Brian Cook's Blog

Kak listened to his breathing stretch and deepen. It was a good trick, falling asleep so easily, one she’d never mastered. She got up, let herself out the portside hatch to the deck and walked to the stern rail.

Two miles west the Sanibel Lighthouse showed itself high against the island. Not for long. The pilot hit the throttles and the jet drive churned the dark waters behind the boat into whipped cream eight feet high as they accelerated past thirty miles per hour. The lighthouse shrank rapidly in their wake.

She twisted the doxepin cap and dumped the contents into her palm. A handful of blue jewels. She counted them in the sharpening morning light, shelling them into the bottle with her thumb, one at at time. Forty exactly. A twenty-day supply at her current dosage.

Kak dropped the bottle in her backpack and found the lighthouse again. Smaller now. Like everything else it was happening quickly. She watched it wither into the horizon until it was no more than a speck on a thin line. A spider on a thread. Then it was gone.

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