My eyes widened as I looked at them both. My heart danced uncomfortably in my chest. No, it couldn't be; I'd know her anywhere.

I knew the sight of her, the scent of her. I could feel her three towns over, just as long as she breathed. To say she stood there, behind me, and I didn't know—I couldn't believe it.

Has my memory truly gone that much?

My thoughts were silenced by the sound of quiet footsteps. First the heel, then the toe. I swallowed my nervousness as I turned half my body to look down the aisle that separated the chairs. The woman from the shadows now stood in the light—my woman. Beautiful as ever, dressed in white, just like that night under the moon. Her hair fell over one shoulder in dark waves. Her brown eyes peered at me as her hands fumbled with the front of her shirt. She muttered, just under her breath, but I heard not a word of it.

All I heard was the sound of blood rushing through my veins, and the echo of my thoughts:

Charlotte.

If hearts could explode, shatter, but before crumbling to dust, rebuild themselves with a flurry of beats, mine had done just that. I rushed down that aisle, fast enough to bring gasps from the cleaning crew; fast enough to draw a frightened breath from her lips.

I had imagined this moment a thousand times, thought of my apologies or jokes to loosen the mood. I could kiss her and take her right where she stood, no matter who watched. There were countless possibilities, scenarios, and sentences stored in my mind for this very moment.

Except, the second I stood in front of her, none of them happened.

I wasn't sure what to do. I fumbled, touched her face, her lips, the skin behind her ears. When her eyes searched mine as frantically as mine searched hers, my hands traveled down to her shoulders and along her arms, until I found her hands and squeezed them, drawing another gasp from those red lips.

I trembled at the thought of kissing her.

"Lamont," she finally said as her nails dug into my palms, "you're here."

"I am," I breathed, pressing my forehead down on hers. Finally, I managed to say words. "I'm really here."

She inched forward, as did I. The tips of our shoes touched. "You're real?"

I wanted to laugh; that should have been my question. Any time I'd seen her before had been in a dream. To assure her I was, I nodded. When she didn't speak, I let go of her hands and pulled her waist against mine with a starving need. We breathed against each other's lips. "Solid as ever, blood and bone, and—"

"Mine," she whispered against my bottom lip, igniting a fire in my soul.

"Yes, yours." I balled the back of her shirt into my fist, erasing any inch of space between us. "As you're mine."

"I've missed you." Her hands fumbled with the front of my shirt. I felt the warmth of her fingertips against my skin. My body shuddered in response. I didn't wait for her to say another word.

Fifteen years of need exploded from me in waves as I bent down and kissed her. Heat burned on the surface of her skin, inviting me to touch her as I please. She whimpered against my lips; a sound so heavenly, my heart welcomed its serenade.

Her hands were well inside my shirt as my fingers found the line of her pants. With her weight against me, I sat on the armrest of one of the many chairs and pulled her to stand in between my legs. She smelled of lavender and tasted like vanilla, just as before.

"Lamont."

"Yes, love?" My hand slid up her back.

"You finally came."

I stared at her with a drunken gaze. Her kisses were stronger than any rum. "I've come to get you out of here."

She didn't smile or blink. Her fingers left indents on the skin of my back. "I can't just leave."

"You will." I caressed her cheek with my palm. "Not today, maybe tomorrow. Or, the day after. But you, Rosie, and I; we're leaving. Together."

Her dark eyes shimmered a lovely golden brown, and her delicate hand found mine in a soft grip. Our fingers linked, our lips touched, and her chest pressed into mine as she took in the deepest breath.

My mind was reeling. This, her, I had waited for so long.

"You are not going anywhere," a woman spoke. It was more of an echo, like the voice didn't belong. I ignored it.

Charlotte's eyes shifted behind me, and her lips lifted into a small smile. "Victor."

"Charlie," he responded behind me.

I meant to look at him, lift my eyes and shift my head, but I stopped before I could. Behind Charlotte stood an image of a ghost—a woman, one dressed in red with long, flowing hair. She pointed at me, eyeing me, but her face was shrouded in shadows. Her lips moved, and I heard that quiet voice once more, "You are not going anywhere."

My heart raced, and it wasn't for Charlotte's touch. The woman's face appeared closer, entirely black, like she shouldn't exist. Mentally I told myself that was it; she wasn't real.

"I told you he'd come," Charlotte said to Victor as she touched my cheek.

I looked at her, hoping her face would keep me within reality, but the mist of the woman circled around us. I cupped Charlotte's face and kissed her, deeply. When I pulled back, I couldn't see the pews behind her.

Merde.

"He's a man of his word." Victor touched my shoulder. His hands should have been warm, but instead, they sent a cold shiver down my wounded arm.

"Of course, he is." Her finger lightly traced the line of my chin. "He's more than a murdering fool. He has a heart and knows what's right."

"Murdering fool," the woman repeated. Her hands moved around Charlotte's shoulders, blowing smoke between us. I shifted uncomfortably but held her tight.

"Nate," I muttered as I searched Charlotte's face. She looked into my eyes, confused.

"What is it, Lamont?" she asked. "You're sweating."

"Lamont." Nathan's voice sounded in my ears.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "You haven't got any meds on you, by chance?"

"Shit." I heard him fumble with his pockets. "No."

"Meds?" Victor stood beside me, examining my face. "What's wrong?"

"Lamont?" Charlotte pressed so close to me I prayed her warmth would keep me from slipping, but the world around us spun and changed in color. The floor was no longer marble, but jagged rock covered with dark moss. The tip of my shoe slid into something wet.

Water.

Dread settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Lamont? Look at me, now."

"I am," I whispered, dropping my hands down to her hips, afraid to let go.

More shadows accompanied the woman. In seconds, we were surrounded by the figures of men. Their breaths were ragged, angry, as though they belonged to the spirits of men I wronged in the past.

"Don't let me go," I whispered.

"Is it the nightmares?" She remembered, and my heart reached out to her.

I felt the sweat sprout on my face as a fear gripped my chest. I didn't know who the shadows were, but my memories did. This was one I'd never seen.

"He's fading," Nathan said as he grabbed my chin and looked in my eyes.

I could barely see him. I smiled to mask my fear. "This isn't a good one," I told him, honestly, "none of it feels right."

"Does it ever?" He shifted away and vanished into a shadow that took the place of where he stood.

Its voice crashed against my ears, and I winced. "We can't let you leave," the shadow said.

Charlotte sat me down within the pews and caressed my face. She wiped at the sweat, her eyes searching mine. I didn't look at he; —I looked at the shadow of the woman in red. Her dark lips twisted back into a snarl as she screamed like a banshee. "You will not ruin me! All I've done for you!"

"He needs water." Charlotte stood, but I grabbed her wrist. I didn't need water—I stood in enough of it. Nathan said something, but I couldn't hear him; the words were drowned out by the sound of crashing waves.

I smelled smoke.

"You need water."

No. I need you.

"Don't go," I hissed as I pulled her down with me. "Don't."

Victor and Nathan stepped back as Charlotte held me like she always had. Her fingers combed through my hair and her gentle kisses met the top of my head. Her heartbeat lulled the ache before I drowned, and the sound of water faded. Years without her, downing meds, made me forget how natural her love was. How it affected me, cured me, in so many ways.

"I won't leave," she whispered into my hair. "I won't."

Tears rimmed my eyes as the fear shriveled away. "Forgive me," I whispered against her chest.

"I did, long ago."

The memory of pain was replaced with a sense of relief. I gripped her tight, as two hands touched my shoulders. Fingers dug into my skin, and Charlotte's chest rose with a deep breath. I didn't want to open my eyes, but the sound of echoing footsteps made me. A quiet clap pulled me out from my peace.

It was Victor's hands that held me, to keep me seated and still. Charlotte drew away from me as though she committed a crime. And I looked up to see the ghost, solid and real, wearing the same shade of red.

"Has his Lord blessed me today?" The sound of her voice made the hair on my arms stand straight.

Her eyes were dark, like night, and her lips, painted with the deepest red, matched their ominous glow. She touched her mouth, laughed, and approached me through the pews.

I met Nathan's gaze, then Charlotte's, before I looked up at Victor who remained at my shoulders. "I think he has," he muttered, looking down at me. "Hasn't he, John?"

John—this was it, wasn't it? I looked at her, and it dawned on me that her ghost was the memory of my attempted murder. How could she smile at me so easily?

She extended her hand to me, but I didn't take it. I simply stood and adjusted the bottom of my sweater. Rather than look at her, I looked at Charlotte, and nodded when the witch couldn't see.

"Won't you tell me hello? It's been so long!"

My fingers itched to grab her throat. "It has, Abigail."