My husband was staring at me from the bottom of the stairs. The look on his face unsettled me and made me pause before I listened to him. He wanted to show me something. We had just moved into a new house. It was a big Victorian-style mansion, dark and gloomy on the outside but with big windows that set the whole inside aflame with sunlight. It was, to say the least, the most beautiful house I had ever seen. And suspiciously inexpensive. My husband was still staring at me. Right! Yes. I forgot. He wanted to show me something he'd found. I pasted a smile as I went down the uneven wooden staircase into the basement, gripping the handrail tightly. Something about this place brought up so many memories. Not good ones. Not good ones at all. I didn't like it, but I did. And I would stay. Because of him. Derek. But he couldn't know. He couldn't - couldn't know.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” he said. The feeling in the pit of my stomach grew, stretching to cover my chest and work its way up my throat like a weighted blanket meant to comfort but instead it suffocated you. I knew it. Last week, he came home smelling like perfume. His hair had been ruffled, and his wedding ring was in his pocket. I hadn’t said anything because I didn’t want it to be true. But I knew, deep down. My marriage had been failing for a while now. This would be the final nail in the coffin. I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I kne -

“People were murdered here,” he said abruptly. My thoughts screeched to a halt. No. Wait. Maybe he didn't know after all. Or he did. He could. It could go both ways I think. If he had found it, then maybe he did. Wait no. It wasn't there anymore was it? It wasn't. I knew it wasn't, it wasn't!

“I…What?” I didn't have to pretend the fear and confusion and curiousity into my voice. I don't like pretending. It makes my head hurt and I don't like when my head hurts and then - . Wait. He was talking again.

“In this house. People were murdered. Women. A dozen of them, I think, if the news was right. That’s why it was so cheap. The murderer lived here.”

My heart sped up. I wasn't a superstitious person, but I did believe places hold onto energy. And that would leave a dark, rotting residue in this house. Not to mention, I'd seen other people on social media who'd bought houses where people were killed, and there was still blood pooled under their flooring when they went to replace it. I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it.

"What? Derek, why didn't you tell me?”

He looked down, avoiding my eyes. His hands were fidgeting. “I knew you would say no, and it was the only place we could afford close to our jobs.”

Of course. Always about money. I knew it. I steeled my voice. “Why did you bring me down here?”

“I found something. It's weird. Really weird.”

I crossed my arms as I glared at him. "Derek. I don't want to know." I paused. Wait. What if he had found it? He couldn't have. I wasn't here I knew it wasn't here. He'd told me it wasn't here. Heat wound up my spine like a snake. I could hear my pulse in my ears. "What do you mean?"

He dropped his eyes, and I followed them to a spot on the floor, the concrete stained with a dark brown. My stomach dropped. Old blood. The crime scene people should have cleaned that up years ago.

"Derek...that's...."

"I know," he mumbled. "It's not all, though. As I was pulling things out, I found this."

He handed me a book. It was pink, with a fuzzy cover, and a latch that looked like it had a lock on it at one time. It reminded me of the diaries I used to keep when I was a little girl. The pit in my stomach eased just a little. My husband hadn't found it. It was gone just like I knew it was. This wasn't it.

"What is this?" I asked, glancing up at him. "Whose is this, I should say?" Derek rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from me again.

"Well..."

"Derek! Tell me." Now I was just confused. There was no other. No one else. What is this pink monstrosity? He sighed, dropping his hand.

"Look at the name on the inside," he said, tired. Defeated. Of course he was.

For a moment, I just stared at him. I weighed my options. If there was another, then I'll feign nonchalance. Save my marriage. But if this was it... No. This wasn't it. It was gone. But what if he had lied? The thought slipped in without my permission and fierce anger followed swiftly. Lied? NO. NEVER. Only to them, never to me. I had a plan now. I opened the front cover.

Anne Haley was scrawled across the page. My heart stopped beating. He found it he found it he found it he found it he found it he found it he found it.

"Who's Anne Haley?" I asked him, looking up. I keep my voice cool.

"You don't remember? When Mom lived in the neighborhood, that girl went missing when she was twelve. I don't think they ever found her."

No. They didn't.

I examined my husband's face. He was excited about this. He might be easy then. Like the others. But anxiety crept in. I had never done it on my own before. I chewed my bottom lip. What if I messed up? I would fail him. I had never failed him, even to the end. Maybe if I convinced my husband it wasn't real... maybe I wouldn't have to.

"How are you sure it's hers?" I asked. He shrugged.

“It’s detailed. A little too detailed, really.” For once in this conversation, he looked uncomfortable. Of course. Death made all the others uncomfortable. Especially when it was in your own basement. “I'm going to turn it in to the police," he said, reaching for the diary. I turned away from him. "What are you doing?"

"It's in my house. It's mine," I said. I was going to burn it.

"But it's evidence!" He rushed after me up the stairs. Boxes still lined the hallway through to the living room. It was aflame with the sun. I stopped. Stared. He stopped next to me, confused and looking around. "What are you doing?" he asked again. "Are you joking?" He was so annoying. Why did I marry him anyway? Derek wasn't like him. Not at all. But he was gone. He left me. Shame filled me from head to toe. I'd promised him I wouldn't do it. That I wouldn't betray him. But I did, didn't I? The man next to me was proof of it. I never should have married him.

"Come on," he said, reaching for the book again, but I twisted away. "Honey, come on. Stop messing around. You're freaking me out a little bit." My arms dropped to my sides, the book clutched in my right hand. I turned to face him.

"There was another," I said.

"I... what?" Derek stood there looking like an idiot. Confused. Of course he was. No one knows this except maybe five people. There used to be more, but they were dead now.

"There was another," I said again. "A partner. The police never found them. They were too devoted."

“What are you talking about?” His brow was furrowed, hands falling down to his sides from where he had them in the air, like he was trying to ward something off. I turned to face him fully now, since he’d backed away a little.

“The murderer, Derek. He had a partner.”

“How do you know that? Some documentary or something? The news hasn’t said anything.”

I stared. Held eye contact. “I was the partner.”