James Rodriguez

Darkness fell with unnatural speed.

The apparitions approached the water's edge, their forms more distinct now a ring of translucent figures surrounding the plane.

I recognised Clara at the front.

Her innocent features were stored, pleading silently for me to return.

Don't look at them, I told Emily, who had strapped into the co-pilot's seat.

The engine coughed, then roared to life.

I released the mooring line and began the take-off sequence, guiding the Cessna away from shore into deeper water.

The apparitions entered the water moving with impossible speed toward us.

Their hands reached for the pontoons as I increased throttle.

Taurus' face pressed against my side window, her mouth forming words I couldn't hear over the engine noise.

Put by, Clara, I said quietly.

I love you.

I always will.

Her image seemed to flicker momentarily, returning to the real memory of my daughter.

Innocent, beautiful, free of the island's corruption.

The Cessna gathered speed across the darkening lagoon.

The ghostly hands fell away from the pontoons.

The plane lifted free of the water, climbing into night sky.

Emily sat silently beside me, her face illuminated by instrument panel lights.

After several minutes at cruising altitude, she spoke.