Page 17 of Possess Me

I’d like to say that Carlton’s jealousy is endearing, but it is not. On the contrary, it is exhausting, and I fear that his jealousy of a man I’ve never seen and certainly don’t love will be the thing that shatters us.

I frown, wondering about this mysterious Basil. That Carlton was jealous of him isn’t news. That obsession was documented in every Vivien Lorainne biography I’ve read. But though I know that several of her biographers were given access to this journal—and included many quotes from it—I’ve never seen that particular entry before. For that matter, I’ve never seen an entry in which Vivien mentioned Basil at all. Which, considering the mystery surrounding the mysterious Basil, seems very odd.

That oddity only multiplies as I get further into the journal—and find more entries about Basil. About Carlton swearing Basil was present at all sorts of events … and Vivien worrying about Carlton since she has no evidence the man even exists.

And with every Basil sighting, it seems as if Vivien and Carlton draw further apart.

December 8, 1945

Once again, I didn’t see the man that Carlton swears was watching me. I told him to stop mentioning Basil. That I have no interest. That the man is nothing to me. I was so frustrated the words flew out of me, and Carlton flinched as if they were blows.

And then—oh, dear god—he lashed out. He caught himself, but for a moment, I truly believed he was going to hit me.

What happened to the man I loved?

More important, what happened to the man who loved me?

My chest tightens, and I flip ahead, desperate to know what happened. But the next entry I find is weeks later, and nothing but mundane words about a shopping trip full of charming observations and thoughts about the perfect present for her friends and for Carlton.

I flip forward, finding more mundane entries—dinner parties, gossip from the set, notes on a new perfume.

I have my finger on December 12, the last entry I fully read about a costume fitting, and I’m about to close the journal when movement on the page catches my eye. I glance down instinctively, because surely any movement was a shadow cast by the moonlight.

But no.

Dear god, the print has changed.

My body goes cold as that realization runs through me. The words I’d just read are gone. Changed. Altered.

How?

I have no idea. All I know is that they’ve been replaced by a new entry with the same date. And while part of me wants to hurl the journal across the room, I can’t do it. I have to see. I have to know.

I’m both curious and compelled. And, yes, I tilt my head to the page, and I read.

December 12, 1945

It’s not Carlton I’m afraid of anymore.

I woke to the sound of whispers. Soft, but insistent. They were coming from the hall, but when I opened the door, there was nothing there.

The bracelet was missing this morning. Carlton says Basil took it. I don’t believe him, but I can’t find it anywhere.

Am I imagining things? Or is he?

I’m starting to forget what’s real.

I shiver, the journal seeming cold in my hands.

And I can’t help but wonder—am I starting to lose my grasp on what is real, too?

8

Damien and I walk in silence down the path that leads from the cottage to the beach. The sound of our footsteps marks our progress, and the distant music of the ocean lapping onto the beach is leading us to our goal.

“Are you going to tell me?”

Damien’s words are soft, full of genuine concern.