Free How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead by Wendy Sparrow Page B

“When was this?” he
asked. He certainly didn’t remember Charles killing someone, and
Charles had always been fascinated with the occult—indulgent even.
No, this book was nonsense. There was no way. Charles had been
self-absorbed, but a murderer? No.
    Ana pointed to a date on the page.
“It was a month after you die—uhh—disappeared.”
    He nearly smiled at her horrified
expression, but while death wasn’t really a laughing matter before
you died—it was even significantly less funny after. He focused on
the page where she was pointing. Well. Look at that. He hadn’t seen
that in any book, but he’d already discovered the history of the
town had been thoughtfully modified by someone. Initially, he’d
assumed it might be Charles, pulling out pages that didn’t agree
with him. But, many of the books were too recent for
that.
    The top of the page she was pointing
to had a large pendant on a necklace. It was a segmented
moon—belonging to the woman Charles killed, Agnes Weatherby.
According to this book, which must have been buried deep in
someone’s collection, she’d even been unarmed and killed from a
single bullet wound to the heart. Charles had never missed with a
gun, and he was fond of shooting. Why would his old partner kill a
woman? An old woman?
    “Did it say why he killed her?”
There must have been a reason. If it had even happened…. Were they
allowed to print it if it hadn’t? Who knew in this modern
world?
    Maybe he should have looked through
that book instead of mocking it. He already wanted to snatch it
from her hands and flip through it searching for some mention of
his death. Eventually, Ana would ask how he died. No way in hell
would he admit he hadn’t the foggiest. Shane hadn’t discovered a
single printed sentence regarding his death or conjecture about his
disappearance.
    People visiting the library had
whispered for months after he’d disappeared. The preacher’s
daughter had talked about him a good while longer....
Unfortunately, he only vaguely remembered those conversations even
back then as they’d all occurred during the day for the most part.
No one worked nights in the library until the 1980s. By then, he’d
been long since forgotten as a person. If not for the caption below
the painting, which had only been added after Charles’s own death,
his name would have melted into history itself.
    Ana tilted her head, frowning at the
book. “It says that he claims she’d tried to kill his child, my
great grandfather, but everyone insisted she wasn’t known to be
violent. In fact, they said she’d always wanted a child herself.”
She gestured at the book. “Anyway, the event touched off a major
purge of the city. Everyone associated with the supernatural in any
way fled to neighboring cities.”
    His throat felt dry and ragged as he
tried to force out the question that was plaguing him. “Does it
mention me?” he asked finally. It might have sounded egotistical if
he’d put more force behind it, but it sounded plaintive and
pathetic. He’d never been one to display weakness and this
certainly felt so.
    Ana glanced up at him, searching his
expression for something. He lowered his gaze to the book. It was
strange having someone care about him. It hadn’t happened for over
a hundred years. She did care about him, though, it was written all
over her face. She had a face as easy to read as the book in her
hand.
    “It does,” she said, nearly making
it a question.
    Okay, he really wanted to get his
hands on that book. It had come in within the last few months even,
so he should have tried to get to it—just in case the pages were
torn out after it was shelved. Why hadn’t he? Stubborn, stupid
ghost.
    “Oh?” He’d tried for casual, but
hadn’t managed.
    “Shane, have you noticed how…edited
these books are when it comes to you?”
    It was a constant source of
frustration when your existence ended at a doorway. Everything
coming in had already had the pages