Chapter Thirty

‘Dear diary, journal, or whatever you may be,

  • Walked down the secret stairway.
  • Lamp dropped – heard laughter – I think I might be crazy.
  • No, I am not crazy.
  • I saw the boy in the painting, only he was NOT the boy from the painting. NOT the boy I dreamt of. The boy in the painting looked more like Jamie dressed in old fashioned clothing.
  • Wait – – – did that mean that the woman was not real? Did I put my mum into the dream?
  • No no – the boy could have been the boy from the painting – I was probably witnessing his thoughts – thoughts engraved in his mind.
  • How did he die? Why was he killed? Was he a young man when they burnt him?
  • HE DID DIE BY THE HANDS OF THESE PEOPLE AND BECAUSE OF THE PREIST!!
  • NEED TO FIND THE PRIEST – the people cannot walk free – Punishment was only fair.
  • But who am I to judge?
  • Back to the question – why did they kill him? Because he dressed up as a girl? Evil spirit? Noooo! The priest said the spirit did not exist!
  • ………..confused.
  • Ok, start again….Duke wanted the woman, the fat guy wanted the kid dead so he could take the property – is that legal? – unless, she married the Duke after the death of her son!
  • Did he really die when he was my age? Maybe just finished school – makes sense to kill him off then – prevent him from protecting his mother.
  • So he died to protect his mother.
  • But, my dream. Did he die as a young boy? Maybe not, maybe I twisted the story in my head – on his age – but he did die and accused of dressing up as a woman, thus, a spirit inside in him.
  • Again, back to why kill him? The mother cannot have been enough!

It is my job for getting revenge, but I need to know if we are related to them in any way – we must be! If we are, then the house did not go to the fat man!

That’s it for today! But Derek… the boy! Ignore it all Kelly…’

‘Focus Kelly, focus,’ I muttered to myself as I touched the pen to my lips. I moved my pen forward and realised that I was holding a quill and was sitting at a well handcrafted desk, with an ink set next to me.

How did that happen? I was in my room first. I found my journal, and had sat down to start writing. Then how did I end up with a quill in my hand? I dropped it, which was followed by a scatter of ink. Both my journal and hand now held ink on it. I quickly pushed my chair back, and stood up. Looking around the room, completely forgot the worry. I walked towards the beautiful wardrobe.

Opening it, ‘stunning,’ was all I could whisper. Some stitches here and there would bring at least some dresses back to life. I looked at the drawer along the bottom and pulled it open too. Inside laid a rusty book.

Pulling it out, I flicked through some of the pages. This was a…a…a…

‘Kelly, what are you doing here?’

I snapped the book shut and attempted to hide it behind my back. My head then turned to my journal. Rushing to the desk, I slammed it shut too and hugged it.

‘I could ask you the same thing, Jamie,’ I returned. With that, I walked out. I ignored the slight smile on his face. Whatever he was thinking would be better kept to him rather than shared with me. I did not have time for mind games when I had to clear my own.

But, the book that I had just found was full of numbers. That could only mean it was one thing.

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