Blacke Harbor

As Erik watched through the Lincoln’s windshield, a small seam appeared in the side of the little aircraft. The seam widened and, a moment later, a set of narrow stairs floated down to meet the black tarmac.

A tall, thin woman with jet black hair and pale, smooth skin ducked under the doorway and began to make her way down the short staircase, testing each step before she allowed her full weight to rest upon it. As her foot hit the dark pavement she took a deep breath of the salty air and glanced around the small parking lot. Erik watched her gaze find the sedan and saw her turn back to yell something at the pilot. A decisive tug on the handle of her carryon coaxed its handle into place and she threaded the strap of its matching leather briefcase onto it. Erik felt his heart jump as she took her first step toward the car. This is it, he told himself. I’m about to meet the doctor who is going to give me back my life.

“How was the South?” Jurgis dangled the keys in front of his granddaughter’s face.

“Hottest summer on record,” she said as she snatched the keys from the old man’s outstretched hand. Erik watched her aim the remote at the car and heard the small click of the trunk’s lock as it yielded. She walked with her back straight and her head high toward the back of the sedan, unaware, Erik realized, of the secret the dense tinting of the Lincoln's back windows held for her. A moment later, however, the door beside him was being pulled open and Catherine was aiming the black leather computer bag at his feet.