OPHELIA: Chapter 14
Blurb
Elizabeth Lockwick wants one thing… to ensure Ophelia remains dead.
For years she’s weaved a life seen through rose-coloured glasses in idyllic Vermont with her husband Sebastian Lockwick, an alluring man with a broken moral compass, whose intent lies in protecting his wife. However, apart from her unorthodox understanding of Sebastian’s dark and gritty hidden nature, she finds herself slipping away from her sanity in maintaining this picturesque life.
After receiving a gruesome gift from an unknown sender threatening to expose her, she finds herself haunted and possibly hunted by her buried past.
In order to make things right for herself and ensure that her secret is hidden, she reluctantly travels back to her sleepy small hometown in Wisconsin. A town where young girls seem to be mysteriously disappearing. There, she reunites with the dysfunctional Pierre-Louis’, a French-American family who sheltered her in their manor in her time of need.
With time slipping away, she struggles with her guilt and a dangerous affair and realizes that perhaps Ophelia wasn’t dead after all these years.
Elizabeth suddenly finds herself caught in a game of cat and mouse, unsure of which she really is this time and who she can trust.
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Chapter 14
Ophelia and Stefan arrived in front of the trail which led to the manor. The wind cut like sharp swords stabbing into her flesh. At her side, he gave her a warm, encouraging smile which made her return one. “You should smile more often,” he suggested, “It looks beautiful on you.”
“Well,” she stopped to exhaled, squinting at the trail ahead and back at him for a brief second before walking ahead, “Not many people can make me smile the way you do.”
The manor stood towering in front her like the big ugly thing it was. Intimidating the little girl within her trying to find a home within it. And no matter how much she tried, she knew this wasn’t her home. Nor will it ever be. Stefan knocked the ironed latch upon the heavy door. His presence comforted her to retain her posture. Opening, the door let out a deep bitter groan that triggered a dormant sickness within her. She felt her stomach drop to the floor, like it had been sliced deep from her belly with a dull scissor and clawed out like a toy being fought over by angry toddlers. The woman stood before them like hot ice and with a deep unpleased scowl. Her dark hair fell flat and tucked behind her ears while her striking grey eyes stapled onto Stefan’s. She was a cruel sort of beautiful, much like the painting of her back at Sally’s. Yet, her youth slowing dying and now accompanied by fine, dissatisfied, wrinkles around her eyes.
“Mère,” Stefan sighed.
“Why are you here?” She asked him, her scowl still cemented upon her face. And although looking towards Stefan, Ophelia could feel the distaste Florence had for her.
“You know why. Can we come in?”
Snapping her gaze away from him towards Ophelia, “Monty’s dead.” She said in a sharp tone. And in translation Ophelia knew she meant there was nothing left in this house for her to come back to.
“Mother,” Stefan repeated. “May we?”
“Do as you please.” She stepped aside, “Your father would allow such. I’m nothing but his fool.”
Turning, she walked away with a cold heart and unspoken words. She didn’t have to look at Stefan to know that he was hurting beneath his façade of being okay. Florence’s relationship with Stefan was something she could never quite understand. It’s not to say she deprived him of his needs because she always ensured he was met with all, yet, there was no love attached. She could never understand how a mother could be so cold, so distance from her very own child. Perhaps there were some mothers in this world who despise their own young ones. She reminded her of a spider who eats her young.
“Seven years and she hasn’t changed a bit.” Stefan softly laughed it away.
“Stef,” Ophelia sighed.
A chirped voice rang into the air and skipped with joy, “Stefan? Ophelia?” Rosie beamed as she walked out of the drawing room and into the front hall. “My goodness!”
“Rosie.” Stefan greeted her with a warm smile and hug. “You haven’t aged a day.”
“You sure know how to butter up your old little aunt, don’t you? And look how big and strong you’ve gotten.” She hit him playfully, “God, you just missed your uncle Valentin. He left for his trip but I’m just so happy you’re here now.”
Rosie looked to Ophelia and neared her, cupping her hand on the young girl’s face gently. “My, you’ve gotten more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”
The sound of shouts were suddenly heard from another room.
“And why must you always be so against me?” Florence boomed.
“Because you’re impractical and unreasonable,” a voiced retorted harshly. Stefan’s father, Victor Pierre-Louis, entered and gave a sharp inhale as his wife followed. He walked towards Stefan while Florence stood behind frowning.
“Dad,” he greeted him.
“It’s good that you’re back,” Victor stated sternly and turned towards Ophelia, his expression softened, “And you as well.”
Ophelia smiled graciously. Victor wasn’t a bad man. If anything, she always felt like his intent was for his family’s well-being. And although he may not have been the most expressive, the man with the iron heart, he wholeheartedly accepted Monty’s decision to allow her to have a place in their home. It was because of this man that she wasn’t thrown into an orphanage. So as much as she hated Rose Gap, there was some good within it.
“Come Stefan, I want to speak with you,” he said and turned to Rosie, “I’m sure you’ll show her to her room and ensure she’d comfortable.”
Rosie nodded with delight while Florence walked off. Making their way up the red carpeted staircase and along the hollow hall, they walked past a room with two very distinct female voices. Rosie pretended not to notice but then spoke shortly after walking by. “The witches still live. No surprise to that,” she joked.
Diane Pierre-Louis was Stefan’s grandmother, otherwise known as the lady of the manor, by the townsfolk. She was a stern, cold, and unfeeling woman who never took a liking to Ophelia when she was a young child. Florence wasn’t as bad as she was. If anything, Florence was a Saint before this woman. Hate would sprawl out of her pores like vicious poison ready to choke and suffocate anyone who opposed her views. As a child, Ophelia would often have nightmares of Diane and her sister Elaine eating her alive. Elaine was a queer old woman to say the least. She, on the other hand, was blind yet could find and do things most blind women could not such as her belief and love for reading tarot. Elaine wasn’t as cruel as her sister but rather strangely welcoming. She took an interest in Ophelia when she came into the house but her very queerness scared the young girl. The stories that were told in Rose Gap about the woman also heightened her fear of her. Now, however, she was a grown woman and such stories shouldn’t scare her but Ophelia felt that lingering sense of unsettledness claw at her bones.
“It would be wise to let them know of my visit, Rosie.”
“I’ll do that. You don’t worry yourself.” She smiled and stopped at a large oaky door. “I’ll let Stefan stay in the room just around the railing directly opposite yours. Unless you want to…”
Ophelia laughed delicately, feeling a rush of pink lick onto her cheeks, “This is fine. Thank you.”
“Lunch would be ready in a few minutes. Join us when you’re done alright.”
“Oh, I think I’ll skip lunch. I want to take a little walk in the town for a bit.”
Rosie sighed deeply with an understanding, “I know Florence is a bit unconventional, as well as Elaine and Diane but I just want you to know that I care and love you very much, just as much as Monty did. And Victor has a soft spot for you, he looks at you the same way he looks at Claire.”
“I came back for Claire.” Ophelia admitted.
“I know, ma chérie. I know. Everyone is so on edge right now, especially after Monty’s death, you’ll have to excuse them. Florence is shattered about her daughter. Everyone is hurting but I have faith we will find her.” Rosie held her hand in hers before leaving, “I am so happy you and Stefan are here now.”
**
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