I felt life drifting out of me as I lay next to my bride, seeing her bloody gown.
“Arabel? Arabel?” I called in a throaty voice, but she was still.
I wanted to reach for her, to feel her once more and whisper in her ear, those words I had written down for when the time to recite our wedding vows came.
“Time of death… 10:54,” it seemed like I had heard. I saw myself slowly slipping into the hands of death, my eyes shut and, lips bound.
I could hear someone calling me. Only that I was weak to recognize the voice.
A loud cry came jerking me, shooting me out of my little trance, as I stared wide away, seeing my parents around.
“Stan?” Mom’s glistening eyes met mine. “Oh, son, you’re awake!” I could see the joy in her eyes as Dad came closer. “What-what happened?” I remembered suddenly, the tragic event; my bride being shot in front of me, and Helga pointing the gun at me. No—
My world had crumbled.
I became a walking corpse, a man bound behind doors. I wished for nothing else but to see my bride again—and that I’d be reunited with her, with our baby—in the Lord’s bosom.