Night. The ship anchors in the deep water beyond the cliffs and a single rowboat is lowered from its side. Two men work the oars; they are black silhouettes against the bleak sky, outlined only by the cherry glow of their cigarettes. The woman who stands at the bow of the boat has no cigarette of her own but she, too, breathes out smoke and ash. As the boat pulls to shore beneath the cliffs she steps out into the surf and sets foot upon the island for the first time in many, many years. No alarms sound in the night. No flood lights fix their beams upon the intruder. No sirens wail “Danger! Deceit! Deception!” or warn “Betrayal! Betrayal!” No. The island recognizes the woman as one of its own and welcomes the safe return of its child. Gazing up at the lighthouse on the cliff high above, the woman smiles her cold smile.

“Home sweet home.”


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