Prologue
Charles Powell stood hunched over in the California rain. As his skin felt numb and his legs stiff, he watched the casket being lowered into the ground. His close friends and mourners huddled with him silently, umbrellas held up. The canopy flapping in the wet wind did little to shield him.
He dabbed at the corner of his eye and said quietly, “Goodbye, June. Until we meet again.”
“Charles,” his friend, Roy Kimble, whispered, “The car is waiting.”
Charles turned to see the hearse, and behind it an idling limousine. He walked with his head down, his buddy trying to keep him dry with his black umbrella.
As the limousine car door was opened for him, Charles sat in the back and stared into space. Time. He needed time.
And a place to relax. A place to recover.
Somewhere far away.
