“Over there… It’s her!”
André squinted into the fog where Samuel pointed. The figure he saw could have been a woman, or just a shape molded by the combination of fog and the imagination.
“It’s been years, Sam. She’s gone.”
The fog thinned for an instant, revealing a landscape devoid of human life. Waves crashed against the gray rocks like pummeling fists. André’s heart sank.
“They never found her body,” Sam choked.
André gazed beyond the cliffs, as far as the mists allowed. He recalled his sister-in-law’s demeanor. How Kelly would sit sullenly at family dinners while Samuel boasted about his business and achievements—things that, to her, didn’t matter.
“Penny for your thoughts,” André once whispered to break the awful silence. She smiled sadly then, and recalled her youth in Ireland, her longing to return.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said. “So lush and verdant and teeming with wildflowers.” She sighed. “Yes, the wildflowers—so colorful and free.” She paused to collect herself. “And the stunning cliffs of Moher…”
Surrounded in the murk and mud, André couldn’t imagine this was the same place she described. He returned his attention to his brother, who stood near the cliff’s edge. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixed with intermittent drops that began to fall from the sky.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Samuel sobbed as André cupped his shoulder.
“Well, wherever Kelly is now, her spirit is with Ireland, where she belonged—colorful and free.”
As the fog grew dense, a humanlike form appeared in its mist. Or was it fog and the imagination? The form resembled a woman in dance. Just then, the banshee wind wailed—its sound less mournful than exhilarated.