On my way home on the same evening that Barbara had cut my hair, I'd stopped at a little charity shop near my apartment and purchased a new blouse. T...e woman who ran it was a sweet old lady with failing eyesight but I was still a little nervous going in. Luckily there were no other customers and the old lady appeared quite unconcerned as I sorted through the rail of dresses, skirts and tops. The one I selected was white silk with a motif of tiny pink roses and a ruffle of lace down the front. He was familiar, but he was not Ryan McGuire. There was no blonde hair. No bloody Athamé held in his hand. She turned him to look at the face and tears flooded her eyes. Wesley! J. Wesley Allen. Her beloved. Her husband. What had she done?She raised him and cradled him in her arms, whispering his name over and over, unable to believe that she had injured him. Wesley would not awaken. She raised her head to the heavens in accusation and wept. The sound of her voice died in the empty distance. More

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