“Like what?” I whispered, more to myself than him. “That old guy called me a witch before he died. Perhaps he was cursing me – and now I’m paying for what I did.”
“But you didn’t do anything, did you?” he asked. “It was his fault you drove into him and his family. Wasn’t it?”
I very much wanted to tell Vincent what really had happened. I wanted to tell him what had happened between me and Michael up at that farmhouse, how I’d been drinking and how I’d fled at speed when I’d heard the control room trying to raise me on the radio. I wanted to tell Vincent how I’d been busy searching through the glove compartment for gum to rid my breath of the smell of whiskey when I ploughed into the horse and cart. I just wanted to scream. I wanted to confess it was another of my father’s cover-ups which I had become involved in. But I couldn’t. I didn’t even know Vincent that well. It wasn’t like I was planning on confessing to a priest. This was another copper who would be duty-bound to do the right thing and make sure justice was seen to be done.
“I guess it wasn’t really my fault,” I said, and a part of me felt like it had just died as I continued the lie my father had started out on the road.
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Vincent said. “And Jonathan Smith would have no reason to curse you.”
“Then why call me a witch?” I said, summoning up the nerve to turn and look him in the eye.
“Who knows?” Vincent said with a shrug. “The guy was dying. He could‘ve been trying to say anything.”
“He definitely said witch,” I breathed.
Vincent looked at me, and I could see biscuit crumbs on his work tie. I reached out to brush them off, when Vincent suddenly took hold of my hand in his. His touch was soft – gentle. Part of me wanted to pull my hand away, but I didn’t. He looked at me, and I looked back at him. There was another uncomfortable silence.
“So if what you say is true, and Molly did tell you in a dream she was pushed into that well, then you know what we’ve got ourselves?” Vincent said.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head and looking into his deep near-black eyes.
“We’ve got ourselves an X-File, Scully,” he smiled.
I snatched my hand from his. “I knew it was too good to be true,” I hissed.
“What is?” he said, looking confused again.
“You taking what I had to say seriously,” I snapped at him. “I thought you believed me, when all the while you’ve just been taking the piss!”
“Hey!” Vincent said back, taking my hand again, but this time more forcibly. “Who says I was taking the piss? I was being serious about the whole X-File thing. I believe you, Sydney. Honestly, I do.”
“Why?” I said, trying to pull my hand free.
“Because what you told me about your dreams took courage,” he said. “Most people wouldn’t have said anything for fear of being laughed at. But you trusted me enough to tell me, and that means a lot.”
“I could’ve been making the whole thing up,” I said, still trying to wriggle my fingers free of his grasp.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Why not?” I demanded.
“Because I’ve never seen such fear in anyone’s eyes before,” he said, letting go of my hand. “Something has spooked you real bad, and I want to help you if I can.”
“Why do you want to help me?” I asked. “You don’t even know me.”
“Does there have to be a reason?” he said, turning away and heading back towards the sofa.
“Yes,” I said. “You only met me yesterday, so why would you want to get mixed up in something as mad as this?”
“For the same reason I drive you half crazy,” he said, wheeling around to face me.
“And what’s that?”
“Because I can’t help poking my nose into stuff that has nothing to do with me,” he said.
“You certainly have a habit of doing that,” I sighed.
Looking at me, Vincent said, “You look kinda disappointed.”
“About what?” I asked, confused.
“The reason for me wanting to help you,” he said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now it was my turn to blush. It didn’t happen often.
“You were hoping I only wanted to help you out because I liked you,” he said.
“Well?” I dared to ask.
“Well what?” he shot back.
“Do you like me?”
Vincent looked at me for what seemed like the longest time, then shrugged his shoulders.
“You like me,” I half-smiled at him. “You’ve hinted enough.”