Moriarty's Musician

Chapter 9: Purging the Demons, Part 1

Annabelle leaned her head against the window frame as she watched the helicopter take off into the air. How did she always manage to screw things up? She should never have told Moriarty about her father and the music that penetrated her dreams. What was it that made her want to tell him the truth and unburden her heart to him?

As she lost sight of the helicopter, she wondered if witnessing his grief had made her feel closer to him. He had held her in his arms the entire night, never once demanding more. For once, she wanted to feel safe and protected. But now that he despised her, how could she possibly stay with him? She gripped the window ledge, tears trickling down her cheeks.

There was a soft knock at her door as Meg came into the bedroom carrying a tea service. "Hello, dear. Do you mind if I give you some company?"

Annabelle brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand and turned. Meg set her tray down on the little table and poured two cups of hot tea. She handed one to Annabelle as she approached her then sat down on the edge of the bed.

Annabelle lowered her head, not wanting to meet Meg's eyes. "I'm so sorry for what happened."

"Oh? Whatever for?"

"For putting your life in danger."

Meg chuckled. "James would never hurt me or any of us. He loves us though he would never admit it."

"He loves? Surely, you're joking. That man only loves himself."

Meg's eyebrows furrowed. "You're wrong, Annabelle. He cares about himself the least. That's why he's always tempting fate and playing these dangerous games."

Annabelle sat down, remembering the hate in Moriarty's eyes as he looked at her. "My uncle told me he was a murdering psychopath."

Meg sighed and stared out the window. "I can't excuse what he's done, Annabelle. But I will always hold out hope that someday he will stop this path of destruction he's on." Meg stared down into her tea. "A psychopath is someone who has no remorse and doesn't care about anyone. That's not James. He does care. But he's built a fortress around himself so he doesn't get hurt again. If only you knew... "

Meg's eyes became glassy as her hand holding the teacup began to shake. She set it down on the table and clasped her hands together.

Annabelle's eyes held Meg's. "Are you going to be in trouble for telling me this?"

"Most probably." She studied the concern on Annabelle's face. "I've known James his entire life, and I've never seen him as angry as I just saw him with you."

Annabelle swallowed. "Somehow, I don't find that very comforting."

"Oh, my dear, I do." Meg's face brightened as she reached out and took Annabelle's hands in hers. "If one has a festering wound, there's bound to be pain to extract the poison. You're the one purging that poison in him, Annabelle."

Annabelle blinked. "Me? He hates me."

A smile tugged at Meg's lips. "No, he doesn't. He cares for you more than you know."

"I can't believe that." Annabelle closed her eyes. "Please don't tell me anything else. I don't want him to get angry at you again."