Between The Lies

Chapter 1

Death wasn't kind. Cora Rajput knew that. It snatched where it could, taking people who were far too young, far too good. The hooded vale of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. But it had never touched her quite so close, until now.

The coffin gleamed in the early morning light that streamed through the stained cathedral windows depicting the tales of miracles. It was expertly crafted, not to bring comfort to the dead but to soothe the living.

Unlike the others, Cora still managed to look restrained. Her black hair as straight as paper, down to her waist, and her dress pressed to perfection. She walked right up the top at the altar and sat on the front seat, the one without kneelers. She had never been so far up the church before.

Jesus loomed above her, the blood dripping from his wounds, his glassy eyes staring at nothing. She looked away, concentrating instead on the picture of Amelia. It was the one from their last excursion, glorious even in her summer tan. The official mourning hadn't yet begun and she was already exhausted. Looking at the picture of the sublime girl, her eyes became glazed with a layer of tears. She focused them on the tessellated floor, not wanting to catch even a glimpse of the box in which Amelia rests.

"Cora."

Recognising the voice, she frowned at the pair of Oxfords that came into view and looked up.

"Patrick."

He stared at her with his dark, stony eyes. It was as uncomfortable as a chorus-girl corset, having the same effect on her breathing. Constricted and shallow. Before he could speak, Mrs. Rutherford came into sight.

Cora had seen the movies, where they never truly cry. Through experiences in her life, she could tell a real one from a fake and she knew what this was too. Eleanor Grace Rutherford was bawling her eyes out. Mr. Rutherford tried to hold her back as his own tears fell. She was good at this. Cora pitied Amelia at all times. Her mother was dead and replaced by someone who hated her. Patrick sighed and walked across the hall towards them.

She felt like hours had passed before it was time for the eulogies. Patrick made his way to the podium, silently.

"We gather here today, still reeling from the tragic death of Amelia Rutherford." He cleared his throat. "We are enraged at the unfairness that took her from us. We seek to make sense of this, to understand the reason why this happened. What is the possible meaning of this? What plan could this have been a part of?" He gave a burning, hard stare somewhere in the audience and Cora followed his line of sight. Alistair Hawthorne stared back at him, cold and rigid. But he was anxious. She noticed him relaxing as Patrick continued. She turned around only to find Patrick gazing down at her. "Maybe it is the God's plan or it was just her time to go. But she is in a better place now, away from the lies of the world. There are words that come close to the ache we feel in our hearts. Anguish, grief, sorrow. But the closest words I have found to what I feel are something she told me months ago. Life has been cruel to her. The last time I saw her, though she was breathing, my sister was already dead."

Patrick continued to look at her. Every muscle in his face was tense and without a word, he communicated. Cora went stiff.

It wasn't just an accident.

* * *

The mansion loomed behind the iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees swaying to the wind. It grew out of the manicured lawn as ivy clung to the walls and over the mullioned windows in desperation.

"Nick, I will walk the rest." Cora told her chauffeur. He was an old man with a fringe of grey-white hair around his balding, mottled scalp and a back slightly hunched. He had been with her family for as long as she can remember and he had reached an age that stopped giving and only took away.

"Be careful." He looked uncertain as he leaned closer to the window and examined the outside. "I never liked this place."

She groaned. He always did this. As she stepped out of the car and made her way towards the gates, she could still hear Nick murmuring under his breath.

The driveway swept into a wide circle in front of the residence with a delicate, marble fountain in the center. The soft gurgling of the clear water was melodic as it resonated in the surrounding silence. She went up to the towering front doors and tried the door knock. After a while, they swung open. A waft of warm air streamed past her.

"Cora."

"Patrick."

After that frozen moment when neither of them breathed, Patrick turned on his heels and started walking towards the stairs. Cora followed. She noticed he was still in his funeral clothes, but dishevelled. She loved the place at night. The mahogany floors and the antique furniture bathed in the flicker of yellow candlelight from the many candelabra that hung there. The stairs ahead were twisted in a perfect spiral with carved and polished rails. As they ascended, they passed by family portraits painted in oils and hung in gold frames. She knew where they were headed.

Amelia always kept her room dimly lit with the sconces that hung on the mute coloured walls. Thick, velvet curtains hid the long windows across the walls, just leaving a peek of the woods beyond. Cora remembered how the air was scented with fresh flowers every day of the year and how the wood-fire blazed cheerily in the ample fireplace, sending its warmth far out into the room. But not anymore. It died with her. Now it was just dark and the air moved like cool water, the aroma of the candles long lost.

Patrick locked the door behind them and faced her. "Why are you here?"

"I know you wanted to tell me something at the funeral." Cora answered.

"You shouldn't be here." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"It wasn't just an accident, was it?" She stepped closer to him.

"I don't know, Cora." He walked past her and sat on a chair by the ashen fireplace. He looked defeated.

"But you do think so, don't you?"

He studied her as his eyes glistened under the moonlight that crept through the windows. "Does it matter? She is gone."

Cora had never felt so much rage before and this was born out of the pain and sadness she felt. She spoke as slow desolate tears ran from her unblinking eyes. "How can you say that, Patrick? Of course, it matters. Do you think she deserved it? I know she didn't and I am going to find the truth."

Over the years, he had learned to read her through the emotions that danced like fire in her eyes. However, it was different this time. The fire dwindled down to smouldering ashes and even he could not tell what was soaring beyond those walls.