The Dead City (Ophelia book 2)

by Amy Cross

“Get here!” she hisses. “It's on the corner, there's a sign on the side with the college's logo, you can't miss it! I'm here with Victoria Middleton in the main room that the students are using, and she's...”

  I wait for her to finish.

  “She's what?” I ask.

  “I'm so sorry. I got it all wrong.”

  “What's happening?” I ask. “Ophelia, talk to me!”

  “She's the killer,” she continues, “and she's not done yet. She's going to kill a lot more people and I don't think I can stop her by myself. I thought I could, but I can't. She's... She's damaged. She sees things in a way that's totally messed up.”

  “Does she know you're there?”

  “Oh yeah, definitely. We were just talking, but she's gone to get some equipment. She's insane, Laura. She's not evil, but she's got this really weird view of the world. I thought she was like me, she wants to be my friend, but...” She pauses. “I think she's coming back.”

  “Get out of there!” I shout, hurrying back to the car and getting into the driver's seat. “We're on the way, so just get away from her and wait for us to arrive! And try not to arouse her suspicion. Just make an excuse and leave!”

  “It's okay,” she replies, “I'm not in any danger. She thinks I'm on her side.”

  “She thinks you're what?”

  “What's wrong?” Nick asks.

  “We've got her,” I reply, starting the engine. “Tell all units to meet us at the college's building on Park Street, and make sure there's someone covering any other possible exits from the place. If we let her get away, we might never be able to find her again. She'll slip into the night and that'll be it.”

  “You've got to promise not to hurt her,” Ophelia continues, lowering her voice. “All of this is my fault, Laura. I'm so sorry, I should never have -”

  Before she can finish, there's a crackling sound and the line goes dead.

  “Ophelia?” I shout as I steer the car out of the parking spot. I try to call her back, but suddenly her phone is off.

  “I knew it,” Nick mutters. “I knew that goddamn little freak was going to be involved somehow. She's bad news, Laura!”

  “It's Victoria Middleton,” I explain, dropping the phone as I take the first left after the main building. “She's the killer. Ophelia's with her right now.”

  “So you were right,” Nick replies, sounding surprised. “Adams isn't going to like that.”

  “I don't give a crap what Adams likes,” I tell him. “We have to get there before anyone else gets hurt!”

  “This can't be a coincidence,” he continues. “Laura, did you get Ophelia involved on purpose?”

  “No!” I reply, before realizing that I can't lie anymore. “Maybe. Partly. Maybe. But I knew what she was doing. I was in control!”

  “Do you realize what'll happen if -”

  “Yes!”

  “But -”

  “I know!” I shout, trying to stay calm.

  “This is fucked up,” Nick replies with a sigh. “I hope you know what you're doing, 'cause if that girl has interfered with the case -”

  “She hasn't!” I tell him firmly as I keep my eyes on the road. “Without Ophelia, I don't think we'd even have a chance of stopping Victoria Middleton in time.”

  Ophelia

  “What did you do that for?” she screams, throwing the phone across the room with such force that it smashes against the far wall. She turns and takes a couple of paces away before turning back to me with tears in her eyes.

  “Victoria,” I reply, forcing myself to stay calm, “it's only -”

  “Shut up!” she shouts, lunging at me and pushing me back against a nearby table.”Just...”

  Again she turns away, as if she can't even bring herself to look at me. As she walks over to the pots of resin she brought into the room a moment ago, she seems completely consumed by rage. When she looks back at me, there are tears running down her cheeks and her face is flushed red with anger. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so close to a breakdown before.

  “All my work,” she says finally, her voice cracking with emotion. “Everything was perfectly set up, and I'd got all my plans down perfectly. The first two parts were all done, I just needed to do the third, and then...”

  I wait for her to continue, but her bottom lip is trembling as tears roll down her cheeks.

  “You have to listen to me,” I reply eventually. “I'm just trying to help you.”

  “By calling the police?”

  “It's not as simple as that,” I tell her. “The students here... I can't let you kill a bunch of innocent people.”

  “That's not the point!” she shouts. “It's not about killing them! I don't care if they live or die, all I care about is that they fit into the project. I thought you understood!”

  “I do understand,” I reply, “but that doesn't mean I can let you do it.”

  “So you were lying to me?”

  “No.”

  “All that talk about us going away, about us working on the next stage of the project together -”

  “I never actually said that's what we'd do,” I point out. “I said I'd help you, but I didn't mean with the project. I meant with... this. With life, with how you see things.”

  “Liar!” she shouts, hurrying over to me and pushing me back against the wall. “We were going to go away and make everything okay! You were the only person who understood what I was trying to do, but now...” She slams her knee into my leg and then spins me around before knocking me back against a nearby bench. She pauses, her venom-filled eyes drilling into me until finally, suddenly, she takes a step back. “It's okay,” she says, sounding much calmer, almost blank. “I've got a better idea. I can still rescue this.”

  “They'll be here in a couple of minutes,” I tell her, trying to ignore the pain in my leg. “Trust me, I know the woman in charge of the case. She's a good person and she's going to make sure you're okay.”

  “I need your help,” she replies, hurrying over to the pots of resin and forcing the lid off the nearest. It's clear that she's no longer really listening to me; instead, her passion for her work seems to have taken over completely.“Ophelia, come here. I need you to do something for me!”

  “Victoria -”

  “Just help me!” she shouts, fumbling with a couple of brushes. “Please, Ophelia. You wrecked the project, but I can rescue it if you just help me for a moment. In fact... She pauses for a moment, as if her thoughts are rushing through her mind too fast. “I can even make it better. I don't know why I didn't see this before.”

  “I'm not going to let you hurt anyone,” I tell her.

  “Don't worry, there isn't time for that.” Grabbing one of the pots, she brings it over to the table. “Can you follow simple instructions? You can, I know you can. Okay, just listen -”

  “Victoria, please -”

  “I need you to kill me.”

  I stare at her, trying to work out if I heard her right.

  “It makes sense,” she continues, with a faint smile. “The original plan was to kill everyone else here, but I can make it work the other way too. Let them live, and have me be the one who's left in the middle of the room. It'll still be a statement, but I need you to help me. Once I'm dead, you have to coat me in resin -”

  “No!”

  “Coat me in -”

  “No!”

  “So that I fit with the Dead City project!” she continues, her eyes filled with deluded enthusiasm. “It makes perfect sense, and it's relevant to all the themes of the project. They'll walk in and find me frozen in the center of the room, with all my intended victims around me. The resin dries pretty fast, so you just need to coat me in it and then make sure no-one disturbs the scene for a few hours. Then you can anonymously tell the police where to find me, and then leak some photos online. I'll be famous, I'll be remembered, and I'll be making a true contribution to the world of art. This can be a new dawn.”

  “Listen to me,” I reply, “you need help
-”

  “Exactly,” she adds, pulling a knife from her pocket and thrusting the handle into my hands. “Make it quick,” she continues, tilting her head up and running a finger across her neck. “Just cut it from one side to the other. I don't think it'll take long for me to die. There'll be blood, but that's okay, just ignore it. Once I'm done, arrange me on the floor in a fitting pose and then put a couple of layers of the resin on my body. You can leave my clothes on if you're short of time.”

  “Please just listen,” I continue, setting the knife down.

  “Why won't you help me?” she shouts.

  “There are other ways of -”

  “Fine!” she continues, grabbing the knife. “I'll do it myself!”

  Before she can cut her neck, I grab her arm and slam it into the side of the table with enough force to make her drop the knife. She tries to push me away, but I throw all my weight against her and slam her into the wall before swinging her around and sending us both tumbling to the ground. She tries to knee me in the stomach but she only strikes a glancing blow, allowing me to pin her down. She continues to struggle but there's no way I'm going to let her get away, even though she's a lot stronger than I'd expected.

  “What's wrong with you?” she shouts.

  “Listen,” I reply breathlessly, “you're going to be fine. The police are going to take you to a hospital where you can be properly checked out -”

  “No!”

  “And then the doctors will decide what should be done to help you -”

  “No!”

  “And then everything's going to be okay. I'll still come and visit you, and you can still do your -”

  “No!” she shouts, still trying to get free. “Is that what you want? Do you want to be stuck in an institution and slotted into some kind of category?”

  “I haven't killed a load of people!” I shout back at her.

  “No, you just killed one person!”

  “You don't have a clue what you're talking about,” I reply. “This isn't -”

  “Then tell me,” she continues. “You said you killed someone, but you didn't give me the details. It's almost like you enjoy cultivating a sense of mystery, like you feel it's the only way you can be special. That might work with other people, but I see right through you and I know how your head works. After all, mine works the same way. So come on, what happened? Why are you so much better than me?”

  “I didn't say that I'm better than you.”

  “Who did you kill?”

  “Please, don't -”

  “Who did you kill?” she shouts again.

  I shake my head.

  “What's your name?” she asks. “At least tell me that. I know it's not Ophelia, so what's your real name?”

  “I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. Since the day I first chose the name Ophelia for myself, this is the closest I've come to revealing the truth. It's tempting, but at the same time I know that if one person finds out, everyone will end up knowing.

  “Everything you said earlier was true,” she continues. “Please, Ophelia, all I care about is my project. If I don't have this, then I don't have anything, I'm just... I'll end up like everyone else who ever had an idea but never acted on it, I'll just be forgotten by everyone. One day someone's going to write the history of art, and I want to be in there. Like Picasso and Van Gogh and Andy Warhol. I'm a revolutionary, a visionary. Don't you see? People like me, we're always looked down on while we're alive, but I'm happy to die if I know that I'll be reconsidered one day. I have faith in my work.” She stares up at me, and her tears are really starting to flow now. “Don't let them take me,” she whimpers. “I've been working so hard for this, I've been doing everything to make it right and I'm almost at the end so please just help me. Don't let them take me away and throw me in a box!”

  “I am helping you,” I tell her.

  “Kill me,” she replies, “and then take the resin and -”

  I shake my head.

  “You really don't understand, do you?” she asks.

  “I do,” I reply, “it's just -”

  Before I can finish, she manages to ram her knee into my side, knocking me back against the wall. She springs up and grabs a nearby chair, which she immediately swings at me just as I'm trying to get to my feet. The side of the chair slams into my head and sends me crashing back down, and when I look up I see that she's already started to run.

  “Victoria!” I call out, pushing the chair off and getting up.

  “I'll find another way!” she shouts tearfully, disappearing through the door at the far end of the room.

  Although my head hurts, I run after her, determined to stop her getting away. If I lose track of her, I don't know how I'll ever find her again, but she's already got a head-start and as I race around the next corner and look down the stairs, she's already out of sight. I run down to the next level and then I hurry along the corridor, convinced that she must have come this way. When I get to the top of the next flight of steps, I stop for a moment.

  Suddenly I feel an arm wrap around my neck, and I'm pulled backward.

  “You really don't get it, do you?” she hisses into my ear.

  “Let me help you,” I gasp.

  “Or what?” she replies, pressing the blade of her knife into my back until the tip is almost breaking through my shirt and into my skin. “You've ruined everything, Ophelia. I am so mad at you right now. I let my guard down, I ignored my usual rule and I actually trusted you, and you ruined it all. All my work, all my planning, and it's fallen to pieces because you couldn't see things from my point of view.”

  “I can't let you hurt people,” I reply. “I was wrong to think I could help you by -”

  “Did anyone help you?” she asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were like me once,” she continues. “You said it yourself. Angry. Alone. Scared. And when you were like that, did anyone come and help you?”

  “No, but -”

  “So you dragged yourself out of it all by yourself, did you?”

  “Yes, and -”

  “So what made you think that I'd be better off with your help? Why the hell did you take it upon yourself to start interfering in my life? I mean, that's what you're doing, isn't it? You're being like everyone else, always thinking that they know best even though they've got no idea what it's like to be me, except...” She pauses again. “You should understand. We're so similar, I can't believe that you've got this blind spot. I need you to help me, not manipulate me.”

  I open my mouth to reply to her, but finally I realize that she's right. I should never have tried to steer her onto a different path. As soon as I realized what she was doing, I should have called Laura and let her know. Instead, I was so desperate to prove to myself that Victoria and I are similar, I let my own personal mythology take priority. I guess the truth is that I wish someone had been around to help me when I ran away from that farmhouse five years ago, and I assumed Victoria would be the same. We're similar, but that doesn't mean we're exactly the same. She's embraced her dark side, whereas I've spent five years running from mine.

  “Listen,” I reply, trying to sound calm and reassuring, “there's -”

  “Too late,” she hisses.

  Suddenly she pushes me forward and I'm sent tumbling down the stairs, eventually landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom, with enough force to bounce the side of my head against the concrete. For a fraction of a second I try to get up, but I quickly start sinking into unconsciousness, and the last thing I hear is the sound of Victoria running down the steps toward me.

  Laura

  “Shouldn't we wait for back-up?” Nick asks.

  “No time,” I reply, pushing open the door and leading him into the empty building. The place is like a maze and I have no idea which way to go, but when I try to call Ophelia again I find that her phone is still off. Still, I know she's h
ere somewhere, and if she hasn't left me a clue as to which way to go next, that can only mean she's in trouble.

  “We should split up,” he continues. “I'll take a look down here.”

  “I'll go up,” I reply, hurrying up the stairs. When I reach the next floor, I find myself at one end of a long corridor, lit by a set of electric strip-lights running along the ceiling. It seems more like some kind of factory than a building used by an art college, but I guess this is the kind of place where the students carry out their more industrial work. One of the nearby rooms has a label on the door warning that lasers are in use, while another mentions a kiln.

  “Anything?” Nick asks over the radio.

  “Nothing. You?”

  “The place seems totally dead,” he replies. “This bloody college has so many extra parts. Are you sure we're in the right building?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And you trust that Ophelia girl?”

  “With my life,” I reply as I make my way along the corridor.

  Most of the doors are locked, but finally I reach the end and lean through into a large workspace. To my shock, there are several bodies on the floor, and when I rush over to the first I realize that it's one of the third year art students from the college. I kneel next to him and check his pulse, and I find to my relief that he's still alive. Hurrying to the next body, I find the same thing, and I quickly determine that all the students are unconscious but still breathing. It's as if they've been drugged.

  “Call for medical back-up,” I tell Nick over the radio. “We have eleven unconscious people up here.”

  “What about Victoria?” he asks.

  “No sign.”

  “And Ophelia?”

  “No sign of her either. Just call for as many ambulances as they can send. I don't know how sick these people are.”

  Checking the pulse of another of the students, I'm shocked when his eyes start to flutter open.

  “Can you hear me?” I ask.

  He's clearly dazed, but as far as I can tell he seems to be slowly coming around.

  “Listen to me,” I continue, gently patting the side of his face, “you're going to be okay. Medical assistance is on the way, and they're going to take care of you. Can you tell me who did this?”