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spoken in a last goodbye as he lost Faith’s body to the flames, were like a slap in the face now. Every day he told himself he was a day closer to being with her again. And to think of risking losing her forever because of some foolish, sick lust!
    Reaching toward the pile of filthy clothes beside him, he lifted his scepter and stared into the glass ball at the top of it. A diamond sparkled inside the glass cocoon; the smooth wood handle of his staff was thick and heavy in his hand, as long as his forearm.
    If only he’d found that diamond sooner, he’d have paid that lowly gangster, bought Faith’s problems away from her, and she would have never—ever—done this to herself. To both of them.
    Yes, it was Gabriel’s fault. He should’ve found this stone long before. He should’ve stopped the wedding. Should’ve killed the man who had stepped between them. Then, at least Faith would be alive, even if he’d be rotting in a prison somewhere.
    Prison was far better than the sheer agony of this infernal wait. Better than the torment of having to be in his own company forever. Better than this wretched solitude.
    “Do you at least remember me, Faith?” he asked hoarsely. “Do you remember me at all?”
    * * *
    No moment during the following weeks passed without Gabriel tormenting Stella’s mind. No thought at all without him being there. Stella swore she could hear him, hear him whispering inside her head, his deep baritone voice so easily distinguishable.
    Come to me. Come to me now .
    Was she making up these words? Did a fanciful part of her long to think these words real and true and meant for her?
    Stella even wondered if this was how people became crazy: imagining things, imagining being haunted by dead people, imagining being put under a spell. Stella thought that at this rate, she’d go mad come winter, and be sent to the asylum like some of the older folks. The doctors there were reported to summon preachers to treat their clients, determined to rid their possessed souls of the dark spirits.
    She wondered if Faith Harrison’s spirit was dark. Was it inside her, and accountable for her tortures?
    Stella took great care not to let the townsfolk see her turmoil. They’d seen enough during other occasions, and she was loath to be subjected to their merciless tongues. All they saw was Stella McKenna, always keeping to herself. Hardly anyone noticed when she started to shake, or when her eyes looked red and bloated. No one came close enough to feel the heat emanating from her body; and they gratefully didn’t notice the fevers this time. Maybe they were used to them. Or maybe they were used to ignoring her altogether. Stella went about her day as usual, but there was nothing ordinary in her thoughts, in the way her sex would throb, contract and loosen, eager for a touch. For his touch.
    Sometimes she couldn’t take it, it felt so acute. When the desire came too harsh, she would stumble to an alcove or a narrow alley and hide under the shadows so she could touch herself. She’d let her sensitized breasts spill out of her dress, let the air brush her nipples, let her fingers slip inside her underwear and let herself remember the memories. Those memories she had stolen from someone else, and which she sometimes wished were her own.
    Sometimes… most times…her body welcomed this torment. The haunting.
    Unlike the town, where the hate kept growing, along with the stories.
    Mr. Fenton’s dog was apparently poisoned one evening. His neighbor had threatened to do so if he didn’t get it to cease its infernal barking, but no one remembered that. They were all in accord, the Villain was responsible. The weather had been gloomy, with rain and thunder marring the skies constantly throughout the week. That was the Villain’s fault as well. Mrs. Trinity’s grandchild had been stillborn, and her daughter’s health was in peril from so much loss of blood. That, too, seemed to be the Villain’s fault.
    Stella