The question tortured him as he dropped tears on Wilma's still and beautiful face.
She looked just like he remembered her. His moon, his stars, his delight. He didn't understand how he could have tossed her away like that.
"I know who you are," someone said, over his shoulder.
Bill turned around, burdened by the weight of his grief and loss. He saw no one.
"I know you," the voice said again, from below. He looked down at what he first thought was a young girl.
Her eyes were wise. And she was shaped like a woman, dressed in a from fitting black dress and tiny heeled shoes.
She was a dwarf, he realized. He could not help but shudder with revulsion, and then the guilt ate at him.
"What?! Who are you?"
"I'm Rowena, The Gypsy," she said. "And I won't let you hurt him again."
"Clive. Your son. He's mine, and was fated for me. I will live with him and bear his babies. I don't care if he is ten years younger than me, he is mine and I won't let you hurt him again."
"My son? My boy? The dwarf?"
"And what if he is a dwarf?" Rowena the Gypsy spit at him. He stepped back involuntarily and then felt a fool. She could not be taller than 3 feet. "I am one too and you know not what you play at."
He backed away again as she reached into her black clutch purse. Did she have a gun?
She pulled out a tarot card.
"You will always destroy the ones you love." Her voice sent shivers through his spine. "That is your fate. I warn you now--