and men gasp and mutter, nearly undetectable satisfaction registers on Ophelia’s face. Zara allows them their moment and then turns her attention back to Ophelia. “It was just an act?”
“Yes. I needed what came next to be believable.”
Right after Horatio and I got back from having coffee, Marcellus walked in and asked to speak with me alone. I took him into my room, where he explained, “I know it’s been a while since you asked, but things got crazy around here. I wanted to let you know that I checked into the video you asked about, the one with, uh, you and Hamlet,” he began. He tugged at his gun belt, and the handcuffs jangled. “No one knows anything about it.”
“Maybe it was sent to Gertrude or Claudius personally.”
Marcellus shook his head. “I don’t think so. Any threat, even the smallest or most personal, is dealt with by security. Not even VanDerwater knew.”
“Maybe he’s lying. VanDerwater’s your boss, so—”
“No, he’d tell me anything involving Hamlet. Far as I can tell, it never existed.”
“Well that’s just perfect,” I said, and sank onto the bed and rubbed my temples.
“I thought you’d be relieved no tape like that was kicking around.”
I blinked back tears. “I would if I hadn’t—” I swallowed hard and finished our conversation with, “Thanks for checking into it.”
He nodded and left the room.
Horatio came in to find me and flinched as he noticed the painted wall. “What the hell is that?”
“A self-portrait,” I mumbled.
He squinted and tilted his head, studying my work of art. “It’s… uh… a little twisted.” When I started to sniffle, he added, “No, it’s not that bad.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that. It’s—ugh.” I fell back onto my bed, staring at the wall of eyes and at my desk, where my computer, phone, and framed photos of Hamlet once sat. “There was no sex tape. They lied. And my father died thinking I was a total slut, and I screwed over Hamlet for nothing. Oh yeah, and my dad’s dead.” I rubbed my forehead, as if the motion could erase memory and pain.
“You look like you need a drink.”
I nodded and sent him into Dad’s office to see if he could find the bottle of vodka my father had hidden behind a volume of tax laws. My father didn’t know I knew that he nipped at the bottle before important press conferences, and he didn’t know that I snuck some before public appearances that involved large crowds. Its lack of odor was perfect for both of our purposes.
Back in my room, I held out the vodka, but Horatio declined because he planned to drive back to school. Horatio and I sat in my room while I drank, and we talked about everything. For once, Horatio didn’t suggest prudence when I reached for the bottle. And reach for the bottle I did. The last thing I remember is telling Horatio how pretty I thought the sun looked as it set over the river.
I don’t recall what happened that evening in Gertrude’s office, but I was shown the video weeks later when officers from the Denmark Department of Investigations were piecing all of these strange and disparate events together. I’m not sure what purpose Gertrude had in installing cameras in the official offices. Then again, maybe she didn’t even know they were there. I wondered: If there were cameras in as many places as I later found out there were, how had secrets been kept at all? Yet the biggest, most important moments of the prior year had been kept out of reach of the lenses. Clearly people familiar with the systems had perpetrated the dirtiest deeds, and the surveillance was not meant for them.
On the video I am seen in loosely hanging flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt, drifting into Gertrude’s offices looking at no one in particular.
“Ophelia? Is that you?” asks Gertrude.
I appear not to see her but turn my head, dreamily searching the room. I ask, “Where is the king of Denmark? We were supposed to meet and talk about Hamlet, and then I was going to show him my painting, but I can’t find him anywhere. He was a good man, a good king. I miss him.” I kneel and look under her desk. “I missed him at the coffee house, and I’ve looked everywhere.”
Gertrude looks thoroughly uncomfortable and sends her secretary out.
Claudius walks purposefully into the room reading some paper or other and stops in his tracks. Once he figures out