by Sara Wilson

 

Lily stares across the room at the posters.  If she counts the number of flowers in the still-life, maybe time will go faster.  She stares instead at the grey drizzle outside and the people desperately scrambling for the store awnings.  She turns back to the display wall.  A floating Ophelia greets her, serene, pale, and waiting to die.  Her dress ballooning around her legs and flowers floating out of her hand.  Though Lily agrees that the painting is beautiful, she has never been able to enjoy it as much she did before Michael ruined it.  “Ophelia,” he has called her ever since they displayed the Pre-Raphaelites.  She does look like Ophelia, with long red hair, light blue eyes and nearly invisible lashes, but she wouldn’t have thought of it if Michael hadn’t pointed it out.  Other Ophelias, in various phases of insanity, hang on the wall with Millais’s famous example. 

Then she sees Todd coming toward the window, hot drinks in hand.  Lily laughs and takes her cocoa from Todd.  He has water dripping from the end of his nose which he quickly wipes away with his coat sleeve and frowns. 

“Excuse me, I just brought you hot chocolate!” he says, pretending to be indignant. 

“Thank you very much,” she answers, inclining her head with mock formality.  “I can’t leave until Michael comes back though.” 

“That’s fine, I can wait,” says Todd.  “Did you see the San Francisco Chronicle this morning?” 

“I don’t get the Chron,” says Lily absently. 

“So you didn’t here about the dead girl they found floating in Strawberry Creek at Cal?” he asks.  “They say it looks like a ritual killing or something, all dressed up and floating with bruises on her wrists and neck.”

“Todd, that’s awful,” Lily exclaims.  “Why are you telling me this?  I didn’t want to know that!” 

“It’s creepy and local.  I assumed you’d heard,” he answers as a tall, thirty-something customer with sandy hair comes in. 

“Do you have any more Waterhouse or Millais prints in stock?” the customer asks. 

“Oh yeah,” says Lily, “if you look on the wall we’ve got a whole theme going here.  That’s our largest Ophelia, which is, I think thirty-eight by fifty-six inches, but I’d have to check.” 

The customer stares at the paintings for a moment before looking back at Lily.  He smiles, then looks back at the Ophelias and chuckles. 

The customer chooses a large Ophelia and a large Lady of Shallot and Lily rolls up the prints for him when Michael comes in. 

“Come to relieve me?” she asks. 

“Yes, yes, I know I’m late,” says Michael absently as he riffles through a box, apparently looking for something. 

 

“So, do you actually get any time for your own art anymore?” asks Todd as they walk toward Lily’s house under her oversized umbrella. 

“Yes,” she responds dully, “but when I have commissions I can only really have one project for myself.  I’m kind of on a fairytale kick right now, so I’ve been doing a Sleeping Beauty recently.  Here, I’ll show you,” she says as they reach her door. 

Lily lives in a backyard cottage.  It is a small white building with yellow daffodils and a white camellia bush in front and climbing roses over the green shuttered window.  The climbing roses are not in bloom but the daffodils and camellias are.  The rain has stopped and Lily, momentarily forgetting Todd, inhales the cleansed air.  Todd pretends not to notice. 

Lily has set up her easel by the window of her cozy living/dining area.  A small, unfinished painting sits on the easel.  Todd takes off his coat and soaking shoes and plops down on the couch across from the easel and waits for Lily to come in and proudly show off her latest piece.  A moment later she enters, her fiery hair mantling her shoulders, and marches proudly toward her painting. 

“It isn’t finished, of course, that’s why her face looks patchy.  See, it’s my sister’s face, sleeping.”  Todd admires the thorny roses that have made their way through the window and wound themselves around Sleeping Beauty’s bedpost, the way Lily has fanned Beauty’s hair out on the pillow, and makes sure to tell her so.  She beams. 

“Do you want some banana bread?” she asks.  “I made it yesterday.” 

* * *

When she checks her mail, Lily finds a small envelope, the size of a credit card with “Ophelia” written in calligraphic pen on the back.   

“Michael, I’m going to kill you!” she exclaims.  She brings the mail inside and drops it on the table. 

“Todd, I think Michael is sending me mail now,” she says. 

“Hmm” he mumbles, looking up from the paper he has brought. 

“Look.” She thrusts the envelope under his nose. 

“No address,” he says, frowning.  “So he knows where you live?  He’s coming to your house and putting things in the mailbox?” 

“Tomorrow at work I’ll just ask him about it,” Lily says reassuringly.  She takes it back and opens it and unfolds the piece of paper inside.  In the same calligraphic hands is written:

Unto that element: but long it could not be

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death.  – Hamlet (IV, vii)

 

She exhales loudly and hands it to Todd. 

“It’s like that girl who died,” Todd says when he finishes reading it.  “Well, not really.” 

“I really think you should stop reading the paper Todd,” Lily retorts.  “Michael’s working right now, so I’ll go to the shop and ask him why he did it.” 

“Okay,” says Todd a little too briskly. 

 

Lily enters the print shop from the back and finds it empty.  She goes up to the door where a piece of paper is taped.  She turns it over.  “Back in 20 minutes” it reads.  She sighs and sits in the chair.  You have to put the time you left on those notes, Michael.  She thinks and sits, exasperated behind the counter.  Five minutes later Michael walks in and jumps when he sees a frowning Lily. 

“Michael, did you put this in my mail?” she demands, thrusting the paper and the envelope at him. 

“Of course not,” he says, taken aback.  “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, but nobody else calls me Ophelia,” she snaps, setting her jaw.  “Can you think of someone else who calls me Ophelia?”

“Look, I know you don’t like it when I call you Ophelia, but I would never send you anonymous letters,” he says, taking a step back.  “I just happen to think you look like Millais’s Ophelia.” 

Lily glares and storms out.  When she gets home, she has calmed down some.  The fresh air and sun have calmed her and the flowers make her smile.  When she walks in the door she sees a newspaper on the table.  It is folded purposefully to show an article.  She picks it up.  “Dead Girl Found in Boat” it reads.  According to the article, this too looked like a ritual killing.  The body was staged and propped up before apparently being launched.  Part of Lord Tennyson’s “Lady of Shalott” was written in calligraphic pen and clutched in her hand. 

She floated down to Camelot:

And as the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her singing her last song,

The Lady of Shalott.

 

In the quiet night, while working on Sleeping Beauty, Lily hears the faint squeak scrape of the mailbox closing.  She waits ten minutes before darting out to check her mailbox again, hoping to find it empty.   Inside she finds a bouquet.  The bouquet contains daisies, nettles, crow-flower, and purple orchids.  A ribbon is tied around them with a note.  “I want the perfect Ophelia.  There with fantastic garlands did she come/ Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples” it says.  Lily dashes back inside, locks the door, and runs into her bedroom.  Why did Todd leave me the article? She wonders.  She picks up the phone and dials Todd and sits down on the carpeted floor between her bed and closet, away from the window.  Her usually steady hands are shaking. 

“Hello?” she hears Todd’s familiar voice say on the other end of the line. 

“Todd, it’s Lily.  Why did you leave that article out for me to rea-read?” says, tripping over her words.  A long pause greets her. 

“I guess ’cause it reminded me of the other one…” he says slowly. 

“Todd, I’ve just gotten a bouquet and a note that says ‘I want the perfect Ophelia,’ you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?” she demands, her voice shaking. 

“No,” he insists.  “I would never do something to make you this upset.” 

Lily hears a twig snap outside and shrieks, crouching behind the bed. 

“Lily?” an agitated Todd asks.  “Are you okay?”

“I think there’s something outside,” she yelps into the phone. 

“Look, Lily, I’m going to come over,” says Todd steadily.  “When I come I’m going to use my key, so you’ll hear the door.  I’ll announce myself so you’ll know its me and you’ll tell me where you are.  Okay?” 

“Mm-hm,” he hears her say, then the sound of the receiver.  Click. 

 

When he comes to the front door there is a note attached.  “Meet me at the Rose Garden tomorrow night at midnight.  Todd.”  He pulls the note off the door and unlocks it. 

“Lily, it’s Todd,” he calls as he opens the door.  He crumples the note in his hand. 

“I’m in my room,” he hears a faint muffled voice from the bedroom.  Todd walks into her room and sees a mass of red hair fanned out on the floor.  She turns her tear streaked face up to him and he sees, not vibrant Lily, but a pale ghost.  He sinks down and puts his arms around the shivering Lily.  She buries her face in his shoulder and sniffles. 

“I’m sorry,” she says into his shoulder.  “I’m overreacting.  Thank you for coming.” 

“No you weren’t,” he says smoothing out the note from the door.  “Look.” 

She looks up and takes the note from his hand.  Before she can say anything he says, “It was stuck to the door when I came in.”  He strokes her hair.  Lily’s face changes.  In place of the fear comes anger and determination. 

“I’m going,” she says emphatically.  Todd stares at her stunned. 

“Going?  To…” he trails off. 

“Yes,” she says resolutely.  “Will you be my second?”

Todd stares at her, disbelieving, but then nods. 

 

When Lily and Todd get to the Rose Garden they realize the gate is locked.  Lily quickly scales the fence and Todd, rather awkwardly, follows her.  Lily takes Todd’s hand and leads him down the steps to the little creek at the bottom. 

“It’s been blocked to raise the water level,” she whispers to Todd.  “Normally there isn’t enough water to submerge an Ophelia.”  Todd exhales sharply and tries to act calm. 

“Go hide somewhere where you can see me,” Lily whispers.  “Don’t come to help unless I’m being beaten, drowned, or strangled.”

Todd gives her an imploring look, but obeys, hiding behind a bench.  Lily walks to the railing by the creek and grips it until her knuckles are white.  The sound of soft footsteps on stairs meets her in the darkness.  She tenses, but only for a moment before turning to meet the figure.  A tall man strides up to her. 

“Ophelia,” he says softly, and then, before she realizes what is happening, her arms are bent painfully behind her back.  He spins her around to face him and she sees a thirty-something man with sandy hair. 

“Remember me?” he asks, showing a row of flawless teeth.  “From the print shop?  Of course you do.  Ophelia didn’t kill herself, she just let herself go.  Will you do that for me?  Let yourself go?  Float.”  He looks skyward and breaths deeply.  “Nothing to say, Ophelia?” 

“Its all for the sake of art, is it not?” she says, repositioning her feet. 

He chuckles, and pins her to the railing, freeing up his hand to stroke her cheek before spinning her around again.  She is pliant, malleable.  Like Ophelia should be, when, BAM.  She smashes her heal onto his instep with surprising force.    He stumbles back for a moment, then grabs her, throwing her to the ground and kicking her in the hip, missing her stomach.  Lily wants to curl up into a ball and roll away, to nurse her sore wrists and hip.  She never was good with pain.  She hears a crack and a thud.  She looks up.  Todd is running over, a rock in hand. 

“Lily!” he shouts, throwing the rock away. 

“I’m fine she says,” unconvincingly. 

Todd picks her up and pulls out his cell phone. 

“I’m calling the police,” he says dialing. 

“Is he dead?” Lily asks, looking at the man lying, motionless on the ground. 

“No,” says Todd.  “No worries there.  That rock was tiny.”  He helps her up to her feet.  “You okay?”

She nods and squeezes his hand.