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something for you?” Isabelle asked sadly.
    “I think you have done enough,” he said with finality, feeling more betrayed with each step he took towards the open doorway. He stopped mid-step. Marguerite was standing in the middle of the foyer; her face flushed in anger or sadness… maybe both. Her violet eyes bore into his own with a look of sheer, unadulterated hatred that chilled him to the bone. Gooseflesh rose on his skin. He felt frozen in place, like so many of the marbled statuaries positioned around Ravenhurst rooms. He knew he should say something… maybe even sorry… but the words escaped him…
    Finally, she broke her gaze and the lead weight he felt in his legs subsided. “I am late,” he mumbled awkwardly as he walked briskly past her, keeping his eyes downcast on the marble-checkered tiles of the foyer. He rounded the corner and took the steps two at a time up the winding staircase, without ever looking back in her direction once.
     
    Sebastian finished off the rest of his drink as his mind returned to the present. The flames had died down and were now nothing more than red embers glowing in the dim light. He chuckled a little; it was an empty, hollow sound. No wonder the chit left him at the altar. He couldn’t blame her, really. Had he been in her shoes, he would have left himself at the altar as well. He found he had a healthy respect for her gumption. He didn’t think she had any; apparently, he was wrong on that count, as well as a few others. She vanished that night without a trace. No body found, no misdeeds done, even though he did entertain the notion, if only for a moment. He was not so terrible, or was he? He would never know for sure. Apparently, she ran as fast and as far as she could, and thereby had the last laugh. For, unless she was dead–with a body for proof and no misdeeds done to said body, he could not inherit one red cent.
    Had he known that little bit of information at the time, perhaps he might have been kinder to her. A bark of laughter escaped his throat at the insanity of it all.
    In truth, he probably would have tied her up and dragged her to the altar instead.
     



At some point, Katherine came t o the realization that she was still at Ravenhurst. Where else could she be? Feeling sure she must be overstaying her welcome, she still felt so bad, she really didn’t care. She finally managed to make it to the bathroom and used a rag to get the funk out of her mouth. After rinsing it repeatedly with water that tasted like rust, which was gross too, she decided that she preferred it to the alternative. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness in the room. Tiny, sneering, cherubic faces stared at her, perched on the four bedposts. Pillows were stacked all around her body. She felt like someone was trying to keep her from rolling out of the bed, like a baby. She turned around to find more sneering little faces gathered in a group, examining her.
    The carvings were extraordinary, but also freaking weird. Seriously, who in the hell would choose to be watched by gang of little, ugly cherubs, sneering at you, and hanging above your head every night before you fell asleep? That’s begging for nightmares.
    They were almost as bad as the gargoyles standing, crawling, and hanging from almost every surface inside and out of the entry and foyer. Ned said it was creepy inside, and boy, was he right! Katherine wondered if he was still around, or had ditched her and left with Amelia? She pulled the curtain back on the bed a bit; it was a heavy fabric, probably velvet.
    A globed lamp cast off a faint, yellowish glow showing the flowers painted on it. It sat on a doily. There was a door on her right and another beside it. Further in the room was the bathroom she used earlier.
    She heard a dragging noise coming from one end of the small room. Panic swept through her, and she dropped the curtain, consumed with dread. Was it the crazy maid coming to do her in again? Or worse ? She wasn’t sure