| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted October 26, 2024 | Chapters: |
3 4 -5- 
|
Who came to the party?
A chapter in the book The Empty Chair
The Empty Chair - Chap 5
by Begin Again
Detective Harris stood outside Fiona's door, his knuckles raised, about to knock, when he heard the sharp crash of furniture inside. His instincts flared. He pounded on the door and then turned the handle. The door swung open just enough for him to see a figure darting through the kitchen.
"Sharice!" he yelled, but she was already gone. He cursed under his breath and stepped inside.
The dining room was chaos — plates smashed, chairs toppled, and in the center of it all, Fiona lay sprawled on the floor, her wheelchair overturned beside her.
She clutched her stomach, her face twisted in pain. "Detective," she gasped, her voice trembling. "My sister — she's got to be stopped."
Harris knelt beside her, checking her pulse and then the surroundings. It was a mess. "Sharice did this?" he asked, his voice sharp, his mind trying to piece together the events as fast as he could.
Fiona moaned and stretched her hand toward the detective. "Could you help me up? I can't believe she deliberately tipped my chair over. Something's desperately wrong."
"Are you hurt? Should I call the ambulance?"
"No, I'm just bruised. Nothing to worry those EMTs about."
"Are you sure?"
Fiona smiled. "I haven't had someone worry about me as you do since Pey—" She let her voice trail off and looked away. "Never mind. Can you put me in my chair, please?"
Detective Harris set the wheelchair upright and then lifted Fiona into it. "Are you sure you are okay?"
"Yes, Detective. Maybe now you will believe me when I say that Sharice tried to poison me. She's a very clever girl." Fiona dropped her gaze to her lap and murmured, "Forgive me. I shouldn't talk so harshly about my sister. She's always wanted things she couldn't have, and Peyton's attention was one of them. I should have just stepped aside and let her be happy, but —"
"Fiona, do you believe Sharice murdered Peyton and is trying to murder you, too?"
"I — I shouldn't — speak of my sister in that way, Detective. She's done a lot for me over the years. At the moment, she seems confused."
"But murder?" Harris paced back and forth across the dining room, stopping to look over the scene from time to time. Three places had been set, but why? "Fiona, why was the table set for three people?"
Fiona glanced at the table and then down at her hands again. "Sharice insisted. She said Peyton was coming."
"Peyton? Why would she say that? Had she heard from him?"
Something was chilling about the space reserved for Peyton. Why would she want to set a place for a dead man? Was he still alive somewhere?
Fiona shook her head. "I don't know. She said that soon he'd be back and that they'd be together forever, regardless of what I wanted. I was afraid, so I put the extra place setting on the table like usual." She gazed at the detective before adding, "My sister needs help. You've got to find her before she hurts someone else."
Harris pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the station. "I need an APB," he ordered. "Sharice Simmons fled the scene and is wanted for questioning regarding an assault on her sister." His mind shifted to the knife Fiona had given him earlier, and he added, "The suspect may be armed and dangerous."
He hung up the phone, eyes still scanning the mess. Something about Fiona's story nagged at the back of his mind. Everything seemed too well-orchestrated for a crime of passion.
"I need to go, Fiona. Do you want me to leave an officer posted outside?"
"No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure Sharice is sorry for what happened."
"But you said she tried to poison you, and now this."
"I'm sure that was an accident — a misunderstanding." Fiona turned away from the detective, picking up broken pieces of china from the table. "Maybe — someone else planted the poison in the sugar. Why would Sharice want to kill me?" A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. "If you don't mind, Detective, I'll be fine after I rest. Thank you for coming."
"It's my job, Fiona. I need to keep you safe." He touched her shoulder, hoping to comfort her. "We'll figure it out."
She murmured, "Thank you," and then rolled her wheelchair into the library.
*****
After Detective Harris left, leaving a police car parked outside, Fiona sat in silence, staring into the flames as they crackled in the fireplace. Regardless of the warmth, she felt cold and empty.
As she stared out the window at the dark emptiness of Peyton's house, her mind drifted to her favorite author and Peyton. Feeling the loss, she moaned, "My darling, must I speak of you through Poe, whispering my sorrows?
'In dreams, I hold you close and tight, but in waking moments, you vanish from sight.'
"How could someone I never knew understand my pain, but the one I loved couldn't see?"
She stood and walked to the bookcase, searching the shelf for one particular book. Opening it, she removed an envelope, pressing it against her breast, before returning to the chair. She closed her eyes as she remembered childhood days filled with laughter and happiness, days spent with Peyton, making promises of being together forever. Her mind clouded as her thoughts drifted to her sister and how she'd wooed Peyton away, always leaving her behind and alone.
Not wanting to remember, she opened the letter, and a torn piece fluttered to the floor. She unfolded the letter as if it were something priceless. Her lips curled into a twisted smile as she read —
"My love, I can't wait for the moment we can start our life together. I dream of our future — just you and me — escaping and leaving the world behind. We were meant to be — just you and me."
Her eyes misted as she clutched the letter, murmuring, "I knew you always loved me. It's always been us."
As she reread the letter, her eyes lingered on the words, 'We can start our life together.'
Her hands trembled as a dark realization dawned on her. Her eyes traveled to the torn piece of paper, and her anger surged. With a primal scream, she yelled, "Peyton, how could you? You belonged to me."
Her face contorted into a rage, and she crumbled the letter and hurled it across the room. Her breath was ragged as she stood and walked out of the room and down the hall, stopping near a cabinet filled with memorabilia from the past. She slid her hand behind the cabinet and pressed a lever, opening a secret door.
Inside was a tiny room built as a secret playhouse for a child restrained in a wheelchair. A table covered with lace was set up for a tea party.
Fiona slid the door closed but didn't press the latch. Instead, her eyes lit up as she glanced around the room, taking in all the beauty. She fluffed her hair, straightened her dress, and lifted the arm of an old record player, setting it on a record. The gentle sounds of a waltz filled the room, and she swayed with the music until she finally started twirling around the room.
When the song ended, she moved to the table, choosing the chair she'd always sat in. Her face lit up as she smiled. "All is right in our world."
She lifted the teapot, poured a cup of tea, and then filled the other cup, adding sugar to each one. She raised the delicate cup to her lips as a tear slid down her cheek, and her smile faded. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Peyton, why did it come to this?"
She waited as if anticipating an answer and wiped the tears from her face. She inhaled and attempted to smile. "I forgive you, my love. I know you fell under her spell and thought you would be happy, but you were wrong. You and I were always meant to be. You understand that now, don't you?"
Fury flashed in her eyes. Her voice turned icy cold. "Peyton, you know we belong together, right?" She sneered at his lifeless body, decaying in the chair across from her.
Her tone softened again. "We'll be together just like you promised. I know you'll love me like I love you."
With trembling hands, she poured another cup of lukewarm tea and added two spoons of sugar — ones she'd laced with poison.
Her face was calm, almost serene, as she raised the cup to her lips, whispering, "To us." Before the last bit of life drained from her body, she reached across the table and took Peyton's hand, whispering, "Forever."
Detective Harris stood outside Fiona's door, his knuckles raised, about to knock, when he heard the sharp crash of furniture inside. His instincts flared. He pounded on the door and then turned the handle. The door swung open just enough for him to see a figure darting through the kitchen.
"Sharice!" he yelled, but she was already gone. He cursed under his breath and stepped inside.
The dining room was chaos — plates smashed, chairs toppled, and in the center of it all, Fiona lay sprawled on the floor, her wheelchair overturned beside her.
She clutched her stomach, her face twisted in pain. "Detective," she gasped, her voice trembling. "My sister — she's got to be stopped."
Harris knelt beside her, checking her pulse and then the surroundings. It was a mess. "Sharice did this?" he asked, his voice sharp, his mind trying to piece together the events as fast as he could.
Fiona moaned and stretched her hand toward the detective. "Could you help me up? I can't believe she deliberately tipped my chair over. Something's desperately wrong."
"Are you hurt? Should I call the ambulance?"
"No, I'm just bruised. Nothing to worry those EMTs about."
"Are you sure?"
Fiona smiled. "I haven't had someone worry about me as you do since Pey—" She let her voice trail off and looked away. "Never mind. Can you put me in my chair, please?"
Detective Harris set the wheelchair upright and then lifted Fiona into it. "Are you sure you are okay?"
"Yes, Detective. Maybe now you will believe me when I say that Sharice tried to poison me. She's a very clever girl." Fiona dropped her gaze to her lap and murmured, "Forgive me. I shouldn't talk so harshly about my sister. She's always wanted things she couldn't have, and Peyton's attention was one of them. I should have just stepped aside and let her be happy, but —"
"Fiona, do you believe Sharice murdered Peyton and is trying to murder you, too?"
"I — I shouldn't — speak of my sister in that way, Detective. She's done a lot for me over the years. At the moment, she seems confused."
"But murder?" Harris paced back and forth across the dining room, stopping to look over the scene from time to time. Three places had been set, but why? "Fiona, why was the table set for three people?"
Fiona glanced at the table and then down at her hands again. "Sharice insisted. She said Peyton was coming."
"Peyton? Why would she say that? Had she heard from him?"
Something was chilling about the space reserved for Peyton. Why would she want to set a place for a dead man? Was he still alive somewhere?
Fiona shook her head. "I don't know. She said that soon he'd be back and that they'd be together forever, regardless of what I wanted. I was afraid, so I put the extra place setting on the table like usual." She gazed at the detective before adding, "My sister needs help. You've got to find her before she hurts someone else."
Harris pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the station. "I need an APB," he ordered. "Sharice Simmons fled the scene and is wanted for questioning regarding an assault on her sister." His mind shifted to the knife Fiona had given him earlier, and he added, "The suspect may be armed and dangerous."
He hung up the phone, eyes still scanning the mess. Something about Fiona's story nagged at the back of his mind. Everything seemed too well-orchestrated for a crime of passion.
"I need to go, Fiona. Do you want me to leave an officer posted outside?"
"No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure Sharice is sorry for what happened."
"But you said she tried to poison you, and now this."
"I'm sure that was an accident — a misunderstanding." Fiona turned away from the detective, picking up broken pieces of china from the table. "Maybe — someone else planted the poison in the sugar. Why would Sharice want to kill me?" A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. "If you don't mind, Detective, I'll be fine after I rest. Thank you for coming."
"It's my job, Fiona. I need to keep you safe." He touched her shoulder, hoping to comfort her. "We'll figure it out."
She murmured, "Thank you," and then rolled her wheelchair into the library.
*****
After Detective Harris left, leaving a police car parked outside, Fiona sat in silence, staring into the flames as they crackled in the fireplace. Regardless of the warmth, she felt cold and empty.
As she stared out the window at the dark emptiness of Peyton's house, her mind drifted to her favorite author and Peyton. Feeling the loss, she moaned, "My darling, must I speak of you through Poe, whispering my sorrows?
'In dreams, I hold you close and tight, but in waking moments, you vanish from sight.'
"How could someone I never knew understand my pain, but the one I loved couldn't see?"
She stood and walked to the bookcase, searching the shelf for one particular book. Opening it, she removed an envelope, pressing it against her breast, before returning to the chair. She closed her eyes as she remembered childhood days filled with laughter and happiness, days spent with Peyton, making promises of being together forever. Her mind clouded as her thoughts drifted to her sister and how she'd wooed Peyton away, always leaving her behind and alone.
Not wanting to remember, she opened the letter, and a torn piece fluttered to the floor. She unfolded the letter as if it were something priceless. Her lips curled into a twisted smile as she read —
"My love, I can't wait for the moment we can start our life together. I dream of our future — just you and me — escaping and leaving the world behind. We were meant to be — just you and me."
Her eyes misted as she clutched the letter, murmuring, "I knew you always loved me. It's always been us."
As she reread the letter, her eyes lingered on the words, 'We can start our life together.'
Her hands trembled as a dark realization dawned on her. Her eyes traveled to the torn piece of paper, and her anger surged. With a primal scream, she yelled, "Peyton, how could you? You belonged to me."
Her face contorted into a rage, and she crumbled the letter and hurled it across the room. Her breath was ragged as she stood and walked out of the room and down the hall, stopping near a cabinet filled with memorabilia from the past. She slid her hand behind the cabinet and pressed a lever, opening a secret door.
Inside was a tiny room built as a secret playhouse for a child restrained in a wheelchair. A table covered with lace was set up for a tea party.
Fiona slid the door closed but didn't press the latch. Instead, her eyes lit up as she glanced around the room, taking in all the beauty. She fluffed her hair, straightened her dress, and lifted the arm of an old record player, setting it on a record. The gentle sounds of a waltz filled the room, and she swayed with the music until she finally started twirling around the room.
When the song ended, she moved to the table, choosing the chair she'd always sat in. Her face lit up as she smiled. "All is right in our world."
She lifted the teapot, poured a cup of tea, and then filled the other cup, adding sugar to each one. She raised the delicate cup to her lips as a tear slid down her cheek, and her smile faded. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Peyton, why did it come to this?"
She waited as if anticipating an answer and wiped the tears from her face. She inhaled and attempted to smile. "I forgive you, my love. I know you fell under her spell and thought you would be happy, but you were wrong. You and I were always meant to be. You understand that now, don't you?"
Fury flashed in her eyes. Her voice turned icy cold. "Peyton, you know we belong together, right?" She sneered at his lifeless body, decaying in the chair across from her.
Her tone softened again. "We'll be together just like you promised. I know you'll love me like I love you."
With trembling hands, she poured another cup of lukewarm tea and added two spoons of sugar — ones she'd laced with poison.
Her face was calm, almost serene, as she raised the cup to her lips, whispering, "To us." Before the last bit of life drained from her body, she reached across the table and took Peyton's hand, whispering, "Forever."
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