Matt Nelson, 22 Jun '12

Darren Cunningham watched the water burst into bits of white foam against the rocks at the base of the cliff. The setting sun lit them up into a stunning, blood-colored haze. Something about the sight of it made him uneasy.

He traced his index finger along the fragile spine of the manila folder in his hands. It was critical that he give it to a woman named Penny, who had been scheduled to meet him twenty minutes before. Yet no one had come to this lonely stretch of beach except for a pack of rogue seagulls, picking and twisting at chunks of unlucky crabs.

Often when he was nervous, and more often when he was alone, Darren began to speak with himself.

"Well hello there, good sir." His voice cracked harshly in the sea breeze. "I suppose you want to know what it is that drove you here. What the purpose of all this is, yes? Of course, no one does anything for one single reason, but that makes it all the more interesting, doesn't it?"

Darren paused.

"It would have been much better if Henry hadn't died," he said.

The thought of his son broke his discourse. He remembered a time at a beach very different than this one, where he had brought Henry, as well as his first wife. That beach had been crowded and colorful, with dozens, perhaps hundreds of vibrant umbrellas and beach towels set into white sand.

Henry, three years old at the time, was intent upon building a sand castle, but struggling very much to do so. Darren wouldn't admit to his son then, but he found Henry's frustration very amusing.

"I want a moat," Henry insisted.

"But if you build a moat, you'll let the water in," Darren tried to explain. "It'll pull away the sand faster. It's called erosion. It takes a while, but eventually it'll all go away. Build a wall against the sea, and it will stand longer."

"I want it to stand forever," Henry said.

An alien sound broke into the sounds of the sea and thoughts of Henry. Darren turned, flustered at being caught so unaware.

A woman wearing dark sunglasses was only a few feet away. She was standing very still, like a careful mouse near a large predator. She wore clothing that was entirely out of place for the beach; black pants, a tight green blouse, and a strange black overcoat. She clutched a brown purse that had some sort of stenciling on the side. Her features were dark and exotic, somewhat Mediterranean.

"Penny?" Darren asked.

She nodded at once, then reached out her hand. He raised the folder. His hand shook so badly that he could hear the photographs inside rattling around. She wrapped her fingers around the edge, and it vanished suddenly into her purse.

Penny turned as quickly as she had come, and began to move away.

"Please," Darren said, panic creeping into his voice. "I need to know. I need to know, is it over?"

She stopped.

"Does this finish it?" he cried, desperately. "I need it to be done. Forever."

The woman turned her head a fraction of an inch.

"Nothing can last forever," she said.