Chapter 59: Mysterious Wedding Gown

Angela’s POV
At 8:30 p.m., the ancient clock on the wall chimed, breaking the silence. Angela remained seated at the edge of the bed, the diary laid open on her lap. Anticipation coursed through her as she eagerly awaited the revelation concealed within the diary's secret pocket. Her heart raced, its rhythm pounding in her ears like a tribal drum. Carefully, she used her fingernails to peel away the delicate seal, uncovering the hidden contents.
Before she lay a torn page from Esmeralda's diary, stowed away either for safekeeping or to remain unseen beneath the sealed back cover. Angela's hands quivered as she smoothed out the paper onto the bed, the words still legible upon it.
June 24, 1982
Dear Diary,
The night outside the orchards was biting cold. Amidst the shadows, I glimpsed the figure of a girl beneath the curry tree. Her visage remained obscured, but the breeze tousled her hair and gown. Clutched in her right hand was something gleaming and sharp, akin to a knife. Indeed, a knife it was, and she advanced towards me. Fear propelled me back into the safety of the house, retreating to the shelter of my room. Peering through the slightly ajar window, I witnessed her progress as she moved steadily toward Leonardo's studio. Passing beneath the glow of the lamppost, her gown revealed itself—a long expanse that stirred familiarity. It belonged to Lara. A chilling realization dawned upon me; Lara intends to end my life.
Angela was struck by the gravity of her discovery. The mysterious bride she had witnessed aligned precisely with Esmeralda's account in the diary. The enigmatic lady had persisted in her bridal attire, the entry penned two years ago on June 24, 1982. It meant that Lara had always been shrouded in mystery. But where had Lara vanished to? Her absence resonated in the same eerie echo. Angela deduced that this revelation warranted Leonardo's attention—a puzzle piece demanding to be acknowledged.

Angela was roused from her slumber early in the morning by a vivid dream of Andrew opening her bedroom door. She hurriedly checked the door, sighing with relief when she found it still barricaded by the chair. The thought of Andrew gaining access while she slept had haunted her, causing her stomach to churn. She carried the diary with her into the kitchen, seeking solace in its words as she sipped her coffee. Her cell phone lay nearby, alongside the diary and its accompanying battery.

Just as Angela was preparing to contact someone at Vera's house to share the revelations from Esmeralda's diary, the kitchen door swung open, revealing Andrew. "Good morning," he greeted, shutting the door behind him before joining Angela at the table.

"Would you like some coffee?" Angela offered, rising from her seat.

"May I have one?" Andrew's breath created smoky puffs in the chilly air. "It's quite cold outside."

Angela nodded, pouring a cup for him. "Is that a diary?" Andrew's gaze fixed on the table.

Caught off guard by his question, Angela replied, "Yes, it is. It's mine."

Andrew settled into a chair on the opposite side of the table, a smile gracing his lips. "Fascinating. A testament to your desire to immortalize every significant moment."

"Indeed," Angela shrugged. "Sometimes I find it therapeutic to pen down my thoughts."

"Well, that's wise," Andrew cautioned, his words stumbling slightly. "But one should be cautious about harboring secrets that could unravel one's life. Such secrets ought to be either destroyed or carried in the heart till the end. Could it be possible that I feature among the characters scripted in your journal?"

"Partially, especially in regards to what we've been up to," Angela replied with a smile. "You've been a tremendous support."

"Let's not dwell on it. Whatever your life's path, I'm more than willing to aid you. Do you want to know why?" Andrew's gaze remained fixed on her.

"Why?" Angela inquired.

"Because... I'm fond of you," he confessed, his eyes intently studying her.

Angela averted her gaze, uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare. "Please, that look makes me uneasy," she deflected, setting his coffee before him. "How's your day shaping up?"

Andrew's lips curled into a half-smile. "What would you like to hear, excluding anything related to Leonardo?"

"Anything but that," Angela responded in a monotone as she settled back into her seat. "By the way, I've decided to head back home this Saturday."
"Make an earnest effort to put him out of your mind," Andrew advised, taking a sip of his coffee.
Angela sighed. "I'm trying."
By three o'clock in the afternoon, Andrew had left the house. Angela's mind gravitated back to the contents of Esmeralda's diary. As the clock ticked to four p.m., she picked up her phone and dialed Vera's number. After several rings, Mrs. Vera's voice finally answered.

"Vera's residence, hello?" Mrs. Vera repeated her questions thrice before Angela responded, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Vera."

"Angela, is that you?" Mrs. Vera's voice was filled with relief. "What happened? Why did you leave without a word, especially to Leonardo? He was worried sick..."

"I apologize, Mrs. Vera. An unexpected situation arose that pulled me away from him."

"Is it true that you're involved with someone else behind my son's back?" Mrs. Vera's question was direct.

"It's hard to explain, but that's not relevant anymore," Angela's voice trembled. "I'm sorry for how things turned out with your son."

"Why are you calling now?" Mrs. Vera's tone carried a hint of displeasure.

"I needed to talk to you, Mrs. Vera."

After a short pause, she inquired, "What is it? Is this about my son?"

"No, it's not about Leonardo. It's about Esmeralda's diary."

Angela forged ahead despite the silence on the other end. "I discovered a hidden pocket in the back cover of Esmeralda's diary, and within it was a torn page from the diary itself. This page mentioned the lady in the white gown."

"What did it say?" Mrs. Vera's voice grew tense. "Did she reveal the identity of the lady in the white gown?"

"Not explicitly, but she recognized the distinctive back of the mysterious lady's gown."

"Whose gown was it exactly?" Mrs. Vera interjected.

Angela clarified, "It was Lara's gown."

"What?"

"She suspected that Lara intended to harm her," Angela replied firmly.

"Do you believe it?" Mrs. Vera inquired.

"I'm unsure what to believe," Angela sighed. "Lara is still missing. However, I'm intrigued by something from the past."

"What exactly are you seeking to know?"

"Could you provide me with the exact date of Esmeralda's last sighting before her death?" Angela paused.

"All I can recall is the date she was discovered lifeless on the cliff beneath the veranda," Mrs. Vera's voice quivered. "That's the only date that comes to mind."

"Based on what I've read, her diary's most recent entry was on June 24. And, as you mentioned, she was found on June 28. This implies that she met her end sometime between those two dates."

Mrs. Vera remained silent, her emotions rendering her unable to speak further. Angela bid her goodbye, striving to maintain her composure. At that moment, clarity dawned upon her. Lara was the primary suspect in Esmeralda's tragic demise.

***

Lara’s POV

Lara's fingers scraped against the cold, unyielding surface of the dimly lit room where she languished, her body weakened from starvation. On this day, the usual presence of the shadow failed to reappear with sustenance. It seemed that the shadow's intent might be to let her wither away from hunger. Her dress, threadbare and tattered, served as a makeshift blanket, but the oppressive humidity clung to her skin. Periodic cries escaped her lips, even though she recognized the futility of such displays of emotion.

In a desperate attempt to glean any information from the outside world, she pressed her ear to the rough walls. Her mind raced with questions about the enigmatic tunnel beneath the mansion. Was she truly still within the confines of Vera's estate? The weight of frustration gnawed at her, a constant reminder of her precarious situation. Uncertainty lingered as to how much longer she could endure, but she refused to let the shadow claim victory without a fight. Yet, the question remained: how could she resist?

The idea of suicide drifted through her thoughts, but she was equally uncertain about how to execute such an act within her current confines. Her mind traced back to a time when everything seemed promising, even the carefully laid plans involving Frederick. Now, all that careful scheming lay shattered in the hands of the shadow. Footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond, growing closer, and a spark of recognition ignited within her as the familiar, heavy tread reached her ears.

Abruptly, the door swung open, revealing the shadow before her. Summoning every ounce of her strength, Lara lunged, her body colliding with the shadow in a desperate escape bid. She managed to push the shadow aside momentarily, taking a few staggered steps before strong hands seized her hair, yanking her back into her dismal cell. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing her defeat. The shadow wasted no time, leaving a plastic bag on the floor.

"You wretched creature!" Lara's anger spilled out, her voice echoing her resentment as her legs strained against the ground. Another meal was delivered, a paltry offering that might have been meant for breakfast or dinner. "I'll kill you," she muttered, her fingers exploring the plastic bag's contents. With the aid of a flashlight, she discovered a pocket mirror nestled alongside lipstick. The realization struck her with a fresh wave of emotion. The shadow knew her all too well, offering her these personal possessions – the mirror and the crimson lipstick. It was a calculated move, a stark reminder of her captor's intimate understanding of her.

Tears welled in her eyes once more as the weight of her vulnerability pressed upon her. What was this shadow, this tormentor, truly after? A surge of determination gripped her, her teeth clenched in defiance.