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Authors: K. Lyn

White Diamonds

BOOK: White Diamonds
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White Diamonds

K. Lyn

Love Lit Press

Beau to Beau Publishing

www.beautobeau.com

This book is also available in print.

Copyright 2016: K. Lyn

All Rights Reserved

 

Copyright and Disclaimer:

This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author or publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is intended for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains subject matter which may be considered offensive by some readers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or yet to be born, is purely coincidental and entirely unintentional.

Published in the United States of America.

 

Introduction:

He knew that white diamond was code for the kind of woman forbidden to a man like him, but that only fueled the fire burning deep within him.  She was the one he wanted, and only he could give her what she needed.  Determined to have her, he vows to lock her away from the world if that’s what it takes to keep her.

 

The Black Man:

When Vicki notices a small tear in the wallpaper of her old house, she discovers a hole in the wall behind it.  Tearing down the thin plaster, she finds a room of thick cement.  Searching the internet for information about the houses in her neighborhood, she learns that years ago the area had been part of the Underground Railroad for runaway slaves.  With a plausible explanation for the room that seems awkward in its placement, she runs her hands along the cold cement and the faded scribbled names.  One appears to be Wilson but the last name is unclear.  A voice from behind her booms, “Wilson Jones.”  A stunned Vicki turns to see a tall, dark man with full lips and bulging muscles.

***

When Vicki’s divorce was final, she packed up her things and what was left of her pride and stormed out of her three story mansion.  Living with her sister had not been pleasant, with three kids running around and a husband who came home from work, plopped down in a chair, and drank beer all night.  After two years, Vicki had finally saved enough money to buy a house of her own in the suburbs of a dangerous city.  The two story colonial needed a great deal of work, but Vicki was just happy to be out of the city and away from her sister’s leering husband.  The price of the home at fifty thousand dollars below that of many of the other suburban homes in the area should have raised a red flag in Vicki’s mind, but she assumed the lower price was due to the abundance of repairs needed on the old home.  From the street it look pretty good, somewhat gothic but not without taste.  When she ventured throughout the house, entering room after room, she quickly began to despair.  Every wall needed paint, the carpet was stained with red wine or red something, and the entire house was in dire need of a good cleaning.  Vicki was determined not to let the dreary surroundings get her down for long.  For the first month she cleaned as much as she could until she thought she would never get the smell of chlorine bleach out of her nostrils.

There was one very intriguing room at the far end of the living room on the first floor where the movers had stacked the boxes.  It was an odd little room and Vicki had no idea what to do with it.  It wasn’t a bedroom or a formal dining room.  It was just there, with no purpose that Vicki could determine.  Perhaps it was supposed to be part of the living room or maybe the builder had something in mind but decided not to pursue it.  Whatever the room was meant to be, Vicki decided that it would be a room with its door closed until she needed something from it.

When the house was clean, or at least the most visible areas, and her belongings unpacked, she moved the last box away from the wall in the odd room and noticed a small tear.  At first, she thought the tear was in the horribly ugly wallpaper which she planned to paint over, but when she looked closer she realized that the tear was a hole in the wall itself.  She bent down and looked inside, but she was not at all prepared for what she saw.  There appeared to be another room on the other side of the wall.  Vicki had inspected the entire house and there was no way to get to the room except from here.  She made the hole a little larger, but from what she could see, the room was empty.  A small vent was visible, but otherwise the room held nothing.  Vicki shoved a box against the wall and went on her way.  She was curious and would begin by tearing down the entire wall, but right now she was late for work.

It was dark when Vicki rounded the corner to her house on the lonely looking street.  The streetlight was out and the only lights that shone were the headlights on her car.  She swore that from now on she would leave a light on inside of the house whenever she left.  The stillness of the old house was creepy tonight.  Every floorboard creaked and no matter how many lights she turned on, it wasn’t enough.  Once she had calmed herself a little, she went to the small room that seemed awkward in its placement.  As old as the house was, she guessed the room could have served as a greeting room or a bar, but for the most part she was at a loss.  She had borrowed a hammer from a guy at work and began slamming it at the wall, expecting to find boards, but the wall was rather weak and composed of thin plaster.  It came down easily and quickly and she found herself standing in the middle of a large room with walls of thick cement.  There was no door or window and no way out of the room except through the wall.  Vicki ran her hand along the cold cement, wondering why such a room had been built.  It appeared grossly out of place in the old house.  It could have been a panic room, but the house was too told to have been built with a panic room.  She began to feel cold and she ran out of the room and into the living room.  She wished there was a door to the small room off of the living room, but there wasn’t.  Vicki pushed the tall hutch that her grandmother had given her to block the entrance and went up to her bedroom.

Searching the internet for anything she could find about the houses in her neighborhood, she didn’t get very far before she noticed the lights go on and off in the house next to hers.  The silhouette of a man walked past the window and then the house went dark.  Vicki didn’t know the neighbors and she really didn’t want to get involved in their lives, so she returned to her search.  It was late when she stumbled across something eerie.  There was a small article in an obscure newspaper that mentioned the dark secret of the Gaslight District.  Vicki read further and learned that years ago this area had been part of the Underground Railroad for runaway slaves.  Now she knew why the wall had been built across the brick room.  The vent would have allowed the slaves to breathe, and when the vent was removed, food could be passed through it.

At the time, however, there were many people in this part of the city who were not so welcoming to those whose skin was as dark as coal.  The Gaslight District was home to some of the wealthiest men in the state and they didn’t want their lifestyle tarnished, so they would secretly work with the southern plantation owners to return their slaves to them.  As Vicki dug deeper, she was amazed and shocked at the hidden story.  One of the wealthiest men in the city had lived in the house that she now owned, and he fed the runaways well and purchased nice suits for them, gave them money, and transported them across the border into Canada where they began their lives as free men.  In the hidden room he and his wife taught the slaves how to read and write, and as well as they taught them skills they would need to earn a living.  Vicki tried to zoom in on the last page of the article, but it had been scanned and was difficult to read.  Apparently, the wealthy owner was found murdered far from the city.  No one knew who had killed him, but following his death the slaves feared for their safety, as they would surely be blamed for his untimely demise.  Some of them had escaped by wearing the wealthy man’s clothes, but those who had just arrived had nowhere to go.  When the man’s house was searched after his death, however, there were no other people inside.

Vicki looked at the house next door where she had seen the silhouette of a man.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary now.  The article indicated that the neighborhood had been abandoned, as the remaining men of means feared for their own lives following the death of their neighbor.  That was such a long time ago, but Vicki wondered what had happened to the runaway slaves who had remained inside the camouflaged room.  They had obviously escaped somehow, but how?  She suddenly felt very alone in the old house.  She thought about the many homes in the neighborhood that were for sale or abandoned.  But there was someone living in the house next to hers.  She had seen him walk past an upstairs window.

It was past midnight when Vicki went to bed, and she struggled with sleep.  She woke up long before dawn and returned to the cement room, looking for clues.  She had no idea what she hoped to find.  There had been many families in the house since the days of the Underground Railroad.  If anything had been left behind, it would have been discovered by now.  As Vicki looked closer, she noticed some scribbled words on the cement walls of the hidden room, but they had faded over the years.  They appeared to be names of men and no doubt were the names of the slaves who had sought freedom from their ruthless owners.  Vicki wondered if the slaves had written their own names or if the wealthy landowner had written them, but why would he want to keep track of the men he had led to a life of freedom?  She ran her fingers lightly over one of the names.  Clarence Jones was easy to read, but she knew that wasn’t the man’s birth name.  Slaves were often given the name of their owners as a means of branding them and stripping them of their identity, and Vicki assumed that the man who once lived here had given his name to those he helped escape.  There were only two last names that she could make out clearly – Jones and Wilson.  Vicki supposed that Wilson could have been the maiden name of the wealthy man’s wife.  That would explain the two names.  There were only ten names that she could read at all, and the last name was either Jones or Wilson.  She ran her finger lightly across the name and tried to make it out.  The last name was Jones, but the first name was not clear.  It looked like Wil… Wils…

“Wilson Jones.”

The voice came from behind her and Vicki turned around to see a man leaning against the wall.  He was tall, very dark, with full lips, and bulging muscles from either hard work or hours at the gym.  “How did you get in?”

“Front door was open.  You know, you really should be more careful.  You never know when someone like me might take advantage of someone like you.”

Vicki took a step back.  “What do you mean…someone like you?”

Wilson motioned toward the empty room.  “A runaway slave.”

“You’re not a runaway slave, or any slave.  That was years ago.”

“Ah, yes, well, perhaps I should have said, “The great grandson of a runaway slave.”

“Do you live around here?” Vicki whispered.

“Next door, in the abandoned house.”

“You mean you don’t own it?”  Vicki was shocked.  How could he just live there?

“You obviously didn’t do your homework when shopping for houses.  Didn’t you wonder why the price of this monstrosity was so low?”

“Well, sure, but I just thought it was a good deal because it was empty.”

“Oh, it is…it is a very good deal.  The neighborhood is full of squatters such as myself.”

“Squatters?”

“You know, those of us who lost our homes to foreclosure, but it seems the shady lenders misplaced our mortgages, so until they can prove they hold the mortgage notes, we aren’t going anywhere.”

Vicki took a step closer to him and challenged, “Why was your house in foreclosure?”

Wilson took one step toward her and held her by the arm.  “Because I’m black, or hadn’t you noticed.  Oh, yes, my dear, there’s a big black elephant in the executive world, but no one is allowed to talk about it.  I worked for a bank in the city and when the market tanked, a few of us were let go.  Corporate America wants its white collared shirt back.”

He let her go and Vicki rubbed her arm.  “Are you sure that was the reason?”

“Hmm, well let’s see.  There were two Hispanic men, two black men, and one mixed race woman who didn’t, how did they say it, fit the corporate culture.  But of course, I could be wrong.”

“But I saw you from my window.  You have electricity.”

“So far so good on that front.  It’s cheaper than the mortgage, which I said before, the bank cannot seem to locate.”

Vicki felt uneasy with this man in her house and she wanted to ask him to leave, but she also wanted to know why he had come to her house at such an odd time of the night.  “Why did you come into my house?”

“Curiosity, I suppose.  I watched you move in and I know you live here alone.”  His eyes seemed to become darker as he flashed his white teeth in a wide smile.

“What do you want from me?”

“Ah, the pretty white princess is just like all of the rest, is she?”

“No, and I’m not a princess.  I’m divorced and I have a low paying job.”  Vicki bit her lip.  She should never have admitted that she was divorced.  Now he knew that she was truly alone.

BOOK: White Diamonds
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