Chapter Four

The bell above the door jingled as Ophelia stepped into the coffee shop. Her eyes scanned the small, boxy interior which smelled of coffee beans and vanilla scented candles. The environment would’ve been pleasant if there was enough ventilation and fresh air, but the two windows in the area were both tightly shut, which made the coffee shop hot and stuffy.

The space was empty, except for an aged lady who was bent over a large mug of black coffee, staring at a fashion magazine. She looked up to Ophelia as she walked in, and gave her a toothless smile, before pushing her glasses up her nose and concentrating back on her drink and magazine.

The circular framed eye glasses the old lady wore reminded Ophelia of Grace’s glasses and for a minute, she felt like crumpling into a little ball in the center of the coffee shop as the anguished feeling which had followed her around since Grace’s death threatened to choke out her energy.

“Not here, not now.” She whispered to herself.

The counter was empty and she uncertainly strode to it. Just when she decided to call out a ‘hello’, someone popped up from under it.

“Your order ma’am?” the person asked.

Ophelia was dumbfounded for a moment as she stared at the guy that popped out from under the counter like it was a completely normal thing to do. He slightly towered above her and she concluded that he was almost as tall as Sam. His left arm was completely covered with tattoos and the spotless apron he was wearing was badly creased.

“Can I get cappuccino with extra cream please?” She finally muttered, finding her voice again, even though it sounded small and squeaky.

“Yes. Yes you can.” He teased with a lopsided smile, amused by his own humor. “Please have a seat ma’am. It’ll only take a moment.” He added.

Ophelia nodded compliantly, and slid into the seat and table closest to the door. She felt his eyes on her as he made her order, and she skillfully turned her face so her dyed red hair covered most of her face from view, and pretended to be fascinated with the menu. When he got the hint that he made her uncomfortable, he stopped looking and focused on the coffee.

A minute later, the guy delivered Ophelia’s order on her table and stood a moment, shoving his large calloused hands into the back pocket of his cigarette trouser.

“New around here?” he started.

Ophelia nodded yes.

“I could tell because I know all the locals that come round here.” he explained, the corners of his eyes crinkling and giving her another lopsided smile. She didn’t answer, so he went on. “We don’t really get many customers, despite this being the only coffee show in town. I guess not everyone is addicted to caffeine and sugar.”

Ophelia nodded again.

“I’m Fidel. What’s your name?” he finally asked the question on his mind.

Ophelia glanced up at him and on impulse murmured “Adele”.

“Cool. I’ll leave you to your drink then Adele. Don’t hesitate to visit here. The owner needs all the funds she can get and I promise I’m not always as annoying as I am today.” Fidel said.

He turned around and strode back to the counter. Ophelia watched his receding form and noticed that he walked with a little swagger and a slight limp. She released a sigh and got rid of her poker face. Their little exchange replayed itself in her head and she wished rule number fifteen didn’t exist.

Rule number fifteen: Relationships and friendships with other people outside of the Clemonte family will put you in danger. Avoid them.

Ophelia finished her cappuccino as swiftly as she could and paid for it. When she got into her car to drive back home, the wind was fiercer and the skies darkened. Little drops of rain started falling before she made it back to the mansion.

-

The stairs creaked under her small feet as Ophelia threaded up the staircase. The thunderstorm had ceased to a light drizzle of rain, and the occupants of the mansion had all retired to their various bedrooms to rest.

She had returned home a few minutes late for lunch because she drove around the area to get a better feel of the new surroundings despite the rain. In truth, she had simply wandered around Westwend to escape going back to the glum mansion.

Florence was displeased with her, but didn’t say anything –which was even worse to Ophelia because she hated being given the silent treatment. Her father told her it was okay, since she wasn’t breaking any of the Clemonte rules.

Presently, she wandered around the still house, the smell of polished wood and oftentimes dust greeting her at every nook and cranny. The room engraved with her name on the door greatly displeased her. There was almost zero amount of sunlight since the sole window in the room was partly covered by a tower. The brown wallpaper was old and disgusting, the vintage pieces of furniture were distasteful and depressing, and the room felt empty and haunted.

Ophelia had decided on the spot that redecorating the room had become not just a choice, but an obligation. How could she live in that room when it is so miserably sad? How could anyone?

She wondered for a moment how aunt Florence’s room looked like. “Salty, sad and stiff like her, no doubt.” She murmured to herself with a secretive giggle. The instant the giggle left, she realized how mean her thoughts had been. Aunt Florence is trying to keep the Clemonte family safe. Sure she’s stoic as stone and overly serious, but those were qualities required to enforce the rules that kept all of them safe. A sense of guilt settled on top of her bitterness.

Aunt Florence wants the best for us. She thought to herself.

Ophelia reached the top of stairs, on the last step, she lost her footing and came crashing head-first onto the surface in front of her. Her arms flailed out to brace her fall a moment too late and her forehead hit the floorboard with a thud.

Her right knee scraped the step below, and she winced out in pain.

After a series of colorful curses, Ophelia dragged her limp leg, and supported herself on the wall, rubbing her bruised forehead. She inspected her wounds and found that only her right knee was slightly bleeding.

Ophelia looked to the spot where she banged her forehead and in a fit of childish annoyance and frustration, hit the surface with her good leg.

A hollow sound bounced through the walls, puzzling her. She repeated the action, and heard the same sound.

“What the hell?” Ophelia whispered.

She crawled closer to the spot and tried the action with her fists, which still yielded the same result.

It sounded like there was an empty space underneath the particular floorboard she fell on.

Ophelia slid off her pentagram necklace and placed one of the sharp tips in a small space between the floorboards. She wanted to see if the floorboard would pop open with enough force, and grunted with effort as she tried to shove her necklace into the narrow slit.

“What are you doing?” a flat voice demanded behind her.

Ophelia yelped, letting go of the necklace and it completely disappeared through the narrow slit. She whipped around, and landed on her butt as she stared up at the ominous figure in white which was glaring down at her with a mixture of fury and annoyance.