Page 127 of Her Dark Lies
No one asked about the fresh bodies in the crypt. Henna was given a spot of honor. I have no idea what happened to Malcolm and Fatima, nor do I care.
The bones, though, were not Elevana’s. I don’t know whose they are, nor the story behind them. I fear... No. I will not think of that now.
I slept in Jack’s hospital room the whole first week. It was touch and go for a couple of days. The bullet hit him in the stomach. He lost a lot of blood, so much that after an extensive surgery, he had to have three transfusions and they’d removed his spleen, but that finally stabilized him.
When Jack was discharged from the hospital, we took the chopper back to the Villa. Flying in was surreal. The pier whereThe Hebrideswas docked was gone, the asphalt to the shops carved out as if a giant took a bite of a sandwich.
Otherwise, it all looked the same. As if the events of the past weeks were erased entirely.
Our rooms were resurrected. The terrace doors replaced, all the shattered glass removed, though I will wear shoes inside for the foreseeable future, just in case. Venus Genetrix lost a shoulder, but a restoration team from Milan is working on her.
The tunnel to the grotto had been sealed, the door bolted and cemented into the wall. No one will be able to get in or out this way ever again.
I debated whether I wanted to stay here, considering how many rooms the Villa has, but in the end, decided I did. I like the view. Romulus and Remus love the terrace. Ana’s cats are in mourning, and the dogs like to tease them into happiness in the sunshine.
There has been no more talk of a wedding, though once Jack is stronger, we’ll have a quiet ceremony. It’s warm and beautiful on Isola, now that the hellacious storms have passed. The terrace is the perfect place to do some sketching. I’ve spent a lot of time out here. Remembering. I hiked to the cliff top once. Looked over the edge. Imagined what it must have been like that night. The night Morgan died.
Will joins me. He and I have taken to having an afternoon walk. I like it. He’s a fascinating man. He has good days, and bad. I’ve never asked him about our first meeting, when he snapped and punched Jack, crying out about the killer in our midst.
It is a long fall.
The blood test the Italian did to manage the legalities of our Italian wedding came back with a bit of a surprise. I wasn’t seasick onThe Hebridesafter all. I haven’t told Jack yet. I will, once I wrap my head around the situation. I should tell him now. I really should. But it needs to be my secret a little longer. Just until I decide what is to be done. The family’s needs must come first now.
The library has become my refuge. I sit under the stained-glass window, wondering about what choices drove Eliza Compton to have Mephistopheles and Faust looking over her books.
These records are so hard to keep. But I write my thoughts anyway. One day, one of my children will find this notebook and perhaps they will hate me. Perhaps they will understand the choices I made.
Their mother is a murderer. I have taken life. I have done it through accident. I have done it on purpose.
The former was harder.
Our world slowly comes back to center. I’m surprised to realize we’re moving into August now. Sunrises. Sunsets. Waves crash. Winds blow. Tired birds settle with relief in the branches of the trees. Flowers bloom and die. The island never seems to change. It is perpetually alone, in the midst of a roiling azure sea, a harbor for all our secrets.
I hear Jack stirring inside, he’s been napping most of the afternoon. He still needs his rest. That’s how he will heal.
He joins me on the terrace, all smiles. He has been so solicitous. Love is solicitude, is it not?
“What are you doing, darling?”
I slap closed the cover of the sketchbook. He doesn’t need to see.
“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“I feel good. Are you hungry? I thought we could ask Chef to make us some carbonara. Maybe a glass of wine?” His eyes twinkle. He is getting back to himself. He is happy. It is all over.
“No wine for you, mister. Not yet. Not until the doctor says you can.”
“You’re a tyrant, you know that? Drawing something?”
“The labyrinth,” I lie. “I have a wonderful idea about incorporating the statuary into the view. I think we should transform the first cottage into my studio. I’ll need at least forty feet for the canvas. I think I’ll call herVenus.”
“We can make that happen. Anything you want, darling. Sounds amazing. I can’t wait to see her.”
He kisses me and goes inside to make an order to the kitchens. I’ve come to realize living in the Villa is something like living in a five-star hotel. Anything you could possibly want or need is a call away. If we want to eat in our rooms, we do. If we want the dining room, we have it. If we want a picnic on the beach, it’s ours for the taking.
The sun is starting to set, the cliff’s shadows lumbering across the beach. I may go for a swim in the morning.
I turn to the page in my sketchbook where I’ve left off. My finger is holding the place.
