Page 115 of Her Dark Lies
She draws me away, and I glance over my shoulder to see shock and fury in every line of Jack’s body. He is close behind me; I can hear his breath, harsh in my ear.
Ana gets me back into the dressing room and unceremoniously strips me of the dress. She tosses it to the floor and kicks it away. My skin prickles with cold, exposed as I am. I move for the robe hanging on the door, feeling like I’m moving through mud. I pull it over my shoulders. I’m exhausted.
“Where did you even find it, Claire?” Ana asks reproachfully. “This is terrible. Terrible.”
“Fatima—” I manage, before bursting into tears. Choking on my sobs, I finally manage to get the words out. “Fatima gave it to me.”
“Fatima?” Ana is clearly shocked by this news, and Jack, still growling and roaming the room like a caged tiger, draws to a halt. “Fatima gave it to you? She told me she had found a dress for you, but this...this is obscene.”
“She brought it to me, said it belonged to her mother. She had me try it on. That’s why she did my hair, so I could see how it would look. She thought it would be an option for me, since my dress was ruined. She said you loved the idea.”
“Fatima?” Ana says again, still in shock at the betrayal. “But she—”
“Loved Morgan,” Jack says, still wary, but starting to recover now. “She doted on her. Every time we came here, Fatima did everything she could to ingratiate herself. Morgan loved it. Having someone so close to the family who adored her? My God, I didn’t know she had it in her. What a terrible, awful prank. Claire, come here, love.” He folds me into his arms, and I nestle there, safe, and sorrowful, hiccupping occasionally as the tears wind down.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe this is happening. Between Elliot and Fatima...” I swallow hard, trying to keep myself in check. Inside I am a seething mass, I want to kill them both. I want to wring that bitch’s skinny little neck for screwing with me. With us. I want to see Elliot off the cliffside. I am so sick of impediments to our happiness.
Thunder rumbles, low and mean.
“God, not more rain,” Ana says, moving to the windows. “I thought we had a break.”
“She must have ruined my dress in a ploy to get me to wear this one. To embarrass me. To hurt you. God, Jack, I am so sorry. If I’d had any idea...”
Jack puts his hand under my chin. “Darling, this isn’t your fault. Let Mom help you get changed. Let’s keep going, all right? This is just another stupid obstruction, and it’s not your fault, Claire, it’s not. It was meant to hurt me, and it worked. I was shocked, but trust me, I am fine. Are you okay with Mom helping you, or I can send Katie and Harper back up, too?”
“No. That’s okay. I can do it. I have my rehearsal dress. But our guests must be getting restless at this point. Should we tell them to wait downstairs? Or go ahead to the church?”
Jack is already halfway to the door. “Where are you going?”
“To find Fatima,” he says. “And get the party moving to the church. There’s no reason for everyone to be waiting below. We’ll make our appearance there. Together, this time.”
“No need. They’re already going,” Ana says, looking out the window. “The funicular is full of people. Harper must have gotten everyone moving. Smart girl.”
“Good. Still, Fatima and I need to have a conversation.” But before he can leave, my cell phone rings. I pull it out of the small beaded bag that is meant to hang at my elbow. I’d tossed it on the bed as we entered the room.
“It’s Gideon,” I say, confused, halting and putting the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Claire! My God, I’ve been trying to reach you. Jack isn’t answering his phone. I’m on my way up. Karmen is dead. She was murdered, stabbed, but she figured out who Ami Eister is. It’s Morgan Compton. Claire, you have to tell Jack. Morgan is alive.”
66
Revelations
One last gong of the bell and the seats are all filled. The lights go down, bleeding away from the glowing orbs until the theater is dark. There is murmuring and shifting, a few errant coughs, the turn of a page in the programs. The curtain is still drawn. The murmurs stop. The audience leans forward the tiniest bit, breath catching in their throats. They have waited for this moment, paid money to experience it.
An interminable moment ensues.
Then the curtain whips back, pulled on lead wires that fly through their metal rings, showing the stage, and a lone actor in a pool of light. A woman. Head down. Feet bare. She wears battered clothes as if she’s survived a shipwreck. Her red hair hangs in stringy wet ropes. There is no music, only the heavy breathing of the woman and the gasps of surprise from the audience as she throws back her head, her eyes bright as glowing coals.
“Surprise!” I call.
67
She Is Risen
“What do you mean, Morgan is alive?” I say, and Jack and Ana both whirl to face me. “Gideon, hold on, I need to put you on speaker.”
