Jane slowly regained consciousness. Her gaze took in the gray waves smashing against the stones below. Her chest was smeared with blood. But she wasn't hurt. It wasn't her blood. She whipped her head about frantically and realized in horror that she wasn't alone.

The figure of her nightmares, the creature that haunted and hunted her, stood a few feet away, holding a white dove in her hand, blood upon her palms. The putrid smell of death and decay invaded Jane's nostrils, ...