Ophelia
Authors: Jude Ouvrard
Ophelia
Jude Ouvrard
Copyright © Jude Ouvrard 2014
Published by Jude Ouvrard
The right of Jude Ouvrard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
License Notes: This novel is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This print may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
KINDLE VERSION
Editor: Simone Beaudelaire - Proofreading by Magic of Books
Cover Artist: K23 Designs, Kari March
Pictures: ©
Alexandru Daniel Pavalache
©Stryjek
Music can make you feel alive or make you feel numb.
It can make you smile or cry.
It can make you dance or put you to sleep.
To Ophelia, it allows her to survive.
To the musicians, bands or singers who’ve let me, for an instant,
enjoy their world and creation to forget my own.
***
I’d always been afraid to lose people I love.
***
A
nother late night out. I had given the best concert of my life. I had owned the stage. But now I was tired, or should I say exhausted. I was not living the typical seventeen-year-old life. I’d travelled across the country and overseas, giving concerts and making appearances on talk shows. I was what some people called a prodigy. Right after the concert, I was invited by the other musicians to grab something to eat at a cafe nearby. It was fun, not as boring as I thought it would be. They were all older than me and I was the only pianist. I didn’t really care about the other instruments; I was only playing piano. It was my life, what I loved. My only interest.
While sitting on the bus on my way home, I decided to give a quick call to my friend, Beverly.
“Hey, girl!” Beverly answered after the first ring.
“Hey, girlfriend! I’m almost home. Sorry if I didn’t talk to you much after the concert. It was a pretty crazy night, lots of PR and important people.”
“You did so well. I’m very proud to call you my friend.” Bev meant it; she never lied to me. We were so close, our friendship was so tight, that she was able to tell me the truth. If I had sucked tonight, she would have told me without hesitation. Exactly what I expected of her.
“Thank you,” I said shyly. “Oh! I can’t wait to go to the dance tomorrow night. I’m so looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, me too. Hopefully we’ll meet nice guys.”
I laughed out loud, probably too loud for a bus conversation. “You’re such a girl.”
“You’ll see, Lia. We’re going to rock the place.” Beverly had promised me to help me get ready. Her life’s ambition consisted of being a renowned make-up artist and hair stylist.
I laughed again. Between the two of us, she represented the crazy, free-spirit one, I had to be the serious one.
“You are insane. Anyway, call me in the morning, I’m about to get out of the bus now.”
“Okay, I love you, my friend.”
“Love you too.” I loved her like a sister.
My watch indicated ten thirty and the bus had just dropped me at my stop. The dark sky let the stars shine and the breeze was cold enough to have my body covered in shivers. As I was getting closer to my house, I noticed that all the lights were turned off, which was unusual for my parents. We were all night owls and never in bed before eleven or midnight.
I walked to the porch and noticed that the front door was slightly open. That wasn’t normal. Right then, I knew something was wrong. My parents had a strict rule about always locking up before bedtime. As soon as I pushed the door open, I turned on the light of the living room and froze in shock. All the furniture had been turned into trash. The couch was torn, letting the white stuffing bleed out on the floor. The small table sitting in front of the TV appeared to be completely destroyed. Our books were all over the floor. Everything was a complete mess. Only the piano seemed to remain untouched.
“Dad? Mom?” I yelled, scared shitless. I waited a couple of seconds before I called them again, but I heard nothing except the thunder of my heartbeat. My whole body started trembling and I was crying from panic. I grabbed the broken table leg as a weapon and ran to their room, scared that I would run into the thief. On my way, I stumbled over something and fell face first on the carpet. I got up and continued my run to their room.
I turned on the lights of their room only to discover a bloody mess. My mother lay face down on the mattress, lifeless, her lavender nightgown covered in blood. “Mom!” I got down on my knees next to her body and tried to wake her up or get any sign that she was still alive. I placed my finger on her wrist trying to catch a pulse. “Mom? Please, open your eyes,” I begged her. She wasn’t breathing or moving. What had happened? I screamed at the top of my lungs. My dad, where was he? Terror twisted my insides. “Dad, where are you? Daddy?” I turned on the lights of the hallway and I saw his feet on the floor coming out of my bedroom. I slowed down, too scared of what I was going to see. I begged whoever was supposed to protect us up there to let him be alive. “Daddy?” I asked again in a whisper as I knelt beside him. His chest was covered in blood and injuries. I pressed my finger on the side of his neck in hope of finding a pulse, but there was nothing. He had died.
The pain spreading in my body was making it impossible for me to breathe. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t cry, I was fighting to get some oxygen in while I sat beside my lifeless father. The panic took control of my body and there was nothing I could do to make it stop. I was starting to feel nauseated. The entire house smelled like blood and death. I had to get out of here.
I ran outside, unable to call for help or even get a sound out of my mouth. My legs gave way, making me stumble on the cold green grass. My throat was hurting; it felt like I was trying to swallow a tennis ball. I tried dialling on my phone, but my fingers were shaking uncontrollably, making it impossible. I needed help, maybe my parents could still be saved. With all my strength, I got up and ran to Beverly’s house. I knocked hard on their door, leaving blood marks on their white paint. I wasn't sure whose blood it was. “Help!” I tried to scream, but my voice was barely audible. I continued knocking until Mr. Taylor opened the door with an irritated look on his face.
Then recognition dawned in his expression. In my panicky, overwrought state, the smallest details engraved themselves on my memory; the way the creases at the corners of his eyes smoothed out, the stubble on his jaw as his mouth fell open.
“Ophelia? Oh my God, what happened?”
I opened and closed my mouth struggling to speak, but could only manage an inarticulate squeak.
“Misha, call 9-1-1!” he yelled. His hot, mint-scented breath seemed to sear my cheek. For a moment it seemed as though this tiny puff of air would suffice to knock me down.
“Ophelia, are you okay?” He asked reaching for my shoulders.
My vision was getting blurrier by the second. I didn't know what was happening to me. I couldn't feel anything. Mr. Taylor asked me the same question a second time urgently.
“My parents were murd...” I blacked out and let my body go unconscious numb the pain I felt.
...O...
Waking up in a room with pastel peach walls was not a good sign. I knew I was probably in a hospital, but why? I looked at my body. I had no IV, no injuries. I was perfectly fine. My back was aching from being in this hard, uncomfortable bed for so long. I sat with my legs crossed and noticed the absence of any decoration – the room was completely empty. Was I dreaming? I got up and winced at the pain. Every single one of my muscles ached and I didn’t know why. Normally stretching would help, but this time, it felt as if my body was cracking to pieces. I walked slowly to the door. I wanted to know where I was and the only way was to find a doctor or a nurse. I tried to push the door open and then I pulled, but the damned door was locked. What the hell? I banged on it with all the strength I could muster. I was out of breath, tired when a tall women with grey hair unlocked the door. She eyed me as if I was a grenade waiting to explode.
“Miss Stewart, how long have you been awake?” she asked, removing the key from the lock.
She knew my name that was a good start. “A couple of minutes.” I looked at her watching me carefully. “Where am I?” I asked her.
“You are at the Kingsboro Hospital.”
The psychiatric hospital? My heart skipped a beat. “Why? I’m not crazy.” I shouted. “Can I call my parents or my friend? I have to get out of here.”
The pain on her face was a definite sign that something was wrong. “We’ll contact them. How are you feeling right now?”
I took a moment to ask myself the very same question, I didn’t really know how I felt. It was as if part of my brain couldn’t think anymore. My mind was numb and a deep sadness haunted me. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t tell what exactly it was. “I’m not sure.” I said as my bottom lip started to tremble. “What happened? What have you done to me? What kind of medication am I on?”
She tucked my dirty hair behind my ears. “Go back to bed,” she instructed in a soft, soothing voice. By the time, I was seated on the edge of the mattress, I had transformed in a sobbing mess and she left me behind, alone. Locked in a fucking psychiatric hospital room. I hurt so much but I didn’t know why. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” I asked looking up the ceiling. “Fuck...” I grabbed my hair into my hands and pulled. I had to feel something more than sadness. My body wasn’t mine anymore and it scared me to death.
“Miss Stewart?” A man’s voice startled me, and I looked toward the door to see a man holding a notepad. “Miss Stewart, can you tell me how you’re feeling?”
I tried breathing in, but I couldn’t, I was choking. My hands became too tired to pull my hair any longer. When I released it, a bunch of it fell on the mattress. There was two chunks of red hair on each side of me and I had not felt any pain.
“Can you remember what happened four days ago? Do you have any memories?”
Four days ago? Why was he asking so many questions? I wanted my parents. I needed to feel safe again because I was fucking scared at the moment. My parents? I had a blank in my head but it soon transformed into red. Blood, there was blood everywhere in their bedroom. The sheets of the bed were covered with reddish splatters like a scene in a horror movie. I remember seeing them at my concert, looking all chic in their black outfits, and my next memory was their corpses lying in a sea of blood. I screamed so loud I felt the inside of my throat tearing apart. I screamed their names, I hit the bed frame with my fists until I felt something again. A mass of doctors and nurses rushed into the room and they forced me down, and... I... It became all black again...
...O...
My heart started beating fast, way too fast, and it woke me up. I sat straight up. My right wrist was tied to the bed in the same shitty peach room. I pulled hard, twisted my wrist in every direction trying to get it out.
