Jewels of the Past by Jynelle (best classic books to read .txt) 📖

the packet, he could make out any hidden messages that I might have missed. I seem to be the type of person who would just read something and miss the deeper meanings of the words the author was conveying in his or her writings. But did I really want him to read this? After all, bringing back memories of the past might hurt him more than actually witnessing the bloody decoration in the dining room I tried to hide him from.

I opened the door, and helped him carry my whole two suitcases down to the car. I checked out, paid the man, and was on my way back to my house to asses the cleanliness of the dining room and to search for the jewel that's been causing all this.

Though, I'm not quite sure if there were any hidden messeges, the typing - yes, typing - of the report clearly states that Adam wouldn't even trust the Swiss with something so valueable and dangerous. Oh, how humble of my husband to think of the well being of a bunch of foreign bankers! I read that he kept the jewel some place secret in our home. I hadn't known of any secret compartments. If I didn't know, then certainly no one else would, either, which is probably why he hid it in our walls or somewhere. I'm sure the builders of our house might know something about secret compartments. Unless Adam built them on his own, he would have had to hire someone to do it, right? I could find out who built our house and ask them. Our house wasn't old; it was built after we were married. Sort of like a wedding gift from him to me.

Arriving home, the first place I went to was my dining room. I hadn't seen anyone on the short walk from the car, up the stairs on the porch, through the front door, and then the short walk into the dining room. It was pristine like it hadn't been drenched in blood a few days ago. It seemed as though the only thing missing was the table centerpiece in which my husband's head was mounted. That was fine. I probably would have gotten rid of it, anyway, had it been left there.

As I scanned the clean white drapes on the windows, a sudden chill ran about my body. I had seriously doubted those were the orginal drapes, unless someone was a cleaning magician and could get blood stains out in just a few days. Although, having a good look at at the rest of the room, I wouldn't have doubted it. My eyes fell onto the table. I couldn't help but wonder what they had done with the centerpiece. I wrung my hands together in attempt not to hyperventilate at the thought of someone in white latex gloves wrenching Adam's severed head from the golden candle holder.

Shaking my head, I turned abruptly, wanting to get as far from this room as possible. Closing the doors, Landen walked up to me from the direction of the stairs. Bowing to me, he let me know he had already brought up my luggage, and was wondering if there would be anything else.

Shaking my head, I put my arm on his shoulder. "Not today, Landen. Go home to Dorothy."

He bowed once again. I smiled at him and went on my way to my bedroom, where he left my things. As I was ascending the stairs, I wondered why the house was so quiet, why had I not seen anyone? Weren't there people searching in every crevice of my home, invading my privacy, trying to find that stupid rock?

Upon entering my room, I noted that Landen had set my bags on my bed. Very gracious to him for doing that, even though this was the first time he had ever done that. Adam never unloaded his bags from off the bed. I didn't understand why, it seemed easier when the bags are on the bed. Just one of the stupid little things that made me love him.

Sighing, I opened the first suitcase and began taking things to the closet. After hanging up the two shirts I had grabbed, I walked out. Empty bags, find someone, I kept repeating in my mind. As I was putting my underwear away, there was an amused voice behind me.

"You know, there was a point in time when I'd have loved to walk in on you playing with your under things."

I wasn't expecting anyone to be in my room, and it scared me. Dropping the undergarments, I wheeled around to see Jack-Edward standing in front of my private bathroom, leanind against the door, smirking at me. I was suddenly filled with embarassement, but was quickly replaced with anger.

"Jack, get out of my room!" I shouted. A little childish, I admit, but at that moment, I didn't care. How dare he hide himself in my bathroom and then jump out and scare me. If he hadn't spoken first, I'd have had a heart attack thinking that blue thing had come for me again.

Watching as his stupid grin turned into a scowl as if someone had turned off his happy switch, I'd realized that I had said Jack, and not Edward or Ted, like he had asked. Staring into that death glare, I began to think he was serious about killing me, and he was just biding time before he would.

Shaking my head, I apologized.

He shook his head. "Do you not understand the severity should someone find out who I was? It could ruin me. It could be deadly for me."

I picked up the clothes I had dropped and resumed putting them away. When I finished, I turned back to him. "If you had kept in touch for these last seven or so years, maybe I would. That's not my fault."

I could feel a cold chill of fear run down my back as he clenched his fists and grinded his teeth as he continued to stare daggers in my direction. Maybe standing up to him at this moment wasn't the best thing in the world to do. He really did look like he would kill me, and not think twice about it afterwards.

But, instead of jumping on me and wringing my neck until my head screwed off, he walked to the door. "I was told to tell you to go to Anita when you returned. She's waiting for you in the attic." And then he was gone.

Sighing, I glanced at the unfinished unpacking I still had to do. I concluded that it could wait, and made my way out the door and towards the attic. I could feel butterflies having a ball in the pit of my stomach, for the last time I was in the attic, my husband was being killed.

~*~ 12 ~*~

"Good morning, Mrs. Young. Is Jack here?"

The old woman behind the door smiled at me. Jack's grandmother was the one who stepped up to become his guardian. Such a sweet, old woman, now nearing her late seventies. I wonder if she realized just how obsessed with the otherworld Jack really was.

"He's in the attic, dear," she said in her sweet singsong voice. Taking a step back, she gestured me inside. "I made a fresh batch of festive Independence Day cookies." I stepped inside, and she closed the door behind me. Pulling on her shawl, she made her way towards the kitchen. "They're cooling at the moment, dear, but you can have as many as you like in about ten minutes."

"Oh, you know me too well, Mrs. Young." I loved her cookies. She was the model grandmother. The house was always smelling of sugary goodness, and she always had freshly made cookies waiting to be devoured by her grandson's best friend.

On my way up to the attic, I had to climb two flight of stairs, and walk passed Jack's room. Glancing inside as I strode by, getting a sneak peek of some school memerobilia, I wondered just how much of Jack's life his grandmother actually knew about. He didn't give a rat's ass about our school, the football team and whatnot, but he kept some flags and posters so she wouldn't suspect anything. I tried looking past his obsession with the
supernatural and introducing him to the real world one step at a time.

One more flight of stairs, and then the blue door. The most frightening door I'd ever seen. I know I didn't believe in ghosts and goblins and stuff, but that doesn't stop the mind from wandering and playing crude pranks on you. I knew Jack was in there, but I still felt butterflies in my stomach as I reached for the door. Never had I been able to just waltz into an attic or basement with glee, and just because my best friend was in there waiting for me didn't change an age old fear. I'm not even quite sure where the fear came from, but it was there, and it was hating me.

I slowly opened the door, and glanced inside. I didn't know what to expect, but what I saw drove my fear away, and replaced it with something I haven't felt since my current boyfriend first asked me on a date.

Jack was there, just like his grandmother had said he would be. He was polishing one of his dad's old swords with, what looked like, his own t-shirt. That's right, Jack was shirtless. I hadn't seen his bare torso in about two years, and it looked nothing like it did in that moment. He was buff, but not too muscular, like, say, a wrestler's body like my boyfriend had. No, his muscles fit his figure perfectly. The way his arms moved as he stroked the blade, polishing it to a pristine shine, made my mouth dry, and my stomach lurch. He must have been working out, which could also explain the fiasco back in Vegas last year.

Gulping back a sudden lump in my throat, I made myself known.

What wouldn't I give to see a handsome, shirtless man behind the door to my attic? The childhood fear of attics was still relevent as I held my hand over the knob on the door. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. What I saw wasn't a handsome, muscular man with his shirt off, but a petite woman, fully clothed, studying an antique trunk. She was kneeling in front of it, feeling the fine wood, probably looking for a way to open it.

Glancing up at me for a split second, she continued with what she was doing. "We've searched two rooms since you called me yesterday, and nothing." She stood up, brushing her hands on her pants. "I've sent Edward to the shed and other outdoor areas, and I've been in here all day."

"Honestly, I'd be amazed if Adam hid it in one of these boxes," I said as I looked around and stepped closer to her. "It'd be so simple."

"It's what I'm hoping for." She smiled at me, and motioned towards the trunk she was just feeling. "I hope you don't mind."

Shaking my head, I bent down and felt the front of it. Right between the crease where the lid meets the bottom there was a sliver, which had to be pulled in order to open it. A trick of Adam's mother to keep her most prized posessions safe from her nosey husband. The second I pulled the tiny piece