Doctor Volk cleared his throat. “That’s not what I’m asking. I have a seventeen year old son. I’m not saying that I know what you felt when your daughter died. Or what-

“But let me tell you, anyway.” He stopped the doctor, raising his palm. “It was as if my heart had been ripped from my body. I was soulless. For a long time, I was hollow. There was nothing inside-” Alistair frowned and corrected himself, “No. That’s wrong. I was heartbroken and soulless, yes. However... I felt... I felt hate, anger, pain. I hated Heather. I loathed myself. I was totally consumed by dark emotions, they made me numb to everything else. I wanted to shout my rage at the world. I wanted to destroy every woman that came in my way. I lost all capacity to relate to others. Mere days after the funeral, I became even more ruthless.” He put his elbows on his knees and hissed at the doctor, “I was a coward and couldn’t take my own life.”

“So, you wanted to destroy and be destroyed in each and every way possible. This is sado-masochism.”

Alistair’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead.

“And I wouldn’t call it cowardice-”

“Oh, no! Of course not,” Alistair gave a harsh laugh and pushed both hands in his hair, resting his forehead in his hands. “All I could think of was that I wanted to be buried with Nathalie. Alive. I wish I were inside her little coffin. She didn’t like the dark, you know? Singing her a lullaby to keep her fears away. Holding her, so she wouldn’t feel cold and alone. Protecting her-” His throat closed and tears filled his eyes. He was overcome by a longing so devastating, it would have cleaved him not so long ago.

But Alistair was a different man now.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep a few times, his mind seeking comfort in his memories of Sophia and Gabriela.

Dr. Volk was a professional and was more than used to listening to those kind of stories, but he was a father too. He was moved by the gut wrenching pain he knew was ripping apart the man seated on the sofa.

Alistair dried his eyes and leaned back on the couch and looked at his therapist. “I couldn’t fulfill my desire to be with her. I was powerless to go back in time and save her from-” he waved his hand in the air. A minute passed before Alistair opened his eyes again and asked hoarsely, “Does that give you an idea?”

“Yes. And I can relate to your feelings. You didn’t think it was fair to love and to be loved. To feel pleasure, to give pleasure. Let me tell you, I would call this a normal reaction, if you had stopped on the feelings and had not advanced into action. Don’t be afraid of feeling, Alistair. Give yourself over to all these dark emotions that scare you because you think that they will make you less than a man. They will not. On the contrary, they will make you grow.”

A grimace appeared on Alistair’s face. “I did feel them. They teared me apart. I can’t-” He shook his head so hard that a lock fell over his eye. “I can’t face it all over again. You can’t imagine the pain. I can’t. I should have been more careful. I should have called Alice. Natalie-” Alistair choked on his daughter’s name and looked down at his hands, moved. I loved you so much, my dear, my baby.

“I understand,” the two words softly said, were full of meaning. Dr. Volk discretely looked at the clock positioned beside Alistair. Their time was up. But he could not let the session end that way. “You resent things so fiercely because you were not capable of taking care of her as your family always took care of you. And, Heather was the epitome of carelessness. She didn’t take care of you or of your daughter. I would go further and say that she didn’t take care of herself. And you are destroying yourself because you know, deep inside, unconsciously, that you are not omnipotent.”

Alistair felt as if Dr. Volk had slapped him. He breathed deep and clenched his fists, trying to control his anger.

“Stop, Alistair. Don’t be always so in control. This is tiring and damaging. Here is the right place to vent all your anger and frustrations.” Dr. Volk waited but Alistair didn’t say a word. “You lost all the women of your life in a short period of time. Your wife, your daughter and then your mother. People confuse life and death. Life comprises sadness, pain and death. No one can escape those and surrending to those feelings helps healing. The depression-”

“You want me to succumb to depression as my mother did?” Alistair asked incredulous. “What good did that do to her? No. I’m going to fight against all those debilitating feelings.”

“I’m not suggesting you become depressed and lose all your strength. Appropriate bereavement is normal and even healthy and it will lessen and pass in time, while major depression may not and requires treatment. Alistair, unresolved grief is worse than the grief itself. Since Natalie’s death, have you been living a normal, happy and healthy life? You told me that you lost the ability to trust others, that you avoided relationships and felt emotionally numb. Do you still feel like this?”

For many seconds, Alistair stayed silent, revisiting the last months. When he answered, his voice was full of awe. “Nae. She came and changed everything.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “As if by magic, Sophia changed everything.”

“Magic.” Dr. Volk smiled. “If you want to call trusting, caring and feeling magic, so be it.” The doctor leaned in Alistair’s direction. “Because from what you told me, Sophia isn’t afraid of trusting, caring and feeling. I guess she is just organizing her life to show herself fully to you. Because one cannot invite the other to share one’s life if one is not whole. This, Alistair, is her magic. Unfortunately, our time is over. I have an... assignment for you. I want you to reflect on how you feel now that you are in a steady relationship. What did Sophia do to change your feelings? What about her makes you feel so right? There’s a poem I like very much. Renascence by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I’ll send it to you by email and I want you to read it and tell me your impressions. We will talk about it on Thursday.”

The City of London Bank Headquarters.


10.17 a.m.

“Davidoff, good morning. How may I help you?” Alistair’s deep voice sounded tired and despondent even for himself.

“What have you done to her?” asked Edward, his voice tinged with anger.

What? “I...” he halted, and looked astonished at his brother, who raised an eyebrow. He put the call on speaker. “I’ve done nothing. Where is she?”

“She is gone. Nobody knows where she is. She left you a letter,” a heavy breath was exhaled.

“She is... gone,” he repeated in a murmur, frowning. Gone... Where? Why?

10.29 a.m.

Alistair strode down the marble corridor that led to the garage like a man possessed. What Edward had just said still echoed in his mind. He remembered Sophia’s civil and distant manner. I am such a fool! It’s all my fault. I should have known she would uncover my darkness. One way or another.

They entered the car and Alistair informed Garrick, “Leibowitz Oil Building, please. I’m in a hurry.”

Why didn’t she call me? Why leave a written message? And with Davidoff, for Christ’s sake? Alistair shoved his sunglasses on his face, impatiently. She is afraid of you, you idiot!

Alistair felt Tavish’s hand on his shoulder. He wanted to snarl but it was no use taking out his confused feelings on his brother.

“Calm down, Alistair Connor. You know he’s partially right.”

He fisted his hands trying to control his jealousy and his rage and turned to look at Tavish. “He thinks too much of himself. He shouldn’t have opened her letter to me. To me! He has feelings for her, Tavish Uilleam.”

“Who doesn’t like Sophia? She’s sugar coated. And he’s known her for a long time.”

“He has other interests at stake. She gave him five percent of Leibowitz Oil.” He thinned his lips.

“Don’t underestimate Sophia’s ensnaring capacity. He must be worried sick about her. I am. She’s just remembered what happened to her. Months of horror. Can you imagine how confused her mind is right now? You shouldn’t have proposed on Sunday,” Tavish shook his head, “it was tactless of you.”

Alistair punched his fist on the leather car seat, “Fuck! Do you think that’s why she fled?”

“Oh, man,” Tavish murmured under his breath and shoved his hand in his ink-black hair, weighing his words. “Alistair, she discovered your preferences. How, I don’t know. Maybe she did the same thing you did. I doubt it, though. It doesn’t fit her character. She is too honorable.”

“What did I do?” Alistair frowned at his brother’s choice of words looking out through the tinted windows at the intense traffic. He glanced at Tavish again, the crease in his forehead deepening, “So, what did I do that was so dishonorable?”

“You hired a private detective-”

“A detective, that’s it,” he interrupted brusquely and pulled his cell phone from his breast pocket, dialing a number. “Baptist, good morning, it’s Alistair Connor MacCraig. I need you to find Mrs. Sophia Leibowitz and her daughter. They left London today and I need to know where they’ve gone.” He listened for a split second and rushed in, “Stop everything else you’re doing. I’m doubling your fees. I’ll transfer half of it right now.”

“Alistair Connor!” Tavish scolded his brother, but Alistair just held up his hand, stopping him while he listened to what Baptist was saying.

Alistair didn’t even acknowledge Tavish’s outraged gasp as he settled the price. “Done. I’ll deposit half right now and the other half when you find her.”

“I don’t believe it, Alistair Connor.”

“Anything for her. Anything,” he whispered the last word.

Tavish had seen Alistair wield his power to achieve his position at the bank and on the stock market, glorying at other people’s downfall. He had seen his brother seduce many women with sensual elegance and a cold heart simply to amuse himself.

Yet the man beside him in the car was broken. Broken by unrequited love. And this love inside him was as dangerous as it was gentle and compelling.

Tavish understood then that the darkness in Alistair could only be controlled by Sophia. She was the only one who had that power.

Tavish only didn’t know if Sophia should be envied or pitied.

Leibowitz Oil Building, Sophia’s office.


10.57 a.m.

April 06th, 2010.

My dear Alistair Connor,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I’m sure you’re going to find this - what to call it - confession (?) quite confusing. It is. It just reflects my feelings. I’ve tried to put my thoughts in some sort of order but I’m too overwhelmed by what I remembered and what I discovered this weekend. So, I’m going to do this in parts.

Let’s start with what I discovered. I think you’ll understand this part better.

First of all, I have to apologize and say that it wasn’t intentional. I was a bit dizzy yesterday morning probably due to a combination of drugs. I steadied myself on a door in your dressing room and it opened. (I don’t need to say which door or what I saw inside, do I?)

At first, I thought it was interesting, creative even. I was amazed at finding myself wanting to get you to explain things to me, maybe even try them. But as I opened the next door... Curiosity killed the cat, isn’t that what they say? Well, at first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Then I started to put things together. What you told me about Heather - and her perversions - and your sometimes unusual behavior in bed gave me a clue. And I wondered where it would lead us. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. So I did some research. In loco and on line. And still... I don’t understand how or why most of those things are used. I was shocked and felt utterly betrayed. Is that what you meant by a touch of pain and violence? Understatement of the year.

Some would say that I’m being naïve and prudish. That it’s just a different way of loving. To that I’d answer that I have some sense of self-preservation and that I’m not devoid of self-esteem. I’ve even read that it can brings transcendental gratification and orgasm. How? I wonder... Just for the record, some say that of drugs too. But I digress.

For me, that is not sex, that is not love. It’s cruelty, torture. There is no love in pain, in humiliation of the other. This kind of ‘role-play’ or ‘loving’, as some insist on calling it, reminds me of the Spanish Inquisition, slavery, and of some barbaric mutilations that we know are still being done in Africa and who knows where else.