Prologue
I, Chloe, take you Lester, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward-
Five hours ago, she was due to wed the man of her life. Five hours ago, she was crying tears of joy and love for her husband-to-be. Five hours ago, she stared into his eyes, tasted his lips, bathed in his amazing light. Five hours ago, she was to be married.
Five hours ago, Lester was shot dead.
-for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish-
Her groom had fallen forward, his emerald orbs rolled into the back of his head, his lips parted in pure agony. Her groom had fallen into her arms, blood seeping into her pearly gown, her lovers weight forcing her to sit on the now far away floor. Lester was fading fast. She knew it too well.
-till death do us part-
Death was not to take him that soon. Why take her beloved?
She sat in the bright, silent hospital, the only sound the quiet padding of the nurses scurrying around to different patients. Lester lay in the operating room. Lay on the table. Lay with seven bullets piercing his side, neck, and legs.
Lester lay dying, and she could do nothing but hope for his survival.
... or the Lord comes for His own, and hereto I pledge you my faithfulness ...
"Miss Fairchild?"
"Is he alive?"
"We did all we could ..."
She had fallen to her knees. Fallen and weeped out every tear that rested inside of her, and then some. She had beaten the cold feeling out of the floor with each hit of her fist, beat the living hell out of whom she wished to be his murderer.
Five hours.
Chloe was never married. She never opened a wedding gift. Never looked at the grieving cards sent from loving family and friends. She attended the funeral and locked herself inside of her one bedroom apartment, studying criminal records and many detective books.
She would find Lester's murderer. Find him. Show him her pain. Give him pain of his own.
And end it in a way no other though possible.