’t bring herself to wipe the tears from her face.

  Her skin was fragile porcelain, cheeks and swollen eyes painted pink with the brushstrokes of the winter breeze. She cried but felt barren of emotion. Her thoughts were ghostly traces that wouldn’t fully form.

  She should have been grieving but couldn’t feel, wanting love to return to her so she could experience warmth once more. She wished that she was stronger and could break through the membrane holding her thoughts captive, be able to truly mourn for her lover and remember his features in perfect detail.

  His real name had been Nathan Drummond, not Sean McBride. He once made furniture and was a carpenter by trade, but he’d turned to drugs when his wife cheated on him and left town with their son – he had at least been honest about his family leaving him. He became unemployed and homeless when his addiction worsened. Then years later he reclaimed his life, went to rehab and volunteered with the police until he could find a job. Working with the police, he must have found out about her family and the details of Dominic’s murder, then decided that he would con her family into believing he was a detective.

  When she discovered the truth, her memories of him changed. He morphed from someone who didn’t care about anyone to a man who overcame his demons and wanted to change his life for the better. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to con her family: it had been a good plan, which he’d nearly succeeded in executing. His rough features softened in her memory, his cheeks and lips became warmer in colour, and she could remem
ber his smile and the love she’d witnessed in his arms.

  She longed to be embraced by him once more, to lean on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, and again find peace within her own body. Her eyes didn’t mirror the physical world but instead reflected her fantasy.

  She woke from her daydream to the coldness of reality, the last light of the day fading from view. She had shunned her family, believing they betrayed her, and she’d never felt so alone. Perhaps this loneliness was her punishment for her past sins, her heart beating beneath thick walls of ice and grief.

  During the service, she’d suppressed the sadness and anger that threatened to overtake her, and the guilt that she’d played a role in her lover’s death. Part of her wanted to exact vengeance on her family, so she could release the rage in her heart that burned inside her every day. Melancholy made her imagine slitting her wrists in front of her lover’s headstone, watching as her blood washed over his grave, the earth absorbing her life too.

  She looked up and watched as a frail old woman limped along the path towards her. She was wrapped in a blue anorak and patterned headscarf. Her eyes were the same colour as the sky and she was lost in her own world.

  She beckoned Angela over and in a thin rasping voice said, ‘I keep thinking there’s someone standing beside me... but when I turn around I realise it’s only my shadow.’

  Angela nodded in feigned understanding at the woman, wondering why she chose to speak with her. The woman smiled and walked onwards, beyond the spiralling graveyard gates and out of sight.

  Angela had only her shadow to keep her company now. Sean had left her as alone in this world as she’d been when she first met him. Her family had never loved her. She followed the same path as the woman, ambling towards her car with gloved hands in her pockets, cold breath fogging the air.

  Once in her car, she stared at the road ahead, wondering in which direction she should drive. The ink had faded from the pages of her love story. Her love was but a stain on the page that could be written over, but with which words?