Page 117 of The Devil’s Lair

Reluctantly, she hands it to me. It falls open somewhere around the middle to a handwritten page.

It’s done. It had to happen. There was no other way. I cannot let her take what is mine.

I frown. “Isla, where did you get this?”

She turns bright red. Ah, that means she knows she’s done something wrong.

“Isla, answer Mama. Where did you get this?”

“Alice.”

“Alice gave it to you?”

She hesitates. “Alice,” she repeats.

I’m not going to get anymore out of her by berating her. “Okay, pumpkin.”

I take a seat on the couch and turn to the front page. It’s a diary, but there’s no name, no clue who it belongs to. Ooh, maybe it’s from one of the De Vil ancestors. I mean, no one keeps a diary these days. Everything’s digital.

The urge to take a peek into the past is too much to resist. I begin to read. The first few pages contain day-to-day things, nothing earth-shattering or intriguing. I come across a pressed flower, a rose, its petals preserved through time. Careful not to dislodge it, I keep reading.

George wants to go home. To Oakleigh. I’ve told him I don’t want to go, but he’s insistent.

George… so this is Alice’s diary, not some long-dead ancestor’s. That changes everything. I can’t, in all consciousness, read Alice’s diary.

I close the book.

Open it.

Close it again.

Oh, what the heck. Just a peek. I’ll ask for forgiveness later.

I hate it here. Everywhere I go, there she is. I see him watching her. It tears me apart. If he knew what I know, he’d leave me.

Who was he watching? I presume the “he” in this case is George. I feel bad for prying into Alice’s private thoughts, but I can’t stop. I keep turning the pages, caught up in Alice’s backstory.

Those kids. Those fucking kids. I hate them. They remind me of my failings as a woman. George can never find out. If he did, it’d all be over. I won’t lose him. I can’t. He’s my entire world. Something must be done.

Kids? Is she talking about Tobias and his siblings? That makes no sense. She adores them. I keep reading, my guilt quashed by curiosity.

The plans are in place. God forgive what I’m about to do, but there’s no choice.

The next few pages contain no new revelations. I speed read, anxious to get to the next part. What was she about to do? Did she go through with whatever it was?

Everything’s gone wrong. It’s a disaster. He wasn’t supposed to escape. It would be him, wouldn’t it? Golden fucking boy. I hate that child, but there’s nothing I can do now. They’ll watch him like a hawk. She’s gone, though. That’s something, I guess.

Who is she talking about? The more I read, the less I figure out what’s going on. It’s like one of those annoying series on TV that keep throwing in Easter eggs that mean nothing until the final scene.

Can I get to the final scene already?

I turn the page, and there it is. The final scene. The answers I’ve been waiting for.

Breath punches out of me. My hands start to shake so violently, the diary slips into my thigh.

Alice.

Sweet, gentle, kind Alice.