by Amber Kay
I scroll down toward the end of the article to see the picture. Jeanette looks to be Adrian’s type. Pretty. Young. Naïve. Just like me. Poor girl. Her only mistake was getting involved with him. Adrian hardly mentioned the girl he destroyed. He often refused to talk about the case.
As I see her now in the family photo, she looks happy, innocent and so unlike the kind of girl who’d be a member of a sex club like the Carnal Chapel. She mirrors her parents—all of them blonde, blue-eyed beauties with wholesome smiles. They’re normal, good-looking people. There is a face in this photo that I recognize. A brunette woman who sticks out next to her blonde family members.
The captions below it say that this is candid shot of Jeanette with her family at some ski resort in the Swiss Alps. Jeanette, her parents…and her sister, Eliza.
The woman staring back at me from this photo isn’t simply Jeanette’s younger sister. Until now, I have never known her by the name Eliza Conway. I have only met her as Amelia Jacobs—Vivian’s dutiful housemaid.
“Oh my god,” I say. “The woman Adrian killed was Amelia’s sister?”
It makes sense. All along, it’s made sense. I just never saw it. Until now.
“After my sister died, life wasn’t so good for me,” she’d said.
“She was the only family I had …”
“You don’t know what you think you know…”
Everything she said. None of was coincidence. It was intentionally said to warn me. I never caught the words, never read between the lines. Amelia has been in the background, pulling strings to avenge the sister she lost because of the Lynchs.
I immediately think about the letter Foster had given me written by Amelia. I quickly fish through my purse and find it crumpled up at the bottom. I tear the thing open, frantic to read Amelia’s last written words—words she’d intended for me to read.
“To Cassandra:
If you got this letter than I hope it means that Vivian is dead. Yeah, that’s right. Vivian. Contrary to popular belief, that woman was much more evil than anyone ever knew. Well, almost anyone. You see, I decided years ago after Jeanette died that my future at med school was a joke. It would have never worked. Because when she died, I guess I did too.
But I won’t bore you with my self-deprecation. Too little time, and yet not enough time in the world. Let’s see where to start? Number one: I'm sorry for what happened to Sasha. It was never my intention for her to take the drink that was meant for Vivian.
As you recall that night (and I'm sure you do), I was at the gala. I spent it watching Vivian while serving her phony friends. I got sick just looking at the woman. The one thing I distinctly remember thinking was: what kind of a god would allow Vivian Lynch to live and force beautiful people like Jeanette to die? Is that fair? I think not!
Then again, I gave up on the notion of “god” the day Jeanette died. Why have any faith in some invisible man who lets the wrong people die? Jeanette didn’t deserve it. And for Vivian to mock death by faking cancer…I couldn’t take it any longer! I’d initially planned to work my way into her life under an assumed name. So yeah, in case you were wondering, Amelia Jacobs was a pseudonym.
After earning a job as Vivian’s closest maid, I wanted to dose her food with a teaspoon of arsenic for several years over time. This was how I was to honor Jeanette’s memory, by punishing the woman that stole her away.
You might be asking, “Why arsenic?” Well, it’s simple. Arsenic is the slowest, most painful way I can think of for anyone to die. But even Vivian was too good for that method.
Then I met you, Cassandra. I realized that you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. You poor thing. I’d wanted to outright tell you to run the first day I met you…”
I remember that day, the day I’d realized something was different about Amelia. She barely looked me in the eye at least not with Vivian in the room. Maybe that’s what kept her at bay. Anytime we ever had a second alone, something always came along to intervene. Who knows how many times she tried to warn me?
“…but then I realize that my warnings would probably have fallen on deaf ear. After all, you didn’t know me. I feared you’d think me crazy. So I kept my warnings to myself and prayed you’d eventually figure it out. If you’re reading this letter now, then I'm glad to say that you’ve managed to figure it out. Congrats! You worried me for a second…”
Congrats? I can’t decide if I should feel offended by that word. Congratulating me now that I'm a second too late, is almost insulting. If this letter had been delivered earlier, Amelia would still be alive. So would Sasha.
“Okay, so here’s the real business side of things. I’d wanted this letter to be short, but hell, this is my dying declaration…a deathbed confession so to speak! I’m not going out without telling you all I know because I genuinely think you deserve the truth, Cassandra. Believe it or not, I actually liked you. Everything I did, I did it not only to avenge Jeanette but also to look out for you. So I hired Foster to keep an eye on you.
He was supposed to be a decoy, to ward you away from the Lynchs. When that backfired, I told Foster to intensify his ‘stalking efforts’ to really scare you. I know it’s drastic, Cassandra. I know, but I had to convince you to stay away. Someone had to warn you. Oh man, I wish you’d listened. Perhaps Sasha would be alive. Maybe even I’d be alive. But who am I kidding? I knew I’d die which is part of the reason I wrote this letter.
So that you can take it to the police, urge them to reopen Jeanette’s murder case. Because what they’d find is the truth. Adrian didn’t murder my sister. Vivian did. I’d heard them late one night, arguing over the usual. Money and the pre-nup. I heard Adrian say ‘if you’d managed to control yourself that night, then none of this would even be happening!’
It’s vague, I know. But I knew what it meant because Vivian replied, ‘Oh, so because you couldn’t keep your hands off that Conway bitch, it’s my fault our marriage has gone to shit?! She needed to die. Because it was either her or you!’
I knew from then on, Vivian had to pay.”
I should be surprised, but I can’t say I completely am. Adrian protected the truth about the murder to in actuality, protect Vivian. Of course. The man allowed himself to be skewered by the media and publically judged by everyone he knew to protect the truth about Vivian? A woman who despised him? Guess love really is blind.
Maybe he never knew. Perhaps he thought that taking the blame for Vivian’s crime was the only way to redeem himself. He was wrong. Vivian was rubber. Nothing anyone did would have changed her mind about something once it was set. Carrick was convinced she was incapable of love. Amelia believed Vivian was a sadist. I believe she had a talent of becoming whomever anyone needed her to be.
Sadist. Wife. Friend. Lover. Enemy.
Carrick was right. Vivian was Vivian. The only problem with that was that no one knew who she was. I’d like think that some of the things she’d told me were true. Guess I’d be a damn idiot. The phrase “Shame on me once…” comes to mind.
I knew Adrian was keeping the secret close to his heart to keep Vivian out of prison. Amelia knew too. Since Adrian wasn’t willing to fess up, Amelia clearly took matters into her own hands. Amelia set the fire. Amelia went after Vivian, but accidentally killed Sasha in the process, then herself. My stomach clenches at the thought of it. I think about Sasha and imagine her crippled in pain, lying on that garden floor.
Sasha was a casualty who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. She took the drink meant for Vivian—the drink that disoriented and ultimately killed her. Oh, my stomach. I slump forward against the steering wheel of my car, unable to breathe through the hurt.
“Dammit,” I mutter. “Dammit, Amelia.” I pound my fist against the dashboard, wishing I could hurt something. Enough people have been hurt. None of us won. Vivian, Amelia and Sasha are dead. I feel like I might as well be dead. I flip to the final page of Amelia’s letter, holding my breath.
“So what I want
ed you to know from all of this, Cassandra is that you weren’t alone. Vivian dug her claws into everyone and everything she believed would benefit her. The woman was a sadist. I had to stop her. As I write this letter, it’s approximately 10:30 pm. Tuesday. This time tomorrow, I’ll likely be dead. Because I’ve learnt that to slay a dragon, one must be willing to fall on his own sword. So that’s what I’m doing. Vivian must die. If I die in the process, then so be it. At least then, I can die knowing that I rid the world of her. Take care of yourself Cassandra. Please, that’s all I ask of you.
--Sincerely
Amelia (aka: Eliza Conway)”
I fold Amelia’s letter and tuck it into my pocket. I don’t know how I'm supposed to feel or how she wants me to feel. I will say that hearing the truth was nice for once. For once. It’s such a rare commodity. I’ve been forced to juggle the secret somethings of Vivian and Adrian Lynch for too long.
For once, I can let go, but I’ll never fully be rid of her. I glance into the rearview mirror after delving through my purse. Inside, I find a tube of lipstick that Vivian must have snuck in with my things when I wasn’t looking. The color is coral, her favorite.
As I press the applicator to my lips, I think to myself: Do I dare? This question leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but it incites no debate.
“Hell no,” I mutter before tossing the lipstick out the window. “Rest in hell Vivian Lynch.” Then I drive. Away from the apartment en route to the airport.
Amber thanks you for reading! She also doesn’t mind reviews. For more information about her or her books, check out the links below!
www.amberkaybooks.com
Twitter: @rozkae
Visit her on www.goodreads.com and/or www.shelfari.com
Check out her other books on www.amazon.com