OPHELIA: Chapter 28

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 28

 

Ophelia sat politely away from the guest at Claire’s funeral function. Diane wanted the service to be done at the manor and everyone knew when Diane spoke that was the final decision, not that anyone cared or wanted to oppose her at such a grief ridden time. Persons who perhaps never even met any member of the family were all gathered. She was pretty sure that the entire of Rose Gap attended. The service was over yet most remained to ‘comfort’ the family. A flock of women sat around the garden table in bright lipsticks and fake tears. The men stood at the side in their little testosterone clichés chatting away to God knows what. The entire scene made Ophelia sick to the stomach. What snakes. Half of these people only came for their own benefit and it was quite clear as their grief for the young girl ran low.

“Ophelia,” Charlie greeted her to the side.

She was honestly surprised to see Charlie so long after the incident. She could have sworn he would have called her in to make a statement on the discovery of Claire’s body. He gave a soft smile almost as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Stefan and I thought it best to keep your involvement unknown in the discovery of Claire-Marie’s body,” he spoke in a hushed voice. “We can’t trust the Sheriff or anyone just yet.”

“So how did you report that she was found?”

“A hiker who randomly found her. At least that’s the story we’re working with now.”

“Thank you,” Ophelia breathed.

“Thank Stefan, not me. Speaking of, where is he?”

“Last I saw him, he was with Florence. I’ll let him know you’re here to see him.”

“Thanks.”

She left in search of him to stumble upon Terilla speaking to a young boy inside at the corner of an empty hall. The young girl wore a short yet boxy black lace dress with cream sneakers that somehow seemed to work. Her demeanor portrayed distress as she spoke to the boy whose face plagued anguish, frustration, and irritation.

 “I don’t want to hear your drama, Rilla! We’re at a funeral. Stop being so selfish.”

“Why won’t you just listen, Ethan?”

The young boy who’s named was Ethan sighed heavily, “Because I’m tired and I’m hurting. And honestly Terilla, I just don’t feel that way about you. You need to understand and accept that. Claire was the only girl I felt like that about and now-” He stopped, unable to speak. Instead, he shook his head and walked off leaving her behind to process the sudden rejection. A flush of anger and pain crossed her features.

Ophelia reminded herself to let it be. She wasn’t going to get involved in any teenage drama. Instead, she walked along the hallway to find Stefan sitting on the large, leathered armchair alone in his father’s wine room. She frowned as she entered and closed the door behind. Stefan remained unhinged from his position with his head tilted back and hands hanging off the hand-rest, one with his fingers clasping onto the rim of the thin glass half filled with liquor. His thick dark hair dusted away from his face as the black shirt clung and made love to the outlined sculpts of his torso and arms.    

Moving closer to him, she stroked her fingers onto his and sat on his lap, pressing her head to his chest. He curled his arm around her to allow the drink to his lips and felt the cool liquid burn down his throat.

“You’ve had enough, Stefan,” she said calmly while taking the drink away from his hand and emptying the remaining liquor down her throat. Placing it to the side, while keeping her position, she ran her fingers along his jawline and down to his chest while pressing her lips onto his. Soft and hot and rushed, she felt herself ache ardently on top of him as both their bodies swelled against each other. She moaned into his deep kiss as he held a handful of her hair into his palm tightly. She undid his belt halfway and stopped, pulling away gently while locking her eyes with his; both knowing they couldn’t do this right now. Instead, she tucked her head beneath his chin and sighed warmly to his chest, keeping her fingers entwined with his. “How can I make this better?” She hated seeing him like this. He was hiding it from everyone so well but she could see how much pain he was really in.

“I should be asking you that,” he replied in a shadow of a tired smile.

“Charlie came to see you.”

“I’ll go out to meet him in a bit.”

Ophelia got off him and walked towards the showcase of old wine, brushing her fingers along them curiously. “What are you thinking?” She asked, knowing that Stefan had been bothered about something besides the current situation. His mind was too far.

“Charlie said they closed the case on Monty’s death calling it a suicide.”

“What?” She turned startled at what she was now hearing. “Stefan, you and I both know that it wasn’t a suicide! How could he kill himself and then ship his finger and head in a box to us? There’s proof that it isn’t a suicide.”

“Is there? Lily, we can’t give that information without implicating ourselves.”

“I’ll take the blame.”

“Are you insane? Even if you do that, do you really think the Sheriff has your best interest right now?”

She took a deep solemn sigh, knowing he was right. “The sheriff must have came after me because Father Greywood thought I knew too much.”

“About?”

“I questioned him about the cult. I showed him the image of the tattoo I drew up. The sheriff, Father Greywood, the intruder in Vermont, the person who kept making the calls at my house back in Vermont, and God knows who else. They’re all connected right here in Rose Gap, Stef. To this cult.” She frowned as a wash of worry flushed across her face. “They must all know what happened in the past. They know what I did, Stefan. People are dying because of it. I can’t ignore it anymore. They know.”

Since she’d left Rose Gap many years ago she always felt as if she was being watched, being followed. They knew all along. They wanted her back here. It could have been a trap.

“Listen to me,” Stefan sighed, walking towards her and cupped her face in his palms, “As long as I’m alive, no one will hurt you again.”

“And that’s what worries me. These people killed Monty because he knew what I did. How long until they find out that you and Charlie know as well?”

“Claire and that other little girl were innocent; they hadn’t known a thing.” He frowned, “Perhaps they did it as a warning?”

She hadn’t thought of that. A warning. And yet, something still didn’t fit.

“Perhaps,” she mumbled to herself.

**

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