Prologue

A broken umbrella dangled uselessly from his hand while the wind whipped and swirled. He shivered as it penetrated his thick black overcoat, his sweater, and even his shirt, slowly turning flesh and bones to ice.

No, I can’t blame that on the wind. I was frozen when I arrived. I’ve been frozen for years. Frozen far longer than I care to remember. He looked around, though the clouds were still slung so low that all horizons seemed claustrophobically near. It’s as appropriate a metaphor as any, I suppose. At least it finally stopped raining. I think this is the first time I’ve been able to see the actual coastline, though it’s hard to be sure in this murk.

It had taken him four days to get here from Cardiff. Not because the trip required four days — it was only a little over two hours by car — but because every mile brought him closer to an unimaginable sadness from which he’d spent nearly a decade hiding. Not that passing terribly lonely, nearly sleepless nights in dismal rural inns — dismal not due to any inherent character of the inns themselves, but because no one in their right mind would voluntarily travel in this season or this weather — wasn’t its own form of self-torture.

Well, it’s been many years since there’s been a shred of doubt that I’m not in my right mind. Ever since...

Wiping his eyes with a soaked and abrasive sleeve, he stared down the slope below him. Smoke rose from the chimney of a single-story stone house with fences and gates attached to its sides. A warm, inviting light glowed through its windows. To the left was another structure, made of the same stone but smaller and without additions; its curtains shrouded, its windows dark and cold, its chimney solemn and silent. Empty and brooding, as if in mourning.

Just like me. Not that I’ve ever really stopped.

He wiped his eyes again and realized that he was still crying. He’d been crying off and on ... but mostly on ... since his arrival.

I’ve come all this way. So incredibly far, after so very long. And now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do.

He heard the crunch of boots on wet gravel. This was the third time today he’d made it as far as this spot without being able to go any farther, but this was the first time someone else had exhibited enough insanity to join him on this winding footpath. A few dozen feet above and behind him, a truck rumbled and wheezed as it downshifted, rounding a corner on a narrow coastal road.

“It looks like it’s going to be a fine afternoon,” observed a soft voice. The wind picked up and whirled.

He didn’t turn to greet his new companion, unwilling to let her witness his tears. “And it was such a beautiful morning, too.”

“I’m surprised no one warned you that your brolly wasn’t long for this world if you took her out in this weather.”

“They did. I forgot. Creature of habit, I guess. Or maybe just stubborn.” He still wasn’t ready to look at her, but something in the woman’s voice begged to lift his overburdened spirit. It was a pointless plea, for he was beyond elevation.

“You’re an American, then?”

“Born and raised, but I don’t live there anymore.”

“Where’d you get off to?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere.”

“Ah. I’ve been to both. Can’t say I cared for the latter. It’s overcrowded, and the tickets cost more than I’d like.”

“I’m not much of a fan myself. But someone has to live there, and I’ve earned my residency. By the way, thanks for speaking to me in English right from the start. I haven’t always been so lucky.”

Chapter 1 »