Jewels and Panties (Book, Seven): Dark Diary

by Brooke Kinsley

  "He must have thought he'd hit the jackpot when he saw you," I said.

  I leaned onto his shoulder and sighed.

  "You really didn't come this way to buy it?"

  "Promise. I'm as shocked as you are."

  Something in my gut made me believe him.

  "Kinda feels like fate," I said. "With it all just coming together like this."

  I was trying to be on his side, trying to understand it all as best I could but I was still livid. We should be in Venice now, I kept thinking over and over again. Not in this miserable death trap in shitty Broadwood.

  "Fate. The best word to describe it," he said. "We really could turn this place into a paradise. Somewhere safe."

  "The next thing you're going to tell me is that you’re turning your lab into a pet sanctuary. I can just imagine it. A beehive next to your DNA database of panties.Rabbits leaping through your gas chambers."

  He rolled his eyes.

  "Are you finished? Look, I'm sorry. We really will be going on vacation but not today."

  "But when?"

  "In a couple days.Promise."

  "You keep saying you promise!"

  "I mean it! Really. Let me just straighten a few things out here then we'll be on our way. The jet's not going anywhere. Can you wait?"

  "Just a couple day?"

  He nodded and squeezed me tight, smoothing my hair down as I leaned into his chest, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat, his strength.

  "Just a couple days and we really will be on the Grand Canal."

  "Okay, but I swear to God if something else happens and we end up-"

  "Nothing's going to happen."

  In one swift movement, he tossed me onto the bed and I landed with a squeal, the bed creaking beneath our weight.

  "Nice to see the bed's as squeaky as the last time."

  "At least no one's around to hear us this time."

  "You've got a point."

  He kissed me softly, his fingers working their way into my coat. As he pulled my shirt open, the wind billowed through the curtains, caressing my skin and hardening my nipples. He leaned down and kissed them, feeling the stiffness against his lips.

  He ripped my stockings from me, leaving them tattered around my ankles before tracing his finger down my calf. Kissing the length of my leg, he moved his way up my shin, across my knees and over my thighs before lowering himself down into the sweet spot between my legs.

  I lay back and stared at the ceiling until my eyes flickered shut. Now there was only darkness and the feeling of bliss welling up inside me. I writhed against him, his tongue flicking over me.

  I was so lost in the moment and my body so overcome with pleasure that even this dismal room was starting to look cheerful. When I opened my eyes, the floral wallpaper was no longer faded but was now vibrant and alive. The sound of the traffic coming in through the window was no longer just the ebb and flow of rush hour cars speeding toward the highway. It was the sound of waves, fast and steady like my heartbeat.

  "Oh, God!"

  I held his head in place. I was almost there. Just another second. Just another flick of his tongue and then...

  "Oh... my God!"

  I shuddered against him, my whole body trembling as I came. He emerged from between my legs wiping his face.

  "Roll over," he commanded.

  He didn't need to tell me twice. Lying on my stomach, I gripped hold of the headboard and braced myself.

  "Give me your arms," he said and took my wrists in his hands, pulling them up high and twisting them against my shoulder blades.

  A yelp escaped my mouth from the pain but I didn't want him to stop. I'd not seen his rough side before and couldn't wait to feel him inside me when he was completely in control.

  Grabbing my hips, he lifted up my ass and pushed my head down into the pillow.

  "Lincoln!" I giggled and pushed my ass toward him ever further.

  He entered me roughly, his cock sliding inside hard. It hurt at first but in a way that made me wetter. I wanted to feel more of him, wanted him deeper inside me. Driving myself onto him more and more, I cried out, desperate for him to own my body, to invade it.

  "Harder!" I cried and he rocked his hips back and forth faster, grunting and spewing filth from his mouth as the headboard battered off the wall.

  "Your pussy's so wet," he groaned and slipped a hand round the front, massaging me softly as he fucked me hard.

  "Oh, God!"

  It was unstoppable. Pure passion and pleasure ripped through me in a great surge of heat. I came hard for the second time, screaming, my whole body convulsing against his. Then I collapsed, twitching, my face still sunk into the pillow that was now between my teeth.

  "Fuck..." I whispered to myself and rolled over.

  He smirked and zipped up his pants before leaning down to kiss me.

  "Love you," he smiled and bopped me on the nose. "Now come on, the decorators will be here soon."

  "Are you freaking serious!"

  I was mad as hell again and wanted to slap him.

  "Damn right I'm serious. They'll be here any second."

  I watched in shock, my body still shaking as he walked away.

  "You can't leave me like this," I said, my breath still struggling to come to me.

  He stopped in the doorway and smoothed down his shirt.

  "Don't worry. There'll be more later."

  And he walked away, leaving me picking up the shreds of my stocking as the frigid wind blew through the room.

  Chapter Eight

  LINCOLN

  I was a little surprised to see a television still standing in Phaedra's room but as I approached it and saw its almost antique body sticking out the back out as big as a set of drawers, I wasn't surprised. The thing was so old nobody would want to steal it.

  Instinctively, I picked up the remote and was even more surprised to see that it turned on even though the colors were a little off and there were two stripes stretching across the center of the screen.

  Flicking through the channels, I wondered what Phaedra watched and sat on the edge of her bed staring up at the screen like I imagined she would have done. Despite her respectable exterior and prim and proper demeanor that came with her age, I bet she loved trashy television. I found myself laughing at the thought of her watching Jerry Springer.

  Settling on a news channel, I set the remote down and walked around. Her things remained largely untouched except for a wardrobe that had been opened. It was as though everyone knew to leave this room alone, to leave the witch's things where they lay.

  It struck me as odd that her sister had asked about her diaries. There were so many of them lining the walls, stacked up like I was trespassing on some ancient space filled with mysterious relics. I touched a hand to the nearest pile and felt her energy from it. The air suddenly smelled like her; strong perfume and moth eaten cardigans.

  Being a hard man of science, I was never one to believe in the paranormal but I found myself looking over my shoulder just to make sure she wasn't there watching me. If anyone was capable of returning as a ghost it had to be her.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I was certain she was there. She had to be. Watching me touch her things, watch her television, sit on her bed. Any second now she'd show her presence by hurling a glass of the table or flickering the lights on and off.

  Except when I looked round she wasn't there. Of course she wasn't and I cursed myself for being afraid of nothing. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I shouldn't be there or anywhere near the books. But the more I stared at them, the more I wanted to read through them with the excitement of a little brother snooping on his big sister's secret diary. I was in the midst of picking a pile off the floor when a knock sounded.

  "Mr. Bosworth?"

  A sturdy guy in a high visibility vest with the shape and grace of a freight train entered the room.

  "Oh, hey. You must be the site manager."

  "Jason," he said. "I'll be he
re anytime you need me."

  "Thanks, I appreciate that. Right now it's all a total mess. My first priority is just to clean and empty the whole place out. Start from scratch."

  He looked around the room and saw the TV with its fuzzy picture and horizontal stripes. Then he looked into the wardrobe where Phaedra's identical dreary clothes lay hanging like gray skins. He visibly shuddered and adjusted his hard hat.

  "It’s creepy as hell in here," he said.

  "Yep. I was just thinking that myself."

  "You know the old girl?"

  I didn't want to lie but I didn't want to talk about her either so just resumed picking up stuff from the floor.

  "Nope. Never knew her."

  "Probably a good thing," he said. "I lived round here my whole life and she gave me the heebie-jeebies."

  "Is that right?"

  He began walking around, opening drawers at random. It felt disgusting the two of us being in here, rifling through her things like vultures. I wondered why her family hadn't decided to collect her possessions. Maybe they were just as afraid of her as everyone else. Or maybe they just didn't care.

  "You know when we were kids we used to call her Phaedra the phantom."

  "Catchy name," I said as I began leafing through one of the books.

  "Ha. Yeah. It's because she only used to come out at night and when she did she'd float around in her long dark skirt with her face all pale and gray. That was twenty years ago and she still looked like that the last time I saw her."

  "She certainly had her demons," I said without thinking as I flipped a page.

  I was aware his eyes were on me.

  "Is that what you heard?" he asked.

  Looking up, I saw his eyes were searching mine for signs that I knew something.

  "Oh. Yeah, heard some weird stuff about how she was a bit of a batty old lady. Kinda hung out in this place like Miss Havisham or something."

  We blinked at each other.

  He shivered again and opened a drawer beside her bed. It was filled with bobby pins and pencil shavings. He closed it back over and shook his head.

  "I need to survey the basement," he said and straightened himself up. "Like I said. You call me if you need anything."

  "Sure. Thanks, Jason."

  His face looked haunted as he walked away, looking over his shoulder the whole time as he meandered down the hall.

  It would appear that I wasn't the only person to get spooked in here. Turning back to the notebook in my hand, I squinted in an attempt to decipher her handwriting. It was neat in a peculiar way, like a spider had dragged its legs through ink to create shapes down the lines of the page. But the letters were crammed together as though she was going for the record of most words written on a page.

  Holding the book to the light to see better, I started to recognize repeating shapes until I could begin to make out letters. She had a peculiar old fashioned way of writing like she'd learned cursive in the Victorian times.

  As the sun glinted off the browned paper, I could see she'd written a list of names and times.

  Dylan Munro - blonde - 7pm

  Jonathan Delaney - blonde - 8pm

  David Gillespie - brunette - xs - 9pm

  What the fuck is this?

  I knew instantly what it was but didn't want to admit that I was staring down at all the men who'd ever been here.

  Part of me knew I should snap the book shut before burning it to ashes. I should burn them all. Burn the whole house down.

  But another part of me wanted to read every single name written in every single book in this room. Looking across the floor, I saw there had to be at least a hundred.

  My stomach tightened itself into a knot but I kept reading.

  Hugo Sebastian - brunette - 10pm

  Howard Johnson - blonde - 11pm

  James Smith - blonde - 12am

  Harold Wilkinson - brunette - 1am

  Harold Wilkinons... No. No. It couldn't be.

  "Harold?"

  I looked out the window, sucked in a sharp intake of breath, then peered back down at the book. It must have been a coincidence. It couldn't be him.

  Chapter Nine

  ETTA

  "Honey, where are you going?"

  Lincoln came blustering down the stairs looking like he'd seen a ghost.

  "Linx?"

  "I need to go out for a while."

  "Hey, don't leave me here!"

  I wasn't exactly having the best time sitting in a derelict house as it was torn apart. The dust was itching my eyes, it was noisy and I wasn't entirely sure there wasn't asbestos hiding in the ceiling tiles.

  "I won't be long," he assured me and gave me a quick peck as he pulled on his coat.

  He dashed to his car and I watched him drop his keys, flustered before slamming the car into reverse.

  What the hell is wrong with him?

  What was he doing up there anyway?

  He definitely looked spooked.

  Had he found something?

  I ventured upstairs. The rooms were all empty. Even the one that had briefly been mine was now just a cube of white walls, the floral wall paper curled up on the ground like the house had shed its skin. Something upstairs caught my attention, the noise of a bird on the roof, a feeling that something was up there. I glanced up and saw the door was wide open.

  He was in Phaedra's room...

  As soon as I stepped inside, I felt a rush of cold. The temperature seemed to drop. I shivered and wrapped my coat around me tight but it did nothing to stop the wind from penetrating my bones. It drifted in through the open window and tickled the tops of the books that were stacked up on the bed, the floor, on top the television that was still switched on.

  The picture looked like it was struggling its way through a snowstorm, all static and fog. Two stripes ran through the middle of the screen like it was cutting off the heads of the news anchors who were babbling away with flat eyes as they read their prompts.

  I slammed my hand against the side of the television hoping it would correct the picture but it somehow made it worse.

  "Urgh, how did she watch this thing?"

  I slapped it again and the stripes disappeared to reveal a reporter standing on a street corner. It looked familiar then I realized why. It was the same street corner that lay beside the house, the same one I could see from where I sat. I half expected to peer out the window and see the reporter still standing there with his oversized microphone. I even found myself staring at the television expecting to see the top of my head through the window.

  When did they film this? Earlier today?Yesterday? Were we even here then?

  The sound flittered in and out as I strained my ears and slapped the television again.

  "... believed she knew Judge Kennedy since childhood... unknown... murder... Pillar of the community"

  I switched the TV off. There was no way people really knew what happened. It was all too complicated.

  As I sat in silence, I looked around the room and saw the scattered diaries and once again thought of Stephanie at the graveside. It was as if the record keeping was as synonymous with Phaedra's identity as much as the house was.

  A shiver came over me again. I shouldn't be in here, I thought. I stood up to leave hoping the site manager would clear this room next but just like the everyone else, he wasn't keen on venturing up here. I wondered if her room would lie like this forever like a museum.

  I was about to call out for Jason when something caught my eye, a diary flipped open on the bed. Picking it up, I saw a series of names down a page but they meant nothing to me. Was this what Lincoln was looking at? I glanced around the room and saw the open wardrobe and a pile of shoes. On the dresser, a few ornaments lay scattered and discarded.

  Probably not, I thought and placed the diary on a pile with all the others.

  "Goodbye Fay," I said to the empty room and closed the door behind me.

  I was halfway down the stairs when I heard voices. One of them I reco
gnized in an instant and froze.

  It can't be him! What's he doing here?

  Like a child sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night, I crouched down and peeked through the bannister. From that angle, I could just about make out the lower portion of the front door. Two pairs of feet were facing each other, one clad in heavy workman's boots, the other in worn out sneakers.

  I knew those sneakers. I'd bought them myself years ago along with a matching pair for myself. They were supposed to kickstart our new healthy lifestyle where the two of us would go jogging every morning. Of course, that only lasted a little more than a week and soon it was just me slapping the sidewalk every morning. Meanwhile, he wore his sneakers as nothing more than a fashion accessory, something bright and white to wear along with his designer jeans that I also bought him.

  "Craig!"

  I stomped down the stairs and saw him arguing with the site manager who looked more than pleased to see me.

  "Sorry, ma'am. I've been trying to get him to leave but he said he knows you. Do I need to call the police?"

  "Knew me..." I corrected him. "We don't know each other anymore."

  Craig sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. If it was possible, he looked even worse than the last time I saw him. As if he was on the brink of collapse, he rested against the doorway and sighed.

  "Please, Etta. Just two minutes."

  Jason reached for his phone but I waved it away.

  "It's okay. Thank you," I said.

  Sensing the tension between us, he nodded and walked away.

  "I'll be in the kitchen," he said. "Call if you need me."

  Craig waited until his lumbering figure disappeared down the hall before turning to me.

  "I hope you don't mind me turning up like this."

  "Of course I mind! You think I want you here."

  He looked down at his shoes and sniffed again. I couldn’t help but notice his clothes were dirty and he smelled like he hadn't washed in weeks.

  "What the hell happened to you?" I asked.

  He'd lost weight and I could visibly see the shape of his eyes socket making its way around the side of his head.

  "Where have you been? Jesus, Craig you look like you're dying."