Page 38 of You Wound Me
“Nadia?”
Hearing her name being called, I turn in sync with her, protective even now when a stranger approaches. He’s a well put together man—slacks, button up, smooth combed hair. Not her taste, by far.
I wonder who the fuck this cat is.
“Detective. Wasn’t aware IA dabbled in accidental fires.”
“Mm, that’s why I am here. The fire marshal said this may be arson according to the homeowner.”
I can’t help being nosey and listening to their conversation, the weight of the afterlife pulling at me with its chains and ropes—almost time to return to the fray. I’ve visited briefly a time or two in the past few years and will make it a point to come around again, but the pressure grows the longer I’m here.
Wishing I could interrupt her conversation and tell her goodbye, promise I’ll come back, I hope deep in her heart she feels me, and knows how proud of her I am.
Proud is an understatement.She deserves this.Freedom.
Mi cosita diabolica.
