Page 55 of A Drop of Anguish
Dear Diary.
My blood runs cold. I look around, only to find myself alone in the hall, so I quickly work to get the nail dislodged so I can pull the page down without ripping it.
My throat burns. This takes the harassment to a new level—if someone were to fake a note from my sister’s journal. The handwriting looks so similar, though. It would have to be someone who had either seen the journal or knew my sister.
I’m afraid to read the words.
I open the door to my room while staring at the pink swirly letters and examining the ripped edge. It certainly looks like it could have been ripped from the journal. And I suppose there were a couple places there was evidence of pages being torn out, but there’s no way it’s real, right?
I set the paper down on my bed, jaw clenching so hard it’s beginning to hurt, and carefully pull out my sister’s journal from the bedside table. I flip through it, setting aside my other harassment notes, and search out a spot where it looks like a page could have been ripped out. I know it’s a long shot, but I want to know what I’m dealing with before I torture myself with the message on the mysterious page.
I find a spot with remnants of torn paper in the crease and try matching up the page, but it’s not even close. I try again with another spot. Not that one either.
The pressure on my chest eases slightly. At least if I can convince myself there is no way the journal entry is real, I can dismiss whatever terrible things are in the note.
Still, I keep trying. I notice a spot where a large corner is torn away from a page. But I skip past it, wanting to focus on one theory at a time. I find one last spot with tiny shreds of paper in the crease, right before the final entry.
My heart pounds as I line up the page to the remnants. They match up perfectly.
My lips tremble, but I refuse to cry, for now at least.
It’s hard to think straight, but I can’t come up with a reasonable explanation. I read this journal a dozen times or more, trying to figure out what happened to my sister.
There wasn’t an entry between these two before. I didn’t necessarily notice the ripped pieces left behind, but they’re small enough I may have just missed them.
Before I torture myself with reading the possibly authentic missing journal entry, I flip back to the entry with a missing corner and I pull out the folded note I found a few days ago—the corner remnant of a page.
You haven’t escaped. Beware the games.
The jinn.
They fit perfectly together.
I curse and slam my fist against the bed. Whoever has been sending me notes, had access to my sister’s journal—before the investigation was complete. That’s the only explanation I have.
My stomach clenches tight.
Finally, I take in a deep breath and force myself to read the journal entry from my sister before she died.
25
DEAR DIARY
There is a way.
I keep thinking about all of the things Candice told me over the years about demons. How they’re heartless, soulless. How they think of humans like lesser creatures. I don’t think I ever fully believed her, but I did go along with her wishes because I trusted her to take care of me. We’re barely a year apart in age, but she’s my big sister. She’s smart and driven and honestly, never wrong.
Except in this.
I think even she knows how close-minded she’s being about the magical world, but she’s too stubborn to admit it.
Even knowing all of that, it’s still been mind-blowing to meet a demon who cares. Who listens and takes care of me. Even in his demon form, his leathery wings and terrifying fangs and horns—he’s compassionate.
Yesterday, I talked with Candice on the phone, and it took everything in me not to share my news. I wish I could tell her how everything has changed. I wanted to tell her to read the bookBehind Alien Eyes, which opened my mind about these “monsters.” I want her to understand too. But I know how she feels, and her mind will not be changed easily.
I felt it too, that terror and helplessness.
I remember that night when the boy I had a crush on turned into one of these creatures. His growl was full of absolute rage, and it left me barely able to think beyond that fear. My sister tried to save me from his wrath. I don’t know what I’d done to make him so angry.
