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Date Posted: 08:41:32 04/18/03 Fri
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: Ghosts - ch.34
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Re: Ghosts - ch.33" on 11:40:55 04/17/03 Thu

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR


"Your table should be ready in about fifteen minutes, Sir," the bartender reported, as he delivered a last round of drinks to Peter and Ivy's secluded booth near the back of the lounge.

Peter had stuck strictly with club sodas and, thankfully, Ivy hadn't seemed to mind in the least. Showered with Peter's complete and undivided attention, Ivy sat contentedly sipping her second glass of chardonnay and reveling in the romantic atmosphere of the dimly lit bar.

"The music is wonderful," Ivy leaned back against the booth's soft leather. "I feel transported, don't you?"

"Definitely," Peter chuckled low, "transported."

"Don't make fun of me," Ivy pouted. "Ambience is very important."

"Ambience?" Peter smiled, hoping to relax her with his gentle teasing - and a little more chardonnay.

"Yes, ambience…" Ivy teased right back, lifting a brochure for the River of Dreams from their table. Gus was heavily promoting next month's grand opening and inside was an entry form for reservations and a contest to win a free weekend stay at the hotel. "Like this…"

"The River of Dreams," she sighed. "I have to hand it to Gus. He's picked some of the most romantic spots in the world for this cruise: Paris, Venice, oh, look, he's even included the Taj Mahal."

"A timeless monument to eternal love and passion," she marveled.

As cynical as life had made her, there was still a tiny corner of Ivy's heart that longed to believe such devotion between a man and a woman was still possible.

"Do you believe in eternal love and passion, Peter?" Ivy asked, looking deeply into his eyes.

With Michaela and Sully as role models, how could he not?

"Yeah, yeah, I do," Peter whispered softly, thinking of only Sophie.

"Of course, that poor queen had to die for her husband to build it for her," Ivy recovered with a wry smirk, recalling the temple's history.

"I take it you don't, then?" he questioned, delving into Ivy's psyche.

"I always wanted to," she replied with such a profound sadness in her voice that Peter couldn't help but be moved, in spite of what he now knew about her.

"Should we enter the contest?" he asked brightly, trying to lighten the mood.

Peter was doing his best to convince Ivy that theirs would be a long-term relationship. Entering Gus' contest seemed like a perfect, and quite safe, testament to his intentions.

Ivy lowered her glass onto the table, obviously stunned. "Really?" she asked, allowing herself to imagine a weekend…and, then, possibly, a lifetime with Peter.

"Sure," he reassured her, covering her hand with his. "Why not?"

Surprisingly, Ivy felt herself warming from Peter's unwavering attention.

Grinning, she handed him a pen from her purse.

"No reason at all…"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Dinner had been easy. Ivy was growing more and more relaxed in Peter's company; and, he found her, at times, to be disarmingly genuine. More than once, he'd had to remind himself that the woman sitting beside him could as easily kill him as marry him.

The Andrea Boccelli concert had begun promptly at eight, with Peter and Ivy settling into their seats just moments before. The night was going well, Peter thought. He'd detected no hidden agenda in Ivy's conversation and, other than a brief trip to the ladies' room, she hadn't once tried to leave his sight.

Briefly, Peter wondered what Leroy might be up to but he felt fairly confident that Virginia City's finest wouldn't make another move without checking with Ivy first.

No, the evening was going remarkably well - as long as Peter avoided thinking about the evening to come - the evening that would begin the moment Andrea Boccelli stopped singing.

But that was two hours from now and Peter preferred to sit back and enjoy the stunningly beautiful, romantic, Italian music, which comprised the concert's program. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that it was Sophie who was nestled against his shoulder. That they were alone on Vashon Island and Gianni had selected this music specifically to lull them into the passion of his homeland.

With titles like "Romanza," "Rapsodia," and "Il Mistero Dell' Amore," it wasn't difficult to fall under the singer's spell. The time passed quickly and Peter could feel Ivy melting more and more with every song.

Unfortunately, while the music seemed to fill Ivy, it left Peter feeling quite empty. There was probably nothing in the world more lonely than attending a concert of love songs without the woman you loved, Peter thought sadly. He was actually quite grateful when Signor Boccelli announced his final selection for the evening.

"I will leave you now with a song from my latest album," the singer began his goodbye. It is entitled, "Con Te Partiro."

Peter groaned under his breath, his jaw clenching, his eyes closing tight. "Con Te Partiro…" What were the chances?

Peter had listened to over a dozen Italian ballads tonight and, due to his limited knowledge of the Italian language, he'd been blissfully unaware of the actual lyrics to each song. Sure, in his head, he'd known the words were undoubtedly expressing the magic of love in all of its many varied forms. But without an actual translation, his heart had been blessed with the peaceful detachment of ignorance.

But, "Con Te Partiro?" Incredibly, it was one of the few Italian phrases Peter knew. He knew it by heart, with all his heart. It was a phrase he couldn't possibly ever forget.

How could he? It was engraved inside his wedding ring. "Con Te Partiro." "With you I shall go…"

A sickening feeling began to overtake him. He couldn't stay for this song. He couldn't listen to those words - the words he and Sophie had vowed on their wedding day - being sung while he had another woman by his side.

"Ivy," he whispered in a hush. "I could use some air. Do you mind if we skip this last song?"

"Uh…no…no…of course not…" she replied, quickly reaching for her purse. "Are you all right?"

"I will be…" he promised, swiftly taking her by the hand and exiting the concert hall.

As Peter took a deep breath of the cool evening air, he felt rather foolish. Some spy he was. He couldn't even will himself not to be upset by a song! But was it really the song that had panicked him? Or was it the fact that his infidelities were likely just beginning.

Peter glanced at his watch. It was barely ten thirty. He couldn't possibly take Ivy back to her hotel room now. Not and be sure the sedative would last until morning. He had to keep her out until at least midnight…

"Feeling better?" Ivy asked, with a sincere note of concern that surprised him.

"Yeah…" he smiled with a shrug, finding them an empty bench by the illuminated fountain. "Thanks… Sorry for dragging you out of there…"

"Oh, that's all right," she rubbed the chill from her arms. "Did you enjoy the concert?" Gallantly, Peter placed his jacket over her shoulders and settled her into his embrace.

"Very much," he reassured her. "But, not as much as I enjoyed dancing with you earlier."

""How about a nightcap in the lounge?" he asked, seductively.

"Are you sure? We could go back to my room…" Ivy offered, just as seductively.

"Later…" he promised, brushing her lips with his fingertip. "I want one more dance first."

Slowly, Peter stood and extended his hand to Ivy, hoping she'd agree.

A smile accompanied her answer.

"Lead the way…"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It had been nearly eleven o'clock by the time Peter and Ivy arrived, right back where they'd started - at the lounge for a nightcap and a little dancing.

As the evening wore on, Peter found his thoughts drifting more and more to Gracie's pet hamster, Irving. How Irving would run for hours on his endless wheel, strung out, exhausted, constantly going nowhere, trapped in his tiny little cage…

Poor Irving. Peter knew exactly how he felt.

Only vaguely concerned that he'd begun comparing himself to a rat, Peter glanced at his watch once again. One o'clock in the morning. A new day. Only it sure didn't feel like it.

For eight hours now, Peter had been in Ivy's constant company. Eight hours. And, unfortunately, the longest hours were still to come.

"Great…keep thinking like that and you'll never make it," Peter chided himself as he paid the bar tab and joined Ivy in the lobby.

The lounge had been a good idea. Ivy had had two more drinks. That made four in total so far tonight. She could hold her liquor - he'd give her that. And, even after a few more spins on the dance floor, she really didn't look all that tired. In fact, as she stood waiting for him in the warmly lit lobby, Peter thought Ivy looked rather radiant - or maybe, expectant was a better word, he feared.

"Bartender says the casino's lucky tonight," Peter suggested feebly.

With a dip of her head and the faintest of smiles, Ivy tugged him toward the elevator and whispered, "I already feel lucky tonight."

Peter forced a weary smile. Even he would admit the casino had been a long shot.

Okay, well, fine… There was always the elevator. Maybe it could get stuck? No, that wasn't good. Being alone in a stuck elevator with Ivy would be worse than her hotel room. Visions of Irving's cage flashed nightmarishly before Peter's eyes.

Resigned to his fate, Peter pressed the button for the tenth floor, feeling the elevator's familiar dip as it complied. Peter felt his stomach dip right along with it and chose to studiously focus his gaze on the panel above.

Fourth floor… Peter felt Ivy's hand roaming his back.

Sixth floor… It was wrapped around his waist now.

Ninth floor… Peter jumped as Ivy's hand ventured lower.

"Here we are!" His voice cracked at ten.

"Too bad," Ivy said breathlessly.

"After you," Peter offered - more out of self-preservation than manners.

The hallway wasn't very long, but, with every agonizing step he took toward Ivy's doorway, Peter personified the term "dead man walking."

"Here we are…" Ivy delighted in echoing Peter's words as she welcomed him into her hotel room.

Hesitantly, Peter stepped over the threshhold. Then, as nonchalantly as possible, he patted his jacket, making sure he had the sleeping pill.

"Here, let me take that for you…" Ivy placed her hands on Peter's jacket.

Immediately, he pulled away. "Uh, I got it…thanks…" he flustered, taking it off himself and laying it across the arm of the sofa. "How 'bout a drink?"

"Another one?" Ivy laughed, heading toward the mini-bar. "Peter, you keep drinking club sodas while I have wine! You wouldn't be trying to have your way with me, now would you?"

"Me?" Peter asked innocently, watching as Ivy poured.

"For your information," Ivy cooed, bringing the drinks over and tasting her wine. "I don't get drunk."

"Never?" Peter grinned, swallowing a bit of club soda.

"Never," Ivy assured him quite proudly, taking another gulp.

Suddenly, Peter's grin faded. Ivy wasn't kidding!

Of course, she wasn't kidding… She was a Lawson! There was no such thing as excess alcohol to a Lawson. They never got drunk! In all his life, Peter had never seen Charity drunk - no matter how much alcohol she consumed. It was in the genes somehow, he supposed.

But, if Ivy's fifth glass of wine wasn't working, Peter thought with a fright, how could he be sure that Dr. Carlson's sleeping pill would?

Misunderstanding Peter's cause for concern, Ivy leaned her body into his and promised, "Don't worry, you can still have your way with me…"

"I'll keep that in mind," Peter recovered with a smile, taking Ivy's glass from her hand. "How about some music?" he whispered softly in her ear.

"And you kidded me about ambience," Ivy smirked, turning her back on him momentarily while she adjusted the radio.

This was Peter's chance! Stealthily, he slipped the capsule from his jacket and poured the contents into Ivy's drink, swishing it around until it dissolved in the wine.

"Happy now?" Ivy asked, returning to him seconds after he'd shoved the capsule's outer casing into his pants pocket.

"Very," Peter agreed, handing her back her glass. "Why don't we sit down?" he suggested, gesturing toward the sofa.

Happily, Ivy joined him, cuddling back against his chest, finishing her wine.

"Will you come with me tomorrow to Charity's bail hearing?" Peter rested his cheek alongside Ivy's temple and let his fingertips travel down her bare arm.

Ivy placed her empty glass on the coffee table. "You really want me to?" she asked, swiveling to face him.

"I do…" Peter looked deeply into her eyes.

"I like the sound of that," Ivy breathed, kissing him passionately.

Ivy's kiss seemed to last forever. "Must be the five-minute version she learned from Gus," Peter fumed silently, trying desperately not to picture Sophie and Gus ever being in quite the same position he and Ivy were now.

When they finally pulled apart, Ivy's hands were on the buttons of his white dress shirt, slowly working their way downward toward his belt buckle. Under the circumstances, Peter thought it best to remove the shirt himself and then recapture her lips in a hard, sudden, kiss.

How much longer could this drug take to work? Peter traced Ivy's swollen lower lip with his thumb. More importantly, how much longer could he satisfy her with mere kisses?

As if in response to his question, Ivy turned and swept her hair up off her neck, silently inviting him to undress her. Peter gulped, staring at the single knot of fabric that held the top of Ivy's dress in place.

Okkaaayyy… Peter thought to himself. The drug had to kick in soon. Lawsons weren't entirely indestructible. Even Hank died eventually!

With slow, intense, deliberate concentration, Peter fumbled for as long as possible with the silk knot at Ivy's nape, prolonging the effort by nibbling and sucking at her neck.

"Have you got it?" Ivy whispered, tugging the loosened fabric from his hands.

Was it Peter's imagination or did Ivy's voice sound slightly slurred?

Maybe it was just his desperation, as Ivy allowed the material to fall to her waist and then turned to face him.

"Thank you…" she murmured, allowing him a good, long look before intending to kiss him once again.

Instead, she swooned a bit and then collapsed against him, dead to the world.

Stunned for a moment by the spectacle of a topless woman falling unconscious into his arms, Peter, nevertheless, recovered quickly.

"Thank you, Dr. Carlson," Peter sighed gratefully.

Gently, he leaned Ivy back against the sofa and covered her with his jacket. Then, he set about preparing the room for what he hoped would convince Ivy was a night of complete and total passion.

First, he turned down the bed, making sure to rumple the sheets and strew the covers. Then, he removed the two complimentary bathrobes from Ivy's closet and let them fall haphazardly at the foot of the bed. Finally, from the mini-bar, he removed the thoughtfully provided intimacy kit, leaving it open on the bathroom sink - after disposing of certain items in his pants pocket.

Now, the room was ready for Ivy. Carefully, Peter removed her shoes and carried her to the bed, his jacket still covering her. After lifting the sheet, Peter tucked her in, removing first his jacket and then unzipping her dress at the waist, and sliding it down her body. Her thong was last. That Ivy was a beautiful woman was undeniable, but Peter accomplished his task quickly with as little physical contact as possible, praying Sophie wouldn't ask for too many details.

After scattering Ivy's clothes on the floor beside the bed, Peter turned his attention to Ivy's purse. She'd left it on the coffee table when they entered the room. Peter's only hope was that the envelope Reggie had seen her with was still inside the purse. Otherwise, he'd have to tear the room upside down searching for the syringe and Peter preferred to make as little noise as possible. Just because the drug had finally worked was no guarantee it would last.

A sigh of relief escaped him as he opened the purse and found the letter-sized envelope lying there within. Grateful that it wasn't sealed, Peter lifted the flap and removed the deadly syringe from its home. Then, reaching inside his jacket, Peter took the syringe that Dr. Carlson had given him - the one containing the saline solution - and replaced it in its stead.

"Perfect…" Peter complimented himself on a job well done.

With the lethal syringe safely inside his jacket, there was nothing more to do until morning. Unfortunately, he couldn't risk Ivy waking and finding him asleep on the couch. His side of the bed needed to be warm - with him in it.

So, with a sigh, Peter slipped off his remaining clothes and settled into Ivy's bed, forming a small ridge of blanket between them. With any luck, his little fortress would last the night. Of course, if she tossed in her sleep…

It won't happen! Peter chided himself angrily. Ivy was out like a light and sleeping like a baby. She actually looked quite peaceful, lying there beside him.

Pensively, Peter stared at this woman with whom he was suddenly sharing a bed. Who was she, really? Lost soul…vindictive shrew…ruthless killer?

"She's got the Lawson cheekbones," Peter realized for the first time, "and her mouth sort of crinkles up in her sleep just like Charity's…"

Charity… Nothing meant more to Charity than family. And, like it or not, Ivy was family. Without thinking, Peter gently brushed a wisp of hair from Ivy's cheek.

Gus said Ivy had lost her mind. Peter had seen his share of troubled youths and, undeniably, knew, better than most, what it was like to lose your way - the loneliness, the emptiness… But murder?

Peter always tried to find the hope in every situation but he wasn't sure how there could be much hope for Ivy. Even if Leroy had committed Stanley's murder, Ivy was surely an accomplice. There'd be prison time, psychiatric care…

No matter what happened tomorrow, Ivy's revenge on Charity would succeed. For, witnessing Ivy's downfall would wound Charity, just as effectively as a bullet to the heart.

"Maybe this is the first good night's sleep Ivy's ever had," Peter wondered compassionately, before deciding he'd better get some sleep himself.

Carefully, Peter placed his arms at his sides and closed his eyes. He'd never slept so awkwardly in all his life. But this was just one night and, with any luck, he'd be back in Sophie's arms tomorrow.

"Night, Soph," Peter whispered, picturing his wife snugly upstairs in her bed. "I love you."

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