focused on the father and son and how the father held the son as if bearing up the world. A father and son had led us to this moment. A father’s absence. A son’s rage. A daughter’s grief. Fathers and sons. Fathers and daughters. Lovers and deceivers. There was no escape.
26
“How has your return to—well, life—been?” Zara asks, a laugh in her voice.
“Oh, much better than expected.” Looking directly at the audience, Ophelia adds, “And I have the great people of Denmark to thank for it.”
The morning the movers were set to come, agents from the Denmark Department of Investigations barged into my apartment. Oddly, it was their suits that scared me more than their guns. Anyone who could do dirty work in a tie had methods of getting information I didn’t want to know about.
They grabbed my cell phone and went searching for my computer, but I explained that no one had returned it, or my old phone, after my last imprisonment. When they asked me to go with them, I refused. A man, who introduced himself as Special Agent Barnardo, stepped forward and put his stubbly face close to mine. His receding hairline made his forehead look enormous, and he smelled like mint gum and shaving cream, which struck me as funny given the stubble. “You’re coming with us. You can walk out, or we can force you. I would suggest you make it easy on yourself.”
I had passed being safe and was sick of following orders. “Screw you,” I hissed, and braced myself for what I knew would come. He cuffed me and dragged me out of the apartment.
I was brought to DDI headquarters, a soulless poured-concrete building with harsh fluorescent lighting and lots of locked doors. All of my panic was gone, replaced by irritation and disbelief. They put me in an interrogation room, questioned me for a few days while recording every second of it, and then released me. I left unsure of what they would find, and not sure that I cared. I was wrung out and felt utterly disconnected from everything and everyone around me.
After my release, I moved into my new antiseptic apartment, anonymously beige and thoroughly inoffensive, and became a relative recluse. People tried to make contact, but I screened all calls, and for weeks saw no one except for Horatio’s family and my lawyer.
My lawyer looked across his desk and tapped his pen on his legal pad. “Ophelia, everyone’s been clamoring to hear what happened. An interview on Zara could help you quiet things down.”
I shook my head.
Sternly he continued, “And it could help your case. If the DDI decides to put you on trial, you need a sympathetic jury. You have to get your version of the events out there.”
“Zara is going to ask all kinds of personal questions. I don’t want everyone knowing all the details of my life,” I said.
“The people already know the majority of what happened.”
I grimaced. “Not the most personal stuff.”
“Tell as much as you feel you can. And leave out parts that will make you look bad.”
“So lie?”
“Weeeell, tell the truth as much as possible—albeit a patriotic version of the truth. Try to pin everything on Claudius. The public wants to believe that Gertrude was an innocent bystander. And Hamlet was deeply loved by his subjects, don’t forget.” When I winced, he added, “The people need to see you as sympathetic and remorseful. And like a regular teenage girl. Only more glamorous. You have to go on Zara. This show is important for your image.”
I dropped my head and clutched my stomach. I whispered, “I don’t want to be a public figure anymore.”
He peered over his glasses and reminded me, “It doesn’t matter what you want.”
Barnardo: We’re gonna let you go. For now. But we’ll be watching you. Someone out there knows something, and we’re going to find it.
Ophelia: Let me know when you do.
Barnardo: Are you always this mouthy?
Ophelia: No. You just bring out the best in me. (A door opens and closes.)
Francisco: There’s a lawyer out there with Horatio. You can talk in our conference room if you’d like, or you can just leave.
Ophelia: Parting is such sweet sorrow and all, but I think I’ll get out of here. Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.
Francisco: We’ll see you around.
Ophelia: Can’t wait.
Zara crosses her legs and sits back. “So now what? Are you going on tour? Planning to write a tell-all?”
Ophelia sighs and folds her hands in her lap. “No. I just want