I don’t remember all the times I died, not completely; my memories eroded one after the other, my most private thoughts and remembrances vague and fleeting, like writing in the sand consumed by the rising tide.

The darkest memories were the ones that came home first to roost in the nooks and crannies of my consciousness; the face of my husband haunting me each night, then John―Victor―images of blood and death surrounding me.

Some of these thoughts make me glad I only remember the last time I died, the last time that paid for it all…

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Helen Russell has been living in lonely limbo since the death of her husband. His replacement is caring, attentive, sensual and everything she had wanted from her husband when he was alive. But the true James Russell soon begins to make his presence known and Helen is faced with the monster of the past and a terrible realization which makes her question everything she ever knew.

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