Until Death: A haunting tale of love, betrayal, and obsession by London Clarke

Author:London Clarke [Clarke, London]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carfax Abbey Publishing
Published: 2023-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

27

Hope

An intense sadness overtakes me. Almost as bad as the day Olivier died. I sit on the couch and stare at the framed photo of us. Bits of the past float in and out of my mind like dust particles. An image of Olivier standing on the San Francisco pier on one of our best dates. He’s smiling, his hair sparkling with rain, his hands thrust in his pockets. That was the day I knew I wanted to marry him.

I set the photograph down on the coffee table. I really thought Olivier was trying to contact me. The dreams have been so real. But if none of it is real, how can I bear to stay in this creepy place for a year? Even a week sounds like a stretch. Who knows what will happen next—especially after Porsha put that weird mannequin in my kitchen. God only knows how she got in.

My skin crawls as I stare down at the dirty fabric of the couch, the outdated carpet, the cheap paint on the walls. And how do I reconcile that the messages scrawled on my skin are my own doing?

In the corner of the room sits one box I’ve been putting off unpacking: the photo albums. I glance at it, then away. Don’t do it. Looking at more photos of Olivier won’t do any good. But the pull is too strong. I saunter to the corner, lift the box, and carry it back to the coffee table. Pulling out the top photo album, I notice the corners of a manilla file folder sticking out.

I flip the cover and peruse the papers within. Copies of agreements—promissory notes to investors—all signed by Olivier and Erich. Interspersed with the paperwork, photos slide onto the table. Some are photographs of the houses we flipped in their original states—run down, no landscaping, and collapsing decks. I sift through them, smiling at the memory of one house we lived in for three months while we renovated. I shuffle through a few more photos and stop at a black-and-white picture of one of the last houses we flipped. Three people stand in a line in front of it—Olivier in the center. The two people on either side of him are wearing what looks like Halloween masks, with exaggerated drawn-down mouths and cut-out eyes peering over the top of a long, hooked nose. Olivier’s hands are behind his back, and he’s wearing his black turtleneck.

I hold it up close and scrutinize Olivier’s unsmiling face. Why on earth is he posing with these men in horrible masks? Was it Halloween? As I start to put the picture down, I catch sight of another paper underneath. An email printout. I scan the date and the address.

January 15, 2011

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hey,

Where can we meet?

Call me. 555-825-9942

January 15, 2011

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

We may have to meet at the casino, but I’ll have to lose Erich first. I plan to talk to him tonight.

Reisler Manning. The name on the slip of paper in the pill bottle.

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