Page 133 of Failure to Match

Okay, so they weren’t going to tell me why Bensen was fired which, of course, only made me more curious. I opened the drawer she was talking about, but there was no book inside it. There was, however, a journal.

It was bookmarked in multiple places.

If this is Jackson’s diary I’m not touching it with a ten-foot pole.

I drew a hard line at reading another person’s most private thoughts without their explicit consent. And I wasn’t willing to steal it for Molly, either.

Molly

It’s not his, dear. It’s mine.

Oh. Fair enough.

Okay. I’ve grabbed it. I’m looking for your green book now, Mabel.

Molly

Actually, can you check a few things for me first? I need to make sure it’s the right journal.

Okay what should I check?

Molly

Why don’t you flip to the first marked page.

A fair warning though, dear…

31

In her defense,Molly warned me about the content before I opened the journal. I just… I didn’t realize how hard it would hit.

On one hand, I now knew why Bensen had been fired, and had a pretty solid theory to explain Jackson’s aversion to romantic love. On the other hand, my heart had been shattered into a million pieces and I hated everything.

Bensen—poor, wonderful Bensen—had been fired for taking Jackson to the hospital after “the boy showed up to music lessons wincing with pain, unable to focus on a single thing. It took ages of convincing to get him to show us the cigarette burns. He’d done his damnedest to hide it for months, judging by some of the older scars. Mabel threw a fit, but Bensen insisted on taking the bullet. He thinks Jackson needs the two of us more, but I can’t be so sure.”

It didn’t get any better after that.

Jackson’s so-called mother? Vain, selfish leech of a woman who’d had affair after affair after affair, drilled into Jackson’s head from a criminally young age that any married couple that claimed they were “in love” and that their relationship wasn’t “simply a transaction,” were lying to both themselves and toeveryone else, “and if you ever tell Richard you saw me with Uncle Ross, I’ll make sure to tell himallllabout the doodling you’ve been doing with Fatty One and Thing Two.”

The threat had been made in front of Molly. Beatrice Sinclair wasn’t all that fond of acknowledging “the help” as she referred to them. Most of the time, she liked to pretend they weren’t in the room.

According to the journal entries, she’d celebrated her husband’s death by moving to Paris. Without telling Jackson. But at least she called, right? Not on his birthday or any major holidays, it was only when she wanted something from him (money)but at least she called.

I hated everything.

And Ireallyhated Richard and Beatrice Sinclair—fuckingloathedthem with every fiber of my soul. I was shaking with it as I continued to flip through Molly’s journal.

The second one.

There were four of them, according to the last set of texts I’d received from the sisters, each hidden in a different location. I’d been granted permission to read all of them, as long as I promised to stop when it became “too much.”

I’d broken that promise around a hundred pages ago. I couldn’t stop even though I knew I had to get back to work. I still hadn’t prepped for my meeting with—crap. What time is it?

I snatched my phone off the floor, tapped the screen, and… nothing. It was dead.

Shit.

I scrambled to my feet, quickly put the journals back, and hurried out of the room. Then I realized I didn’t know how to shut the secret door.

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