Epilogue
Going through the wreckage, looking for any clue as to the demon's identity or whereabouts, any kind of lead, Sam's gaze snagged on the splash of colour amongst the ashes of his and Jess's home. It was the charred and burnt remains of a book he was so painfully, heart-breakingly familiar with, a book he'd seen clutched in Jess's loving grip more times than he could count. His eyes burned at the memory of trying every trick he could think of to get her to let him sneak a peek at its contents, but she'd always laughed at him and told him no, tone teasing, tongue caught between her teeth, eyes sparkling. Sam's hands trembled as he crouched down, carefully pushing away the debris of what had once been their bed which obscured the delicate cover.
Gently picking up the precious book, Sam swallowed hard. He could almost hear his girlfriend's voice mock-scolding him for daring to touch her diary, her expression warning, eyebrow arched, yet with a smile stretching across her face. Visions of a pyjama-clad Jess sitting curled up against him on the sofa as she wrote in her diary blurred in front of his eyes. He could hear her pen scratching on the page as she recorded her thoughts and feelings, the diary balanced in her lap, the sound of her soft breathing calming and soothing him after a hard day's studying. He remembers how warm she felt against him, the way she would tuck her feet between the cushions of the sofa to chase away the cold and bury herself further into his comforting embrace.
Sam crumples to the rubble-strewn floor, tears blurring his vision as he sees her tilt her head back and to the side to catch his mouth in a gentle kiss, flashing him a contented smile before turning back to her book, making sure to angle it away from Sam's eyeline, chewing her pen in thought before continuing to write, brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Sam hugged the diary to his chest, as if he could bring Jess back, alive and smiling, by keeping her last words and thoughts protected.
Sam wedged himself against the wall, the paint blackened and peeling around him. She was gone. Jess was gone and this was all he had left of her. Some faded ink on burnt pages. Sam's body was wracked with sobs as he gasped for air through the tears which spilled in despairing rivers down his cheeks. He was rocking unconsciously where he sat, the sadness and guilt too much too bear. Her laughing eyes, her kind smile, her loving touch, he'd never see or feel them again. He clutched the diary harder against his heart as he lost himself to the suffocating grief.
He couldn't read it, not now, not yet; her loss was too painful, too raw. But he would carry her diary with him, always, tucked away carefully in his duffel, keeping her words safe and protected, like he hadn't been able to do for her in life. He would cherish the beloved book which housed her hopes, her dreams and her fears. He would guard those things with all he had, now and forever.
And one day, when her absence was no longer a gaping, burning wound, Sam would open the pages, carefully, reverently, and read Jess's last gift to the world, cherishing, treasuring every precious word. It would hurt him, soul-deep, but Sam would do this for her, keeping Jess alive through the pages, reliving his time with her through her eyes, as if for the first time, brand new and shining, falling for her all over again. His girlfriend. His Jess. Always.