The next few hours are a blur to me now. They are a hazy memory, a dream half-forgotten in the morning light. But if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still catch a glimpse of what happened next. Despite the years that have passed, I can still smell the faintest of sea breezes, the prickle of raindrops on my skin. Sometimes, when I am drifting off to sleep, I can still hear the rhythmic thud of the waves as they pound the shore not ten metres from Aunt Joanie's doorstep. I can also hear the screams.