The Diary Of Pamela D.

'No,' he said in a husky voice that chilled her, made her feel as though she were going to be physically ill. 'Why would I kill the perfect woman, Pamela? How could I? The others, they were just dreck, not worthy of the air they breathed. But you, Pamela, you're different.'

Her hand found the door jamb and moved upwards.

'H- how am I different,' she said as he leaned over her, touched the smooth skin of her cheek with his coarse, unshaven jowl.

'You smell different,' he breathed, putting a hand on her waist, causing her to jump involuntarily. 'You brought your air with you into this house. It was magic, Pamela . . . pure magic. You breathed new life into this miserable old cavern, into a community of small-minded, mean-spirited people. Did you know that? You changed everyone, as though you'd waved a magic wand. What do you call that but magic.'

'You exaggerate,' Pamela said, trying to evade his searching lips, her hand finding the lock. 'There were plenty of nice people here, in this house and everywhere. It's just people like you that can't see things for what they are.'

'Ah, well, that just ties in with what I said,' he murmured, getting too close this time. She was forced to quickly sidle away from him lest he touch her inappropriately. She moved into the centre of the room and began backing away once more, moving towards the balcony.

'Like I said, Pamela, you're pure magic.'

'What, no more Miss Prissy Pants,' she jibed, trying to control her voice enough to sound sarcastic.

Something, a memory of a conversation she'd overheard, came back to her then . . .

"It makes no sense. There wasn't a single sign of resistance from any of his victims. But how can that be?"

"It was probably just fear- they were terrified not to sate the sick demands he made of them."

"I don't know . . . for some reason I'm not convinced of that. There has to be something else . . . something we've so far overlooked . . ."

'Look, Pamela,' Albert said, trying to appear appealing to her, 'Theo doesn't love you. He never has and he never will. He only wants to marry you so that he won't be disowned-'

'That isn't true!' she cried, as though the words were torn from her. She began to feel her sense of certainty falter. 'Theo does love me. More than you can know.'

He turned a horrible parody of a pitying expression on her that almost made her scream. 'No, Pamela, he doesn't. Remember what he said? "I loved you from the moment mother threatened to disown me." He doesn't love you. He's just afraid of losing his inheritance.'