Ashes of Foreverland Read Online Free PDF

It was more like a conglomeration of words.
    Voices .
    She was suddenly thirsty. It took considerable effort to reach the cup. Her fingers brushed over the surface, finally grasping it. She took large sips, noticing the tracks her hand had left on the table.
    And a circle the cup had left in a thick layer of dust.
    â€”—————————————
    A lex checked her email and answered voicemail, followed by a nap. There were more doctors and a thousand explanations. She felt partly numb, but that would change.
    â€œWhat about the voices?” she asked.
    â€œVoices?” the doctor asked.
    She waved her hand around, as if this explained her experience. It was like a crowd in a distance, a stadium miles away, the roar swelling, the sounds blending, the voices indistinguishable from each other.
    â€œWhat about that?”
    The doctor nodded. They would run some more tests. Eventually, the voices would fade.
    The next morning, she waited to be discharged.
    A nurse was supposed to come with a wheelchair. Alex’s belongings were already in the truck.
    Except a ragged National Geographic .
    It took a moment; then she remembered. It was on the elevator floor. Someone was looking at it in the waiting room. She was compelled to pick it up. Samuel must’ve thought she was doing research and brought it up to the room. It had been years since she’d read a print magazine.
    The pages flopped in her hands. The cover was a tropical island set in the middle of the ocean, with swaying palm trees and a setting sun. Not a bad place to be .
    The nurse finally arrived. Alex kept the magazine on her lap and was about to give it to an orderly when she noticed a piece of paper stuck in the middle. The end was torn.
    An “A” was written on the end in green ink.
    Chills crawled around her neck and tightened, reminding her of the cold chills in the Institute, not like a cool breeze or frozen rain. More like someone watching her.
    Alex opened to the centerfold and the bookmark fluttered onto the floor. The nurse stopped to pick it up and handed it forward. She flipped it over.
    Alessandra.
    Few knew her birth name. Even fewer knew how to spell it. And there it was, written in block letters and wedged into a worn magazine. It wasn’t Samuel’s handwriting. And he didn’t have a green pen, not that she knew. Not that any of that was impossible.
    So why did she feel so cold?

5.  Danny Boy
    An island off the coast of Spain
    A n espresso waited.
    A shirtless young man walked barefoot onto the veranda. He stretched, ribs protruding beneath pale skin, a patch of freckles across his shoulders and upper chest. He flipped the shag of red hair from his eyes and took the cup to the railing.
    A tiny sip jolted Danny awake.
    Jet lag still tugged at his inner clock, swishing in his head like water in the ears. Rarely did he fly back to the United States, but there were times when the situation was unavoidable. He spent the weekend in New York City and slept so hard on the flight back—a nonstop red-eye—that he hardly remembered boarding.
    The Balearic Sea was spread out below, the deep blue water nearly glassy, cutting the horizon sharply where it met the equally blue sky. Beyond was the mainland of Spain and the port of Valencia. Once a month, he took the boat over to walk the open-air markets and meet with people for lunch, maybe dinner.
    Business. Always business. And unusual for a sixteen-year-old. But very few sixteen-year-olds owned a thirty-million-dollar villa in the Mediterranean.
    His name would not appear in Forbes or any other lists. His money was hidden, dispersed amongst various accounts and names. Danny had good reason to remain anonymous.
    He finished the espresso, but it did nothing to clear his head. Maybe yoga would help. He looked more like a skater than a wealthy acolyte of meditation: lanky and rail thin. His breath was slow and purposeful. He