The haunting memory of your face, immortal you were. The guilt building up in William's body. You divorced him, and out of anger, he killed you.

Now he sat alone, on the couch, smoking a cigar and staring at a picture of you. Your smile, your eyes--oh, it was haunting. Why'd he do it? It was rage, anger, sadness.

All he could do was sigh. What would he tell his three kids? He'd have to soon flee, someone would get suspicious.

He'll call your name soon--but you won't respond.