Ashes of Foreverland Read Online Free PDF Page B

could feel the sea below him, the birds above.
    A breeze cooled him, sifting through his thick curls, as if God breathed with him. Through him.
    Lilac. I smell lilac.
    Lying in the corpse pose—the final pose—he thought that was odd since there were no lilacs growing on his property, yet it pervaded the atmosphere, saturated each breath. He heard a bone-china cup placed on a marble table beneath the portico. Sweat beaded across his chest. He exhaled then retreated to the shade.
    Another espresso waited.
    He took a moment to listen to the birds, to bathe in the mysterious lilac scent before tapping the low-set table. The morning reports danced across the surface in high definition. Life on the island was peaceful, almost solitary. But technology made distance irrelevant.
    He sat back and sampled his drink, rubbing the knot on his forehead while scanning the newsfeeds. It itched this morning. The hole had healed, but a scar reminded him of Foreverland. Even if he could forget the itch and ignore the scar, his dreams took him back to the tropical island, put him back in the dark and dank cell where the needle waited. Two years in his past and he still fought the temptation to reach for the needle in his dreams.
    We never left the island, someone once told him.
    He left the island. He just went back there every night.
    He had escaped the island with the seed money to invest in the villa. For that he was grateful but, given the choice, would trade it all to erase those days from his past.
    â€œ ¿Quieres algo más, señor? ” Maria stood near the open doors.
    â€œ No, gracias, Maria. ”
    â€œ Muy bien. El correo está sobre la mesa. ” The mail is on the table.
    â€œ Gracias .”
    She smiled and began to close the doors.
    â€œMaria, wait!” Daniel waved to stop her. He retrieved the colorful bag that he had placed beneath the sink a week ago. She shook her head while he held it out.
    â€œ Para su hijo ,” he said. “ Feliz cumpleaños. ” For your son. Happy birthday.
    As she stood with one hand over her mouth and the other over her chest, Danny hooked the handles over her fingers. Her son had been in an accident. Danny was paying the medical bills, but the boy might not walk again.
    â€œ Gracias ,” she muttered. “ Gracias, gracias, gracias .”
    He returned to the kitchen. The veranda doors were still open, the curtains dancing as the breeze picked up. He searched the refrigerator for a late morning snack, cutting cantaloupe and pineapple into chunks. The wind scattered the mail across the floor. Danny took a bite and started for the basement, where more business waited.
    A thick envelope rested between his feet.
    Danny Boy was written on it.
    He nearly dropped the bowl. No one had called him Danny Boy in years. Two years, to be exact.
    Not since the island.
    There was no return address, just a stamp in the corner. The handwriting was shaky, the ink bright green. He held it up to the light, as if it might ambush him. He could feel something inside it, something circular and heavy.
    Danny tore it open.
    It was a disc about the size and shape of a DVD but as thick as a slice of cheese. The edge was blue, but the reflective surface was scattered with a hundred pinholes. Maybe a thousand. He turned it at angles, watching his blue eyes cross over the constellation. A sticky note was attached to the back. Build the bridge, Danny Boy.
    A single sheet of lined paper fell out of the envelope, the writing in the same green ink as the address and sticky note. It was four lines:
    The Earth I tread
    Upon leaves and loam
    I fly alone
    Where the sand is home.
    He read it at least a dozen times and promptly tore it up, and would spend the coming weeks trying to forget who sent it.
    â€”—————————————
    D anny woke in heaven.
    The clouds floated around him. His stomach rose into his throat, and then he