All around the clearing, he sensed his dead wife’s spirit, in the gritty volcanic dirt, the whipping gusts of wind, and the forest’s musty ooze. Even after all these years, her essence still inhabited the place. No matter how hard he tried to stay away, to move on with his life, to leave the past behind—he couldn’t resist the mystical attraction of this spot. It was a feeling so real it drew him into otherworldly detachment. While he occasionally caught glimpses of his beloved at other locations on the island, it was here where he most felt her guiding presence. His shoulders swayed back and forth as he conversed with his departed and yet still so dear Delilah. “The fish were out this morning, just where you said they’d be. I used the flashy green lures, the ones with the speckles. Line wasn’t cast more than five minutes before I got a bite.” The otherworldly response was heard only by Burt. Dr. Jones stared apprehensively at the ground, shuffling sideways on his knees, trying to distance himself from the crazed fisherman.
