She struggled, her hands shaking making it hard to take the odd shaped gun out of her pocket but when she finally pulled it out, the needle dropped out. “No!” She exclaimed out loud, trying to catch it but it bounced off the bottom rail and dropped straight in the swift currents of the Thames.
Sophie rested her head on the top rail, looking down through it where it had dropped. She had the sudden urge to cry and she did, her tears mixing with the river and washing away downstream. The current blew up cold air into her face. She threw the gun in and went towards the hospital, wiping the tears away, there were more needles, why was she so emotional about losing one?
She assumed Oliver was still dealing with Sam’s death and working all the time but he had not rung her back even after she left messages. She thought the air was clear between them but maybe the whole ordeal left a bitter taste in his mouth regardless of the fact that he believed in her innocence, so he said.
If he was finished with her she didn’t want to disturb him but she had no choice. Worst case scenario, she would have to leave without his help and she would know for sure where she stood.
Chapter 27: Oliver’s Secret
Sophie stumbled into the hospital where she was blocked by nurses fussing over her. “What happened love?” An older nurse was trying to put Sophie at ease but it wasn’t working. Sophie was fighting them. They thought she was frightened but all she needed was Oliver. All Sophie’s strength was used to push their hands away. “I’m fine,” she tried to convince them but they didn’t listen. She was trying not to yell over them but it was the only way to get their attention, “I don’t want help, I just need Oliver Reece, Dr. Oliver Reece, I need him,” Sophie said realizing how she must have looked. They were pulling and pushing her. There was little difference in the feeling from what she had already endured that night.
“He’s on the third floor but we can help you, let us help you,” one of the nurses said pressing her face with gauze, the disinfectant stinging. The nurse was pleasant; she smiled and kept a calm disposition.
The doors to the lift opened with a ding and Sophie made a run for it, sliding in just in time for the door to shut. She heard them yelling for her but no one chased her. She franticly pushed the button for the third floor.
Pacing, it rose too slowly, if she stopped moving the pain would catch up with her. Her reflection on the metallic wall showed a less tragic looking woman than she thought. The bruises and abrasions on her wrists disappeared inside her coat pockets, keeping her head turned to the undamaged side, she could stay inconspicuous until she found him. The lift dinged and the doors slid open to quiet. Hovering right inside the door, she surveyed the area. Not the same scene she left downstairs but a more serene and seemingly uninhabited location.
Cautiously, she looked around. One nurse lingered at the station with her back to Sophie and she stealthily walked quietly out into the corridor. The practical thing to do would be to speak to her and ask for Oliver but she didn’t want a commotion like downstairs and then she saw him round a corner and go into a room.
Sophie heard the phone ring, the nurse answered, said her name was Jacki, she didn’t sound very pleasant. Then Sophie heard her say, “I’ll keep a look out for her.” Making her way down the corridor, she wiped the sweat from her eye so she could see where she was going.
Sophie could barely hear the rest of what she said but something like, “Okay I’ll tell him,” hatefully. Hanging up the phone she mumbled under her breath, “As if.” Sophie ignored her, realizing the nurse couldn’t care less if she was there or not.
Approaching the door, opened about half way, the low, soothing tenor of his voice made her relieved to have found him but she didn’t want to disturb him instead leaning inside the door around the corner just inside so that he was unable to see her there but she had full view of his back. Relaxing against the wall, she waited, relieved to see him, she had missed him.
Her legs hardly held her up and a trembling trailed through every nerve in her body, a cold that radiated from the inside, not the outside. She wanted to cry out to him but she knew this person, this dying person, needed Oliver more than she did and disturbing them felt wrong.
Lillian clutched Oliver’s hand as much as she could. Her face was sallow and her cheeks were hollow, eyes glassy and sunken in, and wisps of hair scattered along her head. This was the hardest part of being a doctor, the suffering was great but Oliver was appreciative that he could do something about it.
He bent to kiss her hand. The woman opened her eyes at the gesture. Oliver bent close to her, his face a few inches from hers and smiled sweetly at her, the lines in his face that Sophie found so attractive could be seen from where she stood. He asked one simple question. “Do you want to go?”
Sophie was perplexed by that question, the confusion mixed with her own pain made her comprehension off. Go? Go where? Obviously the woman was in no condition to go anywhere.
Oliver got his answer in the tired eyes and the slight nod of Lillian’s head, squeezing his hand. He kissed her forehead. Carefully, he placed her hand down to her side and reached into his pocket. Sophie watched him insert the tip of the syringe and empty it into the feed attached to her arm. He put the empty syringe back in his pocket and resumed his position on the bed, picking up her hand again, caressing it until her chest collapsed and did not expand again and just a shell of a person was left on the bed.
Sophie’s mind cleared just enough for what she had just witnessed to hit her and she almost stumbled back out into the corridor. Like me, she kept thinking, with every throb in her face and every sharp pain, he’s like me. And after all her deepest darkest secrets she told to him, he couldn’t tell her that he did the same too. His trust never placed in her and the distress of this made her angry and more hurt than the wounds on her body.
So consumed by her thoughts, she couldn’t remember leaving the hospital or much of the train ride, people staring at her. No one bothered her or asked her if she needed help. They could have and she wouldn’t have known. Inside her own door, she paced and paced. Shaking her head, the adrenaline still kept her upright. If she stopped moving, she would collapse but her emotions over the ordeal with Maurice were clouded by her disappointment in Oliver.
It was unknown to her how much time elapsed. If she stopped moving, the trembling would annoy her. Loud, rushed footsteps sounded outside and she remembered again she had left her door open and she rushed to close it but before she could get to it, Oliver bounded inside.
His eyes wide, “Sophie,” he said breathless from running, “they told me at the hospital a woman came in looking for me and disappeared and I knew it was you. They said you were …. hurt.” Pausing briefly gawping at her, he then flew into action frantically, he threw his jacket off and walked towards her but she backed away, putting the sofa between them. Shaking her head no at him too filled with emotion to speak at the moment.
“My God Sophie,” he looked appalled at the state of her when the reflection in the elevator didn’t seem so bad to her. “What is this world you live in,” he pleaded with her, unable to ascertain the extent of her injuries. He was confused and he knew Sophie enough that it was better to approach cautiously but unlike a knife wound that landed her into his arms, now she acted as a threatened animal, guarded. “I can’t stand this,” he whispered more to himself than acknowledging her, “Let me help you. I know,” he walked steadily and slowly around the sofa towards her, hand out, “you would not have come to the hospital seeking me out if you didn’t really need help,” she opened her mouth and took a breath in, ready to deny it, “or,” he cut her off, “thought you did.”
When she finally spoke, it was harsh, “No, stay away from me,” she yelled threateningly, holding her hand out to keep him at bay. “It looks worse than it is. Besides what you’ve done ……it feels worse than any pain...in my…body,” she was choking words out.
“I’m sorry I haven’t rung you, it’s just with Sam’s death,” he started to
explain but she cut him off.
“No! No that.”
At first he looked hurt and then curious, “Sophie,” he said in a warning tone, he had to take control of the situation but not sure how to proceed without her cooperation or what she was accusing him of. If he could get her to tell him what happened, then maybe she could see he wasn’t the enemy here. “Who did this to you?”
“He knew I was c-coming,” the words were hard to form, her chin trembled. She touched her cheek and looked down at the blood on her hand, the fresh and the dried. It caused her to stumble.
“Who knew you were coming?” he stepped forward a few steps while she looked down at her hand prepared to catch her but she righted herself. He was visually inspecting the obvious wounds but blood had a tendency to mask their sources.
“He was waiting for me, he thought I was there to blackmail him,” she chuckled slightly, her voice was low and raspy, “Ironic isn’t it that he was going to kill me because he thought I was there to blackmail him not because I was there to…he was defending himself.” She wheezed slightly and then coughed.
Oliver was in front of her in one step but she backed away and when he reached to touch her, she started to knock his hand away but his attention was drawn to her wrist and he swiftly caught her hand. He was stunned by the harsh action. “Why didn’t you tell me,” she coughed, her voice strained. She tried to pull away but he turned her hand one way and then another, inspecting, refusing to let go no matter how much she pulled. She could see the anger in his eyes, his lips thin, inspecting.
Mistaking her anger at him for fear, he was surprised and slightly hurt, the gesture violent unlike anything he had seen her do before, “I don’t know anything about who attacked you, Sophie, that’s a story you have to tell me but it can wait for now.”
“No, no,” she shook her head; the other hand flipped the hair back off of her shoulder, her agitation grew and he saw the bruises on her neck, explaining why her voice sounded as it did. Rage surged him forward and he backed her into a corner, still holding her hand firmly, his other hand jerked her chin up so he could have full view of her face. With more energy than he thought she had, she gave him a great push with her free hand but he was unrelenting.
He was going to have to fight her and he really didn’t want to do that. “If you don’t let me help, I will drag you kicking and screaming to the hospital,” he pointed to the door. “Do you understand me? I will this time,” he was holding her arms firmly now speaking with conviction, like scolding a child.
“I saw you!” she yelled at him and he was taken aback. “I saw you in the hospital.” He looked questioningly at her, she continued, “I saw you inject that woman, you helped her to die!” Speechless, he stumbled backwards; her words throwing him back more than if she had slapped his face, his eyes wide, his hands dropped helplessly to his sides. “You worked so hard to break down my defences, to find out my secrets. You question and follow me to satisfy your own curiosity. How about your secret, hmm? And the fact that we are the same you and I,” her voice got louder but the strain was more than her sore throat could do.
He swallowed hard, “Yes, I helped her,” he agreed. “I….I was going to tell you,” he said in a pleading tone.
“Is that why you never questioned me? Why you never judged me because we are the same,” tears welled up in her eyes, “and you didn’t tell me!” For the first time he saw a tear drop to her cheek and she left it alone letting it role down. When he reached to wipe it away, she did so with the back of her hand. He was the cause of the tears. Other people could hurt her, beat her, bind her, break her, but he hurt her feelings and that was what brought the tears. He was kicking himself utterly for not having confided in her before.
Walking in the kitchen, he got a bottle of water out of the fridge, opening it and handing it to her but her trembling hand caused it to spill and he steadied her hand with his long enough for her to drink. “No, it’s not the same, Sophie but I’m sorry. I was just waiting for the right moment to tell you but it never came.” As always, her priorities were backwards. The hurt feelings outweighed the pain in her body; he had to be the sensible one.
When she was done, he put the lid on and tossed on the sofa. “I feel,” she was panting, trying to find the right words but it was so intense she couldn’t find any to describe it, “whatever it is I can’t,” she shook her head trying to clear it. “I don’t like it. Is this what it felt like when you thought I had killed Sam?”
He closed the gap between them; his hand lifted her chin again. She thought he was going to kiss her but he turned her head slightly towards the light looking into her eyes and turning her head the other way, ascertaining the deepness of the abrasion on her cheekbone. Watching his face, his expression gave nothing away in how he was feeling about this revelation and she was angry that he was taking it so lightly. “Yes, disappointed, anguished,” his voice barely above a whisper.
“How is it different,” she choked, tears rolling down her cheek, stinging her cut.
“What motivates us isn’t the same at all. And according to you, you don’t kill remember?” He sighed, “Kill,” he clicked his tongue, “it seems like such a harsh word for what I do. I ask their permission first, they are already near death, they know. One step away and I help them take that step. It’s completely their choice.” He looked into her dilated pupils; she seemed to be calming, no longer struggling. “They’re suffering Sophie and I can make it stop,” he felt her pulse, his voice hushed, his forehead wrinkled as he pleaded for understanding.
“Does that make you, what? A mercy killer,” she rested her head, back against the wall, chuckling at her own joke but he was not amused.
He looked at her seriously, brows furrowed together severely, the wrinkle between his eyes deepened, “I also don’t get stabbed and beaten.” She couldn’t argue with that. He felt down her arms and around her ribs for broken bones, she didn’t flinch.
“It wasn’t like this until I met….,” her mouth clamped shut.
One eyebrow shot up, he paused, his hands still around her ribs, “Me? It wasn’t like this before you met me or until you found out about a twin sister that has been missing the whole of your existence playing games with your life, mine and,” he thought of Sam, “who knows what else.”
“Are you saying she had something to do with this?”
Oliver shook his head, running his hand through his hair, “I don’t know,” Oliver interrupted her. “All I know is we are players in someone else’s game. Whether she is the queen or a pawn like us I don’t know but I think you should stop waiting for her.” He inspected the bruising of her wrists and neck. “It has to stop because,” he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I can’t stand to see you like this,” his expression gave away his thoughts of concern. “I can’t wait for you to come home not knowing what condition you’ll be in because eventually your luck is going to run out.”
Her lip trembled, “I can’t do that. It’s the only thing I’m good at.” She had forgotten the needle dropping into the Thames until now.
“You’re not or you wouldn’t be in this state,” it came out harsher and more abrupt then he meant it to then his voice became low, “and I wouldn’t have seen you on the train that night.”
She stood up straight and opened her mouth to protest when he interrupted her, “Is he dead?” He moved her hair, she shivered when it tickled her neck, he saw the bruises again, fingertips. If he wasn’t dead he would go kill him.
“Yes, I think, yes I watched him die and then I saw you….,” her voice trailed off, too much effort to continue. The warmth from his body and the steady and sure way he inspected was calming, while she felt a chaos of nerves and emotions. He still handled her gently, even though some of his words were a little harsh and matter of fact.
“That’s something at least,” somewhat relieved by that thought. “Look at me,” his tone low and she glared at him. “You will just have to forgive me for not telling you s
ooner.”
“Sooner? You never told me. I told you everything and you told me nothing.”
“You didn’t tell me remember? I followed you; I saw you just as you saw me.”
Every muscle in her body felt like it could seize up any moment. Her eyes dropped to the floor while he examined. She didn’t want to admit he was right. But what about what she had confided in him about…“Did he rape you,” he blurted out the question.
Sophie just shook her head no slowly; if she told him he tried he would be upset even more. Her eyes were getting heavy. Her wounds were not that severe after all and he believed the shock was more from the ordeal itself. He was satisfied that he could help her here. She was winding down, coming off the rush of the adrenaline and anger, her energy depleted.
Pulling her by the arm, he dragged her to the bed moving her body parts around for her when she didn’t or couldn’t move fast enough for him, leaving and returning with the bag of supplies from the cut hoping there would be enough of what he needed. The quick intake of breath between her teeth indicated she could feel the disinfectant and that was a good thing.
He went to the bath and got a damp flannel, when he returned she asked, “Why haven’t I heard from you?” He pressed it to her face, cleaning the remainder of the blood off, the bruise already forming on her cheek around the cut. It was cool but felt good against her flushed face but the rest of her was getting colder by the second. “I called; you didn’t answer or return them.”
“You know,” he cleared his throat, “I was angry at you. And I know you didn’t hurt Sam, I know it but when I think about Sydney and I looked at you. I put it all together as one thing and that feeling you felt when you saw me tonight? You’re right that’s how I’ve felt since that day and I’ve been waiting for it to fade and when I saw you,” he was cleaning the cuts on her wrists now, gently wrapping her shaking arm before she fell asleep, “I was ashamed that I felt that way and it wasn’t just Sam’s death that made that time miserable. It was being away from you and that’s my fault not yours. I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The Poison Morality Page 24