Page 7 of Between Heart and Stone

His words landed in shadow, as they always did.

A horrific downside to being dead.

No one could ever hear you.

He was used to being ignored. Looked at and then looked through, as if he were a cobweb to be swept away.

There was a time, once, when all heads turned his way when he entered a room. There was a time he went by the title of ‘lord’. Where he ran the castle and the town below it with all the grace he could muster.

It wasn’t enough that he dedicated his entire existence to the castle and his tenants when he was alive. It seemed he needed to carry his sentry duties over into death, too. The rest of his family had passed on. They lingered briefly, surprised to see him still brooding in the shadows. They hugged, exchanged greetings, and then they simply drifted, caught between the sea and the sunlight.

Wolfe watched them all go.

His brother, and then his wife.

Their children.

Their children after that.

He was beginning to feel like a door keeper, ushering souls to the great beyond.

He’d been a good man. Went to church on Sundays. Always made time for the people around him. Never stole. Took the Lord’s name in vain on only a few occasions. By his measure, he deserved to pass on.

Deserved to find rest.

The universe had other ideas for him, it seemed.

Like watching a stubborn intruder upend his study.

He had it arranged perfectly.

Desk framed by the large windows, sunlight at his back.

A comfortable couch, two armchairs, and a low table in the middle of the room. A wet bar in the corner and a cart for afternoon tea. It was laid out fine.

Not to her.

“Please, stop. You’re going to damage the wood,” Wolfe groaned. “Just leave it be!”

She continued on, yanking at the edge of the desk to turn it around. She wanted it to face the sea. He supposed he couldn’t blame her entirely for that, the view was quite spectacular. It was a rare sunny day on the coast. No fog or inclement rain blotted out the horizon and Wolfe crossed to the window on invisible and silent feet. He took in the sea, the cliffs, the town that had once been his and rubbed a fist over his heart.

A horrific thing, watching the world move on.

To be frozen, perpetually stuck.

Knowing that everyone forgot who you were.

Forgot that you’d existed, stopped wondering if you were at peace—which he wasn’t.

A few more grunts of exertion and a heave that made his own back twinge, the desk finally turned for her. The woman plopped her hands on her hips, chest heaving.

“Got you,” she muttered. “See? Look at this view. Who wouldn’t be productive with this view?”

He watched her move the desk chair back into place. That, at least, wasn’t his. His had broken right before he died. He cringed the day Patty lugged the thread-bare chair he always favored from the sitting room in and placed it at the desk. He had half a mind to ask him why he hadn’t opted for a gaudier seat—or at least something more comfortable than that ancient chair.

Either way, it was just about the only piece of furniture in this room that wasn’t his.

“The glare will be horrific,” he said, looking over her shoulder. He watched as she dug out a laptop and a notebook. “Good luck seeing your screen.”