Ophelia

by Jessica Lynch

  So when he simply said, “Okay. Get a room ready. I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Maria nearly dropped her radio in surprise.

  And then Lucas cut the connection. Too stunned to react, she stood in her kitchen for a few minutes thinking about how unlike her brother that whole conversation was.

  He’d admitted she was right.

  Caitlin had a point. After she got the outsider settled, she was so going to savor that.

  Before she headed out of the kitchen, a familiar voice called out from her communicator, bringing her attention back to the radio still in her hand.

  “Sweetheart. You in?”

  Sylvester rarely used the radio to contact her. Maria’s paranoia that he would buzz her when Lucas was around kept him from contacting her even though he had her direct channel. If he wanted to talk to her, he waited for her to call him—or he swung by Ophelia and checked to see if her brother’s Mustang was parked out front.

  She wasn’t ashamed of her lover. Far from it. But explaining just how serious her relationship with Sly had become in the year since they met… well, that was one conversation she didn’t want to have with Lucas quite yet.

  Thinking about the one she just had, she wondered if Sly’s buzz had anything to do with this outsider.

  “Sly. Tesoro.” Maria felt comfortable using the term of endearment—a literal translation of “treasure”, though it meant he was her darling—because Sly didn’t know more than a handful of words in Italian. He was learning for her, though he hadn’t picked much up yet. Still, the thought was there. “Is everything alright?”

  “Have you heard from the doctor yet?”

  There was something about the way he asked her that. Not your brother. The doctor. “I have,” she said hesitantly, “but it didn’t have anything to do with his work. He wanted to talk to me about Ophelia. Why?”

  “Police business. He…” Sly paused, as if deciding whether to continue his thought or not. “He got called in by the sheriff to take care of a body.”

  Her first reaction was to ask who died. In a village with such a small population, she knew everyone in town and mourned the loss of each and everyone who passed. Even old Mrs. Birmingham, who died a few months ago—and forced Maria to alter her most recent Hamlet welcome sign in order to correct the population count.

  But then it hit her that Sly said police business and she forgot all about the sign and Mrs. B.

  Police business meant that there was something off about this one. And he said body instead of a name.

  Her brow furrowed, she had to ask, “Do I know them?”

  “I don’t think so. It was an outsider.” Another pause, then the words spilled out in that strong, no-nonsense tone she adored: “A male outsider was found strangled to death over in the Hamlet Inn. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I had to make sure you know to be careful. The sheriff’ll kick my ass if she finds out I did. I had to tell you, though. You’re too important to me.”

  His concern melted her heart and heated her cheeks. It was so caring, so sweet that she didn’t even comprehend what it was that he told her at first. When it registered, her mouth dropped open. A murder? At the Mitchell’s inn?

  “What? No way—in Hamlet?”

  “I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it myself. It was bad. Very bad.”

  Sly Collins was ex-military. During the long nights when they just talked, getting to know each other, he told her stories about the time he served. How bad did it have to be for him to say it was bad?

  “What—”

  “Uh-uh. No way, sweetheart. I’m not putting that nightmare into your head. And don’t ask the doctor, either. I know he won’t tell you. And that’s after he skins me for letting you know that it happened in the first place.”

  That was true—and not only because she had only just spoken to him and he mentioned nothing about a murder. Though it did explain what Lucas was doing with Caitlin. As often as he was able to avoid his ex-wife, there were times when the town doctor couldn’t get away from the sheriff.

  Maria tried not to overreact. Sly came to her with this news because he trusted her. She wouldn’t make him any more upset by freaking out. “Lucas is bringing a guest for Ophelia,” she told him instead. “Tessa Sullivan. Would she have anything to do with this?”

  Outsiders were rare in Hamlet. What were the odds that one needed a place to stay when another was murdered in poor Caro’s inn and the two weren’t connected? Maria doubted that very much.

  But Sly wasn’t talking.

  “I wouldn’t have involved you in this at all. But I’ve gotta accept that there might be a murderer in Hamlet. I won’t risk you. I love you, sweetheart.”

  In her head, she said the words back.

  He waited for her to answer him, sounding resigned when the time came and passed in silence. “Sheriff’s got me and Mase pulling doubles. I’ll do anything I can to keep Hamlet safe, but I might not be able to see you for a couple of days. I’ll feel a lot better if I know you’re safe inside.”

  Her stomach sank. Sly took his job as deputy seriously. Didn’t mean that she liked the idea of being apart from him. Or that it didn’t scare her that he was actually out there looking for a murderer.

  Because that’s what kind of person throttles an outsider. A murderer.

  She felt a shiver start and quickly tamped it down. Maria refused to let the old nerves rise up. The locks and all of the security measures that Lucas installed after Mack Turner were virtually impenetrable. So long as she didn’t leave Ophelia, she had nothing to worry about.

  “I’ll stay in,” she promised. “But you take care of my deputy. I… I’m very fond of him.”

  It might not be what he wanted, but it was enough for now. “Buzz me later, okay? We’ll talk some more.”

  “I will.”

  Sly slipped in one more, “Love you,” before disconnecting his call.

  The radio went silent. She stared at it for one moment, regretted all the things she couldn’t say, set it down on the counter. A quick glance at the kitchen clock revealed more than five minutes had passed since Lucas buzzed her. She’d worry about Sly later.

  For now, she had a guest.

  A guest!

  Hurrying from the kitchen, Maria headed straight for the Lavender Room. She promised Lucas she would get the room ready for his surprise guest. The bed needed to be turned down, the windows open, the space aired out. Fresh flowers. She needed fresh flowers.

  There was something in Lucas’s voice. And then what Sly had told her.

  Definitely fresh flowers.

  Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or nerves. Finally, she was going to have another guest. An outsider—and one who was in need. Maria knew all about that. Most of Hamlet still eyed her warily after what happened with Mack Turner, almost as if they expected her to break any second.

  What would the curious town think of this poor, unfortunate outsider?

  What would Maria think of her?

  What would she think of Ophelia?

  One thing was certain. A spark of anticipation lit up her pale blue eyes.

  She couldn’t wait to meet this Tessa Sullivan.

  About the Author

  Jessica Lynch has been writing since she was 8 and wrote a short story called “Bugs Bunny Meets the Little Mermaid”, mainly because they were the only characters she could illustrate. She lives in New Jersey with her family and enough cats to cement her status as a future cat lady. When not working as a retail nutritional adviser or writing, she enjoys going to Broadway, watching her beloved New York Mets and reading (and re-reading) as many books as she can get her hands on!

  For more information about Jessica:

  jessicalynchwrites.com

  cursetheflame@gmail.com

  Also by Jessica Lynch

  Welcome to Hamlet

  Don’t Trust Me

  Ophelia

  I’ll Never Stop: coming soon


  The Other Side

  Stalk the Moon: coming soon

  Coming Soon

  I’ll Never Stop

  It was supposed to be one date. After connecting on an online dating site, Grace Delaney agreed to go out with Thomas for coffee—and that was the beginning of the end for her.

  Thomas Mathers is rich, he’s smart, he’s arrogant and, after one afternoon, he’s decided that the lovely ballerina is meant to be his. And because he quickly reveals how obsessed he is by her, he’s not about to take Grace’s no for an answer.

  No matter where she goes, he’ll find her. In the seven months since they met, she’s been forced to move twice, change her number three times. The cops won’t help her. Her friends think she’s just being stubborn. Thomas would be good for her, they said.

  Thomas would never let her go.

  He stalks her, tracks her using his wits and the best technology that money can buy. How can she escape him?

  Simple. By hiding out in a small town where there’s no phone, no television, and a former Marine turned Sheriff’s deputy is willing to do whatever he has to to protect the frightened outsider.

  Welcome back to Hamlet.

  Coming Soon

  Stalk the Moon

  She doesn't know she's Artemis, mythical huntress and goddess of the moon—but he does. And that's all he needs to win this time around. Except he was expecting the Artemis he remembers. What he got instead was—

  Noelle

  I've never been the sort of girl to cry and mope. I'm no damsel in distress. Whatever life throws my way, I take it. No matter how rough or tough or... weird?

  Because waking up in a forest wearing nothing but a sheet is certainly weird. Stabbing a giant scorpion in the eye with a stick? Really friggin’ weird. Finding out I'm some whiz with a bow and a Disney princess who can bond with animals—okay, not gonna lie. That was pretty cool.

  Discovering I'm supposedly the reincarnation of the Greek goddess Artemis? That swings so far back to weird that my head spins just thinking about it. How am I supposed to face that? Or some big, beautiful hunter guy who insists we're meant to be?

  I mean, I might not be all up and up on my mythology, but wasn't Artemis some kind of virgin?

  Ryan

  She's back. After all this time, after all this waiting, she's back in my reach and nothing is going to keep me from changing the way this story ends.

  Not the tragedy of our shared history. Not the fact that her brother would stop at nothing to keep us separated.

  Not even the unfortunate truth that Artemis doesn't remember me—or even herself.

  This time we’ll have our happily ever after. No matter what I have to do.

  Please enjoy a sneak peek at my upcoming Greek mythology-based paranormal romance,

  Stalk the Moon.

  Stalk the Moon

  I feel like I’m falling forever even if the logical part of my brain tells me it’s only seconds since Dudley knocked me into the mirror. Or through it. I’m kind of fuzzy on that point.

  Before I can scream, I land on my hands and knees, letting out a soft “ooph” when I hit. I immediately roll onto my back, my chest heaving as I suck in my breath.

  The air is heavy, filled with musk and moisture. Damp grass pinches my bare arms and my calves. A canopy of tree leaves is high over my head. Through the gaps between eerily thin branches, the night sky is purple and glitters with thousands of twinkling stars.

  Holy shit.

  I’m outside. And not just outside—I’m in the woods. There aren’t any woods within ten miles of my apartment and something tells me these are real woods. The industrial stink of my nice, safe, recognizable New Jersey suburb has been replaced by something crisp and fresh and just a tad bit… muddy?

  Okay. If I haven’t managed to fall behind my apartment—the stink of day-old garbage and roasted garlic is too noticeable to miss—then that leaves one question: Where the hell am I?

  Laying on my back, lost and confused and helpless, isn’t the smartest move. With a grunt, I pull myself to my feet, wiping my hands against each other and then knocking stray blades of grass from my stained knees.

  I do a double-take when I see my knees.

  I’m still wearing my nightgown and nothing else. Okay. That hasn't changed. My feet are bare. Cold mud squelches between my toes when I wiggle them. I jump and land in a pile of moss. I wipe my feet, but it’s pointless. Patches of dirt and puddles of mud surround me.

  Hey, at least there isn’t any snow.

  I shake my head. There’s no denying this is happening. I think back to the last thing I remember. My cat was acting strange and then I tripped on him. I fell through the mirror. Did he follow me?

  I click my tongue. “Dudley? Dud, buddy?” I snap my fingers. The sound echoes in the empty forest. “Hey. I got tuna.”

  Nothing. That should’ve worked, too. I don’t know if I’m relieved or not that Dud’s not here. I doubt I’d be able to hold onto my stray cat out in the woods, but I would’ve liked the company anyway.

  I turn around slowly, taking it all in. My nightgown flares out behind me as I spin. I’m definitely alone. Not to mention stranded in a forest that smells of musk and mud, with a chill breeze that reminds me I'm dressed for bed. Dandelions dot the patchy grass, bravely trying to stake their claim. Wide, arching branches shield the sky, allowing a small trickle of moonlight in for me to see by.

  Something shimmers and I freeze.

  Okay. Now what was that?

  I know it might be reckless. That doesn’t stop me. I draw up close to the shimmering shape. It’s a square, roughly the size of my iPad. It ripples like a pond does after you throw a lucky penny in. But that’s not what catches my attention. The gloomy forest is made up of dark earthy colors: black, brown, mossy green. The pale pink definitely sticks out.

  My room. My walls are that color. Squinting, I lean in and make out some details. The white blob on the floor is my new blanket. My bed is there, but it’s on the wrong side. So is my desk. In the wrong corner, sitting on my dresser, I see Dudley lazily licking his paw and grooming his torn ear. It’s the opposite ear.

  Duh. Of course everything is reversed. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that I’m peeking into my bedroom through the other side of that damn mirror. And if bumping into the mirror brought me here, this has to be my ticket back.

  My fingers pause when only an inch separates them from the wavering pink square. A shiver runs up my spine. All of my senses are suddenly on alert. Coming from my left, I hear the snapping of twigs and the trampling of the crunchy leaves that litter the floor of this forest.

  Someone is coming.

  My heart starts to pound. I drown it out, tensing as I listen closely. No. Not someone. Something. There are far too many legs for it to belong to a person.

  I could’ve touched the hazy window that shows me my bedroom. Dud is right there. Home is right there. Only a couple of inches away. I could have gone home and then everything would’ve changed. But I’ll never know if it would’ve worked because I don’t reach for it.

  Instead, I turn around.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe.

  Legs. Big legs. Too many legs. Claws. Pointy claws. Poison.

  Okay then.

  I look this big ass, monster looking thing in its very hungry eyes for a single second, strangle my scream and take off like a fucking shot. I’m gone. It doesn’t matter that I’m barefoot. Sticks and pebbles, acorns and rocks—they all poke and cut my flesh and, holy shit, please don’t let me be leaving a blood trail for that creature to follow.

  I crash through the forest, running as fast as I can. I’m not going for grace—this is as all about speed. I dodge trees, slip on damp patches of grass, and nearly face-plant when I land awkwardly in a rabbit hole. I’m so focused on running away and not turning to look back that I’m not watching where I’m going. I ignore the slight twinge in my ankle. I refuse to be monster chow. I right myself, shake if off, and pour on the r
est of my energy.

  The trees start to thin out. Finally, some luck. The space makes it easier for me to navigate but that also means the monster has some advantage now too. It’s catching up. I know it is. Okay. Running’s out. I need a new plan.

  I reach a wide clearing and stop, my hands bracing my knees as I hunch over, panting. Sweat slicks most of my hair to my forehead and my neck. The rest of it is tangled in one big, dark knot. My heart’s hammering inside my chest. The stitch in my side is so sharp, I feel like I’ve been stabbed.

  My breath comes out in a rough wheeze. Its loud as hell, and I can still hear that thing coming after me.

  My feet are on fire. The instep on my right foot throbs so bad, I just know it’s got to be worse than a tiny nick or bruise. A branch must’ve snagged my nightgown because there’s a tear in one of the cap sleeves and a long scratch down my arm. The stitch in my side reminds me how out of shape I am. God, it hurts to breathe.

  Okay. One pain at a time. I can’t do anything for my feet, but I put my hand on my side and begin to rub.

  Two seconds later, when my poor brain catches up to the messages my eyes are sending it, I do another double-take. Then I blink once, twice, and stare at my arm. I know I’m pale, and my white nightgown isn’t doing me any favors, but this is really, really weird.

  A faint silver aura clings to my skin. Holy shit. I’m glowing.

  I stretch my other arm out, wiggling my fingers. They leave an incandescent trail against the blackness of night where I move them. As I stare in disbelief, my skin glows even brighter. Great. There goes Plan A. Hiding is out.

  Now if only I had a Plan B.

  I don’t waste time worrying about my newfound sparkle. I decide it’s some kind of refraction, maybe moonlight bouncing off of the trees, bathing me in this weird glow. It has to be because I don’t have any other explanation. I'm still working on trying to figure out how I ended up out in the woods in the first place.