Jewels of the Past - Jynelle (some good books to read txt) 📗

~*~Prologue~*~

He was always so quiet at school. Never talked to anyone, never talked to a teacher unless called upon, but even then it was short and to the point, and always the correct answer. He was such a mystery to everyone.

But he had the one smile that would melt all the girls' hearts. Boys were jealous of him, the girls loved him. No one talked to him. As a freshman in high school, the head senior cheerleader asked him to the homecoming dance. He laughed at her and walked away, crushing her heart and sending chills up her spine at the same time.

In four years he managed to outcast himself from the other students. No one talked to him. No one applauded him as he received his diploma. No one stopped him as he walked out of the football field after descending the stairs. No one paid him any mind until he was out of sight. No one saw him after that day. No one knew what became of him. After that summer before college, no one bothered to wonder if he was even still alive. No one cared...

Except for me.

I was fortunate enough to be in every one one of his classes from first to twelfth grade. I was probably the only person in the world who knew he had a personality - one other than a quiet lunatic who would one day open fire on the students in a massive bloody bath that left no one alive, save maybe for him. I wasn't afraid of him. He was human; he did have a heart, a brilliant mind, and a smile that would brighten my day no matter how dark the clouds were. Sometimes, I'd even think he could make the sun rise with that smile.

His only flaw was his obsession with the supernatural. I didn't believe in such things, but he was so adamant that anything and everything out of the fairytales was real. I think that's what drew him away from me in the end. It's my fault he left our graduation so abruptly, never to be seen again. I cried for him that night, though everyone thought I was sad about leaving high school.

It wasn't until years later that I'd see him again. How ironic was that? In the grief of losing my husband to something not human, he was introduced to me as Ted Forrester.


~*~ 1 ~*~

It was full dark by the time the limousine arrived in my roundabout driveway. I stood on the top floor, looking down through the window of my bedroom as my guests’ faces appeared in the door as the chauffer stepped back, bringing the door with him so it opened fully. I had let them use my personal limo, the white one with a single red stripe that ran along the middle of the vehicle all the way around. My husband had added the stripe to add individuality, he had told me.

He was like that, my husband. He loved being different than the ordinary rich man. I hadn’t known him in high school, but I’d always imagined him to be one of those types who dressed in odd colors, had a mohawk every color of the rainbow, and a single earring that stretched the skin so you could poke a pencil through the hole. He was ten years older than I, but his hair was dark red, a shade of maroon, I believe. His eyes, I swear, were naturally a brown-reddish color.

Those eyes, I would never be able to see again.

I swallowed back a sob that was threatening to emerge, and I had to turn away from the window as the woman stepped out of the limo. Closing the drapes quickly, I wrapped my silken white robe tighter around me, as if the room had suddenly become the South Pole. Thinking of Adam, as of late, had made me feel this way. It’s been only an hour, but it felt like an eternity since the break-in. I wasn’t sure how long I was able to hold back my hysteria, but my sanity wasn’t lasting much longer. Hopefully I’d be able to explain the situation before then.

A knock sounded at my door and I heard Landen, my husband’s manservant, announce Anita Blake and her team.

I slipped on my thin slippers, white like my robe, but softer than a newborn kitten’s fur, and opened the door. Landen gave me a small smile. He was sixty-five, and had yet to see the body of his former employer. I made sure he didn’t see Adam, for fear of Landen’s already weak heart.

~*~ 2 ~*~

The Regional Preternatural Investigation Team, that had taken the time to travel the forty-five minutes to my home, consisted of three people: Anita Blake, and two others who had already been led to the body of my husband by our gardener. The gardener really wasn’t who would have been my first choice to show off my dead husband, but there was no one else remotely close to my home, other than Landen.

As I descended the staircase, I studied the famed “Executioner”. She was short, but not much shorter than I, and I wasn’t considered tall for a woman. Her curly hair was pulled back into a somewhat large ponytail, most likely due to the humidity the summer night had offered us. It tended to be about ten percent more humid out here in seclusion from the city than the city itself, so I really couldn’t blame her. She wore a regular, crimson red T-shirt, tucked into a pair of black jean pants. She wore a pair of black Nikes. I wasn’t too critical about her wardrobe, after all I would have chosen something similar before meeting Adam. On the whole, I really liked the sight of her. She made me feel safer from whatever it was that broke into my home and maimed my husband. Perhaps it was that firearm she flaunted in a shoulder holster that made me feel that way.

She was looking at the portrait of my husband and me; painted for us by an artist in France on the only trip to France I had ever taken in my life. It usually was the first thing guests noticed when walking into the front hall. I was told it was the necklace I wore for that particular occasion. It was a somewhat large, clear diamond, the size of my fist, that hung lightly on a simple, silver chain. Yes, that’s right, I said lightly, as if the diamond didn’t weigh much more than a strand of hair. I don’t know where my husband bought it, and I’m not quite sure what he did with it after that painting. I do, however, wish I still had it to show off to some of the other women I had the misfortune of knowing.

I stepped off the stairs and Anita Blake looked at me. She blinked the moment she laid eyes on me, as if she wasn’t expecting what she saw. I was used to that reaction. I was only twenty-five, and that painting looked as if it were created maybe twenty years ago, when in reality it was only a few months old. I was aware that any make-up I had on was now smeared due to hasty removal, and my eyes were red from both fatigue and tears. My usual straight, auburn-colored hair was a ratted mess. I will be the first to admit that I was nowhere near a sight for sore eyes. In fact, I was probably the reason the eyes were sore to begin with.

“Anita Blake,” Landen said, “this is my employer’s wife, Lillian Murray. Mrs. Murray, this is Anita Blake, as you have called upon.”

I thanked Landen and sent him off to get some coffee. I wanted him gone before I could tell this woman what was in the dining room, but I knew I had only a short time to tell it.

As soon as I was certain Landen was out of earshot, I led Ms. Blake back towards the front doors. Not to go outside, but just far enough away from the kitchen so Landen couldn’t overhear what I was about to say. I know she was a little unnerved about the sudden human contact, and I was highly aware of the gun that hung on her side, but it had to be done. Without an invitation, I blurted out everything.

~*~ 3 ~*~

“Before I tell you anything,” I said in a rush, “I want you to know that you came highly recommended, and that the body I’m about to show you has not been touched or seen by anyone before your men.”

Anita began to open her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. I could tell already she was a woman who didn’t like to be interrupted, but I had little time before the old man with the weak heart came back.

“That’s my husband in there,” I began, pointing in the direction of the dining room. I had to swallow another choking sob before I could continue. I knew I had only a little composure left before I had a meltdown, and I wanted to get as much out as I possibly could. “I don’t know what did it, but I know it wasn’t human.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked. I could tell she was a little miffed about being called out here without anyone surveying the body before her coming here; she seemed to strike me as that type of person.

“My husband told me so,” I said in a rushed whisper. “We had just gotten home from dinner, and he had just sent everyone home for the night, when someone knocked on our door.” I nodded to the double French doors of which she stood in front. “He told me to go up to the attic, grab one of his hunting rifles, and to stay up there until he came for me.” I had to take a second to swallow another sob. It was getting harder to hold myself back by the second. My voice was already starting to crack. “I did as he told me. What I heard from beyond the door to the attic was the window crashing and my husband shouting, then…” I couldn’t finish. Replaying in my mind what I had heard wasn’t going to come out easy. “He started gurgling.”

Anita looked towards the dining room to our left, and no doubt noticed the blood splatters on the curtains that covered the pair of redwood French doors. I wasn’t going to allow myself to look in that room at the horror of my husband’s body once more.

“Was there any sound of struggling?” she asked, looking back at me.

I shook my head. “Just him gurgling and then silence. I waited about five minutes, but nothing else sounded. I came down here as quickly as I possibly could, and I saw what was left of him.”

I saw her swallow something back, and that pushed me over the edge. The tears came first, and then my hands began shaking. Almost immediately I started hyperventilating. I hadn’t had much time to begin grieving the loss of my husband, and everything was coming out in crashing waves of emotion.

It was at