8

The black sand beach belonged to us alone. I stood far from it at the peak of the Lonely Hill, wondering at this miracle we created for ourselves. 

I started down the sometimes steep, sometimes gentle path toward the beach, the sound of blue green waves crashing at the shore already reaching me. Beach plum bushes and eel grass and the occasional wild tiger lilies grew at the edges of this path only the two of us had ever walked. I took my time. No danger here. Only eternal sunshine, winds we’d named after long extinct mistrals and zephyrs, and the beach at the edge of the infinite sea.

I lost track of time as many often do Inside. Later, I checked the log and saw I spent the equivalent of fifteen minutes sauntering down that winding way to the beach. It felt like hours. 

We called it Night Sky Beach because flecks of mica and seashells glimmered and caught sunlight like stars within the volcanic sand. I removed my sandals and stepped off the path onto this marvel.

No one’s footprints, made with a soft whispered shush, were ever left behind, except ours. Mine and Pol’s. No one ever dove into the cold, bracing green waves of that empty sea. Except Pol and I. 

I loved the cold water and insisted upon it. Pol preferred warm water, so we compromised. I got this ocean, and Pol got shallow, clear coves and inlets hidden on the western and southern coasts of this island environment. 

Pol had not processed Inside, yet. He was not late. He knew I enjoyed being here alone, sometimes, too. He almost always waited so I could have time here to myself. Such a generous man.

I reached the waters edge, the waves washing up to my feet, and waited for him. The birds he had designed cawing and calling so far out they appeared as dots darting over the surface of the swells. We liked to dare each other to jump in first and I always won because I lived for the shock of that water on my summer hot skin, but I couldn’t wait. Or I wouldn’t.

I filled my lungs and dove in. The humming silence of underwater was a kind of meditation for me, so I swam beneath the surface out as far as I could. 

Pol knew how much I loved being in the ocean and had argued, when we were designing the original drafts of this environment, for allowing “gill mode” so we could swim down, down for as long or as deep as we wanted. I refused. I wanted a place as real as we could make it. I did not need fantasy here. Just seclusion. Just peace. Our place away from everyone.

I surfaced and took a deep breath and looked toward the shore, expecting Pol to be there. He wasn’t and I didn’t worry, yet, just wondered. What was he up to? What was keeping him?

I back-flopped into the sea again, submerged, and came back up, letting the water style my hair back slick across my scalp. I slogged my way through the surf toward the beach. I waited. Then began to worry.

I processed him a message, set it to send Inside or Outside. No response. Where was he?

A ping came through, but… not his. The setting for this environment - the settings we had selected together - were strictly private. We were the only ones who could message each other Inside our island world.

Except for—

It couldn’t be.

It was.

Annie.