Taking one final look around, Edward’s gaze once again lingered on the antique piano. His eyes misted as memories of Marisol came rushing back. God, how he missed his wife. The house hadn’t been the same without her these past few months. Reaching out, he once again touched the dent on the side of the Mathushek, left there from when he’d smashed her head into it four months ago. At least he’d managed to get all the blood out of the carved roses before calling 9-1-1, despite his arthritic hands. One must always be careful cleaning up after a kill.
