I looked up sharply. "What?"
"There's no mention of Amy. Not that I can find."
"And you think that means something. That Aldrich didn't--"
"No. Think it means he left shit out. This?" He lifted the book. "It's about what else he did to girls. Raping them. Seducing them." He paused. "Seducing's not right. They were kids. Still rape. I just mean . . ."
"You mean that sometimes the girls were willing partners and sometimes they weren't. Considering that the allegations against Aldrich were all statutory rape, I'm guessing it was more of the former?"
"Yeah. He was good at that. Not sure how. Or why."
"Teen girls are vulnerable and sexually curious. Same as teen boys. An adult comes along and knows what to do and say, and it doesn't matter if he--or she--doesn't strike us as someone a teen would find attractive. Looks have very little to do with it. And when Aldrich was younger . . ." I shrugged. "Amy thought he was cute. A lot of girls did. Even now, I can't see it because all I see is the monster who murdered my cousin, but at the time, I wasn't into boys yet. A late bloomer."
"Yeah." He stared out into the forest.
"So the journal is rape and so-called conquests, and presumably he left Amy out because describing her murder crossed a line."
"Didn't leave her out."
"What?" I straightened. "I thought you said--"
"He doesn't talk about killing her. Doesn't talk about raping her. Skips that. Doesn't even give her a name."
I frowned. "What does he call her?"
Jack went quiet, and I was about to ask again when he said, "The cousin. Her cousin." His gaze finally lifted to mine. "Your cousin. He wrote about you."
I stared at him. Then I slowly shook my head. "No, that entry must be about another girl and her cousin, because there's no reason he'd write about me. It was all about Amy."
"He calls you by name, Nadia."
I didn't even think he knew my name.
"I . . . I don't understand. Why would he write about . . ." I trailed off. I looked at the book and I heard Jack's words again. Not murder. Rape. It was about the girls Drew Aldrich raped.
I shook my head. "No. There's a mistake. You're misinterpreting or he's lying or . . . or something. He never--" I swallowed. "He didn't . . ." I couldn't get the rest out.
"Do you want to stop, Nadia?" Jack said. "We can stop right here."
His words were soft, his voice low. Meant to calm me, to offer an escape.
"No, I do not want to stop," I snapped. "I'm not saying I can't handle this, Jack. I'm saying it did not happen."
A pause, then, just as softly. "Okay."
I looked at him. "It did not happen."
He picked up the journal and stuffed it under his jacket. "Okay." He got to his feet. "Come on. Let's go back. Forget this."
I sat there, my gaze fixed on his chest, not daring to raise it. After a second, he started moving away. I reached out and caught the edge of his jacket.
"Jack . . ."
"Hmmm?"
"If . . ." I took a deep breath. "I don't see how . . . I couldn't forget--" I swallowed. "What else is there? About . . . that day. Can I read it?"
He slowly lowered himself to the log again. Then he found a page near the beginning and turned it to face me.