Inside Evil

Chapter 5 - Part II

*Inside Evil and its sequels are available on Amazon, Kobo, B&N, Smashwords and iBooks*

Martha's face was of relief when she opened the door to Susan. There was no need to say anything, and as Susan stepped over the threshold, Martha hugged her briefly before taking her cold coat and hanging it by the door. Susan was grateful to avoid the questions. Where have you been? Why didn't you go to your daughter's funeral? Why are you such a bad mother? Not that Martha would have ever said the latter.

There was coffee in her hand before she knew it, and though it was still early in the day, Martha looked as if she'd been up for hours. She was, as ever, immaculately dressed and coordinated, her shoulder length hair tucked behind one ear, her emerald earrings perfectly matching her blouse. Susan was soon perched on the edge of one of Martha's conservatory chairs, sipping the intensely strong coffee and looking out at a garden which was freshly sprinkled with a dusting of frost.

After the incident at Best Books, Susan had finally returned home to a house which she thought would be unbearable to live in without Vanessa. She was upset to discover that, due to Vanessa having moved out a month earlier, the house was no more devoid of life than it had been previously. It was this that anguished her more than anything else and the thought that life could, and probably would, one day continue as monotonously as ever, was almost unbearable. Bernard wasn't overjoyed to see her, and a blazing row had ensued over her absence.

Having sworn Sam to secrecy about her cellar, Susan broke the news to Martha. She knew, almost from the moment that she told Sam not to mention anything of that day to anyone, even Martha, that she would be breaking her vow. She spoke of the strange cellar which was not shown on any deeds and which she never knew was there. She explained the contents of Vanessa's pages which seemed to have been torn from a diary. She mentioned, very carefully, how five ghostly candles were arranged on a rotten table. The only thing she kept, even from her friend, was the stone disc which she kept in her pocket at all times. Susan wasn't even sure why she did this, it wasn't comforting and she never looked at the face embedded in the stone. It just lay in her pocket, her fingers gripped about it wherever she went.

Martha had always been her confidant in troubling times, even though it wasn't normally reciprocated. In many ways it was for this reason that Susan had allowed Martha to become one of the most trusted people in her life. She knew that whatever she said would never go any further. Apart from the odd unusual turn, Martha was a relatively closed book. She hardly ever spoke ill of someone, and she never burdened others with her problems. That was until Susan passed her the fragile remnants of Barry's journal which she'd taken from the cellar.

Martha pursed her lips slightly as she fingered the mildewed leather case. Her fingers slid down the side, as if to open the pages, only this seemed to be taking more effort than she had in her. She couldn't look Susan in the eye, and instead stared out into the garden where her perfectly pruned topiary was now iced with a layer of white.

"Barry's been gone ten years," she said, not bringing her gaze from the garden, "the same day that Vanessa died. That was the anniversary. Ten years to the day. He got up early one day, kissed me on the cheek whilst I read the morning paper in this very spot, walked out the door and never came back." She turned and looked at Susan, "I know you think I'm crazy. But he didn't leave me Susan, he didn't just get up one day and decide our marriage was over and walk out. He went into those woods and never came back. And, do you know, I wasn't surprised."

It was the first time that Martha had ever spoken to Susan about Barry's disappearance. Susan had known them as a couple, as an acquaintance, but it wasn't until the aftermath of the disappearance that Martha had sought out refuge at Best Books and become a close friend. Never had she spoken of her husband, and Susan had never felt comfortable enough to broach the subject with her. It was a topic undisclosed, off limits to anyone but Martha herself.

"In the weeks up to his disappearance, Barry, my Barry, was gone," Martha continued, her face turning back to the topiary. She was completely calm, her hands still wrapped around the journal that was placed in her lap. "There was a night, several weeks before, when he arrived home ever so late. I could tell something was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me, wouldn't even look at me. He was a pale, grey colour. I remember distinctly his eyes because they were bloodshot, and there was a fleck of scarlet on his cheek. It was blood, I knew it at the time, but I found a bin bag with a white shirt soaked with blood later in the week, shoved right at the bottom of the bin. His entire outfit, stuffed in the rubbish, shirt, tie, shoes, coat. Fine, good quality things, but trashed nonetheless. He had not a mark upon him. He never told me what had happened, and I never asked.

I didn't really realise at first. I mean, I knew something had happened and that he was having trouble dealing with it, but I'm not the type of woman to press for problems. I never have been, I knew he'd tell me something if he wanted to. I was worried, of course, but when two people are together like Barry and I were, well, as long as you're together you don't really ask questions.

This, this damn thing," she looked down at the journal, "this became his life. He became confused, haunted, distracted easily, and I'd find him simply staring off into space. I remember," she almost laughed, "I walked into the bathroom one day when he was shaving. There was blood running from a cut but he was just gazing intently into the fogged up mirror as if looking for something within the very glass itself." Martha paused for a moment, as if organising her thoughts and preparing what to say next. "You know, as much as I'm not the prying type, I've wanted to see this journal for a decade. If he wasn't scribbling in it, then he had it clasped in a trouser or jacket pocket so that there would be no possibility of me even coming upon it. He'd disappear for hours, off on walks into those woods to clear his damn head, and when he came back this bloody journal would be out again. His confidant, a place to write...not me, his wife, but a sodding, bloody, shitty journal."

There was silence in the room apart from the faint ticking of a mantelpiece clock in the living room behind them. Susan felt overwhelmed by the outpouring from Martha. It was the most she'd ever heard her friend say in one go, ever.

"Martha....are Barry and Vanessa connected?" Susan said quietly. She was not scared at all. In fact, the opposite were true because if they had some link, it meant that there was something for her to follow. Some lead which could help her understand.

"I'm certain of it," came Martha's steady reply.

"I want to speak to Emily, Vanessa's roommate," Susan said. "The pages I read must be from a diary, and if anyone knows where that diary might be, it'll be her best friend."

Martha turned to her, reached out a hand to Susan's own fingers and smiled.

"Then that's just what we shall do."

*I will be posting one or two scenes a week as the story builds. However, if you can't wait that long, Inside Evil is available on Amazon, Kobo, B&N, Smashwords and iBooks.

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