by Amy Cross
“Great,” she muttered, “but what does this have to do with -”
Stopping suddenly, she found herself staring at one photo in particular. This one showed a smiling little girl, grinning at the camera and wearing a white dress with a big red flower on the front.
“Okay,” Laura whispered, “I know who you are, but I still don't -”
She stopped again.
Staring at the photo of the little girl, she suddenly felt as if her blood was running cold. She stared a moment longer, telling herself that she was wrong, that she was imagining the whole thing, that there was no way the answer could have dropped into her lap so suddenly, and no way that it could be something so huge. Finally, however, she held the photo of the little girl up and saw that there could be no mistake. The photo was a decade old, but the more she stared at the girl's features, the more she was certain she recognized her.
“Ophelia,” she whispered finally, before setting the photo aside and, with trembling hands, reaching into the box to see what else was inside.
Chapter Nine
“No, not like that,” Ophelia said with a smile as she took the jigsaw piece from Maureen's trembling hands and turned it around. “Try it like this. Now do you see where it fits?”
“Of course I see where it fits,” the old woman snapped, “I'm not an imbecile!”
“I know you're not,” Ophelia replied, “I'm just trying to help. We all need help sometimes.”
Pausing, with her jaw shaking more than ever and her hands trembling, Maureen stared down at the mass of pieces, but it was clear that she had no idea what to do next. Every few seconds, she reached out to take a piece, but it was as if her mind was constantly resetting and she wasn't able to make a decision.
“Do you want another hint?” Ophelia asked after a moment.
She waited for a reply, but Maureen seemed lost in thought.
“When's Trevor coming home?” the old woman asked finally, looking over at the door. “He'll be needing his tea. And Laura should be home from school by now, shouldn't she?” She turned back to Ophelia. “Who's picking her up? I don't like it when she walks home alone, those horrid girls might play silly beggars with her again.”
“What girls?” Ophelia asked.
“Oh, they're horrid, screechy little things. Sometimes they follow Laura home and shout names at her. I've told her to fight back, to give as good as she gets, but she insists it doesn't bother her. Sometimes I think that girl will never stand up for herself.”
“Huh. So Laura was bullied? That kind of explains a few things.”
“She should be home by now. It's irresponsible of her to be late!”
“Laura doesn't go to school anymore,” Ophelia pointed out, hoping to gently nudge her back to reality. “She's all grown up and she's a police detective, remember? She works at the police station, and sometimes she has to work late.”
Maureen stared at her, but there was utter confusion in her milky eyes. “Of course I remember,” she said finally, looking back down at the puzzle. “I'm not simple in the head. I just...” She turned one of the puzzle pieces around. “I'll have to make Trevor's tea soon. I don't know what he wants tonight. I think there's fish in the freezer, so we'll just have to make do with that.” She paused. “Laura's late, isn't she? She should be home from school by now.”
Hearing the front door opening and then closing, Ophelia looked across the living room just as Laura headed through and dropped a backpack onto the chair in the hall. She could immediately tell from the look in her eyes that something was wrong, so she glanced back down at the puzzle and waited for Laura to make the first move. Somehow, in the pit of her stomach, she had a feeling that wheels were turning behind the scenes, and that she was starting to lose control of the situation.
“You two having fun?” Laura asked finally.
“We're doing a puzzle,” Maureen replied. “When your father gets home, I'll make dinner.”
“Mum,” Laura replied, “Dad's been -” Catching herself just in time, she sighed, before unzipping her backpack and pulling out a brown folder. She and her mother had the same conversation several times a day now, as if they were trapped in some kind of exhausting loop. “Ophelia,” she said after a moment, “maybe you could come to the kitchen and help me with a few things?”
“I was helping your -”
“Now,” Laura added, before heading through.
“I'll just be a few minutes,” Ophelia told Maureen, before getting to her feet and heading across the room.
“I'm alright,” Maureen replied, still focusing on the puzzle. “When Trevor gets home, I'll make dinner. I think there's some fish in the freezer.”
Making her way to the kitchen, Ophelia found Laura standing at the counter with the folder open in front of her. Old, creased pieces of paperwork were spread about, and Laura was sorting through them, as if she still had to make sense of everything. There were photos, too, and photocopies of old newspaper frontpages.
“She keeps thinking your father's going to come home,” Ophelia said finally, standing in the doorway. “She's also worried about you getting bullied on the way home from school.”
“Her dementia's getting worse,” Laura replied, still going through the paperwork. “I know I have to do something about it soon, but not right now. We can't keep on like this.”
“But are you sure putting her into a home is the answer?”
“No, we can't keep on like this,” Laura replied, glancing at her. “I'm talking about us now, you and me.”
“So I did some digging around,” Ophelia replied uncomfortably, trying to change the subject, “and I think someone's been deliberately trying to lead the police along a blind alley. Apparently some kind of journalist was talking to Sarah Jenkins and offering -”
“Not right now.”
“It might be important for the case.”
“We can talk about that later. Something else has come up.”
“What else could possibly have come up?” Ophelia asked, although now the fear was evident in her voice. As she watched Laura sorting through the photos, she was starting to recognize a few of them. She told herself she was wrong, that she was just panicking needlessly, but deep down she knew the game was up. “Listen,” she began, “if -”
“I know,” Laura said, pausing for a moment before making her way over and putting her arms around Ophelia, holding her tight. “It's okay. I know.”
“Um...” Ophelia waited for the hug to end, but it just seemed to keep on going. “Do you remember what I told you once about prolonged physical contact?” she asked finally. “It's nothing personal, I just -”
“I know,” Laura said again.
“You know what?” She waited for an answer. “You're starting to scare me.”
“I got a phone call today,” Laura replied, turning and heading back to the table, where the papers were still laid out. “The phone call led me to a name.”
Instead of replying, Ophelia simply stared at the papers.
“The name,” Laura added, “was -”
“Don't say it.”
Laura paused for a moment. “The call was followed by a text message.”
“Please -”
“He mentioned an old case file,” Laura continued. “It turned out to be one from a little while back, but Nick and I pulled it out pretty quickly. I'm actually surprised I didn't remember it from the number alone. It was quite a -”
“Stop,” Ophelia said suddenly.
“Why?”
With tears in her eyes, Ophelia stared at the papers. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat until, finally, she took a deep breath. “I don't know what you think you know -”
“I know everything,” Laura replied. “Well, no, that's not true. I know everything and nothing, at the same time.” She set one of the pieces of paper down and picked up another. “I know who you are. That's a start. I know your real name.”
Ophelia shook her head.
“Yes, I do.” She paused. “Rebecca.”
As another shiver passed through her body, Ophelia stared at the items on the table. It was as if her whole life – her old life, the one she'd tried to bury – had suddenly been dug up and laid out in front of her, like a corpse waiting to be carved open.
“Rebecca Elizabeth Bridger,” Laura continued, “or, as the media referred to you back when you were headline news every day for six months, Becky Bridger.”
Reaching up, Ophelia a stray tear from her face.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That this is you!” Holding up an old photocopy of a newspaper front-page, Laura looked at the picture of a smiling little girl, along with the headline:
Missing 5-year-old Becky Bridger feared dead.
“This is from fourteen years ago,” she continued. “Becky Bridger went missing one morning while she was playing outside her parents' house near Aberystwyth in Wales.”
Ophelia shook her head.
“Yes,” Laura added, “she did. Her mother had given her fifty pence to go out and buy an ice cream, because she'd heard the music in the distance. She never saw Becky again. There was a massive police hunt. This photo was plastered all over the media for weeks, the tabloids went crazy, there were even questions asked in parliament. I remember the way everyone was talking about the poor little girl, and trying to understand what kind of monster would have abducted her, waiting for news that she'd been found alive, and then later... Well, later, when hope faded, they just hoped a body would be found. For a while, Becky's parents were suspected of involvement, although ultimately they were cleared. The news cycle eventually moved on, but every so often the story gets picked up again and people wonder what happened to the smiling, angelic, happy little girl in this photo. There are still websites and forums discussing it, wondering what happened.”
Ophelia opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out.
“It's you,” Laura continued. “It sounds crazy, but as soon as I looked at this photo a couple of hours ago I could see the resemblance. You're Becky Bridger, the little girl who disappeared fourteen years ago.”
She waited, but Ophelia said nothing.
“I don't even know where to begin with this,” Laura added finally. “I mean... Are you okay?” She took a step forward, but Ophelia instinctively took a step back. “What happened to you? Where -”
“Why are you doing this?” Ophelia asked, as a tear ran down cheek.
“Because I want to help you,” Laura replied. There were tears in her eyes too, as she set the photocopy down and made her way over to Ophelia. Reaching out, she put a hand on the girl's arm, but Ophelia immediately pulled away. “That was fourteen years ago,” Laura added. “Fourteen years ago, five-year-old Becky Bridger vanished from outside her family home, and now, today, here you are, standing in my kitchen, claiming that your name's Ophelia. Where the hell were you for fourteen years, Rebecca?”
“Don't use that name,” Ophelia replied, taking another step back and flinching slightly.
“Why are you running around pretending to be called Ophelia?” Laura asked. “You have a family in Wales who have spent the past fourteen years believing that you're dead! You have a mother and a father, and a brother, and -”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don't. Those are... Those are someone else's parents. Someone else's brother.”
“They're yours.”
Again, Ophelia shook her head.
“Where were you?” Laura asked. “Who abducted you?”
“Please, don't do this...”
“Don't do what? Make you face the truth?” Laura paused. “Do you even remember your old life? Did something happen that made you forget it, do you remember -”
“Of course I remember,” Ophelia hissed, staring at the photo on the counter. “I remember everything, I always have! How can someone forget who they are?”
“So who took you?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“Where were you kept?”
“Please...”
“How did you end up, all these years later, living on the streets of London and calling yourself Ophelia? None of this makes any sense, but...” She paused for a moment. “Let's sit down. You can tell me all about it, right from the beginning, and then we can work out what to do next.”
“You shouldn't have gone looking for this,” Ophelia replied, sniffing back more tears, as her bottom lip trembled. “It's my past, it's nothing to do with you. Even if you found out, you should have just kept it to yourself.”
“I'm your friend.”
Ophelia shook her head.
“I am,” Laura continued, forcing a faint smile, “whether you like it or not. Sorry about that, but you're kind of stuck with me. I'm going to help you, I just...” She paused again. “I guess I was in shock at first. I mean, I always knew you were running from something, but I kind of assumed maybe you'd done something bad, or someone was looking for you. It never occurred to me that it could be anything like this.”
“You don't get it,” Ophelia replied, taking another step back. “So you've got a name. Great, good for you, it doesn't mean a damn thing, not anymore.”
“Rebecca -”
“Don't call me that.”
“Rebecca, you have to -”
“Don't call me that!” she screamed suddenly. “Don't, just... Don't!”
“Okay,” Laura replied, taking a step toward her, “let's just calm down. I realize this must be -”
“Why couldn't you leave it alone?” Ophelia shouted, pushing Laura back against the wall and stepping toward her with pure anger in her eyes. “Why did you have to go snooping into something that's none of your business? What the hell does any of this have to do with you?”
“I think it does have something to do with me,” Laura replied, her voice trembling slightly. “I care about you, Ophelia. I mean... Rebecca. I should call you that now.”
“No,” she said firmly, stepping closer and pushing her against the wall again. “Don't ever call me that.”
“It's your name.”
She shook her head.
“Don't you want to go home?” Laura asked. “Your parents -”
“They think I'm dead,” she replied, “and that's fine by me.”
“Why? Can't you imagine how they'd feel if suddenly, after fourteen years, you walked back through the door?”
“I can't do that.”
“But -”
“This is my mess,” Ophelia continued, taking a step back, “and I'm the one who has to deal with it. I was dumb to think that I could let you get close without you finding out, but I swear to God...” She paused. “I always wondered how I'd react if it came out. Now I know. I swear, if you tell anyone...”
Laura waited for her to finish the sentence. “If I tell anyone... what? What will you do? Run away again?”
“I might hurt you.”
“You -”
“I'm serious. I can't promise I wouldn't. And when I say I might hurt you, what I mean is that I will do whatever it takes to make sure you don't start telling people the truth.”
Laura stared at her for a moment. “Are you threatening me?”
Ophelia nodded.
“Why are you so desperate for this to stay a secret?”
“I don't have to explain myself to you.”
“I care about you!”
“Then you should have left it alone,” she said firmly, although her voice was still trembling. “Nothing good can come of this.”
“I...” Pausing, Laura watched as a tear ran down Ophelia's face. Finally, she took a step closer and, after a moment longer, she put her arms around Ophelia's shoulders and held her tight. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered. She waited for a moment, but slowly she felt Ophelia's whole body starting to tremble, and finally she heard faint sobs. “It's going to be okay,” she told her. “We don't have to do an
ything you don't want to do, is that clear? I just want to help you, and whatever that means, we'll work it out together, okay?”
“Okay,” Ophelia whimpered, resting her head on Laura's shoulder.
“We don't do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
“How did you find out? I was so careful...”
“A man phoned me up and basically told me everything,” Laura replied. “Well, he gave me enough clues to lead me to the box in the archive, and I pieced it together from there.”
“It was Joe Lewis, wasn't it?” Ophelia asked, wiping her eyes. “He's a reporter, there's no way he'll agree to keep this secret. I'll have to find a way to discredit him, to make him -”
“It wasn't Joe Lewis,” she replied. “It was a man named Andrew Renton. He spoke to me and said -”
“What?” Ophelia said suddenly, pulling back and staring at Laura. “What did you just say?”
“I got a phone call from a man named Andrew Renton. He said to tell you that he's around and that he'll try to catch up with you some time.” She waited, but after a moment she realized that there was a sense of pure horror in Ophelia's eyes. “What's wrong? Who is he?”
“This is a joke,” Ophelia whispered. The tears had stopped, now that pure, unbridled panic was rising through her body and threatening to tear her apart. “This is all part of some huge, sick joke.”
“It's not a joke.”
“Andrew Renton did not call you!”
“Well, that's what he said his name was.”
“Andrew Renton is dead.”
Laura paused. “Who is he, then? Why are -”
“Are you in on this?” Ophelia asked suddenly.
“In on what?”
“On all of this,” Ophelia continued, with anger starting to grow in her soul. “In on this sick, perverted joke.”
“There's no -”
“Andrew Renton is dead. Believe me, I know.”
“Who is he?” Laura asked, stepping toward her. “Let's sit down and you can tell me everything.”
“I'm so stupid,” Ophelia said, trying not to panic as she wiped tears away from her cheeks. “I knew it, I knew I should have just stayed out there on the streets. I knew I'd be okay so long as I didn't make connections, so long as I didn't get to know anyone, especially anyone who could start poking around. And then what did I do? I went and made friends with a police detective!”
