Paradise (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant)

by O. L. Casper

  As I looked at them sitting haplessly across the table from me, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of self-confidence and a belief that I would prevail in remaining free against all odds. And it was with this belief that I continued the interview.

  Haverstock leaned in. I felt his hot breath burn through the air as he said, “How close are you to Mark Stafford?”

  “He’s my boss; he pays my bills.”

  “Come on, we know it’s more than that.”

  “Have you ever had casual sex, sir?” I asked.

  “Ms. Durant…” he began, but I cut him off.

  “It’s just fucking. Fucking is all it is.” I looked down. “I’ll admit I liked him for a while—but only a short while. He was soon sleeping with other women. Hell, we started as an affair. Fucking behind his wife’s back. Undoubtedly she knew…”

  “Do you know this for a fact?” Haverstock said angrily.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it?” I said in an even tone. I made a conscious effort never to appear arrogant during the interview.

  “Are you in love with him?” asked Carter. At this I was surprised.

  “No.”

  “Did you ever think you’d have a future with him?” Carter went on.

  “I never did. Mr. Stafford lives in another world from the one inhabited by you and me. He does whatever he wishes without a care in the world. He’s untouchable. He walks between the raindrops.”

  “Do you feel that you do also, Sophia, walk between the raindrops?”

  “My life is spent in nothing but rain. How can I walk between it?”

  A look of torment shot across my features.

  “Do you harbor any contempt for Mr. Stafford?” asked Haverstock.

  “Naturally. Who wouldn’t in my position?”

  “How much contempt? Would you keep a secret from him?”

  “I keep several from him on a daily basis. But I think I know what you’re asking.”

  “What are we asking, Sophia?” Carter chimed in with a gleam in his eyes.

  “You want me to testify against him.”

  Haverstock looked at Carter in surprise.

  I looked, for the first time since we entered the room, at the two-way mirror.

  “You better watch out,” Haverstock said in a gruff voice, “She’ll know all your secrets before you do.”

  So they wanted me to testify against Stafford. They were pretty firmly convinced of his guilt in the deaths of the women and they wanted me to testify in all sorts of ways against his character, of his whereabouts on certain occasions, and so on. All very circumstantial at best. I was very surprised and also unsettled by their decision to go after Stafford. I had to protect him. But how?

  And, strangely, there was no mention of Emily throughout the conversation. I kept waiting for it, but it never came. Instead, we rehashed my initial meeting with Stafford and his wife. They actually thought he killed his wife. Of course they had no evidence and didn’t say it outright, but it was clear in how they treated the matter. Then came Emma Green. Then Ava Madeiros and the other dead party guest, Madison Conway. I expected it to finally come to Emily. It was after dark now. We’d been in that small, dank room several hours.

  Finally Haverstock turned to me and said, “Thank you. We’ll probably call you in again tomorrow for more questioning. We’ve run out of time today.”

  Carter added his two cents: “Remember—discuss this with no one. If Mr. Stafford asks you anything about where you were this afternoon, you may say you had a casual meeting with me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They ushered me out the front door.

  Special Agent Glenn Carter’s Notes

  December 12, Eleuthera Island, Bahamas

  In the interrogation Sophia was almost too calm to be believable as someone who was not directly connected to the crimes. And I felt in my heart that she was. But at the same time she was very attached and emotional about all that we talked about. Warm even. She walked a very fine line in how she reacted to everything. She was neither too tense, nor too calm. Neither too warm, nor too cool. In fact, she was so even in her manner throughout, a less objective soul might read whatever they wanted into her tones and reactions. Indeed her dominant characteristic was a reigning intelligence. She had agreed to testify against Mr. Stafford, but the way she said it was entirely noncommittal.

  With the rapid succession of deaths surrounding Mr. Stafford and now the disappearance of Emily Mordaunt things were spinning wildly out of control at an ever increasing rate. I fear to say that we at STF and the other departments devoted to the Stafford case—how many departments are on the case, I’m not even aware—are out of our collective depth. Things are progressing in many different areas, from murders to financial crime, arms trading and international affairs—and we are woefully behind. Long before we understand the implications of one event several more fall down on top of us, out of nowhere as it were, and once again we are buried, deeper and deeper. Lost only to the inevitable, increasing scorn of our superiors who seriously contemplate a reshuffle of personnel within our departments on a daily basis. Considering it all just gives me a headache and I go back to the facts of the individual cases to clear my head of Bureau politics.

  The key to it all is Sophia. This I know. Not just because I am assigned to her with Haverstock. Not because I have been dealing with her almost exclusively. Not for any reason, but because I have a deep suspicion of her. I have no evidence to back it up. Alas, it’s mere intuition. There isn’t really even credible circumstantial evidence against her. But I know she’s involved in the deaths somehow. I know. It comes from the gut. And, in my case, the gut has never been far from the truth in anything.

  Sophia Durant’s Diary

  December 16, Eleuthera Island, Bahamas

  I read Carter’s entry from the 12 with avid interest. He was on to me. Or so he thought. But how? A burning sensation of pure nervous tension ripped through my head and chest on reading his words. At least I was fairly sure he was alone in seeing a connection between me and the deaths. But ideas are like viruses—they spread to those nearest to them. I contemplated isolating Carter from the case. That would be easy enough. Seduction was the first option. Or leaking his diary back to his superiors to show that he kept information vital to the case unsecured. There were numerous routes available for me to route him. I thought about keeping him on till there was evidence the germ of his ideas had spread to one other person. But then again, that might prove too late. Though, how could it spread? There was absolutely nothing to point to this. Subconsciously he had read my behavior, seen right through me, and my subconscious mind had let him know somehow that I was guilty. That was all I could figure. Carter obviously had a good relationship between his conscious and subconscious mind. Someone who understands the use of so-called intuition or unexplained impressions on the psyche definitely has an upper hand in the affairs of the world. I just hope against hope my relationship with my powerful subconscious mind is better than his. At the very least, I decided, less contact with Carter would definitely benefit Stafford and me immensely. I would begin a campaign of “blanking” Carter, as the British call it. But nonetheless I have to figure out a way to appear to be preparing to testify against Stafford. I would need to sleep on all this. It was too much to wade through at the moment. I was tired and it was late. But I still had one stop to make before dropping off into the realms of the subconscious.

  I knocked at Stafford’s door at 12:30 in the morning. The door opened a crack.

  “Come in.” His voice drifted to me from across the room.

  He was watching the news on a big screen plasma hung high up the wall. An untouched glass of brandy sat at the edge of the bed. I crawled onto the bed next to him, cuddling up to him like the besotted lover I am. As I write this, it dawns on me I’m more in love with him than ever before. Even amidst all this glaring shit storm; the flashes of heat and adrenaline that momentarily course through my body; the
nightmares and visions of jail and death and worse; the states of demonic, tormented horror; the ghosts—they are the worst part, far and away; their languorous, incriminating, damning presences; the knowledge that in the final analysis they are, one and all, the sum total reflection of me—even so, the predominant feeling is that of intoxication in love. As much as the whirlwind of events causes the case to spin perilously out of control for Carter, the same self-created whirlwind twists in me violently unleashing new demons into the world around me. Demons I have never before thought could exist. They are baying for blood in the storm. I feel them surrounding me. I see them out of the corners of my eyes, in shadows, reflected in the waves of Tarpum Bay, or written in the clouds. It takes all my powers to keep them at bay through the craft of thought and certain action. But all that depends on the life force. And the life force is constantly ebbing in me. The more it runs out, the less inspired I become. With the low ebb in vitality I now seem to have become transparent. At times, when I look at my hands and arms I can literally see right through them. Hallucinations, whether it be ghosts or bodily transparency, are on the rise—and nearing fever pitch. Or so I think. I need sleep badly. But for some reason I can’t do it. I lie down and nothing comes. Some hours pass without thought but full of consciousness as though I was in a trance, and it’s time to rise. I experience missing time when I lie down rather than something akin to sleep. That night however, after our conversation, I did sleep.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked with genuine emotion.

  It was quite a change to be this person again after being who I was with Carter and especially during the interrogation. The deceit that came so naturally in those other settings was the byproduct of the will to power. But with Stafford it wasn’t power that I wanted any more. I wanted to submit. Not to him. I wanted to bow in the presence of love. In my mind love is still the overarching goddess; those other things were just what I had to do to maintain love, to allow her to flourish in my life.

  “Sad. It’s sad what happened. Emily…it’s like I feel her presence all around me. I remember her words. Certain sounds. I’m cursed. I have to be. Everything that’s happened in the last six months is just too coincidental to look at any other way. I must be cursed.”

  I was quiet. I couldn’t respond to this honestly.

  “I had an idea.”

  He turned to me and looked into my eyes for the first time since I had arrived.

  “Do you remember what we talked about once in this room before? Right here, in fact?”

  “I remember a lot of things that happened right here.”

  “Once we talked about feelings and the future. At least I think we did.”

  “I remember.”

  “I treated you wrong. What I did with Emily was wrong. The truth is, it was because I was confused about you. I was led to believe…”

  I held my finger to his lips to silence him.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

  “I want…need…I need to talk about the future again.”

  I waited apprehensively for him to speak more. Perhaps he sensed it for he then abruptly changed tone and looked away.

  “Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. Perhaps I’m delirious from all this…insanity around me. All these disappearing…” His voice trailed off.

  “I understand,” I reassured him. “It’s horrible for me too. I think we should get away from here.”

  “Where do you want to go? We can go anywhere.”

  “Just us?”

  “…And Savannah.”

  “Of course.”

  I smiled.

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Deeply.”

  “Me too.”

  A moment passed in silence.

  “So where do you want to go?” he pressed.

  “Somewhere very far from here. Europe maybe, or Asia.”

  “I’ve always wanted a castle in the Scottish Highlands. Would you like to go house hunting with me?”

  “You mean castle hunting. Yes.”

  He paused, then looked at me.

  “Do you think they’d mind?”

  “They?”

  “Our pursuers? My pursuers, I should say.”

  “What can they do?”

  “Other than arrest us?”

  “With what evidence?”

  “This has gone on far too long. It’s time I make some calls and get serious about this nonsense. Before, it felt like fun and games. Now I realize I’ve got to get serious with them before it’s too late.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Leave that to me,” he said with a smile.

  I was most curious.

  “Don’t get arrogant. Don’t think just because you are very rich…pride comes before the fall.”

  “Oh, I’m not getting any big ideas. I will be extremely systematic. Extremely methodical.”

  He looked at me quite seriously. For a moment I thought he was going to talk about his feelings again but he didn’t.

  “We need to get some sleep if we’re going to make that flight tomorrow.”

  “We’re actually going to Scotland?” I asked, slightly perplexed.

  “Unless you change your mind.”

  “Oh, no. Count me in. I’m ready now. But no…”

  I slip my hand into his pants and grip his cock. It feels smooth and warm in my hand.

  “I’m sorry. Not tonight, little bird. Anyway, we’ve got the whole plane flight for that.”

  Not used to being rejected, I got up off the bed.

  “Where are you going, mademoiselle?”

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I said with a smile and a bow.

  Chapter 21

  Sophia Durant’s Diary

  December 22, Scottish Highlands, Scotland

  The Boeing 767 took off from Eleuthera Island before sunrise. The least possible amount of staff was contacted before we left in order to preserve the highest level of secrecy. I felt that Carter and his boys would know of our departure, but there was nothing they could do about it. I looked forward to reading their impression of it in Carter’s notes. Stafford quickly fell asleep after takeoff. I, on the hand, couldn’t sleep. I was bristling with excitement at our spontaneous adventure. It was to be a direct flight to Inverness Airport, then a four hour drive south, past Loch Ness and Fort Augustus, to a 16 century castle Stafford had apparently long wished to see. It had been on the market for two years.

  I watched the sun rise over the Atlantic in high anticipation of seeing a new country and the centuries old castle. As I enjoyed the view, Anna sat down next to me with little Savannah sleeping in her arms. I took Savannah from her and watched her sleep, listening to the slight rasping sound of her breath. She had recently turned a year old and I thought about how much she’d changed in the short time I’d known her. Her golden hair was down to her neck now, she was several inches longer and a bit thinner, and now she could say a few words and correspond the words with things she knew. It’s fascinating watching a baby grow into a tot. I smiled at Anna as she took the baby and went back to where she had been sitting.

  Quite unexpectedly Stafford sat next to me and stretched out on the couch with a beaming smile.

  “Happy to be free of all of it?”

  “Momentarily anyway,” he murmured.

  “So am I. And I can’t wait to see Scotland.”

  “Yes. Scotland is nice. The Highlands are heavenly. Chilling but nice.”

  “I look forward to the bone-chilling cold.”

  “It’s been cold on Eleuthera…but not as cold as you’re about to experience.”

  “I’ve been to Europe, you know.”

  “Anywhere north of France?”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Exactly. You don’t know what cold is.”

  After a pause he said, “Sophia, there’s something I keep wanting to talk to you about, but I just don’t know how. Or else I never seem to find the time.
Or it’s never the right time.”

  “Yes?”

  “Then I start to think I should talk about it after some great meal or in a picturesque setting.”

  “We’re in one now.”

  “I can tell by the look in your eyes sometimes, or the sound of your voice when we’re talking…there’s a fascination that exists between us. I know we already talked about it a little.”

  “We did.”

  “We’ve become quite dear to each other. Something’s…come about. Something’s happening. Even now, as we speak.”

  His tone was pleasant. I began to wonder how long he’d dither, but I really wished he would go on a while because it all sounded so nice.

  “We’re very close.”

  “We are.”

  “Just listen.”

  I smiled.

  “Tell me,” he whispered and took a deep breath, “do you love me…like I love you? And don’t say you couldn’t possibly know and give me a lecture in the philosophy of human relationships and how people don’t really know each other.”

  I felt I couldn’t talk. There was a pressure in my throat.

  “What are your feelings? Do you trust me?”

  “As much as anyone can trust another,” the words slipped out of my mouth.

  “I need to know…”

  “I share your feelings,” I said shyly without looking at him.

  “We’ve known each other six months. A lot of tragic incidents have happened in that time. All of it very close to us. I still don’t know the cause of so much of it. But I’ll find out.”

  “You will?”

  “Certainly. I don’t doubt that. But that’s not what I…came to talk to you about.”

  He swallowed.

  “I want to know if you’d like to take our relationship to another level.”

  “I don’t know if we can; I’ve experienced so many levels with you already.”

  I tried to lighten up the conversation.

  “Seriously speaking. Between us, I’ve never felt such a strong connection with anyone. I’m always missing you when you’re not there. I’m always hoping to see you. Always thinking, ‘What would Sophia think? What would Sophia do?’ There’s this…magnetism…and this…light in your eyes. I’ve never had this with anyone.”