Free The Watcher in the Shadows by Carlos Ruiz Zafón Page B

nodded in response. Irene gave a nervous giggle.
    ‘Goodnight.’
    ‘Goodnight, Irene.’
    Ismael began to cast off. ‘I was planning to go to the lagoon tomorrow. If you want to come . . .’
    She nodded as the boat edged away.
    ‘I’ll pick you up here . . .’
    Irene stayed there, watching Ismael leave, until the night had swallowed him and the Kyaneos completely. Then, floating on air, she hurried back to Seaview. Her mother was waiting for her on the porch. You didn’t need to be a fortune-teller to guess that Simone had seen the whole episode on the jetty.
    ‘How was your day?’ Simone asked.
    Irene swallowed hard.
    Her mother gave her a cheeky smile. ‘You can tell me.’
    Irene sat down next to her mother, who put an arm around her.
    ‘How was yours?’ asked Irene.
    Simone let out a sigh, remembering the afternoon spent with Lazarus. She hugged her daughter.
    ‘It was a strange day, Irene. I suppose I’m growing old.’
    ‘What rubbish.’
    Irene looked into her mother’s eyes.
    ‘Is something wrong, Mum?’
    Simone smiled faintly and shook her head.
    ‘I just miss your father,’ she replied finally, a tear rolling down her cheek.
    ‘Dad is gone,’ said Irene. ‘You have to let go of him.’
    ‘I don’t know if I want to.’
    Irene hugged her mother and could hear the sound of her tears in the darkness.

THE DIARY OF ALMA MALTISSE
    Dawn crept up on Irene almost without her noticing. She was still engrossed in the diary with which Ismael had entrusted her. What had begun as simple curiosity some hours earlier had become an obsession during the night. From the very first line, the faded handwriting of the mysterious woman who had disappeared in the waters of the bay had captured her imagination. After only a few words, she had known she would not go to sleep.
    Today, for the first time, I’ve seen the shadow’s face. It was watching me from a dark corner, lying in wait, motionless and silent. I know perfectly well what I saw in those eyes, the force that keeps the shadow alive: hatred. I could feel its presence and I’m certain that, sooner or later, our life in this place will become a nightmare. I’ve finally understood the help he needs, and, come what may, I cannot leave him on his own . . .
    As Irene turned the pages, the woman’s voice seemed to be whispering to her, confiding secrets that had remained forgotten for years. Six hours after she had started reading the diary, Irene felt that this stranger had become more like an invisible friend who had chosen her to be the repository of her private thoughts and her memories.
    It has happened again. This time it was my clothes. In the morning, when I went to my dressing room, I found the wardrobe door open and all my dresses, the dresses he has given me over the years, shredded to ribbons, as if sliced by the blades of a hundred knives. A week ago it was my engagement ring. I found it lying on the floor, twisted and ruined. Other jewels have disappeared. The mirrors in my room are cracked. Every day its presence is stronger and its anger more palpable. It’s just a matter of time before the attacks stop focusing on my possessions and turn on me instead. I’m the one it hates. I’m the one it wants to kill. There’s not enough room for both of us in this place . . .
    Sunlight flooded Irene’s room as she turned the last page of the diary. For a moment it occurred to her that she’d never known as much about anyone. Nobody, not even her own mother had disclosed the very secrets of her soul as candidly as this woman who she’d never met. A woman who had died years before Irene was born.
    I have nobody to talk to, nobody in whom I can confide the horror that invades my soul day after day. Sometimes I wish I could turn back, retrace my steps. But that is when I realise most clearly that my fear and sorrow cannot compare to his, that he needs me and that, without me, his light will go out for ever. I only ask that God will give us the