My husband died, his breathing stopped, his heart stopped. On his deathbed, he said bitterly, "I love you." I said, "I've never loved you." I closed my eyes for him and touched his cold body with my own hands. He's dead, I'm sure. Two days later, however, he was standing in front of me again. He was still wearing his dead clothes, and there was a kiss mark on his neck where I'd coaxed him to drink. "I will not allow you to die," he said, smiling at me, his voice soft and sweet. "I will not only keep you alive, but I will not divorce you. I will leave you by my side and torture you to your heart's content."