The Opium Room (18 page)

He inched closer to the side of her bed. Gently took her cold, bony hand in his. She opened her eyes slowly. It took her a moment to bring him into focus, but as soon as she recognized who he was, her eyes widened. “Fox,” she said, smiling as tears pooled in her eyes.

“Yes, Ms. Britta, it’s me,” he said, and felt her hand tighten around his.

“You’re so…” her voice trailed off and she choked. “Handsome.”

“Thank you.” Fox felt so sorry he’d let himself become disconnected from her and Fred. Without the two of them, he’d have had no childhood at all. No love at all. Fox wondered who had been there for her while she’d been sick. How often did she get visitors? She never had any children of her own. Fox figured, sadly, Britta had suffered alone.

“How’ve you been?” she asked.

“I’m well.” He didn’t know what to say to someone who was suffering so. He wasn’t raised to be in tune with empathy or sympathy, although he certainly felt it. He just wasn’t sure how to express it. He did know, however, that if Ms. Britta got well, he’d be certain to look after her from now on, be there for her like she’d been there for him, Erickson, and Karrigan.

“Ms. Britta, I’ve learned a lot about Roman as of late. Fred told me how he got his limp.”

“I see.” Her brows lowered, her lips curved down. She moved her gaze away from Fox’s.

Still holding one hand underneath Britta’s, he covered her hand with his free hand. “Please, don’t be afraid of Roman. He can’t hurt you or Fred anymore. I won’t let him. But you have to tell me what you know.”

She stared at the ceiling.

“Please,” Fox said on a desperate whisper.

“Roman told me to put the poison in Frances’s drink, but I refused,” Britta said. “Later that evening, I heard Frances screaming…”

Fox heard it too. He’d never forget the sounds of shock, the gasping of breath that came from the direction of their spacious bedroom situated at the opposite end of the hall from Fox’s bedroom. Sounds Roman had said was due to Frances’s illness. Bull. Those were sounds of someone who was being struck physically, he always thought.

“I looked in through the keyhole,” Britta said. “I could see Frances on the floor in a fetal position crying hysterically. I stayed by the door until her crying slowed to quiet sobs. I looked again through the tiny peephole. Roman was kneeled down beside Frances and I heard him say to her that Monte—the gardener—wouldn’t be the only love she would lose if she didn’t drink the wine. You did know about your mother and Monte, didn’t you?”

“Yes, recently I learned about her affair.”

“Roman had him killed. And I understood what he was saying to Frances—he was threatening to kill the only other people she loved in her life—you and the twins. I watched in horror as Frances took the goblet of wine from the stainless steel serving plate and drank it all down. You cried out at the same moment she took her last swallow. There was nothing I could do for Frances, I realized, so I came to your room and held you until you fell asleep.”

“I remember.” He’d forgotten about Britta coming to console him, but now it was as clear as if it’d happened yesterday. “Mother lost her lover and she wasn’t about to call Roman’s bluff when it came to her children,” Fox said thinking aloud.

“Yes, she sacrificed her life for yours,” Britta acknowledged. She rubbed her thumb against the back of Fox’s hand. “Don’t cry,” she said, noticing the tear fall from his cheek.

Fox let out a laugh. “Britta, you’re crying.” He wiped her face. “How are you gonna tell me not to do the same thing?”

A tiny laugh erupted from her. “I’m really sorry about your mother.”

“Not your fault, Britta. Not at all. And by you telling me what you know, you’ve only solidified what I already knew.”

“There’s more.” She seemed to come alive, even sat up in the bed on her own will.

“What?”

“There’s a note your father wrote. It will incriminate him more than anything else. I found it not long after Frances’s death when I was cleaning Roman’s office. I saved it inside the Kemp family bible.”

“All right. I’ve been by the mansion a couple of times recently so Frederic won’t be surprised to see me again. Do you know where the family bible is kept nowadays?”

“Last I checked it was in a box up in the attic. The box is labeled cross–stitch materials.” Fox’s mother had done many crafts.

“I labeled it like that,” Britta said, “because I knew Roman would never look in a box of cross–stitch patterns and threads.”

Fox leaned down and kissed Britta on the forehead. “I have to go there now. Thank you so much for everything.” He rubbed her head. “Get well soon, so I can have you over to my place for dinner, okay?”

“I’m trying, I can promise you that.”

Fox turned and looked at Britta one last time before he walked out the door. She looked more alive than she had when he walked in. Like a weight had been lifted from her fragile body. Fox was positive that she’d wanted to get that off her chest for a long time.

Lea set down the magazine she’d been reading when she saw Fox approaching. “How was she?”

“I think she’s going to make it.” He grabbed her by the hand and started toward the elevator. “When she gets out, I’m going to ask her if she wants to come stay with me, with us, if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s fine. You said she was like a mom to you, so I’d love to meet her and spend some time with her.”

“Good, and since Frederic was like my dad, I’m going to have him come live with me too. I owe that much to both of them.”

“Absolutely no objections here,” Lea said, and Fox loved her even more for going along with his plan. The people who were important to him were automatically important to her and that was the foundation of a great love.

When they got in Fox’s car and he began driving out the parking lot of the hospital, he told Lea, “I’m going to drop you off at my house while I pay Roman a vi—”

“Let me go with you,” she said before he could finish his sentence.

“No way, Lea. I don’t want you anywhere around Roman. He’s a dangerous man.”

“But I’m worried about you. I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

Fox put his hand over Lea’s. “Don’t worry. The only person who’s going to be hurting is Roman when I toss his ass out of my hotel for good.”

Fox walked Lea inside his house and took off. He may have told her a lie about Roman being the only one who got hurt. Roman was unpredictable and there was no telling what could happen to Fox. After all, he had killed his mother. It was something that had to be done though, if Fox ever wanted a life of his own without the restraints of a domineering, evil man calling the shots.

Fox had no problem locating the family bible at the mansion. It was right where she said it would be. Before he left, he told Frederic to pack his bags and that he was coming to live with him. He told him he was finally free from the reigns of Roman Kemp.

***

His heart was racing as he went up the elevator to Roman’s office. This was nothing new; it always did. However, this time was different; this time it was the last time. Fox prayed that Roman didn’t keep a handgun in his desk drawer, or he may never walk out.

So many times, Fox had crept up to Roman’s office, afraid to disturb him. He recalled times as a child he’d crept into Roman’s bedroom at night when he’d had a bad dream. Roman always rejected him with a deep, menacing,
Get back to bed, you little, brat.
Now it was Fox’s turn to reject Roman.

Fox swung open the double doors into Roman’s office. The handles on the back of both doors slammed into the wall busting through sheetrock. Always the cool sadist, Roman slowly removed his cigar from his lips and asked in an even tone, “Can I help you with something?”

“No, there’s not a single thing you can do to help me, Father. But I’m about to help myself to something that’s a long time overdue.”

Roman put out his cigar, leaned back in his chair. He put his elbows on armrests and began twirling a pen between his fingers lengthwise as he studied Fox with a menacing glare in his eyes. “What’s this about?”

Fox crossed his arms and stood in front of Roman’s desk. “Well, let’s see, where should I begin? Maybe with the fact that Jill’s my sister.”

It was barely detectable, but Roman’s eyes dulled the tiniest bit. “It’s no wonder you wanted her around. You did it to keep her quiet, all the while knowing I couldn’t stand her.”

“Big deal,” Roman said, crossing one leg over the other. “Now you know; fire her.”

“No, I’m not going to fire her. She’s not that bad of a person after all.”

Roman shook his head. “Fifty percent of your genetic code is Kemp. I’d expect a little more gumption out of you.”

“This isn’t about gumption. I actually take care of the people I like, and you can safely assume, Roman, that you’re not one of them.”

“Why, because I didn’t give you a hug every day of your life?” He scowled. “You always have been a problem child—feeble, needy just like your mother.”

“Don’t you dare,” Fox said, his fists clenched at his side.

“Dare I? You wouldn’t mind me speaking ill of your mother if you knew she was cheating on your father with the lowly gardener.”

“Mother was cheating on you because you were an abusive dictator. She and the gardener probably shared a spiritual connection that you could have never had with her.”

Roman laughed, and it reminded Fox of The Joker, every bit as evil. “There’s no such thing as a spiritual connection between lovers. That kind of thinking is for saps.”

“There must be,” Fox countered. “You had a connection with Bobbie, and she conspired with you to murder my mother.”

Roman grew quiet. After a minute, he said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Save your breath.”

A sly grin grew on Fox’s lips. “I can see you sweating, Father. You know it’s because I’m onto you. You’re up to your elbows in Mother’s blood.”

Roman clenched his teeth. “You have no proof.” His tone now was not as calm and aloof as it had been.

“Don’t I?” Fox tossed the yellowed journal entry that he’d retrieved from the mansion onto Roman’s desk. The one Britta had directed him to.

Roman unfolded it and read his own handwriting.
Ways to dispose of Frances’s body: One: At sea; Two: By fire; Three: By acid; Four; Landsite; Five: Poison.

As Roman slowly raised his head, Fox said, “I guess number five looked like the best way to you.”

Roman uncrossed his leg and rolled back his chair a little. “I admit, Foxworth, to having dark thoughts, but I was very depressed at the time. Frances…she said she didn’t love me anymore, but she’d like to keep the house, the children, and an income to keep her and you children in the style she had become accustomed to.”

“So there’s your motive. Are you supposed to be convincing me you didn’t kill her, because your plan is backfiring?”

“No, I’m saying she drove me to those dark thoughts, but I did not murder her. For God’s sake, her body was never recovered. She may be living abroad under an assumed identity for all we know.”

Fox shook his head. “Deny, deny, deny. Just like you’ve done every time you’ve faced a jury. Oh, I know all about your various crimes. I’ve done my homework.” He counted on his fingers. “Money laundering, lying on tax returns, illegally manipulating markets to financially benefit your tile company.” He paused, gave Roman time to soak this up. “The thing is, Father, witnesses testified at your trials saying you were a man of great character who lived an honest and peaceful life. But see, I know better. I lived with you. You gambled, you drank, you cursed, you lied… but you never loved. You were anything
but
honest and peaceful. And Dad, you can’t pay this jury member off.”

Roman spread his arms wide. “So, what are you going to do? Fire me? Fine.” He began straightening papers on his desk and pulled his briefcase from beneath the desk.

“For starters. Then you’re going to turn yourself in for killing Frances.”

“You’re out of your mind. I don’t have to listen to this,” he said, standing, briefcase in hand.”

Fox pulled his gun from his inside coat pocket and aimed it at Roman. “Sit down old man. I’m calling the shots now.”

Roman didn’t hesitate. “I can see why you doubt my proclamation of innocence,” he said, sitting in his chair. “But on your mother’s grave, I swear I had nothing to do with her death.”

Tired of hearing the lies, unsure if he could battle against his own anger a second longer, Fox pulled back the hammer.

Roman blinked fast in apparent disbelief. Then the look on his face changed from surprise to foreboding. For a moment, Fox couldn’t see Roman’s hands. Was he reaching underneath his desk? Fox almost pulled the trigger, and then he noticed Roman wiping his palms on his pants. He was nervous. His face looked angry, but his body language called his bluff.

“Why the scowl, Father?” Now Fox wanted to toy with his emotions. “A bullet lodged in your chest will never hurt you as much as you’ve hurt this family. It will only hurt for a second, unlike the lifetime of pain you’ve inflicted on so many.”

“I’ll die laughing before you kill me. You can’t do it. You’re too weak.”

His words were calm, but Roman’s hands were shaking. Fox had never seen an ounce of fear in his father, until now. Everyone else could be paid off; Fox could not. And that was the difference. What Roman had done to his mother could not be made right with money. Roman knew that Fox’s killing him was the only way to avenge her death. “No jury in the world is going to commit me after all the atrocities you have committed, Father.” Roman swallowed, hard, sweat beaded along his eyebrows. “Where’s your backbone now? All I see is a scared, weak old man. Guess your past finally caught you to you.” Fox pointed the gun away from Roman’s head and directed it toward the large wet spot in front of his crotch. “Apparently your bladder did, too.”

There was a hard knock on the door. “Fox!”

It was Jill. What was she doing here? “Go away, Jill,” Fox said, keeping his eye, and his gun, on Roman.

“I won’t. Let me in now.” She wiggled the locked doorknob back and forth. “Fox, you need to let me in. I have solid evidence here.”