Allister felt as though his chest was going to cave in with each step he took through the desolate city. It was an effort to keep one foot moving in front of the other when all he wanted to do was run through the empty streets and lock himself in his mansion. He could attempt to drown himself in wine, pretend everything would be okay when he woke up the next morning, but the ache in his chest told him that would not be the case. The next day would be just like the last. And the one after that. And again and again, until he could figure out the reason behind all of it.

Until he could find the woman in red.

He couldn't open the door to his mansion fast enough and didn't even care to close it behind him as he ran towards his personal study. As when he left, there wasn't a soul within his home—a small part of him had hoped someone would have shown up in his absence, and he couldn't help but be disappointed when no one else was there.

In the study, he focused on the section of the shelf where the woman had lingered the night before. The books had been there ever since Allister was a boy—this was his father's study, after all. He took it over as his own, just like the rest of the house, when his family perished. He was never one for reading, neither before nor after their deaths. Therefore, it was easy to discern which book she had picked up because the dust on and around it had been disturbed by her touch.

Pulling the leather-bound book from its home, he sat at his desk and began flipping through the yellowed pages. What he expected to be a history book of some kind turned out instead be an anthology of his own family's lineage. Dating back to when they had arrived in New Orleans, the book had been updated right through his birth. A piece of his heart ached, for Allister realized had he never come across the book, he never would have known it existed. Neither of his parents ever mentioned it, and if they had still been alive, he was uncertain if they would have.

It appeared to be an heirloom, maintained by the women of the family line. Wedding pictures, baby pictures, celebrations and parties all encapsulated through the years with smiling, aging photographs. Of course, his family never would have told him about it—it was supposed to have passed on to his sister.

If she had survived.

Allister carefully turned the pages, making sure he didn't damage any of the photographs, when he stopped on an entry he was certain should not have been there.

It was a picture of his family's tomb within St. Louis Cemetery on the day his mother was buried. His sister and father had already entered their everlasting rest, and the laying of his mother was more than Allister could bear. He almost didn't attend, but at the behest of the mansion's servants, he was forced to go. He saw himself in the picture, standing there between the cook and the butler, looking as if he had already been to Hell and back.

It was a day he'd never forget, and a picture he'd never thought he'd see again. Especially because there was no way it could have been taken, given to him, and inserted into the album he didn't know existed.

He leaned over it, peering closer, trying to decipher how it was possible... when he saw it.

He saw her.

She was wearing the same dress, had her hair done in the same manner, and she was smiling.

Not at the scene within the cemetery or at someone pictured in the crowd.

She was looking out, as if seeking out the mysterious photographer, looking through him and directly at Allister.

He slammed the book shut.

None of it made sense—not the desolation, not the desertion, not the damn book in front of him.

But now he knew what he had to do, and where he had to go.

Placing the book back on its shelf, Allister retreated to his room to change. Putting on more sensible clothes, shoes, and a heavier jacket, he included the addition of a hunting knife his father had given him as a birthday present years ago. Even with the population of New Orleans missing, he still felt the need to protect himself.

After all, it would be foolish to enter a cemetery at night and arrive unarmed.