Chapter 4 - The Final Entry
The clearing fell into an absolute, suffocating silence. Even the wind seemed to die down, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing and the crackle of distant winter brush. Elena stared at the open page in Margaret’s trembling hands. The handwriting was messy, hurried, and smeared with dark smudges that could only be dried blood.
"Read it," Elena commanded, her voice dropping to a fierce, steady whisper. "Read every single word."
Margaret swallowed hard, her eyes scanning the frantic lines of ink. "‘If anyone is reading this,’" she read aloud, her voice trembling violently, "‘Julian didn't want a wife. He wanted my inheritance. He brought me up to the cabin under the pretense of a winter elopement. When I found the transfer papers in his coat and refused to sign... he lost his mind. He pushed me off the wooden platform. I am bleeding out in the snow beneath the altar. If my body is ever found, know that Julian did this. God help me.’"
A collective gasp swept through the gathering of wedding guests. Several people stepped backward in absolute horror.
Julian’s face twisted into an expression of pure rage. He lunged forward, ignoring the husky, and snatched the diary out of Margaret’s hands, tearing the final page straight out of the binding and crushing it into a tight ball.
"Shut up! All of you, just shut up!" Julian screamed, his voice echoing off the surrounding pine trees. He threw the crumpled paper into the melting snow and stamped on it furiously. "It’s a forgery! My aunt has dementia, she’s been making up stories for years! You're all believing a lunatic!"
"She's not the lunatic, Julian," a deep voice interrupted from the edge of the crowd.
Thomas, the best man and Julian’s oldest childhood friend, stepped forward. He pulled his phone from his overcoat pocket, holding the screen out so everyone could see. "I just called the county sheriff's department. They have an open cold case file from five years ago. A missing woman named Claire Miller. And guess whose cabin was registered right here on this property?"
Julian froze. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse standing in the winter snow. He looked at Thomas, then back at Elena, whose eyes were fixed on him with a look of absolute, unyielding betrayal.
"You called the police?" Julian whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. "After everything we’ve been through, you betrayed me?"
"I'm not protecting a murderer, Julian," Thomas said firmly, keeping a safe distance as he watched his friend's erratic movements. "The deputies are already on their way up the mountain. They'll be here in ten minutes."
"Ten minutes," Julian repeated, a dark, desperate laugh escaping his lips. He began to back away slowly toward the parked vintage wedding car idling near the tree line. "You think the police are going to find anything? It's been five years. The snow is covering everything."
"Except for the box," Elena said, stepping forward, holding up the rusted metal container with the engraved name gleaming in the winter light. "And the ring. And the diary pages you didn't manage to destroy."
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Julian’s eyes darted to the car, then back to the wedding party blocking the path. His hand slipped slowly inside the deep pocket of his dark overcoat.
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