Hell has a way of changing a person; I`m proof of that, because I`ve spent the last several years there-figuratively, of course-although I sometimes wonder if there really is any difference. Am I living proof? Well, that remains to be seen. I`m alive, yes, but I`m not sure I`m what you would call living. My name is Rowan Gant, and I`m a Witch. Unfortunately, I`m not just your average, run-of-the-mill Witch. I`m afflicted with a horrible curse-I can hear the voices of the dead. Murder victims for the most part... The more heinous their deaths, the louder they scream inside my head, and that`s my E-ticket ride on the proverbial "lake of fire." Trust me, skip it and go for the roller coaster. The voices in my head are also why I used to have a love-hate relationship with the police. Most of them thought I was certifiable, and to be honest, I`m not so sure they were wrong. A few were more open-minded about my ability. Even so, love me or hate me, they all agreed on one thing-I cleared cases for them. But, that was then... I`m retired now, and I`m putting all of that behind me. They say the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long... If that`s true, I must have burned like a blowtorch, because I`ve got nothing left to give; not even a spark. I just want to go back to normal. I want to return to the days before the spirits of the dead started using me as a marionette in the world of the living. So, like I said, I`m retired now, or that`s what I keep telling myself, anyway. You see, there`s a little snag in my new life plans-apparently the dead won`t accept my resignation...