OPHELIA: Chapter 21

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 21

 

As the sunshine began making love to the skin of her face, she awoke driftingly to the empty bed in Stefan’s room. This was a usual with Sebastian, a slight tang of disappointment nibbles on her heart. Her body felt sore as she pushed herself up and threw over her sweater while taking a sip of the water on the nightstand next to the bed. Brushing her tangled hair through with her fingers, she stood tiredly and went to the washroom.

She observed herself in the mirror, her pale face was now a soft pink. Opening the cabinet, she reached for a new toothbrush, brushed her teeth, and splashed the icy water over her face to fully wake herself up. Stefan’s aftershave and cologne decorated the vanity, his scent drifting kindly to her senses. A scent she always tried to find with every man she was with. Sebastian was the closest she could find to him but no matter how much she closed her eyes and pretended she knew deep in her heart it wasn’t and for that she felt sick of herself. Guilty. An empty woman searching for a fantasy closest to the reality she had left behind.

Whilst wiping her damp face, she heard the room door open and shut. Stefan walked in with a breakfast tray and an apologetic yet sincere look. He had already showered and worn a crisp white shirt tucked into a deep navy dress pants. “I didn’t want to wake you. Better an empty bed than an empty stomach,” he smiled while placing the tray down.

Ophelia gave a soft laugh, “You brought me breakfast?”

“I wanted to spare you the family breakfast gathering.”

She smiled at the thought as he neared her. His eyes drifted on the photo of himself and Monty on the table behind her, “Do you remember when we first met?”

Ophelia recollected the memory as she looked up to him. “I was eight or nine. My father took me to the fair where he met with Monty and spoke about work for half of the time, you were with him.”

“He was the only one who made time for me. My father was usually busy with the business, but Monty valued different things. He valued family. Not once had he ever made me feel like I was unloved. He treated me like his own son.”

She placed a hand tenderly on his cheek and frowned, helpless of the pain he was going through. “How can I make this better?”

He smiled at her words. “If it wasn’t for him that day then I wouldn’t have met you.”

“I wanted to hate you,” she laughed softly. “You were perfect. In every way. I remember wanting the stuffed panda so much and then you won it in that dart throw.”

“I did give it to you, didn’t I?”

“Yes. You were so kind and giving and nice to me that I couldn’t hate you one bit. You were always so perfect,” she rolled her eyes in a smile and looked back up to him fondly. “You are.”

“Come away with me,” he suddenly cupped her face in his hands. “After all this is over, come back with me to Europe or any place you want we’ll go. I can’t do what you once asked me to do. I can’t live like that without you, I was rotting on the inside. I felt dead, Ophelia.”

Her eyes began swelling with threatening tears as he spoke but she kept them confined as he continued. “It isn’t healthy the way you live nor is my end any different. Think about this. Give me an answer. I won’t pressure you.” He let go of her and took a step back, composing himself. Ophelia felt her throat dry and unable to speak but he didn’t push her.

“I’ll be out all day today with my father. He wanted me to take over a project whilst I’m here.”

She nodded.

With a pained smile, he walked away.

Ophelia sat on the edge of the sofa and silently ate the strawberries leaving the pancake behind. She appreciated all that he had done for her. No one ever would treat her so kindly; it was something she dearly missed within the last seven years. Walking back to her room, she quickly took a shower and threw on a pair of jeans and a white flowy blouse. She thought of Stefan’s offer. It would break his heart if she declined. It would break her heart, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that change. For seven long years she built a life she was somewhat content with regardless of how toxic it may have been. She changed her name, assumed a new identity, felt somewhat secure with her survival. And yet, she knew she was unhappy. She knew it wasn’t real and nothing about it could be.

Her phone’s notification suddenly chimed, and she saw a message from Sally back in Vermont asking how she was doing. Ophelia had been lying to everyone much less herself. No one would understand that. Not even her newfound friend. “Miss Lucien?” A small voice called at her door which was left ajar. A young maid knocked nervously with an anxious smile, “Mr. Victor Pierre-Louis wishes to speak with you. He’s in the study.”

Ophelia nodded to the young girl who took her leave. Victor barely spoke with her or with anyone for the matter, so his request concerned her. Leaving the room, she overheard the panicked voice of another maid speaking to Florence in a room nearby. As she walked, she peered in to see a pale and frail looking Florence sitting on the floor of the bedroom. Her hair like dead charcoal-coloured straws swept back and forth by a venomous gust of wind. Its lifeless luster fell flat over one side of her face, her body like a dead empty vessel, her lips dry and patches of blood bursting through from the lack of water, and her eyes a soulless thing that yearned for her child.  “Madam, you must eat, please,” the maid begged.

Ophelia couldn’t bear to see Florence like this no matter how unfeeling the woman had been to most people in her life. She was a mother after all. Her daughter was missing for days. God forbid, but Ophelia knew that if she was in Florence’s place, she would have been heartbroken to that same extent as well. Reaching the ground floor, she made her way to the study and stood outside its entrance. The wall of books glued itself to the endless wall which curved within the dimly lit room. The lush carpet sprawled itself in surrender upon the dark mahogany wooden floor. The scent of a cigar burned through the room as the fireplace remained lit, perhaps from its continued night’s work. Victor sat at the armchair buried within a thought. His grey unshaven facial hair matching to the silver strands on his head. His lips pressed into a fine line and eyes hung like a dark grey cloud threatening and calling upon a storm.

“You asked to see me?” Ophelia politely voiced as she stood respectfully at the door.

“Come in,” he said in a low husky voice without looking up at her. “Sit with me.”

Ophelia sat on the armchair opposite and looked at the aging man before her. His dark suit reeked of loss as he dripped the cigar into the tray and closed his eyes. “Did you see her?”

She frowned at his sudden question, confused. Without opening his eyes, he continued, “The little Wilson girl.”

“I-”

Victor opened his eyes to read her expression as she spoke.

“I did.”

“How bad was it?”

Ophelia felt her throat enter a desert. How could she answer this to a man whose child was also missing? Why would he ask her such a thing? It wasn’t right of her to answer but his gaze was hoaxing it out of her. Her silence however gave him the answer. Exhaling, he leaned his head back against the large chair. “Have I been a bad man to you?” He suddenly asked. It was a question that she hadn’t expected him to even think of asking.

“Victor?” she asked honestly confused.

“Tell me, child. Have I? Was I cruel?”

“You haven’t.” Ophelia answered honestly. “You saved me and what was left of my life. You saved my reputation. You gave me a home and sheltered me from a society which was cruel. How could you have been cruel to me when all you’ve done is protect me?”

He smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. “She was very much like you. Claire.”

Ophelia didn’t like the tense he associated his daughter with. Taking note of that, he spoke. “She is no more.”

“Victor, what are you saying? You can’t lose hope. She’s still out there. You must have faith.”

“My faith ran out when I felt the tug of string attached to both my rib and Claire’s broken. I feel it within me like an unhealed infected sore itching into my very soul. I could not protect her.”

“Please Victor, please don’t say that. You shouldn’t give up. The police are still searching.”

He gave a bitter laugh, “Police. You should know better than anyone what sort of people are in authority within this town. It’s a nasty place, my dear Ophelia. I don’t regret taking the decision to send you away from here.”

This information was new to her. All these years she thought Monty was the one who took the decision, who at least suggested it. She just never thought that Victor was the one who ultimately proposed it. Had he known? A flush of panic ran across her body. Had he known what she had done? His eyes pierced into hers as if he knew what she was thinking. She attempted to shift her focus back to Claire as that is what was important right now. “We will find Claire. I will find her.”  

“Father,” Stefan called from the door. Victor stood and straightened his posture, flicking the cigar into the gold tray. As he walked out slowly, he gently squeezed her shoulder in comfort and walked past Stefan. Ophelia stood with a heavy heart and looked as Victor walked away. Stefan, walking up to her, frowned deeply in concern. “Are you alright? Why do you look so pale?”

“Your father is hurting, Stefan. You should comfort him.”

**

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