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I spin toward her bedroom, bouncing the thought of going in or straight to mine. I need to rest. Rest gives my brain a reboot, and I need one right now. But I also need to get some things off my chest so that I can get a proper rest when it’s time.
I knock on her door tenderly, not wanting to use the button that will set a buzzer off in case she is asleep. Waking her up like that wouldn’t be good for her health right now.
I knock again, waiting. No reply. Could she be ill again? I have to check on her.
I press my thumb on the spot to unlock it. I gently twist the doorknob and open the door to poke my head. She is sitting on the bed, staring at a cart of food.
I watch her watch the food, and then she lifts her eyes from the cart to my face, sensing my presence. She sits straighter and clears her throat.
I askedLiam to get her a few outfits with Riley's assistance, and I really like the green jumpsuit she's wearing. It's simple, but it stands out against her pale skin and makes her eyes sparkle.
I can't wait for her to be as vivacious as she usually is.
She moves over to the edge of the bed, and I walk into the room. Although she is not speaking, the way she is fidgeting with her hands suggeststhat she is not feeling well mentally.
Considering what happened, maybe this place, this bedroom, is not good for her.Perhaps she needs a change of scenery.
“Hi,” she gulps, “How was your… your night was at the clinic?” She chuckles to herself lightly, shaking her head.
“Hi,” I step further in and stop before her.
“You don’t look happy to see me,” she drops her eyes back to her twiddling.
“I could say the same about you,” I crouch. “What is it?”
“I feel tired, maybe it’s the meds they gave me.”
“I’m sorry,” I clear my throat, wondering about the best way to tell her that the poisons did not match, effectively bringing her back to being a suspect—a major one and, currently, our only one.
“What is it?” She leans forward and lowers her body, “I know something is wrong. What is it, Ronan?”
“It wasn’t the same poison, Olivia. This is your last chance to tell me the name of the poison that you used to kill Barbara,” I spurt, but the words taste bitter on my tongue. I hate that I’m causing her pain, because the instant the words leave my lips, she crumbles.
“That I used?” She stutters. “What do you mean?”
“That you are back to being the…”
“I know, and honestly, I don’t care about that right now,” she clips, “I almost died, Ronan. I have no idea! Are you going to kill me or what? If that’s what you want, please get on with it.”
“Okay, I’ll arrange for your disposal later tonight,” I shrug.
Her eyes spread. “D-disposal? You can’t be… You are not serious, are you?”
I shrug, “You said you would confess to anything, which means you have accepted that you’re guilty.”
“I have not, and I am not!” She tries to keep her tone down. “I swear to God, I know nothing about any of this; what can I do to make you believe me?”
This is what I wanted to hear.
I hadn’t known I wanted to hear this until she spoke those simple words.
I was hoping to hear something that would give me more reason to believe that she hadn't killed Barbara. And even though I may keep probing her and showing her that I don't believe her, deep down, I do.
It is everything and everyone pointing at her that I don’t believe.
“You can check my bakery or my home for proof, I’m not lying,” her eyes light up a little, “If I used any kind of poison, some proof should be lying around somewhere, shouldn’t it?”
She has a point, and yet she doesn’t because it is possible to dispose of the evidence immediately. Still, I will do her a favor because of how hopeful she looks—as if she has found a way to redeem herself.
