Page 13 of The Fallen
He doesn’t say anything else, and I gather my emotions. Saying it all out loud makes me feel so weak and pathetic, and him staring me down as if I'm lying isn't helping me.
When Lewis first told me about the family history, I didn’t believe him. I mean, it was crazy. We were the Brodericks. Something that was ingrained in all of us. But Lewis shared stories that had me so mixed up. And the Foxton arguments - the generations of being enemies, according to Father - it all fit. Lewis’ story made sense, and I was crushed. I felt betrayed, and that made no sense because I was always on the outside of the family anyway.
I thought I could make something good out of the lies. Out of the secrets, and not have this ruin everything we have all worked for.
The silence stretches and it only gives me time to go over all of the terrible choices I made. How easily Lewis preyed on all of us, and I let it happen.
“There’s always a way to prove you’re innocent. If you’re telling the truth.” He finally breaks the ice.
I venture a glance at him. “I am. So, what do I need to do?”
He drinks some more of his coffee and stands up, stretching. “Not my problem.”
“Don’t you ever break the rules?” I ask, not seeing how this man, who clearly has a criminal background, or at the very least isn’t above breaking and entering, sees things so black and white.
“I take my job seriously.”
“Your job is for my brother. I’m sure there’s a whole swathe of grey in the details of what you’re expected to do.” I raise my brow. No reply, just him clearly not caring about anything other than his duty to my brother. I sigh. “Look, I’m getting another drink. Do you want a water?”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
I stand and head to the bathroom first. It's getting late, and so far there's no sign that Noah's going to change his mind. So, it looks like I need to be the one to break the rules. The sleeping pills are risky, but surely a couple will give me the timeI need.
I pop two from the toiletry bag, turn on the tap and flush the toilet as cover. As I walk back through the bedroom, the door to the wardrobe is ajar. I hadn’t noticed that before. When I get back to the kitchen, Noah’s pulling his laptop from his bag for some reason. In the kitchen, with my back to Noah, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, unscrew the bottle cap and run the tap, filling the kettle. But I pour part of the safe drinking water away and replace it with tap water. Hopefully, a combination of the mix of tablets, unsafe drinking water and sleeping pills will give me my window.
I make my preparations for another mint tea, disguising my handiwork with the pills. The powder from the capsules instantly dissolves as I drop it into his water bottle. “Here you go.” I pretend to unscrew the bottle top in front of Locke as I hand it to him.
He barely looks up and drains half of the contents in one go.
“You’re welcome.” I finish my tea and bring it back to the small sofa I’d been sitting on while recounting the worst year of my life.
Now I just have to wait. And run. Again.
One thing talking to Noah has made me realise is that I'm not done with Lewis. He’s threatened me, set me up and orchestrated ruining my family, and killed my father. I'm not going to let him get away with it. He’s had it his way for too long and walked right over me. Well, not again.
Never again.
Chapter Seven
NOAH
I wake up to the feel of sickness rising through me. I fall off the bed and run to the bathroom, hands on the rim of the toilet and body heaving immediately. It all comes up quickly, hotly fucking pursued by the rest of my insides.
Leaning back, I try grabbing a breath, my gaze refusing to look at the amount of vomit that just came out of me. It gets flushed away, and I stand slowly to wash up. Feels like I’ve been hit by a truck. My vision’s swimming and I'm shaky as fuck, as I get to the sink. The water splashed in my face goes somewhere close to making me feel better, but I only get a twenty-second reprieve before I’m back to throwing more up again.
I stay down on the floor this time, trying to get a gage on what’s going on. I’m sick is what’s going on. Must have eaten something, or drank it. Don’t fucking know, but getting on a plane with the little murderer this morning isn’t something I’m looking forward to no matter how intriguing she's become.
The thought has me pulling myself up again and flushing, body staggering back to the main lounge area. I look at the door to her room and make my way over to it, inching the door open to check she’s there. Surprise, surprise, she fucking isn’t. Great.
I walk in slowly and check out the wardrobe. It’s empty but for a few bits, and on further investigation around the apartment, it seems she’s long fucking gone. Fuck knows how she got past me. I’m a light sleeper usually. Maybe this sickness sent me into a deeper sleep. In fact, now I'm thinking about it, I can't even remember getting to the bed.
And then it fucking hits me.
Did she do this to me?
“Little bitch,” mumbles out of my mouth. “Save your arse from a rapist and you try poisoning me?” I go over to the fridge and grab a bottle of water, sipping gently to get rid of the stench. It’s not enough, and I end up getting my stuff out of my backpack so I can go brush my teeth. The moment that’s done, I drag my laptop out and start searching the flights and trains, anything to give me an idea on where she’s fucked off to now. A good hour later and I’m no further forward with finding where she’s gone. No names anywhere, either hers or the one from her fake passport in the bottom of her wardrobe. Didn’t even have a safe.
“Shit.”
