Looking at that face how could I not think of Alessandra? She would be about this age now. I drink in the morning air through my nostrils and tear my eyes away, remembering what the doctor said: deep breaths, cleansing thoughts. Alessandra has gone forever; there will be no bringing her back.

The surf explodes and the frigid spray on my face startles me. I see a figure shrouded in black robes standing waist deep in the water, and time slows. The water runs like molasses and I feel the torpor claim, as it takes an eternity for me to turn my head. The idiot beside me remains looking down, not noticing the intruder emerging from the waves. Her robes float in a black pool about her, her white-streaked hair spilling about her, framing her pallid face; the face of a girl. Alessandra? No. She has fangs for teeth, her cheeks smeared with the life of her last victim.

She draws near and my hand, sluggish, begins its excruciatingly slow descent to my firearm, never fast enough. She shall rip out our throats and leaving us gasping, feeding the sand with our blood. She strolls towards us, languid, relaxed. She stands a full header shorter than me, my Alessandra, and stands on her tiptoes to kiss my lips, stinging me with her forked tongue.

She places her petite hand on mine and, with that crushing weight, drives my hand to the butt of my pistol. Her eyes are liquid green sorrow but her mouth is choked with barbed laughter as she spreads her blackened wings and wheels away into the sky, swooping back down to whisper poison in my ear, "She has gone forever; there will be no bringing her back."

Wind chime laughter echoes in my head as she streaks away up the beach, her form flattening to greet the horizon and the spell is broken.