Page 43 of Autopsy of a Fairytale

Griffin had tried to force Bel to go to the hospital, but she refused, and so there she stood in Vera’s normal and cozy kitchen, mentally preparing herself to plunge into the woman’s house. Eamon had done as she requested, but they would find more than just hisconvenientexplanations.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sheriff Griffin said as he settled beside her in his matching protective gear. Eamon waited with Cerberus outside, but she needed to know. She needed to witness what she had lived next to for months, and as soon as the paramedics finished their exam, she pulled on the protective wear despite the onlookers’ shock.

“Yes, I do,” she answered, her eyes catching on an old recipe card hanging from a magnet on the fridge.Rose shortbread cookies with rose water buttercream. The same cookies Emily Kaffe planned to make the day of her death. It seems Vera had been the one to give her the idea. “I need to,” Bel continued with a shudder of dread, and together they pushed into the house. The air changed the second they vacated the kitchen, a heavy oppression bearing down on their shoulders as the two watched the techs catalog the scene. And what a scene it was.

Bel’s face was plastered everywhere, a dark shrine of sorts built below her photos, some of which dated back to her accident. Eamon had left every sign of magic in her home, and Bel was thankful he did. Only they knew just how real her power was, but the officers assumed the shrines confirmed Alcina’s mental instability.

“Oh, my god.” The Sheriff froze, his hand instinctively going to her elbow as if to protect her. “She’s been following you since New York, doing all of this because she was obsessed with you? Was she the one who…” he trailed off, and Bel recoiled at the sight of her unaware self taped in an endless array across the wall. Her walking Cerberus, reading at her kitchen table, exiting her bathroom in nothing but a towel. She flinched, knowing Eamon hadn’t planted these intrusive photos. No, these had hung next door for months, and she hadn’t known. She had trusted this woman, ate in her home, spoke of her love life, and all the while, these violating photographs hovered mere feet away.

“Yes,” Bel answered, struggling not to hyperventilate. “She was the one who tried to kill me in New York.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. “It appears she followed me to finish the job.”

“And all the murders?” Griffin asked.

“To torture me. To draw me close. To remind me of my own near death.”

“Emerson,” his voice was disgusted. “I’m so sorry. I put you on the case. I threw you into this woman’s crosshairs.”

“She did that long before I ever met you, Sir.”

“I hate that so much death is on our hands, but I’m glad she didn’t kill you too. Thank goodness for that dog… and Stone. What are the chances he was running at the exact time she attacked you, but thank God for divine interventions, right?”

Bel swallowed, her skin burning at their deceptions. “He jogs here often, actually. I’ve seen him a few times.”

Griffin studied her, eyes pinched as if he sensed something amiss, but then he turned back to the shrine, either dismissing the thought or choosing to ignore it. “Well, I’m glad he and that dog were there. We have to bury too many of our own already.” He patted her shoulder with fatherly affection as a deputy approached them, an evidence bag firmly in his grip.

“Sheriff.” He held the bag out for them to see, and Bel realized what Eamon meant when he saidprecautions. “We found prosthetics, wigs, and makeup in the bedroom. Seems this is how she posed as Vera without anyone noticing.”

Bel held her breath, hoping the Sheriff would accept the evidence despite the holes in its reliability. Alcina had become Vera, assuming even her voice and mannerisms, and she worried the makeup wouldn’t satisfy him. But after a few seconds, Griffin nodded.

“She was stalking her victims,” he said, gesturing to photos hanging further down the hall. Some were of Lumen, Kaffe, and Legat, along with a few of Garrett and others she didn’t recognize. “She must have watched Vera closely before assuming her identity.”

“You knew her longer than I did,” Bel said. “Did you notice a change in her? Perhaps we can pinpoint when Alcina took over her life.”

“Honestly?” Griffin shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. Vera was elderly. Forgetfulness was nothing out of the ordinary.” He shook his head. “How did this happen right under my nose?”

Bel didn’t answer. How could she? She had slept only a grassy yard away from this monster, and her profile of the killer suddenly made sense. Someone who wanted attention, who wanted the glory. Bel had predicted the killer would revisit the scene, and Vera had been at each one, pretending to comfort the town with her motherly hugs and fresh cookies. She had Bel over for tea, letting a detective sit a single wall away from this web of insanity taped to the wallpaper. Bel was wrong about so many things on this case, but this one thing she had predicted correctly. Alcina had wanted a show, and as Vera she had claimed a front row seat to the madness.

“Sheriff?” a male voice called from the basement. “You need to see this.”

Griffin and Bel exchanged a look before heading down the stairs. The sight that met them stilled their hearts for a second, and if the photos upstairs were proof of Alcina’s guilt, the basement was the nail in her metaphorical coffin.

Tools littered the workspace along with wooden structures, metal carvings, screws, bleach, tarps, pulleys, and every other manner of damning evidence. Bel noticed immediately which object Eamon graciously left for them to discover. The larger mechanisms were his that he cleaned and planted to explain lifting the bodies, but the small leaf carvings, the wood shavings, and the metal wires? Those were undeniable testimony that Alcina had been posing as a caring grandmother to gain access to her victims. Whether the witch had used magic to help design the murder scenes or her eternal years gave her skills that rivaled Lumen’s, it didn’t matter. This basement had been transformed into a workshop, months of design work evident in the blueprints and the discarded failures. The officers photographed and cataloged the basement, but they wouldn’t find traces of Eamon, not even on the pieces he planted. She felt guilty about asking him to fake evidence, but all he gave the police were real-world explanations for what magic had accomplished. Everything else? The true testament to her guilt had already been here. Been right below Bel’s feet, inches from where she sat as she ate dinner with the woman she believed was her friend.

* * *

Bel eventually drifted back outside,giving the Sheriff and the others space to work, but as she walked to where Eamon waited with her dog, a splash of color froze her in her tracks. She had always seen Vera’s garden from her cabin, the tall bushes blocking its inner design, but this new angle, as she escaped the house, offered a full view of the red blooms. As if drawn close by an unseen cord, Bel moved for the roses, their crimson petals vibrant and delicate, but it was the snipped branches that captured her attention. Harsh cuts wilted where flowers had been severed. Branches died from where roses were pealed apart and assembled into beautiful hearts.

Bel wasn’t sure how long she stood staring at the bushes, but then suddenly she was moving, yelling for help. She knew. Deep down she knew, and within minutes, deputies crowded around her, Lina Thum hovering in wait. Bel felt Eamon’s eyes on her as they dug, and as the shovels fractured roots and displaced dirt, Vera came into view. The real Vera, buried beneath her roses, her heart ripped out and missing.

They did not layroses on Garrett’s grave as the town said goodbye to their public servant and friend, as the force said goodbye to their detective, as Bel said goodbye to the man she cared for. The man she hoped she might one day love.

When the time came, she stepped to his coffin and placed her tulip atop the shining wood, tears spilling from her eyes. There had been too many funerals, too much heartbreak, and Bel lifted her fingers to her lips and pressed a kiss to his coffin. She prayed that wherever he was, it was a place of peace.

The funeral ended, and Bel stayed at the reception to pay her respects, but the pain in her bruised chest and her broken heart begged her to go home and lay down. Eamon’s foresight helped sell the self-defense narrative, but every inch of her torso screamed for relief. She couldn’t consume any more of the healing potion since a miraculous recovery would raise too many questions, and so she was forced to endure the aftermath of her assault. She should be thankful his quick thinking had kept her from bleeding out, but every time her mind traveled down that path, she pictured Garrett laid to rest. No one had come to his rescue. He had bled out, and Bel wanted to hate Stone for visiting the station that night but missing Alcina’s attack. It wasn’t his fault as much as it wasn’t hers, but in her sorrow, it was simpler to condemn the beast in their midst. It was easier to be angry at him than to admit that despite the trauma he had inflicted, she couldn’t bring herself to hate the stranger infiltrating her life. She had experienced the impossibly strong magic. She had been helpless to fight it, and that Eamon defied the curse for her was a magnitude she was currently unwilling to unpack. So, she cried and hugged the funeral attendees, and then she left, letting Eamon’s absence at the funeral bear the weight of her blame. Somehow, she knew he would accept and carry it for her even if he was there.

Cerberus seemed to sense her need for oblivion when she arrived home, and he curled his muscled body around her as she fell asleep still wearing her black dress, and for the first time in months, the nightmares abandoned her. There were no teeth. There was no terror. Only a deep sorrow that lulled her into the peaceful sleep she so desperately needed.

Cerberus let her rest, but hours later, he woke her with a tap dance of nails against the wood floors. Bel sat up, surprised by her dreamless nap, and smirked at her dog. She’d been so emotionally drained when she got home that she forgot to take him outside, and his pacing spoke volumes about how badly he needed a walk. She considered changing out of the black dress, but she didn’t have the energy, so she shoved her feet into her sneakers and clipped on his harness.

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