Sofia's Curse

The Girl In The Background

"Are you crazy?" Victoria exclaims having heard Chris' idea right after breakfast. "There's no way I will let you go there again!"

Chris twists his lips in annoyance. "Victoria, we have enemies. And the only way you can beat your enemies is if you know something about them. We know nothing."

She is silent, staring at him, her expression impassive. "I will not let you go there," she says again.

He sighs. "We'll talk about it later."

"Oh, no, we won't!" she jumps off the high stool. "You think I don't know you? You're planning to go there and then later tell me how it went, don't you?"

Chris sighs again. "Do you really need a confirmation?"

She crosses her hands. "I will tie you up."

"Please don't say things like that. You'll make Ian jealous," he contains a chuckle as she freezes.

"Why would you say that?" she asks carefully.

"Oh, please, Vic. I saw him sneak out the door this morning."

She blushes. "It's not what you think."

"I don't think anything."

"Nothing happened!" she exclaims.

"I didn't ask, Vic."

"I would never..." she starts, but doesn't know how to formulate the sentence. He beat up Chris. She knows he must hate him. She couldn't do that to him. No, she corrects herself. She shouldn't. But she definitely could.

"God!" she grunts, "I hate you!" and leaves the kitchen in a hurry.

Chris shakes his head in amusing disbelief and continues eating his pancakes.

#

Leeroy's study is its usual murk even in the hours before noon. He is seated in his black leather sofa in front of the dark mahogany desk, staring at a portrait of a young woman. The top drawer is opened, and a pile of old photographs are scattered in it. The portrait in his hands shows a young woman with long, wavy, chocolate hair, full lips, and big dark round eyes.

His telephone rings.

"O'Connor residence," he says, his eyes not leaving the portrait.

"Mr. O'Connor, I think we've found her."

His eyes shift to the ceiling. "You think or you're certain?"

"Mr. O'Connor...we're never sure when it comes to Katrina."

He gazes back at the portrait in silence, caressing it. "I know," he finally utters. "What are your premises?"

"We're in Venice, sir."

His eyes flicker with excitement "Venice, Florida or Venice, Italy?"

"Italy, sir. Saint Marc's square. The subject has entered the church two minutes ago."

"Well, well," he licks his lips, "it looks like Katrina is feeling nostalgic," he smirks, "I will book my flight for this afternoon. Do not lose her."

"Noted, sir. We await for you here in Venice."

"Venezia," Leeroy hisses, irritated, and hangs up. "Do Americans have to butcher every language there is?" he mutters angrily to himself and takes one last look at the portrait.

Could it be? He thinks. Could it be that I've finally found you?

He narrows his eyes, and whispers to the portrait, "I know. I will not get my hopes up." Then he reprieves it inside his black suit pocket, and taps on it twice over the thick silk. "Never," he whispers determinedly, as a ritual, as he stands up and leaves for the door.

He doesn't look for Sophia to give her a notice about his future absence. He doesn't lay his affairs to anyone. It's always been like that.

He passes through the garden but doesn't head for the car garage. He needs to go to the airport, so he won't be taking his 1913 Jaguar. Instead, he takes his cellphone out his suit pocket and calls for a cab. It's been a while since he used one. He likes being in control of everything, and letting somebody else behind the wheel of a car he is in, makes him feel like somebody else is stirring his life path.

He opens the gate and steps on the street. He closes the door immediately behind him, but he doesn't use his powers. One can never be too careful in public.

Not two full minutes after, a cab approaches.

It's just the opportunity that Chris had been waiting for - Leeroy outside the house, so that he can do some investigation.

Nervously, he flickers behind the corner, waiting for Leeroy to leave. When he sees the cab, he is relieved. He wishes Victoria had come with him. In that way, she could've been his guard. Nevertheless, she was too much against the idea of coming back here that he couldn't have asked her to join him.

He watches Leeroy enter the cab, and his heart beat accelerates. He doesn't move, though. Even when they are out of sight, he remains still. Sophia might still be in the house. But while waiting for her to come out, he risks Leeroy coming back. He doesn't know how much time he has before he returns. And so he forces himself to move.

He sprints towards the gate, but doesn't lose time there. He knows he can't jump over. He hurries to the left until he reaches the fence that is lower. Bushes are peeking from the inside. It will soften his fall.

He looks around to see if anyone is looking. There's an old lady passing by. He immediately kneels, pretending to be tying his shoelace. When she's gone, he acts fast. He takes a few steps back to get a run-up and jumps. With his fingertips, he manages to grab the edge of the fence. He struggles lifting himself up, but is satisfied to conclude his training pays off. He manages to lift himself up. Grabbing the bush, he lets himself fall.

"Damn," he curses as he scratches his back against the rough fence behind him. He straightens up and carefully peeks behind the bush. No one in sight.

He knows that doesn't mean no one is home, though. He has to be invisible. He takes a deep breath and dashes into the garden, then sprints towards the big white entrance door. He doesn't even try to open them. Instead, he goes around the house, checking if there's any window opened.

He has no luck.

He thinks about breaking a window, but it is too risky. This house must have a wicked alarm system. Leeroy has just left. He would be back in five minutes tops if he had to.

He reaches the back side, and is frozen in place. The terrace door is opened.

This is too easy, he thinks. Is this Leeroy's deed? Had he seen me and did a ruse to get me inside?

He looks around, but there's only the fence surrounding him, with bushes in front. He swallows hard and takes a couple of careful steps. Nobody appears.

He is now close enough to cast a glance inside. He sees the same marble-floor foyer he did a few days ago. It makes his gut turn. But he knows he can't quit now.

He slowly enters inside and looks around to convince himself he is alone. He doesn't see anyone. Don't they, at least, have a housekeeper, he wonders.

The marble makes the space feel cold. At least the floor doesn't squeak, he thinks, grateful. He scurries towards the staircase and then slowly upstairs. What if all the doors are locked? He brought a bobby pin and a tension wrench, but isn't particularly deft in maneuvering them.

He tries to open the first door in front of him. It's locked. Great, he thinks, Time to practice my burglar career.

He takes out the bobby pin out of his jeans pocket and places it in front of the lock. He has never picked one before, but he saw people doing it. He snaps the pin in half on its bending point, and places the tension wrench into the bottom part of the lock. He stabilizes it with his thumb and then inserts the pick into its top part. He senses sweat dripping off his forehead. He needs to calm down before wiggling it.

He wipes his forehead off his T-shirt and takes a deep breath. He wiggles the pick, at the same time pushing the tension wrench to the left. Nothing happens.

He repositions the pick and sighs out. He wiggles it again.

The lock opens.

He is shocked. Happy shocked.

He opens the door and quickly enters the room. It's a bedroom. It must be Leeroy's, he thinks.

The room's atmosphere makes him freeze. The black Italian marble tiles feel cold under his feet. The room is very empty nevertheless; Christopher is sensing Leeroy's evil spirit everywhere. A large old looking wrought-iron bed with black silk sheets is in the middle of the vast room. Two crossed swords are hanging on the wall over the bed. A chest of dark wood drawers is located on the room's left side with a square mirror above it. He runs to the chest and hastily opens the first couple of drawers. Underwear. Leather belts.

He continues downward. Perfumes. Wrist watches.

He goes onto the last pair of drawers. Locked. Crap, he thinks. He takes out the pin again, but it falls to the ground. His hands are trembling.

Calm down, he issues himself an order. You are almost done.

He takes a deep breath and picks up the pin. He places it inside the little lock and rumbles. It's unlocked. He pulls it open hastily, unable to prolong his excitement. It has to be something important if it was locked.

Nothing. It's completely empty.

This can't be, he thinks. He puts his hands inside to feel the bottom. It has to be a fake bottom. It has to be. Why would he have locked an empty drawer?

He manages to feel the edges of the wooden bottom. He pushes on the front, and indeed the back side rises for half an inch.

His heart races. He was right.

He slowly lifts the bottom, breathless. He removes it to find...nothing. There is nothing below apart from a piece of paper. There's dust on it.

He lifts it up. It's a letter. It's in a white envelope, but the white has become yellowish with years. There's something written on the surface.

He squints, but he can't tell the letters.

He takes the letter out and unfolds it. The edges have gone yellowy and brown. This must be a very old letter.

He looks deep into the letter, but is unable to read it.

What script is this? He squints, frowning.

This can't be Latin, he concludes, and places the letter inside his jacket pocket. Then he moves onto the last drawer. Unlocked. How weird. And it is packed with things. There are wallets, eyewear, glasses, business cards, planner...

Planner...

He can't take it, he knows. Maybe a picture?

His hands are too rash as he opens Leeroy's planner to take pictures of his agenda. He looks at today. KXM Venezia is written in the box. He is intrigued to the meaning, but has no time to waste. He will entertain himself with it later. He closes the drawer and looks around the room.

There are two other doors, one at each wall adjacent to the entrance one. He hurries to open them and finds that one leads to the adjoining bathroom and the other one to a walk-in closet. He quickly rummages through the all-black clothes and concludes there's nothing important in there.

He is back in the bedroom. It is far too vast to be accommodating only one person. And only two pieces of furniture. Perhaps the other furniture is hidden by some kind of magic? The thought passes through his mind. He reaches his hand out as if expecting to sense something against the wall even though he doesn't see a thing.

Nothing happens. Only air slips through his fingers.

No time to waste, he concludes and rushes out of the room. He swiftly checks the hallway for any unwelcomed intruders and, once assured no one is tailing him, he continues to the next door.

Locked, again.

He grabs the tension wrench and repeats the process he now feels he has mastered. It takes him half the previous time to unlock this lock.

He finds himself in an old-fashioned study. There is no light, and the air seems dimmed. The walls are covered with book shelves, there is a big floor clock next to the door, and opposite of him a wide desk. Two big sofas and a wide Turkish maroon rug make the space seem filled.

He rushes to the desk which seems like a work desk, apart from the fact that there are no papers scattered on it. There's only a laptop. He sits in the comfortable black chair and tries to turn it on.

A request for a passcode comes as no surprise.

Let's see, he thinks, what would an evil murderer have as his passcode?

Leeroy, he types in.

Have you forgotten your password? is displayed on the monitor.

Sophia, he tries again.

No luck.

Suddenly, he remembers the agenda that he found in Leeroy's drawer. He opens it to the last page. There they are again. Those red letters staring at him. He doesn't know why, but he has to try.

KXMVenezia, he types in.

Wrong.

Damn, he curses below his breath. He wishes he knew his date of birth. Those four digits are so convenient.

There's no point in trying to hack his password, he concludes and moves onto the drawers.

Unlocked drawers. That comes as a pleasant shock as he opens the top one.

He is faced with a pile of old black and white photographs. He takes it out and removes the rubber holding them together.

He glances up towards the door to check if the coast is clear, but something draws his attention in his peripheral view. He jerks his head to the left and flinches.

Sophia is standing beside him, calmly watching his actions.

He freezes and the photographs in his hands drop back inside the drawer. She is dressed entirely in black. Black leather jeans, black tight blouse, and mid-heel black booties. Her hands are resting in her pockets as she is leaned on a radiator behind the thick curtains.

Chris feels threatened as the atmosphere tenses. He can't tell why he feels so alarmed. It is probably the fact she doesn't move. Not for an inch. She is like a predator patiently waiting for its prey in ambush.

"Hi," he murmurs, bemused by her stillness. Stillness that is showing who is in charge. The message she sends is petrifying – she has no reason to hasten her attack. He is trapped with no place to escape, and she will take her time killing him.

She slowly shakes her head. "It amazes me how reckless you are..."

"I saw Leeroy leave," he straightens. "I wouldn't have broken into if I hadn't."

She seems amused. Amused as if she was looking at a freak show. She narrows her eyes. "Do you know how short it would take him to come back if I told him you were here?"

Chris knows Leeroy would cut short any event he went to attend in order to seize the opportunity of killing him. But somehow he doesn't feel threatened. He realizes she doesn't scare him. The revelation shocks him, even though he has witnessed it before. He swallows hard. "But you won't tell him, will you?"

She lifts her chin up, as if having been offended. As if afraid to be mistaken for a caring person. "No," she finally says.

Chris isn't surprised by the answer, but rather puzzled.

"Why not?" he finally asks.

She doesn't answer. She starts walking slowly towards the big wooden clock next to the door. "You're always asking the wrong questions," she says gently.

"What question should I be asking?" he whispers.

She is silent. Then she turns to face him. "None."

"I...don't understand."

It seems ages before she answers. "I know."

He stares at her unsure of what his emotions are. Is it fear? Confusion? Curiosity?

"Maybe you'll find some answers in there," she says matter-of-factly as she presses her dark hair behind her ear. "I'll leave you to your digging." She goes for the door.

"Wait!" Chris says without raising his voice. He takes a deep breath. "I want to know."

She turns to face him, pompously lifting her chin. "Know what?"

He returns her determined stare. "You know what."

She narrows her eyes. "Just because I look like your sister doesn't mean I am, Christopher. I can't read your mind."

"And how do you know that she can?" he asks, not really thinking much of it.

She takes a sharp sigh of annoyance. "Which question do you want answered?"

"Do I only get one?" he smirks, "Again?"

"Always." Her posture amazes him in spite of witnessing it a few times before. How is it that she has looks so much like his sister, yet nothing alike?

"Fair enough." He licks his lips, then speaks quickly. "Why did you kill my mother?" His eyes are wide open and his heartbeat is fast, but he stands paralyzed.

She stares at him, blinking slowly, as if amused. "I didn't," she whispers.

Chris' eyes narrow. Is she lying? Was it really not her?

They gaze at each other in complete silence for a while, yet he feels that his heartbeat is louder than a muffled sound of an emergency siren coming from outside.

She must be lying. It wasn't Leeroy. If it was Leeroy...he would've killed him and his sister, too. Yes, she must be lying, he thinks. But...there is something else. The smirk on her face...There's more to her words.

"That's not really an answer," he cuts the silence.

Sophia's smirk becomes a tad wider. "What is it then?"

He takes a sharp intake of breath. "Denial."

She pouts, shaking her head. "It would be denial...if I wasn't admitting something that's true." She lifts her head and looks straight to his eyes. "I didn't kill your mother."

Even though he doesn't think high of her, he cannot help but to trust her. She seems to be telling the truth. That leaves him puzzled. It couldn't have been Leeroy. Is there somebody else working for them?

"So who did?" he snaps, demanding answers.

She chuckles. "If I told you...you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me out."

"Your mother killed herself."

He squints. "That's a lie! Even if I was able to believe you, there was no weapon anywhere near her. Which is the proof somebody else was there."

Sophia licks her lips, frowning. "Wait a second... Are we talking about Yasmine...or your mother?" the smirk appears again, and as Chris' lips open, it becomes a subtle but clear smile of amusement.

"You...you are playing with my mind," he breathes.

Sophia calmly shakes her head. "I would never lie to you."

The room is spinning, and Chris feels weak, like he is going to faint.

"It's true, Chris," Sophia nods, "you two were adopted. That woman...is not your mother. She is nothing like her."

Christopher cannot hear anything. All the sounds are muffled. He swallows his spit with difficulty. She seems to be telling the truth again. Why does he trust her? Is it because she looks the same as Victoria when she is telling the truth? Maybe he would recognize her lies as well.

He lowers his gaze and the open drawer catches his attention. Why did she let him go through them, calmly watching? How did she even know he was inside?

"How did you know I was in here?" he speaks his mind.

Third question. She will answer this one with another question of her own. She bites her lower lip to suppress her smile and looks at him patronizingly. "Who do you think let you in?" she lifts an eyebrow, "I mean, really, how many people leave the patio door swung open nowadays?"

He thinks about it. That's true. He found it weird himself. Even the fact that the drawer in Leeroy's room was locked. If it hadn't been locked, he never would've thought of trying to find a fake bottom. But there's something else bothering him. He squints, "So why was the gate locked if you wanted me inside?"

"Now that's a question number four. Three too many." Sophia's eyes gleam with playfulness. She loves leaving people puzzled. She can't resist asking him, "You really don't know?"

He smiles ruefully. "Because you thought I never would've walked in if I had known you were awaiting me."

Suddenly, her eyes lose the gleam. They look hurt instead. Is it possible? Does it hurt her to think he is afraid of her?

She lifts a shoulder nonchalantly. "And there you have it."

She turns and grabs the door handle, but Chris stops her from leaving once more. "You're wrong," he says quietly, but it's just loud enough to touch her soul.

She freezes in place, her chest lifting sharply, but doesn't look back.

He continues, as if he knows she needs reassurance. "I would've walked in anyway."

A trace of a smile plays on her lips. Then she pulls on a straight face, even though she knows he can't see her. "As I've said...reckless," she says coldly and slams the door behind her.

Chris finds himself still staring at the dark mahogany door. "Maybe," he whispers to himself. He shakes his head to get back to the here and now, and he quickly glances at his wrist watch. 10.17. He has to hurry.

He kneels back down and continues rummaging the drawers. There's nothing in them apart from some useless papers, stapler, and the old photos he had found before Sophia interrupted him. Just as he is about to leave, her words come back to his mind.

Maybe you'll find some answers in there.

He looks at the contents of the drawer. She certainly wasn't referring to the stapler, he thinks sourly, and reaches for the photographs once more. All of them have rough edges.

Old, old...older, he keeps muttering as he throws the photos back in the drawer, one by one. What is this? He squints to sharpen his vision. It's a black and white photo, representing a lavish ceremony. A big crystal chandelier with twelve candles in it is hanging from the middle of the room, with three smaller ones around it. There is a long wooden table spread alongside one of the walls, holding various charcuterie and drinks. All the people are formally dressed. Well, formally for 1800s. The men wear tuxedos with bow ties. Some bow ties resemble more white wraps than ties. What could it be? Post-inauguration party?

Suddenly, he recognizes Leeroy in the photo. Oh my God, he thinks, he was alive back then? He is standing behind a slim tall man with thick beard, holding a shawl in his hands. And a tall girl is standing behind, staring viciously at Leeroy, her profile half-turned. He squints once more. Twice. No, that's...impossible. That's...

Sophia. How can she be there?

She looks around 18 in the photograph. His gut turns. She was supposed to be his triplet. Isn't she? Can she be if she was alive back then? No, she is something else. She is...old. Like Leeroy. Maybe even older. How does she look that young? How do they keep their appearance? She looks the same age she looked a couple of minutes ago when she was standing in front of him. Yet there is a 150 year difference between these two moments.

He is curious to know the answers to all the question he now has. What year exactly is this? He tries to locate the president whose inauguration it was. He finds a brown haired man with light eyes, prominent ears, and sharp eyebrows. 

What? His eyes pop open.

Oh my God, he thinks, this is...Abraham Lincoln. 

This is 1865.