‘Adriana, are you OK? You blacked out.’
It’s the first time I’ve studied you in real time, Sebastian, rather than via a recording. There’ve been occasions when I’ve tried to view you with my naked eye, just so I could take a proper look at you. But she wouldn’t let me. Being around you has generally had a calming influence on her. But tonight has changed things. Your revelation that you are Jason’s son and your suspicions that Adriana knows a lot more than she’s letting on about your wretched father’s death have proved far too stressful for her to handle, thereby triggering my emergence. But in the same way I fooled Charles, I won’t let on for now that she’s gone away, and that in her place stands her stronger half. I fooled Dr Adams the same way the other Sunday, when I went to his house pretending I was her and saying that I couldn’t wait until Monday to see him because I was scared that there was something wrong with me. I offered to make him a cup of tea by way of thanks. With just a dash of cyanide in it. It’s amazing what you can get off the dark web. Thankfully, his house doesn’t have CCTV, and when I boarded the train to Guildford, I made sure I wore a cap and dark glasses. So far, so good. No one’s spotted me yet.
I adopt my most harrowed expression. ‘Yes, I, I think so. I just felt faint all of a sudden. It’s all the stress, plus you know I don’t sleep well.’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ you say, your eyes full of concern.
You’re not a bad guy, Sebastian, I truly believe that, despite having my doubts on learning your true identity. You’re not like your father. You’re kind and caring, and would never do the terrible things he did. It’s not your fault you share his DNA. But I cannot allow any sympathy I might have for you to cloud my judgement. Her sentimentality is her downfall, it always has been, and that’s why she has me to shield her. The fact is, you are on the cusp of breaking her, of figuring out what happened to your father, and when that happens, she’ll be locked away. And so will I.
‘Can I get you some water?’ you ask.
‘Yes, yes, that would be good.’ I nod.
You go off to fetch me some water, and before long are back with a tall glass I don’t really need but drink down all the same. Just to please you. To play the game. I get a fizzing in my stomach as I do, not because of the liquid cooling my guts, but because the game always excites me. Being bad, devious, outwitting someone who’s caused her pain excites me.
‘Better?’ you ask.
‘Much,’ I say with a grateful smile.
This is it.
‘Seb, you asked me just now if I met with your father again, after I saw him in the restaurant that night.’
You nod nervously.
‘Well, the answer to that is yes, I did.’
There’s a sudden spark in your eyes. ‘And, what happened?’
I will my own eyes to moisten. It’s amazing how the human body responds to willpower. Being disciplined, mentally focused, has the capacity to force it to do so much more than we give it credit for.
‘Give me a second,’ I say. ‘I’ll be right back.’
You look confused but say OK, evidently relieved I’m about to give you information on your father and therefore you are prepared to wait a little longer if that’s what it takes.
I rush up to the sixth bedroom, where Adriana never goes. Here, I keep a laptop and various unregistered phones hidden away which allow me to monitor this house and its inhabitants’ movements when I emerge. Along with several items of dark clothing and caps I use to disguise myself when I need to. The night-time is typically when Adriana’s mind dwells on all the dark episodes masking her life, when the stress of shouldering them gets too much and she finds herself needing me. I’m lucky in that sense, because it’s the safest time for me to emerge. Even though I know it means poor Adriana doesn’t get enough sleep.
I go over to the wardrobe, open it and reach up high for a box I keep on the top shelf containing various items including a stash of needles and vials of morphine I stole from Charles all those years ago. Just in case they came in handy.
Conscious you might be growing impatient and could follow me upstairs to check I’m OK, I quickly and expertly fill a needle with enough morphine to cause your heart to stop. I plan on stabbing you with it at the most opportune moment.
‘Adriana, are you OK?’ I hear you call up. My heart racing, I slip the needle into my trouser pocket, shut the wardrobe and leave the room. I will my pulse to slow down by taking deep lungfuls of air, then calmly descend the stairs.
You are hovering at the foot, looking anxious.
‘Are you OK?’ you repeat.
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘I had to use the bathroom and splash my face. You may have read in my journals that I suffered from severe panic attacks as a child. I always found cool water on my skin helped calm me down.’
‘Of course,’ you say. ‘I hope you feel better now.’
So naïve. So trusting.
‘I do, thank you.’ I inhale deeply again. ‘Anyway, I want to show you something.’
‘What?’ you ask.
‘Downstairs, in my art studio.’
There’s a glimmer of apprehension in your eyes. ‘Your art studio? What’s that got to do with my dad?’
I reach for your hand, place it in mine. ‘Please, trust me.’
‘OK,’ you say, although there’s no mistaking the tremble in your voice. I can hardly blame you.
‘Great, let me get the key, wait here.’
I go and retrieve the key then lead us downstairs to the lower ground floor. I hope I won’t have to wait too long to make my move. I want your death to be swift, Sebastian, unlike your father’s. I revelled in making his as long and drawn-out as possible. Also, unlike your father, I realise I am going to have to dispose of your body elsewhere. Another death of a loved one under her roof will break Adriana. Even if it is for the best. I will tell you the truth first, though. I owe you that.
We’re at the art studio door now. I insert the key and turn the lock and then you follow me inside, whereupon I slam the door shut. The sound seems to reverberate through the air as I do, my heart beating double time.
‘Adriana, why are we here? What is it you want to show me and how does it concern my dad?’
I don’t reply, but continue to guide you to the end of the room, so that we’re standing just a few feet away from the wooden chest that holds the key to the answers you seek.
I stop and turn to face you. ‘Seb, your father broke into this house and confronted me in this very room one night when Charles was away on business. He attacked me.’
I watch your eyes fill with horror. I think, deep down, you knew something like that might have happened, but were desperate not to believe it.
‘I, I’m so sorry,’ you say.
‘It’s OK, it’s not your fault.’ I lower my eyes, as if I’m too ashamed to make eye contact with you.
And then you ask the one question I’d hoped you would.
‘Adriana, did you kill my dad?’
I pretend to look ashamed. Then nod. ‘Yes. But in self-defence.’
For a moment I wonder if you’re going to explode and attack me in a fit of rage. But you don’t. You simply ask: ‘Where is he? Is he buried in this room? Is that why you brought me down here?’
I don’t respond. I simply walk over to the wooden chest, open it, then say: ‘Take a look inside.’
I watch you gingerly make your way to the open chest. You eye me questioningly as you hover over it.
‘Put your hand inside,’ I say.
Hesitantly, you do as I command, reaching down into the chest, beneath the art materials and overalls, my insides prickling with anticipation as I see a look of horror sweep over your face the moment you find what I know you must have suspected was buried there. Your father’s remains. You look like you’re on the verge of vomiting. You bow your head, and it’s at this point that I slyly reach into my pocket and wrap my fingers around the syringe, primed and ready to plunge it into your neck. I edge closer, your head still bowed, and I’m on the brink of whipping the needle out and doing what needs to be done when the door crashes open and I see Dr Martin and three men I don’t recognise standing there. I drop the needle in shock, caught off guard.
And that’s when you stand up straight and look me dead in the eye. ‘Hello, Xavier, what have you done with Adriana?’