Page 54 of The Situation Ship
Poppy put down the second photo and went to pick up the final picture of the crash scene.
“Poppy, stop. You don’t have to go on.” Isaiah rested his hand over hers.
The sorrow in his eyes made her want to give up, but she had already come this far. The more she shared, the lighter she felt.
“I’m almost finished, and you need to know the truth to see the connection,” she told him, and he removed his hand from hers. She picked up the final image, a horrific car crash.
“Through all of this, I had one friend from school. Maisie. She didn’t care who my aunt was and didn’t mind that I was shy and introverted. I spent more time at her house than I did at mine when I could. Her family were kind to me and never made me go home or made me feel like I had overstayed my welcome. Maisie knew all my secrets and how I planned to move out when I got my inheritance from my parents when I turned eighteen. The year before that could happen, we snuck out to a party, and my aunt came home early from a trip; she called me back to the house to scold me, and Maisie insisted on coming with me to defend me. When we got to my house, my aunt was furious. She kicked Maisie out and insisted that Ed, the driver, drive her home.” Poppy choked on the words she had never said aloud. “He – assaulted her.”
She was silent for a moment.
“Maisie never spoke to me again – not that I blame her. I hated myself for putting her in that position. My aunt paid for her family’s silence and fired Ed Fogerty. I lost my only friend and was pulled out of school. I didn’t do my final exams, and my aunt sent me on my first tour to open for a band that same year because she wanted me out of the way and as far away from Maisie and her family as possible. When I got home from the tour, I was the ‘Princess of Pop’, and they had moved away. Ed was working for one of Joshua’s friends by chance, and I heard Maisie wasn’t the last girl he took advantage of. I hired him and made sure it would be his last drive.” She didn’t go into details. The memories of Maisie and what had been done to her were too painful to linger on. The one person Poppy had cared about, who’d welcomed her into her family, had had her life ruined because of their friendship.
She put down the final picture. She felt Isaiah watching her as she got up to take a pen from the desk. She wrote on the back of each photo:Maid, Dancer, Driver.
“The killer is mimicking the victims of my crimes,” she said.
Isaiah swallowed.
“Patrice, our private butler; Calliope was a chorus dancer; and Joshua was a stunt driver before he was an actor. Now you know everything. You came on board because you saw what so many others couldn’t.” Poppy wished he would say something as he stared at her. “You’ve got your killer. You should be happy,” she prompted.
Isaiah picked up the photos. She expected him to return them to the envelope. Instead, he ripped them up and tucked the pieces away.
“What are you doing?” Poppy asked anxiously, hoping they weren’t part of an official investigation. She didn’t want him to get in trouble because he felt sorry for her.
“I don’t know. It’s not what I expected. You’re not who I thought you’d be,” Isaiah said, his voice trembling with the weight of his realisation, running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry for everything they did to you. I can’t even begin to process what you’ve told me, but I know I can’t judge you for what you did.”
“Can’t judge me? You should want to lock me up and throw away the key,” Poppy exclaimed, gripping his shirt and forcing him to look at her. She’d expected him to be livid. She’d expected him to say he’d known it all along, and have her locked up in the brig until they reached the island. Instead, he was just looking at her like he wanted to wrap her in his arms and not let her go.
“They hurt you and others. I wish you’d had someone to help you, to stand up for and protect you, so you didn’t feel like this was your only option,” he said, taking Poppy’s hands in his. She released her hold on his shirt.
“I don’t want your pity. I didn’t tell you what they did because I wanted you to feel sorry for me,” she said. Isaiah was looking at her like she was the victim, not the monster he had suspected she was. “I killed those people, and I’m not sorry for what I did. They deserved what they got.”
His expression didn’t waver. She didn’t know why she was angry about his lack of reaction. Her chest grew tighter, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or cry.
“Don’t you think I’m a monster? A killer? I saw the way you looked at me at the bar when you showed me the photos– but now that you’ve heard my sob stories,you’re looking at me like I’m some wounded puppy. Don’t you think I should be punished for my actions?” How could he be so willing to look the other way?
“I think you’re punishing yourself enough for the both of us,” Isaiah said gently.
“I’m not punishing myself. I’m not sorry!” she argued, angrily wiping tears from her eyes.
“You’ve said that, but I think you’re lying.” Isaiah brushed the tears from her cheeks. “You want me to think you killed them in cold blood and that you don’t feel anything. But you did this because you felt too much. Being faced with those who traumatised you and learning they were still hurting others – the heart and mind can only be pushed so far before something snaps.” He sat closer, his hands resting on her hips so she couldn’t turn away from him. She’d thought confessing would push him away, not bring him closer.
“I wanted revenge. I wanted to make them suffer. I wanted to go to sleep and know they could never hurt another person,” she admitted. “I did it for the starved kid, my broken body.” More tears fell. A knot in her throat tried to stop her from expelling her grief, but she forced herself to go on. “For Maisie. I hired a private investigator to find her, and I sent her Ed’s death noticewith an anonymous note; I wanted her to know justice had been served, even if it came ten years too late.”
For a moment, they locked eyes in a tense silence. Poppy tried to tell him to let her go but couldn’t find the words. Months of blocked, untamed emotion poured out of her in wretched sobs. He held her close, not saying a word. She couldn’t stand his tenderness.
“I’m sorry for all the pain you’ve suffered; I wish I could’ve been there to protect you, to help you, but I’ve got you now.”
His words barely registered before his lips claimed hers in a fierce and unrelenting kiss. All her anger and confusion melted away into an aching need for him.
Isaiah broke the kiss, his chest heaving, his breath coming in heavy gasps. Poppy clung to him, and he pulled her onto his lap. She couldn’t remember a time when someone had held her like this.
“I hate what they made me. I wanted to be better than them. I never wanted to be like them, but I couldn’t let them get away with what they had done. I could have gone to the police, told the press and ruined them, but I wanted the satisfaction of knowing they were rotting in Hell.” She leaned away from him.
“And that’s exactly where they deserve to be. No matter what that brain of yours tells you, you aren’t like them. You’re incredibly intelligent, kind, and passionate. I’ve seen how you treat those around you and put others before yourself. You’ve got a good heart. I’ve met monsters, and you couldn’t be further from them.”
“You’re only defending me because you have feelings for me – because you’ve got to know me. Before you boarded this ship, you thought I was just like any other criminal that crossed your path,” Poppy said, hiding her face in her hands, but he didn’t loosen his grip on her.
