Day One
Fuck.
It’s her mother’s journal.
My first instinct is to close the book.I shouldn’t be reading this.It’s not my place.I should give this to Hayami.I’m about to hand it over, admit what I’ve just found, but I stop.
What if there’s stuff in here about her father?What if there are details in here about their marriage, what he’s done to her, what he’s made her do, made her feel?What if there’s sexual stuff?I can’t imagine Hayami would want to read about that.I’m not even sure I do.
I go to put it back on the shelf, until I remember what Hayami said about her mother coming to this house with her father and then never returning.What happened here that made Junko Devall never want to set foot in this house again?Does it have something to do with what I’ve been seeing?Will it explain what’s been happening to Hayami at night?I wonder if the answers are in these pages.
I should tell her what I’ve found, and I will.She deserves to know this exists, but I want to read it first.That way, I can prepare her if she needs it or burn it if there’s something in here she never needs to know.
And so, for the first time in years, I read.
I hate this house.From the minute we arrived, I’ve had this feeling of dread, like something is going to happen.When I stepped out of the car, it was as if the house had been waiting for me, staring through its eyelike windows, clapping its hands in anticipation of my arrival.It felt cold, foreboding.I’d told Barrett when he’d slung his arm around me and asked me what I thought.
“It’s just the weather,” he’d said, letting go of my shoulder and directing his staff to take our luggage into the house.“It doesn’t look as dark when the sun is out.”
I’d looked up to the sky, the thick grey clouds matted together as if they were shielding the blue from this house, and the thought came over me that this place has never seen the sun.
Inside was no better.Dark wood clads every wall, heavy drapes hang listlessly, and rich upholstery breathes.There’s no light, no movement, and I shuddered as I was led through the many rooms, contemplating how I’d ended up here, the lady of the manor, the new Mrs Barrett Devall.
Barrett and I have been married for five months.He’d seen me in a nightclub whilst on a business trip with several high-powered men in Japan.I’d been working as a waitress, serving him drinks, my attention given only to his private party.
He’s much older than I am, but still handsome.His skin’s a little weather-beaten, as if he’s been sailing on too many yachts.But he’s charming and dashing, the kind of man who has women falling at his feet.
And I was no one.
He’d asked if I spoke English when I’d brought him his third drink of the evening.
I nodded.The manager of the club had told me to act demure.These men didn’t like women who spoke, thought, or had an opinion.Barrett Devall wouldn’t want to know that I probably spoke better English than he did, something which usually occurs when someone has had to learn the language.
Every night of his three-week trip, he’d visited the club with his associates and dazzled me with his smile, his looks, and his velvety voice.
Rina, one of the waitresses and my closest friend, had said to me one night that he wanted me.All the staff had noticed how much attention he’d been paying me, and my boss had been happy for me to entertain a man like Barrett Devall, as, according to my boss, he was very wealthy and powerful and an asset to the club.
I smiled, told Rina that he probably only wanted one thing.She’d raised her eyebrows and told me that he had just lost his second wife and was, apparently, looking for a new one.I’d laughed and told her not to pay attention to the gossip that floated around the club.But I couldn’t help the sense of excitement, the feeling of something brewing that there might be a life outside those walls.
On the final night, he’d told me, “How would you like to leave this place?”His words were like the opening of a new page of a book, the excitement, the anticipation of what was to come.“How would you like to live in a mansion, want for nothing, have everything?”
What would anyone say to that?
My friends at the club were so jealous.It was everyone’s dream to meet a rich man who would sweep them off their feet with diamonds, jewellery, clothes, and the promise of a better life.And they were happy for me, over the moon, along with my family, who cheered and clapped at how I’d done so well for myself.
And I’d bathed in the attention, basked in the joy that this new life would bring.Because that’s exactly what he did—sweep me off my feet.
It wasn’t until he brought me to the city of Rothkor and his mansion that my feet started to be pulled down to the ground.
I’m wife number three.
This is how the staff refer to me.
Number Three.
From what I’ve gathered from the murmurings of the staff and overheard rumours, wife number one was a white woman of outstanding beauty, with flame-red hair, emerald eyes, and a smile so dazzling it could blind you.Barrett met her when he was in his thirties and, I believe, must have been the closest to love a man like Barrett Devall could have felt.Their marriage lasted five years.Some say she was feisty, a real fire-breathing dragon who gave Barrett a run for his money.Some say she was the love of his life.But for whatever reason, the marriage ended.Some say it was because she was infertile.Some say she didn’t want children at all, and some tales tell of a woman who’d had enough of being Mrs Devall.
The knowledge of wife number one, I can cope with.She felt real, like they had met naturally and fallen in love.It was when I learned of wife number two that my bubble began to burst.I thought our story was unique, that he had seen me, fallen in love with me, and brought me here to live with him in his castle, but I soon learned that this is exactly how he met wife number two.
