I Dreamt My Lady Came

"There is no evil angel but love."

July 2nd

"A few moments, my lord, no more. We must seal the crypt for the night; the wind has risen too much for the patrol."

"Leave me." Antonio waved his hand at the monk who had escorted him. He had been irritated by the men of the order who oversaw the crypt many times before, but tonight he had no patience at all. Tonight, he had come to see his wife in her new home. While Claudio and Olivia had been moved to the new chamber by Patrizio, Hero had been left in the same humble place where they had originally laid her down. Antonio's first act of leadership was moving Hero to the new main chamber. It was the first step in his long-held plan to honor her.

When Hero died, Antonio thought he would never recover from the pain, and he had been right. It had been more than six years since she was killed and his insides still ached. The drink had helped at the beginning, but he had been drinking too much for too long. Lately, when he drank, he saw her. He relived the end of their marriage, straining to watch it it like a performance in weak candlelight. If he got up, if he could stand, he would walk the halls and hear her humming in the still room. She was his comfort and his torment, a reminder of what he once had and what would never be his again.

He didn't blame Hero for haunting him. That she was humming as a spirit and not as a living woman was not her fault. That blame was upon the heads of the Capulets, no matter what Patrizio had accepted at the time. It was no coincidence to Antonio that Hero was viciously murdered while the families were at war, not at all. The Capulets were vile creatures, ever-thirsty for blood and gold and always willing to use one to get the other. Claudio and Olivia died as retribution, an eye for an eye. Killing Hero, who never had an enemy all of her life, was too far. Antonio still vowed to personally kill whichever Capulet was responsible and annihilate their family. If it turned out the old crone was the one behind it all, he would drag her bones into the street and pound them into sand after he spilled every last drop of her blood that still lived.

"I miss you," he whispered to the freshly-placed sarcophagus. "By God, I miss you."

"I know you do."

"Hero?"

"Shh!" Her finger touched his lip; both were warm. "I can only stay for a moment."

Antonio's insides were aching again, but it was another kind of ache. He was drowning in unchecked happiness - heavy, thick, suffocating joy that choked and smothered every part of him until it burned for lack of air. It was too much to believe and too much to ignore, for that face that had haunted him was now firm and warm in his hands. "Am I dead?"

"No," she laughed softly. "No, you are alive, very much alive. I've tried to come to you before, but it is more difficult than I can say."

"Then you been with me all this time? The humming?"

"You heard that?"

"Oh, my lovely. My lovely, lovely, lovely." He embraced her with six years of urgency. It was the tightest grip he had ever had on anyone or anything, even more than when he had picked her limp body up out of the garden that faraway morning. "Tell me there's something I can do to... to bring you..."

"One day, but death is much like life. A spirit must learn in a natural progression, and I am only beginning." She nestled against him, much as she had the last morning of her life. "The children are growing much more quickly than I am."

"Try to grow faster. They need their mother, Hero."

"I'll try, but I have to go away for a little while now." Just as he had done for her when he left her unwillingly, Hero kissed her husband's fingers. "I will come back, I promise."

"When?"

"Soon."

"When you come, don't.... we're not living at Illyria anymore. We're residing..." He saw the smirk on his wife's face and wanted to kick himself. "I didn't have to tell you that, did I? You know it all already."

"I'm so proud of you, darling."

This should have been the best moment in six miserable years of life. Antonio had his wife in his arms and she was proud of him. Who else had ever been proud of him? But it wasn't real, not nearly real enough. "Who did this to us?"

"I can't tell you."

"Lovely, please. Please." Footfalls echoed in the chamber, betraying the monk's return. Antonio closed his eyes and growled, wishing one of the graves would open and swallow the man up. "I know it was one of them, just tell me which one."

"My lord? Are you unwell?"

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