Chapter 3

Lucien had no such memory loss, and for weeks after being washed ashore, he was plagued by nightmares about that fateful night a storm had torn apart the ship he’d been travelling on, leaving the sea strewn with wreckage and providing the tiger sharks and hammerheads with a feast to gorge themselves on. Somehow he’d survived, though only God knew how. It certainly hadn’t been through his own doing. He’d woken up on the nameless island, sunburnt and exhausted.

Then, after many months, possibly as long as two years, Edgar had arrived. There had been no storm and, search as he might, Lucien hadn’t found a boat nor evidence of a shipwreck.