The Poison Morality (23 page)

He stopped, breathing deeply, grunting.  “I don’t feel so well.”  Feeling urgency, he let go of her hands and started tugging at her trousers again.   All she had to do was fight him long enough.

“No,” she said and pushed against his chest.  He laughed and coughed.  She was pulling on her trousers the opposite direction.

The pain in his chest tightened and he dropped down to the side, his arm not able to support his weight any longer.  One shove, she thrust him on his back again and straddled him, on her knees and watched his face get redder as air became wanting, his hand clutched his chest.

The expression on her face was smug and he realized she was the source of the pain.  He looked at his hand where she had pricked, a little blood pooled there.  She could see the realization of what she had done on his face and when he moved, she moved just as quickly.  Swiftly, they both grabbed each other’s throats in a silent battle of anger.  Where he only used one hand, she had to use both.  He gasped, his grip becoming tighter, struggling for air and closing off her airway.  She felt the same lack of oxygen as he, using the last bit of energy to squeeze. 

Face hot and flushed, her lungs started to ache, eyes watering when his grip slackened slightly and a small amount of air could come into her lungs.  One deep breath in, she used it to speak, “Remember me,” she strained, could have been a statement or a question, not quite recovering from his grip when he finally released her.  His eyes were wide with fright then knowing. 

Slowly rising on her feet, she watched him wheeze and then crouching down, she tilted her head studying him and with his next to last breath, the anger built up in her and she forced through constricted breath, “This is what you made me do,” she spat it at him like venom and stood, dizzy, the sweet air filling her lungs as the last of his escaped and darkness swirled again in her head.  Those were the last words he heard.

Sophie dropped down on her knees and looked down at him, his eyes open, bulging and bloodshot but the life gone and for a moment she was despondent.  It felt like her lungs deflated and refilled more and more with each breath, the feeling of pressure on her neck, coughing. 

This is why she didn’t like to look at them, couldn’t stand to look death in the face and up until now she never did.  Her hands covered her eyes; she backed up stumbling, almost falling over his feet.  Panting, she looked at him through her fingers, trying to assess the damage without looking at him directly any longer.  But if she hadn’t he would have killed her out of desperation so it was reverse self-defence, she reasoned.

Looking around the flat, she fought through the cacophony of sensations, the emotions, the feeling of being choked, the burning in her wrists, everything to get out but she couldn’t get out until she found the remnants of her that remained. 

Without any more delay, she started putting her clothes back in order; nothing was off so that was a relief.  She put the chair back under the dining table, took the severed pieces of the ties that held her, walked around him without looking down.  She gasped wanting to cry but telling herself that she was fine.

The needle.  She started to panic, where did it go?  She tried to remember where she had pricked him, what was going on when she did.  Looking around there was nothing.  Grabbing her coat, she felt the outside of the pockets and there it was.  She sat on the stool for a moment knowing she had to go to Oliver.  He was the only one that could help her, not knowing how much help she really needed but she was prepared to swallow her pride and ask for it.

Putting on her coat, flipping the collar up, noticing the gun on the table, she shoved it in her coat pocket.  Outside the door was an envelope like hers with Maurice’s name on it but the lettering was slapdash.  Sophia leaned against the door, sliding down, crouching not able to stand without moving, opening it, she pulled out a photograph of Sydney someone had taken of her, if it had come earlier, Sophie would not have gotten away.  She shoved the photo back in, folded it and put it in her other jacket pocket.  The adrenaline becoming more pronounced, pulsing through her body. 

Emotions would have overwhelmed her except for the aches and pains, some sharp, some dull taking turns seizing her attention.  If it wasn’t for the shock, she wasn’t sure she could stay upright; it was the only preserving thing she had, dulling her senses and keeping her on her path.  Oliver, she thought, I need Oliver and unfortunately she knew where she had to go to find him and would he care now?  Her fingers trembled, missing the buttons to dial him.  Swearing she tried over and over, only to get his voicemail when she finally succeeded.  There was no message to leave. 

On the Prince Albert Bridge, she could barely see her way despite the lights that illuminated it.  The movement of the lights reflecting in the river looked like they were dancing but it also made her feel a little nauseated.  She could hear the traffic behind her but looking around she didn’t see anyone walking on her side of the bridge.

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.

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?”