Rafe knew that what he was about to do, was impossible. From his vantage point under the wrought iron lampost with its dull golden bulb that did little but stand for decoration, he could see nearly everything. The inky tendrils of darkness swirled around him like tiny beasts made of shadows that only the stars touched with silver could illuminate. Faded and crubmling brick buildings with their worn and tired fences, neatly trimmed rose bushes, and soft dew touched lawns stood tall and proud, but ensared in the dark. Wind interrupted the night with it's raspy, chilled laugher as dead and broken leaves skittered along the solid earth. The cold had enveloped the world with it's silky frozen touch. As a thin veil of fog strolled lazily along the cobbled cracked streets, Rafe put his head into his hands. How could he tell Rabekah's family that he was the reason why she was dead?