Chapter 2The Grave Robber Was My Widower

The elder stroked his thin beard, his eyes clouded with a deep sadness. “Beth,” he said with a heavy sigh, “has been dead for five years.”

A mocking smile twisted Wayne’s lips. His expression grew colder, harder. “Do you take me for a child, old man? A woman like her? She’d never have the guts to die.”

His hawk-like gaze swept over the villagers who had gathered. He barked an order at his bodyguards. “Find her. I don’t care if you have to tear this entire village apart.”

I floated in the air, a silent phantom, as his men went from door to door, pounding on them violently. They shoved aside anyone who answered, storming into their homes, searching for me.

The terrified villagers spilled out into the dirt road. The entire village was there, but I was nowhere to be seen. Wayne’s face grew uglier with every passing minute. He stalked over to the elder, his patience gone.

He grabbed the old man by the collar. “Tell me. Where have you hidden her? You tell me now, and I might be merciful. Otherwise…”

The elder just repeated what he’d said.

Wayne’s temper snapped. With a sharp twist, he broke the old man’s wrist.

The elder cried out in pain.

A small figure darted from the crowd. A little girl in a clean, simple dress, her hair in two neat braids. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she ran to the elder’s side. “Grandpa, are you okay?” she cried.

Wayne froze. He looked the little girl up and down, a strange sense of familiarity prickling at him.

Jenifer, my brave little Jenifer, launched herself at Wayne, biting his leg with all her might.

He kicked her away on instinct. She tumbled to the ground but scrambled back up, her eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re a bad man! Grandpa told you, my mommy is dead! Why are you hurting him?”

Wayne’s face changed. A dark, terrifying look entered his eyes as he stared at Jenifer.

I panicked, instinctively drifting in front of my daughter to shield her, but I was just a ghost.

He walked right through me. He snatched Jenifer up by her shirt, his eyes scrutinizing her face.

Jenifer kicked and struggled, suspended in the air. Wayne stared at her face, so much like my own, and his voice was a low snarl. “You’re that bastard child.”

His hand moved from her shirt to her throat. “Get Beth out here now,” he roared, “or I’ll snap this little bastard’s neck!”

I screamed as I watched my daughter struggle for breath. “Wayne, I’m here! I’m right here! Let her go! Let Jenifer go!”

But no one could hear me.

Jenifer’s face was turning a deep red. I forgot I was dead. I lunged at Wayne, trying to bite the hand that was choking my daughter, but my teeth closed on empty air.

The elder, seeing Jenifer begin to go limp, cried out through his pain, “Mr. Heins, wait! Jenifer is your…”

Before he could finish, a bodyguard kicked him to the ground. He lay there, groaning in agony.

Suddenly, Wayne let Jenifer go. She dropped to the ground, gasping. He swept his cold gaze over the crowd.

“Beth,” he announced, his voice a venomous threat, “if you don’t show yourself in three days, I will kill that bastard child.”

I looked at the elder, crumpled and broken, and at my daughter’s neck, bruised and purple. A tremor of pure, undiluted hatred ran through me. In that moment, I regretted ever loving him more than I had ever regretted anything in my life.