The Attic (Completed)

Chapter 17

When Lily reached the dining room, Angie was sitting at the table drinking a coffee and reading the paper. She smiled up at Lily as she entered the room.

"I just made a fresh pot of decaf if you'd like some," she said. "It's in the kitchen."

With a pleasant smile and nod of thanks, Lily went into the kitchen and instead of pouring a coffee, went to a private corner where Angie would be unable to see her, and pulled out the journal. With an eye on the door, she untied the silk ribbon and slipped it into her pocket for safe keeping. She opened the journal to the first page, glancing at the open door again. If Ian returned, she should be able to hear him in the dining room first with enough time to hide the journal.

There was no name written in the front page, just the first entry. The handwriting was in black pen: wide loops, slightly shaky. She couldn't tell if it was a man or woman's hand.

She read quickly, fairly skimming the entries:

August 8

I do not know why I am bothering to begin a new journal when no one will ever read it, but I suppose old habits die hard.

The summer is coming to an end and I am worried about the winter. I lost my job of twenty years, the bank took my home, and I am penniless. All of my resources are tapped and stretched thin.

I have no family and nowhere to go.

It's over for me.

September 13

There is a bitter nip in the air. Summer has packed up and gone and autumn has taken its studious watch. When his brother winter arrives in a torrent of wind and ice, my time will come to an end. I do not have the fortitude to stay in a homeless shelter. My pride will not let me. I will not be that kind of man. Despite what others may think, I still have my dignity.

I intend to spend my final days in the heart of the forest, enjoying nature and solitude, away from judgmental, uncaring civilization. When the cold inevitably comes, I refuse to huddle in a city alley under a blanket of soiled newspapers eating scraps from a dumpster. I would rather freeze or starve to death sitting against the bark of an indifferent tree.

She flipped the page.

September 15

I can not believe my good fortune.

I have discovered an abandoned hunting cabin in the woods. At least, I presume it to be abandoned. It is run down and in disrepair and looks as though it hasn't been used in a decade. Nevertheless, there are several cans of beans and soup in the cupboard, a box of matches, a wood stove, and an axe. There are also two rifles and a crate of ammo. I will be able to hunt for food! I can only hope the owners do not return until spring. It is my hope they will never return.

There is a small shed behind the cabin, but it is padlocked. This is strange considering the cabin was left wide open. I wonder what is in it.

From all I have observed, I have come to the conclusion that whoever was here before me fled in a hurry.

I hope I am not squatting in a criminal's lair.

Lily paused at the sound of footfall, back stiffening. She shut the cover, stuffed the book into her pants under her shirt and stood squarely, heart pounding.

But it was only Angie—come to refill her coffee mug.

Lily busied herself by rooting through a pen drawer, pretending to be looking for something, and as soon as Angie went back into the dining room, she reopened the journal and began reading again; overwhelmed with a voracious hunger to read every last page before Ian's return.