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remembered he’d taken a meeting in the immersion room—a hemispherical domed projection room—and fell asleep. He had been dreaming of, what else, the island. Just before waking, he was flying like they often did in Foreverland.
    But now he was awake.
    He wiped the drool off his lip and called the effects off. The polished wall went blank and he stared at his reflection in all directions.
    It must be late; he was still tired. He’d gone for a swim that morning, maybe that was it. He started for the outline of the door.
    A bundle of letters was on the floor.
    Maria must’ve dropped them off after seeing him snoozing on the lone chair. This wouldn’t have bothered him had his name not been spelled out in big green letters.
    Danny Boy.
    The foggy remains of sleep blew away, replaced by a shiver. He considered whether to open it or just throw it out like he’d done the first letter. He didn’t want to be reminded of the island. He’d escaped that tropical hell with Reed and Zin, but they’d all split up soon after and hardly kept in touch.
    To start new lives.
    And now this.
    The Earth I tread upon leaves and loam could be any of them. For a time, they’d all wandered around lost. I fly alone could be Reed because he was an introvert, a loner. When they were on the island, he didn’t mix with the other boys, didn’t do what he was told. Everyone on the island knew that.
    Where the sand is home.
    That was the clincher. Only three people in the world knew where Reed’s body was buried—his teenage body, the flesh he was born into. That body was dead. But Reed had transferred his identity, his awareness, into Harold Ballard’s body when they erased Harold’s identity. They did so without guilt, without shame. He was the one doing it to them; he had it coming.
    Reed was a teenager in Harold Ballard’s old body.
    Reed’s bruised and broken teenage body was buried on the beach. Where the sand is home . Only three people knew that. Danny was one of them. Reed and Zin were the other two.
    But why so cryptic? Why the handwritten letter?
    Zin was unreachable. The last Danny heard, he was on a vision quest somewhere in India where phones and computers didn’t exist.
    Reed, though, had moved back to the States. It had been a year or so since he last saw him. Even then he was a little off, dealing with survivor’s guilt. They all were. No one could survive the island and be normal.
    Maybe someone from the island had located Danny and was preparing to blackmail him. This thought crossed his mind. After all, Danny, Reed and Zin escaped with Harold Ballard’s money and left all the boys on the island to be rescued by the Coast Guard. Maybe someone wanted a cut.
    Danny could let that happen.
    If that was the case, he wouldn’t arm himself with a battery of lawyers. He would just walk out of the house and disappear. Money could always be made, but freedom was different. Have that taken away and you realize money means nothing.
    The island taught him that.
    Danny slid his thumb under the envelope’s flap. Another disc fell out, the same as before: a blue edge and reflective sides with hundreds of pinpoints. The holes, he noticed, weren’t simply poked or drilled through the thick plastic, they were angled on the inside, conical but at different degrees.
    A note was attached. Build the bridge, Danny Boy.
    Inside the envelope, there was a tri-folded paper, one edge still had ragged tags left from a spiral-bound notebook. Four lines in green ink.
    We all dream the same,
    A dream that feeds in the dark.
    My demons are different than yours,
    But we all have them, just the same.
    He read it three times. He doubted no more.
    We all have demons, Reed once told him. It was the last thing he said before leaving Spain. Zin went on a vision quest to vanquish his demons. Danny threw himself into innovation. But Reed was different.
    My demons are different than