Clopwyck River - revised version

Chapter twenty-nine

I wipe the sheen of sweat from my forehead, trying to push down the sense of panic that's taking over my search of the study. I have no idea how long I've got to look around this room, and I keep stopping to stare at the door in the hope Ciara's going to burst through it, waving the diary in her hand.
​I've walked up and down the shelves of books that line the walls, running my eyes over each of them until they've all started to blur into one. A few times I saw something which could be a diary, but when I pulled them from the shelves they were just notebooks, with no connection to Ben.
​I spin around and flop into the armchair that sits by the table lamp. Who writes a diary now anyway? It would probably be easier to hack into a private blog than it would be to find a journal in this house. I look around the room, religious knick knacks side by side with family photos, and I spot a photo sitting on top of a sideboard. The photo is resting on top of a pile of what look like photo albums.
​I get back up from the chair, and walk over to the framed photo, leaning over so I can get a good look of the subject. It's a woman with sandy blonde hair, her long skirt hitched up around her knees as she runs away from a blue ocean wave. She's laughing as she runs towards the camera, her eyes so full of happiness it's like she's powering the bright sun above her.
​I pick the photo up and peer at it closely, the woman's smile and dimples easily giving her away as Leo's Mum. She was beautiful, just like her sons. Poor Leo. I pick up the photo album on the top of the pile. Perhaps seeing some photos of Leo and Ben when they were little might trigger a memory of me being here. Maybe they have a photo of me too?
​I flick through the album, putting it to one side as it's filled with black and white photos of family members, long gone. I pick up the next one, but it's full of photos of Leo's Mum at university. I pick up the next one, and stop in my tracks.
​There it is, sandwiched between the big red photo albums, a slim brown leather notebook. I pick it up, knowing exactly what it is, and sit down in the chair with it. I open it up, Ben's curly handwriting filling the pages from top to bottom. Each entry has a date above it, the diary starting early last year. He starts off with an explanation of why he's had to start the diary, that it's following on from a session with another councillor, and I'm surprised at how serious he takes his entries. I thought he'd begrudge writing down his thoughts, but he seems to relish it, writing in the diary at least once a day.
​He talks about Ciara a lot, and I feel like I'm intruding into their relationship, which he seems to hold really close to his heart. When I first met them I dismissed them as a typical pretty couple, drawn together to make the little people feel bad about themselves, more into outward appearances than what their relationship would actually mean. But he really seems to love her, Ciara being his crutch when he has a bad day, able to bring him back when he's struggling with reality.
​I keep reading, my eyes flicking across the words, looking for some mention of the past or what happened to him. He talks about the 'thing' that happened and how he feels like it stalks around him like a black panther, twisting its body around his torso, suffocating him with its tail.
​I flick to the last entry, and my eyes float across Ben's words, unable to tear myself away as a clock in the study ticks off each passing minute, each minute that brings me closer to the truth.
The monstrous truth.
The hairs on my arms stand up higher with each word that I read, and I'm so overwhelmed by a chill that I'm surprised there aren't puffs of condensation each time I breathe out. I've found it. I've found what he did.
​What they did. Both of them.
​I need to get Ciara and get out of here.
​I put the journal under my arm and jump to my feet. My legs feel like they're on backwards as I straighten up and walk towards the door. I look up, a gasp escaping from me. Someone is standing in the doorway.
​"Hello, Demi-Louise. Where do you think you're going with that?"