Two Sides to Every Story.
PROLOGUE
The sky boiled with dark clouds, and the heavy scent of salt and humidity hung in the air. The ocean was a froth of peaks and deep wells of valleys. The horizon was split open by a wild fork of lightning that resembled an upside down leafless tree. The crash of the ocean against the cliffs was loud with sprays reaching far above the head of the woman who stood just far enough back from the edge to not be harmed. Her arms were thrown out wide, and her face lifted to receive the first drops of rain. When the storm became too enraged, the rain a stinging sheet and the ocean's spray like reaching hands wanting to grab at her and draw her into its cold depths she turned and made her way back to the stone house further inland. She could not see it due to the rain and darkness, but she knew her way so well she could find the house with her eyes shut tight.
It was one of the more modern and largest houses in the area. It had been in her family for two centuries. Always she had felt safe and warm here, welcomed and protected from the chaotic world outside. But not anymore, and it saddened her to know that she probably would never again feel that way here. Instead, as she made her way to the den/library, she felt violated, vulnerable, and lost.
On the desk was a file, and she reached out a hand to snatch at it. The first page had a photo of her father, taken by the authorities when she'd come home one day to find him in his desk chair, his sightless eyes staring ahead as if right at her. She didn't need to glance at the photo to remember how he'd looked that day. The memory was burned into her brain forever.
Flipping past that grotesque photo she found the page she was searching for, and her trembling chin lifted stubbornly. It was a letter, addressed to a Nick Boyle in care of the San Francisco House. She already had a flight booked. She'd find this Nick Boyle, and find out what it was her father had kept hidden from her.
PROLOGUE
The sky boiled with dark clouds, and the heavy scent of salt and humidity hung in the air. The ocean was a froth of peaks and deep wells of valleys. The horizon was split open by a wild fork of lightning that resembled an upside down leafless tree. The crash of the ocean against the cliffs was loud with sprays reaching far above the head of the woman who stood just far enough back from the edge to not be harmed. Her arms were thrown out wide, and her face lifted to receive the first drops of rain. When the storm became too enraged, the rain a stinging sheet and the ocean's spray like reaching hands wanting to grab at her and draw her into its cold depths she turned and made her way back to the stone house further inland. She could not see it due to the rain and darkness, but she knew her way so well she could find the house with her eyes shut tight.
It was one of the more modern and largest houses in the area. It had been in her family for two centuries. Always she had felt safe and warm here, welcomed and protected from the chaotic world outside. But not anymore, and it saddened her to know that she probably would never again feel that way here. Instead, as she made her way to the den/library, she felt violated, vulnerable, and lost.
On the desk was a file, and she reached out a hand to snatch at it. The first page had a photo of her father, taken by the authorities when she'd come home one day to find him in his desk chair, his sightless eyes staring ahead as if right at her. She didn't need to glance at the photo to remember how he'd looked that day. The memory was burned into her brain forever.
Flipping past that grotesque photo she found the page she was searching for, and her trembling chin lifted stubbornly. It was a letter, addressed to a Nick Boyle in care of the San Francisco House. She already had a flight booked. She'd find this Nick Boyle, and find out what it was her father had kept hidden from her.