A few years later when Felicity’s friend, Kimberly Forest, was murdered, my wife ventured down that very same path with the same devastating results. I knew it was taking a toll, even now after all this time.

“Aye, but even you haven’t had anything major happen since Kimberly either,” Felicity countered. “Maybe it’s over, Rowan. Maybe we can finally get back to a normal life.”

I closed my eyes then reached up and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I could feel a headache coming on. It was hovering directly between my eyes, but unlike some of the ethereally induced pains I’d faced over the years, I was pretty sure this one could be easily addressed with a fistful of aspirin. At least I hoped it could.

“I wish I could believe that, honey,” I finally muttered. “But, I still hear them.”

“But…”

I didn’t let her finish. “Felicity… Sweetheart… It’s been a nice reprieve, but I think we both know this is probably just the calm before the storm.”

“Aye, maybe so,” she muttered. “But I’m still going to do this.”

“Why?” I pressed.

“Because I want to, then.”

“Okay, but why? Why do you want to?”

“Because I find it interesting,” she stated with an unconvincing shrug, once again trying to sidestep the issue. She turned her back to me and picked up a wide-toothed comb from her dressing table. Gathering a handful of her hair, she began intently working at detangling a section.

I watched her for a moment, silently mulling over my impending choice of words. I had been exactly where she was now, and I understood far better how she felt than anyone else possibly could. What I was about to say to her was something she had said to me more than once, and I didn’t want to come off as if I were feeding her own words back to her-even though that was exactly what I was about to do. After a measured beat I responded. “Because you find it interesting, or because you have something to prove?”