100 Ways to Solve a Murder-Chapter 198: Dwinking Day

Sunday, Camden

Sam can feel her head beating, blood coursing through her veins faster than it usually did. Alcohol did that; it’s a vasocompressor like coffee and cigarette, after all, constricting the veins forcing the heart to pump faster--causing blood to flow in greater pressure. Like the others, it has its signature buzz.

A buzz that Sam enjoyed, she liked the feel of it--the clouding of her senses, her brain process slowing down as the liquor kills her brain cells--drinking made her feel normal...and normal to her meant stupid, dumb, foolish even.

Her mind doesn’t work in light speed efficiency like it usually did. Alcohol hindered that; it clouded her trail of thought like a careful driver would in a smog-filled highway. She loved it, being normal once in a while.

Heat flushing her skin, face feeling warm. Her body was heated, and psychologically what alcohol did to women is different from men. Women tend to gain more confidence in the drunkard state, more heated. In contrast, men at a certain level of alcohol in the body are unable to...well, respond sexually, compared to women who have increased sexual yearning.

Levi scowled when the redhead remained unresponsive from his text messages 3 hours later. It was her day off; one Elle insisted she took, after such a busy week. The slicked blond had initially assumed she would spend her time in Eastbourne as usual, but she was a no show.

He drove towards her flat and opened the door with the keys she gave him; after shrugging off his coat, he walked into the parlour where he found the redhead sat on the leather sofa frowning up at his image.

He scanned her, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had that dazed glint in it. On the table was a half-empty Antonov

"Why-what cha’ doin’ here?" she slurred, and as he expected, she was intoxicated. He made his way towards her, "Why. Are. You. drinking?" he asked, emphasizing each word, annoyed that she picked a bottle of Antonov over going to Eastbourne, no, over him.

The intoxicated redhead squinted her eyes at his blurry image as he removed his suit jacket and draped it carefully on the armrest before sitting right beside her on the sofa. She grinned at him, "Killing’ ---some---time. IT’S SUNDAY! Dwinking day!" she exclaimed, cheerfully raising her glass of vodka.

Levi looked at the goofy looking smile on her face, leaned closer to check her pupils, and grabbed her wrist to count her pulse rate. And based on all the signs, he could tell she was clinically drunk.

He took the Antonov by its neck, only for Sam grabbed its bottom half.

"NO!" she yelled pouting.

"Mine!" She started trying to make a perfect point.

The slicked blond rolled his eyes; he was well aware of her high tolerance to alcohol, one that would make the Irish in him proud. But as far as he could see, she had more than her usual fill. "You’re clearly drunk," he said. "You have had enough." He added in a stern tone. Like he was talking to a child.

The smile on her face dropped, and she pursed her lips. "My brother Ivan Fredricksen--richer than Anna and Murdoch’s combined are incapable of telling me what to do." she started, upper body swaying as she spoke. "You. Levi Jackson. Will. Not. Tell. Me. What. To. Do. I am my own boss!" she claimed, in all confidence, she could manage to tug the bottle away from him.

"Noooo." She said, tugging, but he did not let go. And so, she grabbed it with both her hand and when he released it, she fell butt first off the sofa, then suddenly bursting in laughter after noticing the bottle was safe in her hand.

She looked up at him, half of her face numbing from alcohol. "You will either help me finish this bottle. Or, leave me be with my peace and liquor!" she presented his options.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what the Irishman did next. He was bored in Eastbourne, and Sam, as drunk as she may be, was entertainment enough.

Levi poured the empty glass on the table and drank it in one swift motion, savouring the familiar burning sensation as it flowed down his throat. Sam cheered, happy he decided to join her, grinning at him like a madwoman, with her eyes partly closed from drowsiness.

...

2 hours later

Sam poured the Irishman another shot. The slicked blond had by that time had removed his vest, necktie, and unbuttoned his cuffs.

"So, tell me about you and that girl." she slurred, frowning in confusion when she couldn’t recall the name. Levi turned to look at her, waiting, wondering who she was talking about as he held the glass in his hand.

"What’s her name?--the blonde, the sexy one--" the redhead attempted to describe. The slicked blond scowled; the sexy one? Who was the sexy one, if not her? He thought as he emptied the glass.

Sam closed her eyes, snapping her fingers repeatedly, coaching herself to focus over the haze of her drunken stupor. "The one you wrote a book about," She added.

Levi’s head whiplashed towards her, surprised that she knew about that. He never mentioned that part; to begin with, they never really talk about those kinds of irrelevant things. Like exes, first kiss, first love, or whatever normal couples talk about. Neither of them liked talking about the past considering all their emotional baggage just with their family alone. But most of all, both of them preferred to stick in the present.

"Lea." He provided. "Yeah! That’s the name", she yelled happily to remember the name finally. She really needed to write that down, she thought.

His eyes narrowed at her for a moment too long; his senses were dulling too; he could feel it, the buzz. "How’d you--know about that?" he asked, wondering who told her. Who ratted him out? Was it Marco? The boys?

"Elle did a background check on her", Sam informed him, recalling that night with the girls. Something that they all quietly decided never to do, considering it wasn’t as fun as they all initially expected it would. Levi cocked a brow, "Does Elle make it a habit of doing background checks on everyone you meet?" he asked, curious.

Sam paused for a moment to think, "Her not usually." she said, and the blond waited for her to continue. "Ivan, though, I believe so. He even sent one about you," she said, recalling just randomly receiving a package years ago in her old house containing all the records of his misdemeanours and law-breaking shenanigans. It was her brother’s way of warning her that Levi Jackson was a rotten egg and she should be wary of him without putting it into words, of course, considering they were not speaking terms at the time.

Levi visibly tensed; his foggy brain sobered up in a flash, and he silently wondered what Ivan had sent her and if it included his dark days, more specifically that he was responsible for her uncle’s untimely demise. A secret only a few people know.

His eyes rested on Sam’s face, his mind subconsciously memorizing every freckle on her cheeks, every fleck of gold and brown in her green eyes where he always found himself lost. His brain absorbed the image of her, the scent of her, the feel of her still there beside him. Like a man having his last meal knowing he will die of starvation soon. He took her in before he lost her completely.

Wasn’t it just a few weeks back when he acknowledged the anxiety he felt of her learning about it. Was it finally coming, the day he dreaded the most? Of her leaving him for the choices he made in the past. Killing a lover’s family member, he reckoned most people considered a valid reason for break up, wasn’t it?

Was this the very reason she was drinking in the first place? Because she was going to break up with him?

Is this how everyone feels? Levi couldn’t help wonder, as his heart ached against his chest, and he felt sweat drip down his back. A memory flashed in his mind, to a night ten years ago when Marco dropped by his flat, completely shitfaced after he and Lisa broke up from whatever stupid reason. The look of defeat on the bearded man’s face as he sat on his sofa in the wee hours of the night back then he could never forget, and back then he could never understand until now.

And he silently wondered if everyone felt like he did right then? Something he could only describe as akin to someone placing their whole fist in his chest, holding his heart harshly and slowly tearing it out.

His brows furrowed together, and he wanted to ask, put it in plain words because the suspense was killing him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t get out the words ’Does this mean, we’re done?’

Sam looked back to his eyes, and she saw a tidal wave of different emotions swirling in it. One of them stood out the most, one she has only seen once. That night with Erik and his gang, when he was being forced to pull the trigger. The very same look when he told her, "I can’t."

It was the look of defeat.