Love from the grave is not what it seems
|Whisper to me
Please whisper to me
Always whisper to me
True sorrow is an honest emotion. In grief our feelings show themselves in their purity and their heart break, the tears we shed say more than any words can and those tears surface when your heart is so broken that it needs to scream out ‘I AM INCOMPLETE! I AM IN PAIN!’
True sorrow is an honest emotion.
Tearful nods and meaningless phrases like ‘Anything at all, anything’ feel routine to her now and have done since the death of her beloved, a routine that may continue or may eventually become that of the past, joining the departed in gradually fading memory.
Hugs of condolence, reassuring words from those who loved and cared for the departed and the broken heart that continues to live, not that the words can bring the dead back to life.
The sea of grief is stronger within her than she is able to say, a tidal wave of yearning for the heart that used to beat so close to her own. She wanted the warmth of the hugs, the comfort of the kisses, the tenderness of the love, she wanted all of that back.
The words that were like a whisper of silk to her ears, the laugh that always made her skin tingle with delight and the love, oh the love, how it made her feel like nothing else mattered but to be with the woman who made her feel so incredible, so loved and wanted in the world.
Now that love is gone, the woman who gave that love now just ashes in the wind and an engraved marker placed into the ground to wear away with time.
The cruelty of cancer had taken away everything that made her life worth living and all that remained was the silence in a home that was once filled with laughter and the love they shared.
And that silence was waiting for her to return to it, a silence she dreaded.
Sorrow, it is truly an honest emotion.
It is said that home is where the heart is and that is perhaps true, but what if that heart is a broken one? Is the heart truly home when it does not feel complete, when that home is missing it’s other half?
In the walls are echoes of laughter, tears, arguments, hopes, dreams and fears. Echoes of love making, echoes of contented passion, echoes of whispers and echoes of a future now no longer possible are now part of the house and likely always will be.
“If, no when, equal rights finally become a reality, what do you think about marrying me?”
“Marriage? Oooo, well I would have to think about that. Hmm…Okay, I’ve thought about it, yes, that sounds great. So should we elope or keep waiting until we can make it legal? Or how about we make our bonds by having sex and snuggling afterwards?”
“Tempting offer, especially the sex part and the snuggling afterwards, but I don’t think they consider sex and snuggling to be an affirmation of marriage. We’ll have to wait until we can make it legal, but until then I’m up for sex and snuggling, race you to the bedroom!”
“The bedroom? Why not right here, right now? Not like anyone’s watching and I am getting some very arousing images involving your breasts and mine rubbing together”
“Oh? Well do tell me more about the images”
Whispers of silk, she would say to her beloved, whispers of silk. That was how she marked their times of passion. Now those whispers were in the past and there would be no more whispers from here on out.
Folding up a blouse that was washed for perhaps it’s final time in the house, she holds it close and remembers how her beloved’s scent would make her feel safe no matter the clothes she wore, even when they had arguments they would still have such love for one another and reconcile not long after.
Placing the blouse in a bag with many other clothes that used to belong to the woman she loved, she reaches for another item of clothing, folds it, holds it close then places it into the bag with the other items already there.
Ten bags and counting, more to come, where the clothes would go now that their previous owner was no longer around to wear them she didn’t know, but she was told that it would help for her to give the clothes away instead of being surrounded by memories.
She wanted the memories though, even with the house being filled with memories, she wanted to hold onto as many memories as possible for as long as she lived. That life, however, felt so incomplete.
Fold, hug, put away, a continuous rhythm of silent sorrow.
That night after all of her beloved’s clothing has been placed into bags, she wonders if she should try to contact her parents. They had wanted nothing to do with her when she had come out about being a lesbian, but ever since an argument when her beloved was dying they had come to realise that their daughter knew her own heart and wasn’t rebelling like they had believed.
Acceptance was still slow going but it was improving, it was better than how they were before. And her mum had been at the funeral, not her father, but at least her mum being there was a start.
Her thumb hovers over the option on her phone that says ‘Mum’ and she wanted to press it, but what would she say? Part of her wanted to be the little girl who would run to her mum when she wanted a hug or be cuddled and kept safe, while another part was still weary of how her mum had turned her back on her when she had come clean about her sexuality.
But she wanted her mum to take her in her arms and hold her, to kiss the pain away. Her heart was broken and there was nothing that could mend it.
A creak from above snaps her out of her thoughts, the house was always creaking as was normal for an old house. Her beloved would remark jokingly that the house was probably haunted, maybe it was.
If it is haunted then maybe it has a new resident to join in the haunting.
“Haunt me all you want, my love, at least then you would be with me” Drawing her courage, she taps the option and waits for her mum to answer.
Life moves on in it’s usual way, the days pass and while the grief is still strong the heart slowly becomes to adapt to the loss and the silence, but not completely. Never completely, even with healing there can still be scars.
Two months have passed since the funeral and while the grief is not as strong as it was to begin with, the grief is still there and sometimes it is still as raw as the day that last breath was exhaled.
“I want to say this before I kick the bucket”
“Please do, I don’t want to forget a word you say”
“Then here it is, do not grieve for me, soon I will be one with the Matrix”
“That is so cheesy, I’ll never forget it”
“Be sure you don’t, I’ve never forgotten it since the first time I ever heard it said in some animated movie when I was a kid”
“Can’t you just stay here with me? I’m sure Death can go take someone else, like any of the ignorant haters who hate people like us”
“I want to stay, I so deeply want to stay. I want to grow old with you and do zimmer frame races with you, I want to count wrinkles with you and I want to die in bed of old age with you while holding your hand. I want to stay, my love, I so very much want to stay”
“Then stay with me, please, stay with me”
“I love you”
Words spoken so softly are now engraved memories of heartache and loss, words that will fade when she is long since gone herself. Were her heart able to engrave the words in stone she would do so with a passion.
The hot water from the tap stings her skin as she washes the last of the dishes after having supper, work had been the usual affair of work, condolences from friends and some smirks from ignorant people who looked down on her for her loss as well as for her sexuality, another day all in all.
Supper had been a modest thing, nothing of note, and it had barely tasted of anything to her. Cooking for herself just wasn’t the same as cooking for two, there was no love in the taste, there was only the food made without a purpose beyond the need to eat.
Once the dishes are washed and left to dry on the drier by the sink, she heads through to her study to do something on her computer. She usually did some additional work or some browsing online, sometimes she would try to write or draw but these days her focus wasn’t there.
Deciding to play a game, she looks over her game selection – which for PC wasn’t much compared to consoles, which she hardly plays these days – and decides on a game. As she flicks through the online manual to remember how to play the game, the soft bleep of a message being received makes her look down to the task bar, and the sender is one she never expected to see again – her beloved’s username was flashing.
It had to be some joke, maybe someone else with the same kind of name or someone was playing mind tricks with her. Curiosity, however, can be a powerful motivator.
Moving the cursor to the flashing tab, she taps it and sees an impossible message:
SilkLove: Hello, my love, are you there?
It couldn’t be her, the dead are silent. But the very context of the message was her, this is what she would send from the living room when she was worried that her beloved was working too hard.
Fingers hover over the keys, a mixed feeling of both curiosity and unease with a cold chill down her spine. This has to be some dream, she was sleeping and having a dream about her beloved, yes that was it, she was dreaming – she had to be.
SilkLove: Are you working too hard again? Is that why you are not saying anything?
This had to be some cruel joke, someone was playing mind games with her.
SilkLover: Who are you? How did you get access to this username?
A creak, the house was settling as the sun continued to set. There is no other sound in the house.
SilkLove: Don’t be silly, love, it’s me. Don’t work too hard, okay? I’ll be waiting for you in the living room
Getting up quickly, her knee smacking against the desk, she rushes through to the living room and stops at the doorway.
She was dead, she had died after saying ‘I love you’, she was ash in the wind. This had to be some cruel joke, but who would be so cruel as to do something like that? How had they even gotten access to the account?
A hand hovers over the door knob, she hesitates. The dead don’t come back to life, do they? How could they even do that when their body was cremated as requested in their will?
This had to be some dream, it had to be. She would open the door and there would be no one there, unlike in her dreams where her beloved would be waiting there so patiently and so beautiful as always.
There would be no more whispers of silk, for the whispers now belonged to the dead.
She grips the door knob, still hesitating, she wanted her beloved to be there waiting for her but she wouldn’t be, she would never be there again. Only a room would await her.
Only an empty room.
The door knob turns and the door opens slowly, slowly she enters the room.
“There you are, I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten yourself lost in your work again. I was considering calling for the police to help me find your way back to me”
“Sorry, I’m really sorry, I completely forgot and I was so determined to meet the deadline. I guess it’s too late to do anything”
“It is never too late to do anything. Come and cuddle, or cum and cuddle, either’s fine with me as long as I’m the one making you cum, unless you’re seeing someone else, you aren’t, are you? If you are then no cum and cuddles for you, unless you’re intending a threesome then more the merrier!”
“How about the three C’s? Cookies, cum and cuddles”
“Truly a woman after my own heart, I’ll get the cookies, you get naked or almost naked”
Silence greets her as she enters the room, as it has done since before the funeral. She was hardly ever in this room much when she was home, she was either in her study, the bathroom, the kitchen or in bed. She found it hard to in the living room since this was where she and her beloved would live much of their passion when not in bed.
Simple things like cuddling and curling up together meant so much when you were in love.
As she looks around the silent room, she wishes that she could curl up and cuddle with her beloved again, to hear her gentle breathing and feel her loving caresses.
Her hands run idly over the display unit that is filled with DVDs and various video games, another display unit filled with books is on the other side of the room.
In the middle is a fabric covered sofa with a recliner close by, a sealed up fireplace is set into the far wall and above is a flat screen TV, about 33 inches or so in screen size, and a lovingly made console unit, made by her beloved who had a dab hand for wood crafts, is placed on the lower part of the sealed up fireplace with assorted consoles that they had both bought together over time, a DVD player is set to the side next to a hand carved wood carving of a sleeping kitten.
Everything in it’s place and in it’s place everything they had either made or bought together.
A collection of love, home and hearth, a collection they had both hoped to share together for as long as they were together.
The home and hearth was here, but the love was gone. The games went un-played, the TV and DVDs un-watched, the books unread. She had not sat on the sofa or the recliner in a couple of months, she couldn’t bring herself to do so, not alone.
It was too quiet, so very quiet.
Leaving the room and closing the door behind her, she returns to her study to see a new message waiting for her:
SilkLove: A whisper of silk is my gift to you, a whisper of silk is my love to you. I want to hold you again, I want so much to kiss your lips – both kinds. I miss you, my love, I miss you and I am with you always. I reach for you in your sleep, I reach for you when you are awake, I reach for you and long to hold you in my arms. My love, my angel, my reason for being, come to bed, let me give you my whisper of silk.
Whoever it was who was doing this, they had gone offline just as she had returned to the study. And they had left a picture file for her to accept.
Clicking on the accept button, the picture appears – It was of herself just as she was entering the living room, the picture was so clear and it had been taken the very second she had entered the room from directly in front of her.
The cold chill returns and for the rest of the night she just sits there staring at the picture, no other messages appeared that night.
The early morning sun is slowly rising and she sleeps with her arms stretched out to the other side of the bed, she dreams of her beloved and in her dreams she is curled up happily with the woman she loves, all is right with the world.
She is dreaming of a whisper of silk, she is truly happy and she does not want the whisper to end.
A bleeping sound can be heard as if in the far distance and she mummers, lost in her dream of bliss. The bleeping continues with no care for her contentment, it wants to be heard.
“Just another minute or two”
“Our lives are calling us back, we’ll have to resume with the sleeping together later”
“Don’t want to wait until later, want to do it now”
“Think of it as something to look forward to, now up we get”
A hand reaches out and grabs the mobile phone that is ringing away on a low volume on her desk, dragging it over to where she has fallen asleep at the desk she taps the answer button, then swears and jumps up from her desk with a start, she was late for work.
Locking the front door securely and sagging against the door in fatigue, she sits there for some time as she tries to muster the strength to get up from the floor. Work had been the same as always and her lack of sleep had not helped matters, she was sore, tired and wanted nothing more but to have a hot bath, curl up in bed and sleep for a day or two.
Pulling her coat off and throwing it at the coat hanger, and missing, her handbag joining it, she pulls herself up off the floor and tiredly makes her way into her study to check for an e-mail that says she’s been fired for being so tired and almost causing accidents, her boss had understood and had insisted that she just go home and rest, but she had wanted to work.
Once the computer is loaded and she has found that there is no e-mail saying that she is fired, she sags in the chair and thinks about the picture she had been sent last night. There had been no one in the room, no camera in sight, so who had taken the picture and how?
Was she going crazy?
Rubbing her eyes and wondering what to make for supper or if to just call for a take out, she hears the soft sound of the messenger and looks at the screen to see the impossible again.
Tapping the messenger open, she sees a new message:
SilkLove: Hello, my love, I made supper for you. I thought you would be hungry when you got back from work, you didn’t come to bed. That chair is not very good for your back when you sleep in it, you should have come to bed. I’ll have to drag you to bed if you pass out at your desk again.
She rubs her eyes again, reading the message after each rub. Someone was clearly toying with her, but who and why? Who would be so cruel as to use her dead beloved’s messenger account like this?
The words though, the clear love in them, the context, those were very much her beloved. Only her beloved knew how she tended to fall asleep at her desk and would have nasty back pains from time to time, only her beloved would insist that she come to bed instead of sleeping at her desk.
Feeling a little more awake now, she picks herself up from her desk chair and heads through to the kitchen to again see the impossible – this time a fully laid out meal, her favourite at that.
She approaches the table slowly and notices that the food is still warm, it must have just been served minutes ago. She sees a folded note just above the plate, something her beloved would do sometimes.
Picking it up cautiously, she unfolds it to see the words:
Bon Appetite, my love, I made it to your exact liking. I love you
The handwriting was her beloved’s right down to the little swirl she would add to the ‘u’ at the end. She could even pick up a hint of her beloved’s favourite perfume coming from the note.
But this was all wrong, her beloved was dead, she could no more return to life than the ignorant homophobes at work could get over themselves. Yet this meal had been created and was waiting to be eaten, the note had been written by hand, if it wasn’t her beloved then who would be sick enough to do this kind of thing and why?
Placing the note back on the table, she goes over to the kitchen phone and is just about to call the police when she stops herself. What could she tell them without any of it coming across as something from a potential crazy woman who was seeing ghosts on her computer screen and the ghost’s handiwork on the kitchen table?
What was she going to tell them that didn’t even sound crazy to herself? They would never believe her, they could even arrest her for wasting police time. She looks back over to the food on the table, places the receiver back in it’s cradle and returns to the waiting food.
Part of her wanted to believe that this was truly from her deceased beloved, she wanted so much to believe that the woman she loved would enter the kitchen right now, come over to her, hug her, kiss her and sit down with her at the table.
She yearned for that to be true, but she knew that it wasn’t. There would be no hugs, no kisses, no after supper sex and cuddles, there would only be the silence of the house and an empty bed waiting for her.
Pushing her hope down, she grabs a bin bag from a kitchen drawer and scrapes the food into it, throwing the filled bag into the bin outside minutes later.
She was very hungry though, but she was too tired to cook. So taking some fruit, a yogurt – and a teaspoon from the cutlery drawer – a bar of chocolate for dipping into the yogurt and a bag of crisps, as well as pouring herself a glass of fruit juice, she returns to her study to eat since she didn’t feel comfortable in the kitchen.
Waiting for her when she returns to the study is another message:
SilkLove: I went into all that trouble to make you that meal and you threw it out, and now you’re going to eat what is little more than a snack while sitting at the computer! If I didn’t love you so much I would be really pissed at you for wasting all of that lovingly made food.
Slowly she places her makeshift meal down on the desk and replies:
SilkLover: WHO ARE YOU?! Stop using her user name like this, whoever you are, this is not funny, it’s sick! And how did you know what I just did? You are not her, she’s dead!
SilkLove: Oh, but my love, of course I’m dead, but I am always with you, watching you, reaching to you, loving you. Why right now I am right behind you.
Swinging round in the chair as fast as she can, making herself dizzy as a result, she turns to see nothing behind her but her bookcase filled with text books and little models.
The cold chill returns down her spine, she reaches out as if hoping in vain that her beloved is really there, then fatigue overwhelms her and everything becomes dark as she passes out. With a heavy thud she falls from the chair and lands almost face first onto the floor.
A whisper of silk, a whisper so gentle, a whisper of love, a whisper, a whisper, forever the whisper.
Arms reach out to find soft, firm purchase, fingers lightly play in wonderfully soft hair. Contentment fills her grieving heart and passion becomes her.
“I love you”
A quiet mummer escapes her lips, her head feels like it’s been through the wars and her stomach is growling heavily for much needed food. Her eyes open to a dark room and for a brief second she is certain she can see a shape standing over her, but when she tries to see it better there is nothing there.
Sitting up slowly she finds that she is in bed and dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, her usual choice for nightwear. A hand goes to her head as she tries to wake herself up more, she doesn’t remember going to bed, the last thing she remembers is passing out in her study.
Reaching out for the bedside lamp, she fumbles for the switch and finds it, bringing light into a little part of the dark bedroom. Covering her eyes at the sudden light, she notices what looks to be a glass of water and a painkiller next to it, and another note. Picking the note up while one hand covers her eyes until she can adapt to the light, she unfolds it to see her beloved’s handwriting:
For your head, you took a nasty fall when you passed out. I love you
Her eyes now adapted to the light, she takes the painkiller and gulps it down, the cool water satisfying her hungry stomach for the time being.
A pressure on her bladder indicated that she needed to go to the bathroom, so dragging herself out of bed she pads through to the bathroom, tends to her bladder’s need and once done, after washing her hands, heads through to the kitchen to see about eating something.
She finds that her snack from earlier is waiting for her on the kitchen table and yet another note that once unfolded is found to say:
Go ahead and eat it then, but you will need something more substantial later. I love you
Her stomach growls again, the water having not been enough to sate it, and she accepts, grudgingly, that she would need to eat something. Picking up a piece of fruit and eating slowly, she looks up at the clock in the kitchen, it was just turning six in the morning, she didn’t have work today.
She could maybe go out and see any friends or she could visit her parents, who in the past couple of months have finally begun to accept her. She didn’t feel like being in the house, not with the unusual messages and notes from someone who was dead.
Once she’s finished eating, she heads back through to her bedroom to find clothes laid out for her, and another note:
Wear this, it looks good on you. I love you
Backing slowly out of the bedroom as the cold chill returns, she makes for the front door and tries to unlock it, only to find that she can’t find her keys where she had left them in her handbag.
The cold chill down her spine increases as she backs away from the front door, she was trapped unless she broke a window, but what would she do then? Clamber out of a window and fall fifteen feet to her death onto the train tracks below?
She was truly trapped.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! YOU DIED, LOVE, YOU DIED AND I COULDN’T HELP YOU! YOU WOULD NEVER DO THIS TO ME, NEVER! I MOURN FOR YOU EVERY DAY, I WANT YOU BACK BUT YOU WILL NEVER COME BACK BECAUSE YOU DIED AFTER TELLING ME THAT YOU LOVED ME, YOU ACCEPTED YOUR DEATH EVEN THOUGH YOU WANTED TO STAY! SO WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?”
No reply, at least not one she wanted. Her reply instead is a sound from the living room, not a loud sound but enough to grab her attention.
Her gut instinct screams at her to get out of the house regardless of any risks and potential death, but a part of her tells her to go into the living room. Again the cold chill runs down her spine as she grips the door knob and turns it.
“I give you my promise, from my soul to yours, I will never do anything to harm you. Even when we have an argument and I get angry, I promise that I will not hurt you”
“And I promise the same to you, I will not harm you. Ever”
The door opens slowly and the TV snaps on to show the news just as a report is coming in:
“Police have been trying to contact any women in the local area who are themselves in a time of bereavement for a partner, the police are trying to contact these woman due to a series of murders involving women who have recently lost a partner to untimely death. They are trying to alert all women who have suffered a recent loss in the past several months to contact the police about any unusual messages, notes and gifts seemingly from a deceased partner over the course of several days. The number to call is…”
The TV snaps off and a loud creak can be heard behind her.
“Oh shit” She whispers as she feels the cool blade of a knife at her throat.
“You should have let me love you” A cold voice whispers. “I would have given you everything”
Another bereavement meant another chance. All she had to do was gather as much personal information as possible, learn her way around the house, know where to duck in and out of sight, look for anywhere where she can come and go quickly and plant cameras carefully.
Another bereavement after all meant another chance, and this one was very pleasing to the eye.
Every camera is in place and all of the personal information as well as the password for the deceased’s messenger account was ready to be used, she would begin tomorrow.
Such a beautiful woman, so beautiful and in so much grief from her loss, she should be easy enough although she is clearly quite bright, she would not get to play with this one for long before she was found out.
A day or two should be enough anyway, enough time to satisfy herself.
She did not appreciate the trouble she had gone to in making that meal without being seen by anyone, and now she was going to eat at her computer instead of enjoying such a lovingly made meal.
Maybe this was not going to work, she was more intelligent than she had led herself to believe.
All she had to do was eat that meal, that was all she had to do. Now she would have to come up with a quick plan.
She is so beautiful as she sleeps, would a kiss be noticed or a caress? What was it that she would call the sex she had with her decreased beloved? Ah yes, a whisper of silk.
Maybe she would give a whisper of silk.
And then, then she would be loved.
How dare she try to leave! How dare she! Now she has ruined everything! EVERYTHING!
All that work, all that planning, for nothing! It would be a shame to see such beauty die, but it was for the best. So TV on, let her see the news she should have probably seen by now and then send her to her beloved.
She will just have to find another grieving woman to force into loving her.
She didn’t dare move for fear of her throat being sliced open, she wanted to move but the fear of bleeding to death on the floor made her body unresponsive.
“It was all for you, my love, all for you. I would have given you love to fill the void in your heart and all you had to do was accept it” The voice behind her whispers harshly, the voice was female by the sounds of it, hard to determine the age.
“Why?” She asks, doing her best to keep her voice level.
“Love lost is hard on those who lose it, I want love so I give what love I can in the hopes that it will be returned in kind. No one has ever given me much love even though I have so much love to give” She felt neither pity nor compassion for whoever this person was, using her dead beloved in the way she has was the wrong thing to do.
“You should try dating then, instead of this” She is shoved forward, the knife whipped away before the shove, and she hits the back of the sofa, almost falling forward.
She tries to turn to face the woman but her head is forced down towards the sofa.
“This is where you and her would have sex, you would cuddle and enjoy one another’s company, you would play games and watch movies, you would read together. Here, in this room, you both lived together more than anywhere else in the house. Maybe part of her is still in this room and she is waiting for you to join her, so I will send you to her quickly. One good slice across your throat and you will be with your beloved” She feels the knife at her throat again, the cold, sharp metal edge not digging in just yet, but held firmly enough to make her resist fighting back.
Maybe she should just let it happen, maybe she should let her life end here and now, her blood spilling onto the sofa where passion had been so commonly done, where love had been celebrated with such delight.
“When I’m gone, I want you to live despite the pain of my loss, I want you to keep living and to one day love again. My life may have been taken from me far too soon but yours doesn’t have to so soon, so keep living, keep alive and one day love again when you are ready to love. Live, my love, live”
The pressure from the knife begins to increase, soon her blood would flow…But not today. Slamming an elbow into the woman behind her, the knife drops from her throat briefly and she quickly kicks out at the woman’s legs, getting a pained scream in response.
Before the woman can recover, she kicks out at the arm holding the knife and kicks it outwards into a display unit, the impact forcing the woman to drop the knife onto the floor.
“No, not yet, I still have love to give and receive” She remarks while the woman tries to recover. Reacting as quickly as she can, she kicks out again and sends the woman flying out of the living room and into the hallway, she knew she wouldn’t have long before the woman can fight back so she would have to move fast.
“You violated my home” Another kick, sending her against the wall under the coat hangers.
“You used my dead beloved against me” Slamming the woman’s head off the wall now, one slam, two, three.
“And you think it’s all out of love, you are one really fucked up bitch” Another slam and the woman slumps against the wall, unconscious.
“You want love, then love yourself first before demanding love from others”
Finding her mobile phone after tying the woman up securely, she calls the police and waits for them to arrive. Managing to find her keys as well in a pocket on the woman’s clothing, she unlocks the door just as the police arrive.
After explaining everything and giving a full statement, the woman is taken away and the house is quiet once again.
Calling her mum and telling her everything, she asks to stay with her parents for a little while until the house has been fully checked out for anything the woman had placed in it, as well as where she had hidden.
Her parents, after hearing the news, are all too happy to have her home again after so long.
Closing and locking the door as she heads out, she wonders what her beloved would have thought of her sexy angel defending herself as she had, would she be proud or worried?
She made a note to visit her beloved’s grave later to tell her everything. It was the least she could do now.
A month passes since the attack in her house and after the police have found every camera as well as a lot of hidden areas in the house, the house was over a century old but many of it’s hidden areas as well as it’s large attic had been sealed off by previous occupants years ago, she returns to her home and the silence.
The place had been cleaned before she had returned and two officers had been waiting for her to let her know what they had found, they had showed her all of the hidden areas they had found, showed her where all of the hidden cameras had been and had explained about the woman who had violated her home.
The woman was a victim of multiple abuses from family and friends in her past, she had tried so hard to love them but they had never wanted her love, only her obedience.
This abuse would continue into her adulthood, from both males and females alike, and in despair of wanting to be loved she would try to make men and woman love her, but they were unable to love her and would always leave her.
In desperation she turned to women who had suffered a painful loss, but they also shunned her.
Driven mad by her past she began to stalk people, women in particular, and she would learn everything about them by sneaking into their homes, reading journals, placing cameras and finding out all of the personal information she could.
Then when she was ready she would make it seem like their deceased loved ones were contacting them from the grave, she would try to drag this out for as long as possible but she was almost always found out so she would murder the person she was stalking and move onto another person.
Upon her arrest now, her future was one of prison and a lot of therapy. Her chances of parole were slim considering the brutality of her crimes.
She had only wanted love, but had looked for it in the wrong possible way.
She could no longer live here after what had happened, she no longer felt safe in the home that she and her beloved had made together. The tranquility had been tainted, the memories of love and hope had been violated by a crazed woman desperate to be loved.
Living here, the memories of that woman’s violation on the house were simply too much to bear, so now as she gave the keys of the house to it’s new owners and headed for her car to head to her new home, she considers stopping by her beloved’s grave and letting her know that she couldn’t keep the house any longer, not after recent events.
She wondered if her beloved would understand and support her actions, she hoped she did.
Starting the car once getting in, she puts some music on and a song that she and her beloved would sing to comes on. She smiles as the happy memories of those times fill her with hope, then she pulls away from the curb and heads to the graveyard as she sings.
Maybe one day she would sing a song with someone else, when she was ready to love again.
Whisper to me with your voice so beautiful, whisper to me with your love like silk to my soul. Whisper of silk, my love, whisper to me.