Dead Woman Crossing Mga Nobela at Kwento

He was also crying but he still put me first because I felt like I was going to faint from what I witnessed. Just like in my dream. It is true that Don Jose is dead. His body was so decomposed that we buried him without opening the coffin. Just like papa, we will also cremate Don Jose's body. All relatives and acquaintances of Don Jose attended. Almost all the townspeople sympathized with the loss of Don Jose. Even so, security is still tight at the Mansion because Beth has not been caught yet.

Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, and stifled, broken sobs escaped her throat. I hovered nearby, watching this display of utter devastation, and felt only confusion. Shouldn't she be glad I was dead? Finally, nothing stood between her and Leo. Why had she spared me only cold contempt while I lived, yet now wore this mask of profound grief? Charlotte wept for a long time in the biting cold. Before leaving, she bought the small plot beside mine and placed our daughter's urn there. She stood there for a long time, staring at the two names now side by side. Then, she turned and walked away, utterly broken.

She would read out the praises everyone had for my work. This seemed to have become her only interest. She moved my grave to a place by the mountains next to a river. It had breathtaking views. After doing all that, that same night, she kissed the urn deeply as she touched the rosary. Then, she stabbed herself in the abdomen with the same knife she used to kill Henry. She gently laid her head on the urn, smiling in satisfaction. "Jason, I'm coming to see you soon. Please wait for me. I'll be there soon."

He simply drove away, leaving Jason standing frozen in the middle of the crosswalk. Jason didn’t move for a long time. His heart was still racing. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He felt like he had just barely avoided something dark and final—something he didn’t fully understand but knew he never wanted to face again. The morning traffic moved around him again, horns honking, students crossing, but none of it felt real. He finally forced his legs to work. He walked the rest of the way to school in silence, the image of Marcus’s calm, ice-cold eyes burned into his mind. Every step felt heavier. Every breath felt tighter.

She felt useless and silly the way she was carrying on, but there was nothing else to do. Churning. Churning. A woman in a black dress began to pull herself up over the wall using the jacket to protect herself from the barbs. An old face peered down at her; the expression warped by what surely must be an arthritis-aggravating contortion. Just looking at her made Mama Metcalf ache. The breeze whipped the old woman’s hair until it covered half of her face like a veil. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The woman climbing over the fence very well may be as old as Mama Metcalf, but unlike her, this stranger had a coarse strength to her.

I worked myself to the bone every month so she could do what she loved, yet she went and staged an electrocution to kill me. The power outlet continued to hiss and buzz, like the mocking laughter of a devil. I stared at Felicia with hatred as she took my bank card before making a call. "Please… Help me… My husband accidentally got electrocuted. I need to arrange a funeral," she said, pretending to cry.

It’s as if the figure knows. Althea’s voice was barely a breath. “That’s not one of yours.” “No.” Dominic said quietly. “It isn’t.” Enzo switched to the secondary angle. This time the figure passed across the frame fully and revealed that the person was female. The figure has long dark hair, a fitted black coat. A silver cross caught a faint light that was visible on her throat. Althea inhaled sharply. “That’s…” She stuttered. “Seraphina.” The name settled into the room like a verdict.

She heard soft footsteps, quiet like the gentlest wind across dead leaves. The old gravedigger, Dominguez, approached. Behind him, the shadows stood still. “Is it the endless sleep?” Dominguez mused. “She is covered in blood. What happened to her?” The shadows remained silent as they often had, offering no answers, but still they followed Dominguez, observing and absorbing his words. Dominguez raised a hand to rub his coarse jaw. “I am no stranger to death,” he spoke in his whisper, “but we have never seen the violence of murder here, have we? No, this is no murder. This is something else.”

I opened the video file I had recorded an hour ago. My face stared back at me pale, determined, and trembling. “My name is Sheila Drake,” I began in the recording, my voice steady despite the tightness in my throat. “I was declared dead a year ago in a fire set by my husband, Adrian Drake. What I’m about to share will expose the truth behind his empire, his company, and the blood he’s built it on.”

"You know what? Fuck you, Nolan Cross. And fuck your fake heroism!” With that, she turned away and walked out of the house, slamming the door to make her point final.