Chapter 19
Lanston
Ophelia’s operahouse is much drearier in the daylight. With the black wooden planks that are weathered and hardly holding together, it’s a miracle they haven’t torn this place down. The windows are cracked but the plants that line the outside are beautiful. In a sense, her opera house resembles the haunted building it truly is.
Oh, Ophelia, you poetic soul.
It’s more endearing during the day, the things she’s collected and taken a liking to. Music flutters through the tall ceilings and I lean my head against her sofa to enjoy it. Ophelia has an old music player plugged into a sound system. “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dollsplays somberly through the rafters. I lift my eyes and find her dancing slowly up on the opera stage.
Ophelia wanted to dance one last time on her stage before we embark on our journey. She wears a beautiful crimson dress, long and languid, fluttering softly with her movements. The sleeves come down to her wrists, and the neckline dips low, revealing her cleavage.
Her eyes are closed, and the soft lift of her lips reveals the peace she’s feeling. I watch her perfect and practiced movements; her muscles flex against the light, shadows dancing beneath in tandem.
My heart eases and I lean forward on the couch, setting my elbows on my knees as I take her in. Ophelia lifts her gaze and those heavy, beautiful eyes fall on me. Her stare is unsettling, not in a way of discomfort, but in a way I haven’t experienced before. Every time she looks at me, I know she sees far more than what lies on the surface. She sees the darkness, the damage. But it’s coveting and warm.
Her feet slow and she comes to a stop, offering me a timid smile as she brushes her mauve hair behind her ear.
I rise from the sofa and meet her at the broken stage, extending my hand. My heart flutters when she takes it.
A relieved smile spreads over my lips.
“Let’s ride a train first. Somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care.”
As long as I’m with you,I want to say.
Ophelia takes a deep breath and looks around her opera house one last time. Afraid to leave it all behind, perhaps. “Will we get to come back? I have plants to care for,” she frets.
I grin. “If not, we’ll find our new home.”
Her eyes grow round with a desire for answers.
“Our new home?” she says cheekily.
My face warms, but before I can respond she intertwines her fingers with mine, filling me with the sensation of being pressed close to someone you’re not sure you can ever really have. Her lips are soft, begging for affection.
She notices me staring and raises her other hand, gently brushing her thumb across the tenderness of my lower lip. My heart skips four beats and the intoxicating scent of honeysuckles and roses swarms me.
I kiss her tenderly, like two people who’ve been courting for a century. But there is another craving I’m foreign to that beckons deep within me, a want to bury my teeth into the softness of her skin and be rough—to be as cruel as she can be.
“Do you have headphones we can share?” she asks against my lips with a loose grin.
“Hm?” I blink to focus.
Ophelia grabs her music player, tossing it to me. I barely manage to catch it. “For our train ride.”
My cheeks flush and I nod like an idiot, stricken with the thoughts of us lying close, listening to the same songs.
She laughs at me, grabbing her bag filled with clothes and notebooks.
“Where to, Nevers?”
I’ve never been great at goodbyes, but something deep in my soul is changing. Maybe it’s been everyone leaving Harlow. The loneliness that I’ve had to face. But when Ophelia and I stop at the institution to get my things, I’m relieved to see Jericho’s SUV out front.
Yelina helps him unload the vehicle, but Poppie is nowhere to be found.
Their heads lift as we approach and Yelina brightens, her cheeks rosy and eyes puffy. Has she been crying? I park my motorcycle in the driveway beside the car.
“What’s wrong? Where’s Poppie?” I ask. Ophelia keeps her hands clasped with worry; she must sense something is amiss, too. Yelina covers her eyes and cries; the black hoodie she wears belongs to Jericho.
Jericho approaches me, laying his arm over my shoulders in a side hug, and says sadly, “She decided to stay in Rome. Her family line extends there, and it was important for her to learn her roots.”
But I didn’t get to say goodbye.
Yelina wipes her tears and says, “She always struggled the most with not feeling that she belonged. I hope that she finds her place in the world and that it saves her.”
Jericho lets out a long breath and smiles through the silence that ensues.
“I came to get my stuff; actually, I’m—” I lose the words that I’d rehearsed so perfectly. They evade me as I think of the two of them being all that’s left of Harlow.
Ophelia threads her fingers through mine and meets my wavering eyes. “We’ve decided to pursue our bucket list. Would you two like to join us?”
They both take a sharp breath. Surprised, shocked. But the hope that fills Yelina’s eyes, and even Jericho’s, is answer enough.
“Well, we’d need to discuss it. How about we collect our thoughts and give our response over supper? Say, in an hour?” Jericho replies professionally, looking each of us in the eyes before nodding.
Yelina wraps her arm around his as they head back into the manor. They seem to have grown closer since their trip. Good. The two of them have been stealing glances at one another long enough. A pang of sorrow hits my chest as I think of Poppie and Yelina being apart. They were inseparable, even in death.
Ophelia lounges on my bed as I pack my art supplies and a few books I haven’t gotten to read yet. She watches me curiously. Something flashes through her gaze, questions she doesn’t seem open to asking.
I grab my headphones and charcoal pencils as well, thinking it’s better to bring things to keep the time between destinations filled.
The hour goes quickly and we don’t speak through much of it. Ophelia seems to have this way about her, an understanding of her surroundings. If one needs comfort or conversation, she is full of things to say and listens generously. However, I’m often silent, fading into my mind and thinking deeply. She returns the act in kind, breathing slowly and staring at the same spot on my ceiling where I’ve bored holes with my own eyes for so many years.
Our silence is welcome and it’s quite nice, in its warm, unforced state.
When I have my bag packed, we meet Jericho and Yelina in the dining hall. The room seems boisterous in the dark, with only four phantoms sitting around a meager candle for light. As if meeting in secret.
“We will join you,” he declares with mild temper. I expected him to be much happier or excited about this, but he seems melancholic. He seemed much more enthusiastic earlier when he looked through the bucket list and found Ireland and Paris on it.
“That’s wonderful—” Ophelia starts, smiling brightly.
“But we will be taking our own excursions.” Yelina interrupts with eagerness to speak. “We’ll meet you in Ireland and Paris, but apart from that, we have our own agenda.” She turns to look at Jericho—Ophelia’s and my eyes follow curiously.
His cheeks are red, but he only nods.
“Jericho, isn’t this what you’ve been pushing everyone to go do? Why do you seem so glum?” I ask honestly.
His mouth firms and his fist clenches over his fork. “Nevers, I’ve worked here for many, many years now. Since graduating college, in fact. I never got to advance my career or do anything I dreamed of doing.” He pauses, eyes searching the table for words before saying, “This place is my home. A home to all of us. Where we laughed, healed, cried… and where we died.”
Ophelia’s brows pull together with sorrow and Yelina places a steady hand atop Jericho’s.
He continues: “But we must leave. We must be strong and embark on this new journey. To find our peace and leave all the death and rot of the world behind us. I am not sad, Nevers. I’m only saying goodbye to the walls that have carried me, us, in death for so very long.”
I take him in, grieving and slumped. Jericho is the best counselor I’ve ever had, but even more than that, he is my friend—a guiding light, even in purgatory.
My chair squeaks as I push it out, walk around the table to him, and set my hand on his back. “We will always be a part of this place, even when we are gone. Our laughter and tears permeated the soil itself. It’s our turn to carry the meaning of Harlow Sanctum with us. Into the night, into the dawn, into the after.”
Ophelia smiles wider than I’ve ever seen her smile and says, “The world waits for us. You must tell it who you are, Jericho. Shout it if you must.”
Yelina laughs, jostling Jericho, and with a somber smile he asks, “It’s not too late?”
“We’re still here, aren’t we?” My rose speaks with fire in her heart. Her voice echoes in my ears and etches unspeakable things into my soul.
I will never forget her words.
We are still here. We always have been, and we always will be.