Dark Diary

by Anastasia,P.

  We walked downstairs from the library and down the hall until we entered our bedroom. Near the foot of the bed, Matthaya released my hand and fixed his eyes on a section of the flooring below us. He bent down, flipped the old rectangular rug over—folding it onto itself—and then whacked one of the floorboards with his palm. The board popped up on one corner and he wrapped his fingers around the edge so he could pry it up from the floor and set it aside. My curiosity had me eagerly peeking over his shoulder.

  What secrets had he hidden just beneath my nose?

  He stood and held a small blackish box tightly within his fingers.

  “Sit down, Kathera.” He motioned to the bed and I did as he had asked.

  With poise, he knelt before me and lifted the box into view.

  “I owe you many things, my love, and an explanation is surely one of them.” His hands trembled as I took the box from them. It was cool, like metal. Tiny studs lined the four corners and a small, simple latch held it closed.

  “Maybe this will help you understand me.” He tried to smile. “Maybe… it will help you understand us.”

  I had no idea what he meant, or what the box held, but I knew it was nothing like what Derek had left for me the day he had been murdered.

  Still, I was afraid.

  Whatever was inside was light as feathers and hollow sounding. The box made no noise as I shuffled it between hands.

  I wedged my thumbnail carefully up underneath the silver-colored latch and lifted it. The box lid opened. A tiny plume of black powdery dust drifted from my fingers. My nose wrinkled as I squinted in disbelief.

  Ash?

  Matthaya waited apprehensively, still on one knee, searching for a change in my expression.

  “Look closer…” he said, nudging me gently.

  My fingers sunk into the tiny ocean of gray and black. The ash was thick as sand. Sprinkled throughout, there were fragments of blackened pieces with barely legible ink letters written across them.

  They had been actual letters… once.

  “My God, Matthaya.” I sifted a small handful through my fingers. “How many letters were in here?”

  “Dozens. Probably more. It was how I coped with my feelings for you then.” He stared intently at the box. “I couldn’t let anyone see them, but I had to write them to you, even if it meant destroying them soon after.”

  I rubbed my fingertips together and marveled at what history I must have been touching. Matthaya was much deeper and more passionate than I could have imagined, but he had been forced to bottle it up inside throughout his entire love affair with Kathryn. He was devoted and faithful even though his stature in the household did not allow him to be.

  A smile curled at the corner of my mouth and I reached out to caress his face. I gasped as I unwittingly painted a soft black smudge across his cheek. A faint chuckle escaped him, lightening the mood. I rested a little deeper into the mattress and made the smudge a bit lighter with a wipe of the back of my hand.

  “There’s more,” he said, motioning again toward the box.

  I shook the box delicately and the yellowed edge of a folded up note surfaced through the ash. I pinched it between my fingers and slid it from the box. It felt heavier than it should have been and there was a bulge in the center of the folds. It was so old and discolored that I feared unfolding it might damage it.

  “May I?” I set the box aside and cupped the note protectively in my fingers.

  “Please do.” He nodded.

  I used both hands to peel the folds apart. The first was the stiffest, requiring a gentle tug to separate the aged creases from one another. The second fold was easier, but my nerves caught up in my throat, as I feared tearing the letter. A few painstaking movements later, the last fold came into view. I could already make out a set of sentences exquisitely written in dark ink and the tiny bulge in the note was all I had left to reveal.

  The final fold came undone and a heavy, gold ring slipped from out of the letter. A gorgeous green light shimmered across the bridge of my nose as I tilted the ring into view. It was deep antique gold, weighty and intricate. The sides of the thick band were covered in curves of elegantly carved dragons and six prongs securely held a large cushion-cut emerald in their grasp. Light glittered through the massive gemstone.

  I closed my fingers around the ring.

  “What is this?” I asked, feeling the cool, solid gold band press into my palm.

  “Read the note and you’ll understand,” he said, touching my closed hand softly.

  A nervous feeling coiled around my stomach as I returned my gaze to the delicately hand-written strokes of his penmanship. The faded calligraphy was still legible but aged and brownish in color.

  “My light:

  Forgive me for all that I have not said. There is reason behind my distance and I pray that for the sake of our love for one another, you can understand. I realize that this life has not granted us the freedom we long for, but I have found a way to change that.

  It hurts me to let go of something so precious, but letting go of you would be like giving in to death himself. It is a sacrifice I have decided upon for the future of our romance as my heart cannot go on without you anymore.

  I am sorry I did not share with you this secret before, but it is all I have left of who I was.

  Now I am part of you, and with this, we can be free.

  I will love you, always… like the sun.”

  The weight of his words made my heart sink. He had been so young when he had written the letter. It must have been very painful for him to keep it with him all these years.

  But, what was he going to sacrifice?

  And then, the coldness of the ring in my hand brought me back.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked, unfolding my fingers.

  “My…” He hesitated, mustering the courage to explain. “My mother…”

  I gasped.

  “My mother gave it to me the day I was taken away from her.” Matthaya took the band from my palm. “She told me to protect it with my life. She told me it was part of who I was.” He slid the ring onto his right ring finger and scowled at how loosely it fit. He moved it over to his middle finger and his lips thinned. “It was worth a fortune, even then. But it was all I had left of them—of me. And I hesitated to give it up.”

  He clenched his fingers.

  “I could have changed things for us… I could have—”

  “Matthaya.” I embraced his hands with mine. “There is no use regretting the past. You can’t change things now. Hating yourself over a decision you made centuries ago is pointless.”

  I pried his fingers from the fist they had formed and then thoughtfully polished the emerald stone with my thumb. “Be thankful you still have this. This is who you are. It’s all we have now.” My words replayed in my mind instantly and I repeated myself. “It’s all we have, Matthaya, of who we are.” I smiled.

  “I should have given the letter to you then,” he scoffed, “but I was a coward. At least I could have left knowing I had told you the truth.”

  “Matthaya, I’m yours now,” I said, folding the love letter back into its original shape. I tucked it carefully into the ashes and closed the box lid. He immediately went to remove the ring from his finger.

  I stopped him.

  “No.” I set the box aside and pressed my fingers against his hand. “Keep it with you always. And stop apologizing for what you do have. I know how much you loved Kathryn then and I know how much you love me now. Stop grieving, my love.”

  He stood from the floor and took a seat beside me on the bed. His shy gaze came up to meet mine and his beautiful green eyes studied me intently. There must have been over a dozen soft shades of color within his eyes. They were enchanting—still.

  I leaned forward to kiss his lips and our eyes closed in unison. It felt nice knowing his trust in me had grown.

  “I can deal with this life,” I whispered, planting
a kiss against his cheek. “But I want you to help me.”

  He fidgeted briefly with his ring, and then nodded and took me into his arms.

  “I’ll stop grieving… if you do.” A small breath of his tickled my ear.

  I nuzzled my face against his chest and sunk deeper into his embrace. His chin rested against the back of my head and the darkness within me began to fade. He was telling the truth.

  He was… letting go of the past.

  I SAT DOWN AT THE desk and looked at the piece. It was something I hadn’t seen before: a vivid, life-like expression framed by waves of glossy hair and baring a grin with exaggerated fangs. It was dark, lined heavily with thick black ink and the shadows were shaded roughly with jagged pen strokes. Her lines were clean and crisp and the coloring of the creature’s crimson eyes was magnificent. She possessed so much talent with a pen.

  “Well?” Kathera said in a small voice as she crept up behind me and rested her hands on my shoulders. Her half-cocked smile was hopeful and imploring.

  I shuffled the drawing into a stack of others and then fanned the entire set of pages out in front of me across the table. They were unique and new—every one of them—differing not only from one another in subject, but also in design and style from anything I had seen in her previous work. Though the colors she used were mostly shades of gray and red, there was a subtleness in the undertones which had been absent in her past work.

  She was apprehensive about my opinion and her nerves perked up my senses. I knew how hard she had worked on her new drawings and it meant the world to her to know what I really thought. She wanted approval from me, but she wanted the truth, too, even if it broke her heart to hear it.

  Truthfully, I liked them.

  “I think they are beautiful,” I said with a grin, spinning around in my seat to face her. Her hands lifted from me. “Well done, Kathera.” I cupped the sides of her waist and tugged her closer. A smile of relief spread across her lips and she shuffled her feet a bit as I stood up and pulled her into me. She tucked her hair behind her ear—a telltale sign that she was pleased with my reply.

  I had run my own fingers through her hair several times before. The dark, fiery-auburn strands were soft to the touch and framed her face perfectly. She was lovely and—in the good mood that she was finally in—breathtaking.

  It had been many months since she had started drawing again and, at last, she had a portfolio that satisfied us both. I’d never criticized her work, but she was hard on herself, often tearing up drawings before they’d even been a moment in my sight. How very many days she must have spent huddled close to the fireplace set ablaze with “lost causes” and “soulless scraps,” as she called them. They were all flawless in my eyes, just like she was.

  My gaze met hers and her eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t know how I made it all these years without you there,” I said honestly, “but I’m glad I have you now.” I took her chin between my thumb and index finger and tipped her face upward. “I’ll do anything for you, Kathera. Anything.” I brushed my thumb across her lower lip.

  “I know,” she said. “And I think I’m ready to do this. Come with me?”

  “Of course.”

  I had been hesitant to let her go anywhere without me after everything that had happened to us throughout the past year. During the time she had spent sharpening her skills and becoming reacquainted with her trade, the air had cleared of all the mysteries and murder scares that had happened the night everyone had gone missing.

  Having both his daughter and wife vanish from his life, Kathera’s father had chosen to move out of town. I had sensed her longing to try to ease his pain by showing him that she was, in fact, still alive, but I had firmly reminded her that it was not in our best interest.

  Things were calm again. It was a good chance for her to get back to doing what it was she loved to do.

  She fidgeted with the notch in my collar and bit her lip. “Do you think anyone from around town will remember me?”

  “Perhaps.” I shrugged. “But you are different now.” I bared my fangs playfully and snapped them together with a smirk.

  She laughed and I, too, smiled.

  We had several things to do before we could re-open the shop: bills, paperwork, insurance, cleaning, only to name a few of the dozens of tasks that had to be done. I didn’t know the first thing about any of it, really. Luckily, Derek had taught Kathera everything he knew about keeping a business alive and it helped us out tremendously.

  I believed he would have given anything to make her happy, and teaching her everything he could may have been his way of making their future together possible. I admit, I had felt strange back when I had made the decision to buy the shop, but surely he would have wanted her to be happy—even it meant choosing to stay with me in the end.

  It was hard, watching her take in all of the memories that were there at the shop—frozen in time. Nothing had been moved since the day she had disappeared.

  Her fingers traced a thick line clean across the dusty front desk counter and then she wiped them off on her jeans. A few framed designs hung on the walls, as straight as the day she had left them, though I noticed she tried to straighten them further. Old habits?

  She flipped the light switches on one-by-one to confirm they were all working, and then made her way to the back room.

  There, she stopped and I felt a rift in her thoughts.

  “What is it?” I came up beside her and looked the direction her eyes were locked. On top of the large drawing table was a thick sketchbook. The cover was made of soft, dark red, velvety fabric. It was Derek’s…

  The book was full of old sketches Derek had drawn and various tattoo ideas he and Kathera had collaborated on. Though she tried to hide it, I could tell Kathera secretly wanted to crack it open and stare into his imagination for a while. She probably thought it would somehow make her feel close to him again.

  She missed him, even when she said she didn’t. No, she hadn’t really wanted to marry him and she had told me this, but it didn’t stop her from feeling badly about losing him. Even I knew enough to know how much he had loved her and how, somewhere in the darkest corner of her heart, there would always be a place for him.

  The past is the past, and we must move on. We have no choice.

  “Kathera.” I interrupted her thoughts by placing a hand onto the cover of the book. Her eyes met mine and she looked surprised.

  “Yes?”

  “Facing your past means coming to terms with the things you cannot change.” I opened the cover and looked at the first drawing. She did the same. The page was filled with the heavy black lines of a dragon that Derek had drawn several years ago. “You have to accept our limitations… our strengths and our weaknesses, even if it means letting go.” I closed the book and looked down at her solemn face. “We made a promise, Kathera. Remember?”

  She nodded. “I know, but…”

  “It hurts.” I took her hands into mine. “It will. But you’re stronger now. And so am I.”

  Kathera’s gaze returned to the book and her hand skimmed over the cover affectionately. Her fingers lingered long enough to take in the softness of the velvet binding.

  A frown threatened the edge of her lips for a fleeting moment, but she swallowed hard and sucked in the courage to fight it off. She wrapped both hands around the book and lifted it to her chest as if to embrace it briefly.

  There was a stack of oversized paper sheets on the opposite side of the desk which she placed the book carefully on top of. Slowly, she folded each corner of the large sheet until the book had been neatly wrapped and protected by a layer of white. Taking up the book again, she bent down, slid a large drawer open, and then set the book down inside.

  She pushed the drawer in and I felt her heart sink as the book disappeared.

  I felt a sudden urge to break the awkward silence. “How long until we can open this place back up?”

  She crinkled
her lips to one side and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I guess that depends on how long it takes to get everything cleaned and running.”

  I took a quick glance around the office and saw that most of the so-called mess consisted of dust and scattered paperwork. The place had been literally closed up at the drop of a hat and nothing had been moved since.

  “A night or two at most,” I said confidently.

  “I could do it in a day,” she added. “If I stayed, I could finish what we start tonight.”

  My stomach turned at the thought. I didn’t want to leave her by herself. It was true that she could resist sunlight—Kathera had an immunity I wasn’t lucky enough to have acquired—but that didn’t make me feel any better about leaving her alone.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said, tapping a finger against my shoulder. I didn’t even realize I had lost myself in the thought.

  I wasn’t jealous of it, but the fact that the sun didn’t sting her eyes as it did my skin was difficult to accept. For years, I had longed to escape the shadows of endless night, but my body had mutated in ways that only accentuated that darkness. I’d give up my wings any day to watch the sunrise again…

  “Matthaya?”

  I had gone silent again.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I was thinking.”

  “I promise you, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.” She grinned and crossed her arms.

  She was right.

  THINGS FINALLY FELL INTO PLACE.

  I was exactly where I belonged—creating artwork, affecting people’s lives, and sharing time with the one I loved.

  It took awhile for Matthaya to get the hang of things. He’s not exactly a “people person.” Still, he did it for me. He buried his insecurities and opened up… for me.

  As for me, it didn’t take long to get back into the swing of things. I was drawing new ideas daily and tattooing nightly. I kept daylight hours to a minimum to keep Matthaya calm. It worked well for business.