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When Rain didn't appear in her dreams for several days, he left an unfillable hole in Wilomena's heart. She told herself she was pitiful, if not outright pathetic. How could she be in love with a man who only existed in her mind?
Desperate to find a cure for her boredom, she started spending time with the serving boy, if only because she knew it would annoy her husband. His name was John, and he was an overtly flirty young man who boldly shared his interest in her. The first time they spoke, he told her she was pretty. The second time they spoke, he complimented her hair and eyes. Wilo never returned his compliments. It would have been inappropriate, but more than that, she didn't want to cheat on Rain. She wanted to vex her husband, but she would never do the same to Rain—even if he was an imaginary being, conjured by a lonely heart.
John taught Wilomena how to make her favorite cake. By the end of the endeavor, she had managed to get flour all over her face. The next day, at his request, Wilo taught him how to thread a needle.
As she fussed with the thread, John said, “I've never understood how something so big was supposed to go inside something so little.” The remark made her shudder, and the grin on his lips made it worse. Whether he intended it or not, it sounded indecent.
After that, Wilo distanced herself from John, but he refused to distance himself from her. While she was on a walk with her aunt, John followed them.
Cecilia whispered to her, “He's a handsome boy, but... is he becoming a problem?”
“His interest in me is inappropriate, but I believe he's mostly harmless,” Wilomena said. “A problem would only arise if Arthur thinks I've given him a reason to be smitten.”
“Then keep your distance from him. From the boy, I mean,” her aunt advised her. “Whatever you do, don't give him any further encouragement.”
Wilomena followed her aunt's advice, but John didn't stop, and he wasn't the harmless flirt she believed him to be. He cornered her in the library one evening while she was hunting for a book.
“John!” she exclaimed. “I don't believe you're supposed to be here, are you? Please return to the rest of the servants.”
Stalking toward her, he asked, “Is that really what you want, my lady?”
“It is. It absolutely is,” Wilo replied. “I offer my sincerest apologies if I've given you any reason to think I want you to behave this way. However, I am the lady of this house. It is neither appropriate nor—”
All air was sucked from Wilomena's lungs when John pushed her against the wall and fastened his lips to hers.
Wilo turned her head and covered her mouth. “John! This is beyond improper! Release me now, or I—”
Her pleas were ineffective, and when her lips were cut off to him, he found her neck instead.
“John, please!” Wilo whimpered. “Please, please!”
One moment, she was begging him to release her. The next moment, she was sprayed in his blood. When John dropped, she saw Arthur in the doorway with a smoking pistol in his hand.
“I knew there was something going on between you and that young man!” Arthur howled. “I didn't want to believe it, but I knew it.”
Wilomena sidled around John's body and tried to approach her husband. “You misunderstand. His advances were unwanted. It was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you. Even so, to kill him was a bit—”
Arthur interrupted. “You don't get to plead your case, Wilomena. I know what I saw. You're a whore. You've always been a whore. You don't deserve to be my wife. You don't even deserve to be the boy's wife!” He jabbed his pistol at John, whose single head shot wound was enough to put him down forever.
“Arthur... you don't really believe I meant for any of this to happen, do you?” Wilo cried. “John cornered me. He kissed me, even though I begged him to stop! How could you believe I actually wanted this?”
“How do you expect me to believe anything else?”
As Arthur stomped across the room, all she could hear was the sound of his boots, thumping against the floor. When he stopped in front of her, Wilo's pulse fluttered, and dread gripped her stomach.
Glancing at John's corpse, she said, “I can't believe you killed him. I know you were upset, but there are other ways you could have handled it. You could have—”
“I'm sorry I killed your lover,” Arthur interrupted. His hand flew out. His fingers, rough and cold, clasped his wife's neck. As she gasped for air, he pushed her against a table and tightened his grip. Into her ear, he whispered, “I'm sorry. I have to kill you too.”
Wilo tried to put up a fight. As he squeezed, she clawed, kicked, and swatted, but nothing would make him relent. She tried to speak, but his constricting hands made it impossible. She had more to say in her defense, but he had already decided her fate.
Arthur choked her until her body went limp, and when he was done, he deposited her body on the floor next to John.
A panicked cry shuddered from the depths of Arthur's belly as reality set in. With trembling hands, he studied the corpses of his wife and her supposed lover. His trembling hands plowed through his hair, again and again. It was only a matter of time before someone would wander into the library, drawn by the gunshot.
Sniffling, Arthur raised the pistol to his head.
As he pressed the trigger, he cursed his wife's name.