by O. L. Casper
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.”<
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“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.