Toxic Love

Arthur Marol sat in his study with an Agatha Christie novel on his lap. He had been reading the words for nearly two hours but his thoughts were far away. The sunlight which had illuminated the study earlier had gone with the hours, and the crackling fire was all that lit the words on the pages. His shadow danced with the flames across the wooden walls and bookshelves behind his chair.

In front of him was a coffee table with a decanter, two empty glasses, and a wristwatch. Occasionally, he traded glances to the spread on the table and his own watch. His guest would be arriving soon which was good because he was getting tired and would like to rest.

At 85 years old, Arthur was no spring chicken, but he was sharp as a tack; always had been. He had made his fortune buying rights to highly demanded drugs from pharmaceutical companies and lowering the price massively. Investors didn’t like it at first, but Arthur eventually built their portfolio to include some of the most in-demand drugs on the market. The prices no longer mattered. Marol Pharmaceuticals was on the map and was the go-to company for all things medicine. Not only did it make Arthur extremely wealthy but it was something he could proudly hang his hat on. 

Some of his successful peers often asked why he didn’t bump up prices on some of the more essential drugs. His response was usually the same. “I don’t know if there is a God, but if there is, I suppose I’ll have to have a word with him someday. Each day I can put food on my employee's table and not take any off my customer's, I look forward to that conversation more and more.”

He didn’t have many friends.

Arthur shut the book and checked his watch. Fifteen minutes late. This was unacceptable but expected in the current situation. He placed the book back on the shelf where it disappeared into the hundreds covering the walls. For a minute he reminisced about having a secret playroom installed behind these shelves when his son was a boy. That memory flew away as Arthur walked across his office and reached for the intercom mounted to the wall next to the large mahogany door. He was utterly opposed to having them installed but after some convincing, he obliged. Fast forward three years and he’d be lost without them scattered throughout the grounds.

Before he could hit the “Talk” button the intercom beeped.

“Sir, your guest has arrived. Shall I send her in?”

“Thank you, Sarah. Yes please send her in and go ahead home early tonight. Enjoy your weekend.”

“Are you positive, sir?”

“Quite.”

“Yes, sir. Sending her in now.”

Arthur sat back in his chair and waited. He was nervous but he was a master at hiding it. Years of business meetings with investors had taught him to keep a stone-cold face no matter how many butterflies flew around in his belly.

The door blew open and a young blonde woman strutted toward Arthur. He stood and accepted the two kisses on the cheek.

“Hello, my dear,” he said kindly. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, Art. Just dreadful,” she said as she made her way to the chair across his.

They sat at the same time. “How are the girls?” he asked.

“They’re taking it day by day but they’re just heartbroken.”

He nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure they are.”

They looked at each for a while with foe masks of pain and suffering, behind which was her fear, and his rage. He could see it in her eyes though he was sure she wasn’t aware she was showing her hand. Her lips frowned but showed no pain. Her eyebrows were pursed in textbook sorrow but he had seen true suffering and this was not it. And her eyes. Her eyes were dry as a bone. They always had been. The day she found out, the day of the funeral, and tonight.

“I don’t want to take up your evening but I wanted to have an unpleasant conversation with you regarding my will.”

She wiped away tears that were not there and nodded.

“As you know my ownership in the company, the house, and all other assets were to be transferred to Owen when I died. With his passing, I’ve had to make some adjustments.”

She sat up in her seat slightly and attempted to hide the slight twitch of a smile in the corner of her mouth.

“Today I’ve finalized the mending of my will and effective immediately all my possessions will be placed in a trust for the girls when they turn 18. On that day, they will begin to receive monthly deposits into their accounts and the rest is to be invested in education. Rest assured, they will be taken care of.”

The woman forced a clenched smile. “Wonderful. I assume there is something else? If not, a phone call would have sufficed.”

“Yes,” he said with an exhale as he stood. “There is one other thing.” He poured two drinks from the decanter. Just enough to cover the bottom of the glasses and handed one to his guest. Arthur reached out his glass and she met him halfway. “For Owen,” he said as their glasses touched. They tossed back their drinks. She grimaced, he didn’t. He poured them each another, set the glass down on the table, and picked up the wristwatch on the table. 

“I bought this watch when I was 25 years old,” he said as he wound it. “It cost $250 at the time. Might not seem like a lot now but it felt like I was buying a house. Have you heard the story of this watch?”

She smiled. “Yes, Owen loved it.”

He smiled as well. It was the first honest emotion of the evening. “When he graduated college, I popped it off my wrist and gave it to him. I was hesitant at first, giving a kid a Rolex, but boy was he excited.” It was as if he was talking to the watch rather than the woman now.

“I never saw him without it. He even slept with it on!” she said.

They laughed. “Yes, I’m sure he did,” he said with a smile. He paused for a second and his smile disappeared. “I want you to have it.”

Her smile fell too and she looked stunned. “A-are you sure?”

“Positive. It is true he loved it but he loved you more. As his wife, you deserve to have it.”

“Art, thank you.”

He handed the watch over to his guest and picked up his glass. The woman put the watch on and smiled at the sight of it on her wrist.

“Salut.”

The pair downed their drinks.

“That is all my dear. Thank you for stopping by.”

She rose and made her way to the door. “Of course, darling. I will see you soon I’m sure.”

As she opened the door and began to leave Arthur interrupted her exit. “Just one question before you go.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you do it?”

She looked perplexed. “I-I’m sorry?”

“That’s the only thing I haven’t figured out.” He stood and began pacing across the room. “He was handsome, had money, and gave you everything you could ever want.” He looked over to his guest with genuine confusion.

“I was in Pa-”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said as he waved off her comment. “You were in Paris. I know that’s what you said and what the police think but it’s just you and me here. Just tell me why. That’s all I ask.”

“Art, you’re scaring me. I’m going to go home now.” She turned to leave.

“The maid found him on Monday. Police estimated he had been shot late the prior Saturday.”

“Yes and as I said to you and the detectives multiple times I was in Paris.” She was angry now. Her nostrils flared and her words had a staccato punch.

He smiled. “Since the Friday before, no?”

“Yes, me and the girls left Friday. Why?”

“Well, my darling. The watch you are wearing told me everything I ought to know.”

She looked down at the scratched and worn wristwatch.

“That timepiece has a power reserve of around forty hours. Meaning, without being wound or worn, it’ll tell the time for forty hours, give or take.”

The woman’s face stayed stern and angry but her complexion fell to a ghostly white.

“When I heard the news I drove over to your house as fast as I could. There was my boy, in his bed. He looked so peaceful. Less the hole in his head, I could have thought he was sleeping.” Arthur paused his pacing and looked toward the skinny woman in his doorway. “Anyway, it didn’t take me long to notice the watch on his wrist. You yourself said he slept in it.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.

“No of course not. Never did think you were all that bright, but you did fool the police so kudos to you there.” He resumed pacing, faster this time. “His watch had stopped at 11:40 in the morning the day before he had been found. Now I know you’re a bit slow so I’ll spell it out for you. For his watch to lose all its wind, he must have been dead for some time. Perhaps Friday?”

“Watch could be faulty. Never know about things this old,” she said coldly.

“You’re quite right and I thought the same. I took it to the man who serviced it for him every few years. Turns out it’s in tip-top shape.” 

The woman dropped the clueless, heartbroken, widow look. “A solid theory, yes but unfortunately for you, I see no proof or evidence of any kind.” She looked down at the watch she had been gifted. “Ah, and it’s time for me to go! Good evening.”

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t make it too far.”

The woman stopped in the doorway and turned toward Arthur. “Pardon?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t felt it yet. I just took my second dose but I’ve been feeling the first for some time. Of course, you are much younger than I,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Dose?” She cocked her head in confusion before her eyes darted to the decanter on the coffee table. “You didn’t!”

“As you said I have no proof, but justice for my son is a must.”

“So what I confess and you give me an antidote or something?” she asked now more scared than angry.

Arthur sat back down in his seat and said nothing, just smiled at his guest. The woman on the other hand lost any remaining composure and began ripping the study apart. Drawers were pulled from his desk and books fell from the shelves by the dozens. She made her way to the coffee table and pulled the drawers out, spilling the contents on the floor. Arthur grabbed a cigar from the clutter, lit it, and sat back in his chair.

“You’re wasting your time my dear. Please sit.”

She froze. Her hair was unkempt and a glaze of sweat now reflected the soft glow of the fire off her face. Breathing heavily, she walked back toward her chair and sat.

“I don’t understand, you drank it too.”

He casually puffed his cigar. “I’m quite old and have lived a full life. I also wasn’t sure I’d be able to live with myself. We do what we feel is necessary, no?”

“I suppose.”

“Now that we can talk candidly, I’d like to know what happened before it’s too late. You wanted his money but didn’t like married life anymore? Something along those lines?”

Her eyes wouldn’t meet his own but after a second she nodded.

“Sorry?”

All that moved was her lips. “Yes,” she whispered.

“But you couldn’t give up the money, eh?”

“Yes,” she said again in the same monotone hush.

He crushed out his cigar and stood. “Well, I appreciate your honesty. I really do.” He made his way toward to dying fire and watched as the flames slowly dwindled.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

“Of what, my dear?”

“Dying,” she said in a shaky voice. “I think I can feel it coming.”

Arthur chuckled. “I shall die someday soon, but not today. I think I’ll have another drink, and finish the mystery I was reading before you arrived.”

The woman was perplexed. “But the decanter. The drinks-”

“Just shitty bourbon,” he said as he reached toward one of the remaining books on the shelf to his left. He pulled the book and the bookshelf clicked open. After a second, a hand wrapped around the shelf from behind and pushed the large hidden door open.

“Hello Officer Lancing,” said Arthur. “Hear everything alright back there?”

“Loud and clear,” he said with a mischievous smile.

The woman’s eyes jumped between the two men as she tried to process what had just happened. Arthur and Officer Lancing found this quite amusing and didn’t attempt to hide it.

“Art, I think smoke might start coming out of her ears if we don’t save her the effort.”

Arthur chuckled. “After you.”

Officer Lancing approached, pulled handcuffs from his belt, and started reading the woman her rights. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began.

She waved that right immediately. “If you think this will hold up in court, old man, you really have lost it,” she said to Arthur. The young attractive woman that had walked in had devolved into a savage. She bared her teeth and screamed profanities at the pair of men. Wisps of wild hair floated around her head and foamy saliva clumped along the corner of her mouth. “When I’m released, and I will be, you’re next.”

“Do you understand these rights?” asked Officer Lancing.

“Yes,” she hissed.

The officer led her to the door.

“One last thing,” said Arthur walking after them. He reached for the woman’s wrist and popped off the watch. “Don’t think time will be a worry of yours any longer. Goodnight, my dear.”

The woman remained silent as she was led out of the room, but her face was rage he had never seen before. His butterflies returned.