2. - – Clara
CHAPTER TWO
-
CLARA
When the detectives left, I peered into the room and saw Elias laying there. He looked so small and broken. This wasn’t the look of a killer.
I knew what monsters looked like; Elias wasn’t one. My father was.
I spent my childhood walking the beach under the heavy surveillance of private security.
There, they called me princess, though the word always sounded more like a slur.
It felt as if I were being cursed by everyone I met, save for my own staff.
When a person showed the slightest disrespect to me or my father, they vanished.
"They quit," he’d always say. But knowing what I did now, I could see the lie for what it was.
I had been forbidden from speaking to the other girls in the house.
It took me years to realize they weren't guests. My father was a monster, and I’d give anything to go back and save them before it was too late.
The older my father got, the more the house emptied out.
Eventually, the cycle of new girls stopped, leaving only the two of us until the day he died.
When the truth came out, I demanded the answers I had been denied for years.
Why had no one been brave enough to call the police?
How could they let it continue even when he was bedridden?
People claimed they were afraid for their lives, but their cowardice cost those girls everything. I never got a satisfying response.
He left me everything, including the house, but the walls felt stained. I donated it to a local organization with a single stipulation: it was to be gutted and turned into a shelter for those with nowhere else to go. I’ve made anonymous donations to them ever since.
I ran until the world I knew was a thousand miles behind me.
I shed my name like a dead skin and took on a new identity, terrified of being tied to my father’s legacy.
When it finally hit the press, it spread like wildfire.
I chose nursing as my penance and my purpose.
I wanted to protect people, to bridge the gap, and to make sure the women under my care never felt as vulnerable and alone as the girls in that house did.
Seven years have passed. Now, here I was, face to face with a supposed murderer? I couldn’t believe it. As soon as he woke up and gathered his composure, he asked for his daughter. A murderer would wake up and start looking for a way out.
Quietly, I entered the room and walked over to the sink, entering the code into the cabinet which contained spare towels. I dug around, searching for a washcloth and ran the water until it was warm. “Elias?” My words were barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”
His voice was shaky. “They think I did it.”
“They think you hurt Lydia?” I inquired.
He nodded his head. “And others.”
I took a deep breath and remained calm, blotting the warm cloth on his forehead, dabbing the cold sweat that had formed over his skin.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I overheard my superiors discussing moving you to another room where you would be under police surveillance twenty-four hours a day. ”
Elias’ cough was rough, he reached over to grab his cup of water and took a couple of sips. “So, they can make sure I don’t go anywhere?” He gestured to all of the cords and wires coming from him. “Yeah. Good plan.” He rolled his eyes and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I will do what I can to discourage the move, but I can’t promise anything,” I tried to reassure him. Leaning in closer, I whispered, “I need you to try and remember.”
Reaching out, Elias touched the hem of my sleeve.
The contact felt dangerous when our eyes met.
He’s significantly older, I reminded myself as I bit my lip, looking into his eyes.
What are you doing Clara? My desire to help him was going to put me in a dangerous position, one in which I could go as far as losing my job.
Was this worth it? More than I could ever express.
After my shift, I headed home, stopping only to grab a pre-made salad and lemonade from the grocery store.
As soon as I walked through the door, I hopped onto my computer to do some digging.
Surely, the internet had something on this mysterious man.
The one I was developing a questionable fixation on.
I pulled up a search bar and typed the name Elias Wilson.
I held my breath, hoping it wasn’t too common.
Luck turned out to be on my side. His social media profiles popped up immediately and—to my surprise—nearly everything was public.
The man seriously needed a lesson in privacy settings.
I scrolled through his feed, smiling at his photos, until I hit a snag: pictures of his daughter.
My smile faded as I realized the posts featuring her stopped abruptly four years ago. What happened to her?
Quickly, I shifted my focus, searched for Lydia and found a tragedy.
She’d been murdered around the time the pictures stopped four years ago.
A crime for which no one had ever paid. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but as I looked over old photos of her, she felt familiar.
Then my thoughts shifted back to Elias. Stop, Clara. Just stop.
I forced myself to focus on the legal documents.
Elias had been the prime suspect from day one.
The case had gone all the way to a jury, but with nothing but circumstantial evidence, they couldn't prosecute him successfully.
He was found not guilty, leaving behind a ghost and a very dark shadow of a reputation.
What if he did it? What if he has been holding onto this dark secret for the past four years and suddenly he’s in an accident preventing him from remembering any of it? Or was he just a good actor?
My mind kept racing, a pendulum swinging between horror and sympathy.
I clicked back to Elias’s profile and looked at his friend count.
Twenty-three. He was a pariah. I could almost see the man he used to be, vibrant and surrounded by people, before the tragedy turned him into a ghost. I imagined his world shrinking as the accusations grew, friends drifting away until he was left in this digital silence.
I couldn't prove it, of course, but I felt it in my gut.
He was charming, easy to like. I, of all people, knew this for a fact.
I eased the laptop shut, the screen’s glow dying until the room was swallowed by shadows.
I sat there in the hollow silence, trapped in the gray space between what was right and what I felt.
If Elias Wilson was a monster, then my attraction wasn't just a mistake - it was a confession.
I got up and walked to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.
I glanced up and stared at my reflection in the mirror, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't recognize the woman looking back.