“You seem to be very knowledgeable about my sister. Are you calling her a liar?”
“No, I’m calling her an author! She wrote a tale like many authors do. It may have some truth to it, but it may also be laced with lies. Liam, I know it must be hard to read a book about someone you love that isn’t here anymore for you to ask questions about. She’s not here to defend herself and tell us what really happened, but Louis is. Don’t you think you should at least hear what he has to say about this?” I can see that I can’t reason with him. He wants to believe whatever his sister wrote in that stupid book and then he wants a living, breathing punching bag to punish for what happened to her.
“If my sister had never met him, if he hadn’t ruined her by introducing her to drugs and orgies, she would’ve had a normal life. You don’t know him; you don’t understand what makes him happy. If you think he’s been a perfect husband to Emily, then you’re just as blind and naïve as she is. He’s a liar and a cheat. My sister loved him; she did anything and everything he asked of her, and when he got bored with her, he simply discarded her like yesterday’s rubbish. I was there to pick up the pieces until there was nothing left of my sister!”
My heart breaks for him as I see the unshed tears pooling in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say, because I truly don’t know what else to say.
“I don’t need your bloody sorry. I’m here to save Emily from him. It was too late to save my sister, but I can still save Emily.” So this is it, he feels guilty for his sister’s suicide and wants to be somebody’s hero.
“She doesn’t need saving. She has a fantastic life with the love of her life. If something were to happen to Louis, I don’t think she’d be able to move on.” He listens to me and nods, like he agrees although he clearly doesn’t. When I mention Emily and Louis’ life together, it just goes right over his head.
“She had no problem moving on with me in St. Lucia.”
Okay, we’re getting somewhere; good boy, keep talking. “Yeah, I know. She told me about the night you two spent together when she ran away.”
His eyes actually light up. He’s happy that Emily told me about him. “What did she tell you happened that night?” He raises his eyebrows at me with what can only be described as a glimmer of hope.
“You know what she told me, but I’d like to hear your recollection of that night’s events. She feels a tremendous amount of guilt over the situation and because of all the alcohol involved and you informing her that nothing happened, she’s worried that you don’t remember what transpired between the two of you.” As I tell him my interpretation of what Emily recalls about that night, he closes his eyes and sighs almost as if he feels relieved. I knew that something happened and his facial expression and body language just confirmed it.
“I’m really pleased she remembers. I was afraid I wasn’t memorable,” he says with a sheepish smile. “That night was everything to me. She had to have felt it, too. I could never imagine feeling the things I felt and still feel for her, knowing who she is. Sara, I’ve hated her for so long. I thought that if it wasn’t for her, my sister would be with that bastard, but at least she would be happy and alive. When I’d spy those two in magazines, my blood would boil. I couldn’t look at her. But when she came to me that morning, she looked fragile, lost, scared, like she was alone in the world. She wasn’t this gold-digging bitch I’ve let my head believe; she’s sweet and innocent and doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. It’s him who’s the monster, and I owe it to my sister to save Emily.”
I want to ask him if they had sex, but if I ask and they did then he’ll know that I don’t know shit. Instead, I ask, “Emily wanted to know why you told her that nothing happened that night. She said that in the morning when she woke up she didn’t remember much and that you assured her that you two didn’t fuck.”