OPHELIA: Chapter 51

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 51

 

Ophelia sat on the lounge sofa of Vivian’s room with her elbow popped against the rest and fingers on her chin. Her room seemed newly renovated and in contrast to the rest of the house. The floor was marbled slate and white lights decorated the wall, highlighted by the grand chandelier centerpiece from above. The room seemed to be everything that Vivian portrayed to the world or rather perhaps wished to be and yet, there was this haunting emptiness at its very core.

“You’re upset with him,” Vivian noted.

“It’s how he’s been. It’s how he’s always been,” Ophelia frowned.  

“It’s how a man should be, Ophelia. You’ve been on your own for years. He wants to protect you and that isn’t wrong of him. He wants you to trust him. Let him handle this. Let him try to heal his guilt for all the years he’s lost. You should be lucky you have that in a world filled with such useless, selfish men.”

“I am grateful. I just don’t know why I have such an unsettling feeling. Almost as if we should be doing more.”

Vivian walked over to her small glass coffee table to the side and poured herself a glass of merlot. She had a problem with alcohol, and she knew yet. Instead, she pressed the rim of the glass to her lips and felt the liquid run through her throat. She was clearly drinking too much tonight. With a sigh, she turned back to Ophelia, “I’m sorry,” she began. She had to tell her. Her guilt was consuming her. She wanted to tell her the truth last time she was in this house but Charlie came and she opened up to him instead.

“About what?” The girl on the sofa asked a bit confused.

“What you when through, all these years, feeling guilty for something you shouldn’t even be feeling guilty for.” Vivian paused, “That night when-”

The sound of the doorbell suddenly rang. Her truth was yet again interrupted.

“Who could it be at such an hour?” Vivian scowled, unpleased at the arrival.

They both walked downstairs where Vivian’s mother stood before a group of police officers. “Mama?” Terilla asked, confused and sleepy at the end of the staircase, it had seemed like she had just woken up, “What’s going on?”

“What is this about?” Vivian iced heavily.

“Miss,” one of the officer’s spoke, “I’m simply following orders. We’re here under the final investigation concluded under the Claire-Marie Pierre-Louis’s murder.”

The words suddenly jolted through Ophelia’s soul, scraping at her insides. Claire’s murder? Why are they here then? Vivian looked back at Ophelia and her sister. There was a feeling of utter sickness plagued on both their face. She locked eyes with her sister, then with Ophelia’s, as well as her mother’s. The truth. This was the truth. She finally understood.

“Miss Lockwick,” the officer inhaled, “Miss-”

“I did it,” Vivian shot her words into the sickly air, “I killed Claire Marie.”

The officer seemed a bit taken back by the sudden confession but brushed off his expression. Shock laced through Ophelia’s body. This doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t make any sense at all.

“Very well then,” the officer said, “I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the station with me, Miss.”

Ophelia stood there, her feet concreted into the floor. She felt voiceless, confused, numb. As the police left with their culprit, Vivian’s mother walked back into the nearby room and sat on the rocking chair near the half open window as if nothing just happened. This family. She turned and noted the blank face of Terilla who then turned and ascended back up the staircase into her room. Ophelia’s knees felt weak. Something wasn’t right. Sitting at the end of the staircase, she pulled out her phone and tried to call Stefan’s number but lost his connection. Instead, she dialed Charlie’s number who then answered.

“I’m here, Stef’s okay as well, we just separated. He left to meet the lawyer. I’m heading back to the department.”

“Charlie,” she breathed into the call, unsure how to continue, “They took her, she confessed.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The sheriff sent his officers here for the murder of Claire-Marie. Vivian confessed.”

“What?” Charlie responded in shock, “That doesn’t make any sense, she wasn’t even in Rose Gap when Claire went missing. What the hell’s wrong with her?” His frustration and concern were evident.

“She was trying to tell me something, Char, about a night when something happened, and she didn’t get to continue.”

Charlie sighed, almost as if he understood. “She wanted to tell you the truth, Lily. She’d been trying to tell you.”

“What truth?”

“You didn’t kill Jame that night, she did.”

“What?” Ophelia breathed.

“She must have felt like she had to take this fall for us. Listen, I’ll call you in a few minutes. I’m at the department. I’ll speak with her here. Take care of yourself there, okay? We’ll be there soon.”

With that, Charlie disconnected the call. Her body trembled as she stood trying to grasp what the reality of the situation was. Vivian’s guilt was eating her alive all these years. Perhaps that’s why she looked after Ophelia. Ophelia felt suddenly sick. She slumped at the edge of the staircase, hugging into the railing, trying to remember that night. She hated thinking about it. How could Vivian have done it? She wasn’t there that night. Or was she?

Ophelia had just finished her shift at the University library. It was about 11:35pm, longer than she had intended to work for the day. She walked to her car in the lonely parking lot and felt the cold kisses of crisp air linger on her tender flesh. She hated being anywhere alone regardless of if she was seventeen. With a sigh, she stepped in the car, eager to find her way back to the Pierre-Louis’s manor. Sleep was clawing upon her eyelids. But she couldn’t until she heard from Monty. Earlier today, he and Stefan had gotten into a minor accident. Stefan wasn’t injured but Monty was a bit startled from the impact. Charlie had been keeping her informed all day, he was after all, taking the statement from them at the hospital. They all must have been back at the manor by now. She needed to be there.

From a distance, she saw the faint highlight of a car opposite to hers, just about to cross the Lake Tampa bridge. Ophelia hated this bridge. Its height made her feel dizzy as well as the depth of the lake beneath. There was something about its depth that chilled her to the core. In a shallow breath, she drove along when suddenly there was an abrupt siren from the vehicle before her. It stopped, blocking the entrance for her to drive further. She squinted her eyes, unsure of what to think. The officer stepped out of his vehicle. Her heart stopped.

That face.

That smug smile.

She didn’t know his name, but she knew him too well.

A memory she was dying to forget.

Her body froze in panic. She wanted to run away from him. She wanted to scream and cry. And yet, she froze in the driver’s seat. Three years ago, she ran to the house with the red door. Three years, she wished she hadn’t. She wished at least he wouldn’t have opened it. Now here he was, right before her.

He chuckled. He knew exactly who she was. They hadn’t filed any cases against him because Diane hadn’t wanted the attention on her family. Ophelia had no say on the matter as she was under their care. They all had just pretended it hadn’t happened and perhaps that was for the best. She didn’t want to remember it either way.

“I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle, Miss.” He smiled.

Ophelia frowned. Her voice trembled, “Why Officer?”

“Let’s try and not waste each other’s time, Miss. Get out the vehicle I have to do a search.”

Hesitant, she stepped out as he neared her. There was this look in his eyes. Dirty. Immoral. Opportunity. She blinked her thoughts away through damp eyelids. There were no lights on the bridge, just a vast blanket of darkness with a dim moon hanging above.

“Please, I have to get home quickly,” she pleaded, “My uncle’s not well.”

His hand suddenly touched her leg when she flinched away. Her back hit hard against the car door. “What are you doing!” She exclaimed. He suddenly caged her in with both his arms against the car.

“Oh, don’t pretend like we’re strangers. You’re a woman now. It’s different,” he chuckled, pressing his entire body against hers. “Do you feel that? That’s all for you.”

Fear choked her. Now wasn’t the time for her to have a panic attack.

“Please,” she asked again, unable to move, “I just want to go home.”

Ignoring her request, he suddenly flipped her back. Her head hit against the edge of the car with a force and blood leaked down to her mouth. She groaned.

“Oh you like that, baby? Still like it from the back, I see.” He laughed. It was a wicked vile thing. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He was never a boy. He was a monster. And now he must be worse. Ophelia knew that if he hurt her again this would have only been her fault. What would people say? Diane would throw her out. Where would she go? Her fear turned into a violent temper. She couldn’t let this happen again. The sound of his zipper being undone echoed through her ears. In a strong, swift, movement, just when he had loosened his grip in her, she pulled out the pen in her pocket and turned; stabbing into his testicles.

He shrieked, a loud ugly sound. She bolted towards the driver’s seat but he grabbed her vigorously by the hair back and slammed her head to the ground. All his rage and pain turned into a demonic sort of strength. She felt blood oozing everywhere. She wasn’t sure whose.

Ophelia, with all her strength, struggled to turn and punch him in the face. He staggered back, clasping his wounded manhood. She mirrored, with a limp forward.

“You fucking bitch, when I find you again-”

“Shut up!” She screamed and pounced onto him, clawing at his face. “You ruined everything! I hate you! I-”

He suddenly reached for his gun when she kicked it away and he crawled himself up. The deep vast water growled from below. He lunged at her, but she darted away. Ophelia suddenly screamed, feeling a hand on her leg pulling her down as he fell halfway over the edge of the bridge. She clutched onto the iron nearby with all her strength. And with whatever she had remaining, she used her free leg to give the most vicious kick at him, at the shoulder.

His hand suddenly let go and in the following moment a loud splash of relief echoed through her ears. Her body ached as she crawled towards her phone in the car. The numbers were blurry and bloody as she dialed.

The voice of a man answered. Monty. She trembled. Her words came out in sobs, “M-monty, I’ve done something b-bad.”

The minutes upon their arrival felt like hours, and a blur all at the same time. Someone suddenly cradled her close to his chest. She smelt the warm musky scent of Stefan and closed her eyes, “It’s alright, we’re here. You’re safe.”

“Jesus,” Charlie’s voice echoed.

“One of you boys,” Monty instructed, “Get rid of the car.”

The memory all faded into a blank darkness. Ophelia felt sick to her stomach. All that was the past. Nothing made much sense to her. Nothing made sense right now. Something felt very off. There was something more to it. Something a lot darker. She looked up the staircase and made her way towards one of the rooms. The door to Terilla’s room was left slightly ajar. As she lay on the bed, she looked at Ophelia through the door and then back up at the ceiling she was staring blankly at.

“What are they going to do with her?” The young girl suddenly asked, initiating for Ophelia to enter.

Ophelia stood silently as she entered and observed the neat little pink room with frills and doll-like pink wallpaper. “I don’t know,” Ophelia answered honestly, “She confessed. That’s all it takes.”

“So, she’s never coming back here?”

“If she’s truly guilty, no she won’t.”

“Good,” she said blinking up at the ceiling as Ophelia walked around the room, looking at the items on her vanity, “She killed Claire, she should stay away from us.”

Ophelia scoffed softly as she held in her hand an item on top of the vanity which finally made sense to her all this time. She squeezed it within her palm in anger. So tightly that it might have made her bleed. “Did she?”

Terilla looked as Ophelia neared her carefully. She held out her hand and emptied the scattered pink gemstones on top of Terilla. The antique rose quartz beads scattered everywhere as Ophelia sat at the side of the bed near the girl. “What did you do, you little bitch?”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Enough with your games, Terilla,” Ophelia cut her off with a firm hand placed around her neck, “Vivian didn’t kill Claire, did she? She realized what you did and wanted to save your ass. She loves you even if you don’t even give a shit about her.”

“Let- go-” she gasped as her feet kicked up and down.

“No!” she pressed her hand firmly down, “Why did you do it? Why did you kill Claire?”

Those beads. Those stones. That bracelet. It belonged to Claire. It was Florence’s, gifted to Claire-Marie. It was a family heirloom. No wonder it looked familiar to her that day she saw Terilla wearing it at the food court. That young girl walking up the hill to the farmhouse wasn’t a figment of her imagination, it was Terilla. That’s where she killed Claire.

“I- saved- Claire-”

Ophelia released her hand as the little girl sucked in a slice of air and crawled to the far edge of her bed’s corner. “I saved Claire! I gave her a better death than they would have! She was the perfect little virgin girl they wanted! Perfect perfect perfect! That’s all they bloody say about her! That’s all he said about her! That’s all Ethan said! He didn’t love me, he only cared about her! Even when she’s gone.”

“So you killed her?” Ophelia breathed in disgust, “You killed her because you were jealous?”

“They would have anyway!” Terilla screamed.

“Who’s they?” Ophelia shouted back when suddenly she realized what the girl had been saying, she looked at the young girl in utter disbelief, “You know about them?”

“Of course I know, I slept with half the idiot men in this town. They babble everything just for sex. I know more than they even know.”

“Terilla,” Ophelia sighed, “What do you know?”

She turned away and looked out the window conflicted.

“Do you know where they have her? Your friend, Mya.”

She didn’t answer.

“You can stop this,” Ophelia pleaded, “Just tell me where she is. For God’s sake, Terilla! She’s your friend!”

“I saw her with Sebby at the hotel near the recreational club.”

Ophelia’s heart shook from the mention of the name. She took a few steps back at the door in shallow breaths.

“She’s not a virgin.”

“What?”

“Mya’s not a virgin like they think she is,” Terilla repeated.

“And how will they know if she is or isn’t?”

“They have their ways,” she answered coolly.

“And what would happen to her when they find out she isn’t?” Ophelia frowned.

Terilla looked up at her in a soulless manner straight into her eyes like a piercing dagger, “They’d take turns raping her until she’s dead.”

In a matter of a second, Terilla plunged towards her as she sprung with a knife in her hand which was hidden beneath her pillow. In a quick reflect, Ophelia pulled out the gun and hit her with the back of it at the side of her head. She staggered back. Her body thumped to the floor as blood leaked from her forehead. She wasn’t dead, but she was unconscious.

Ophelia shut the door as she walked out the room. Eva, the young maid, stood silently at the side. “Dress her wound,” Ophelia instructed softly, “And make sure she doesn’t leave the room.”  

She had to stop this before it was too late.

**

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