The rubber raft rode the surf at the edge of the rock on which Henry's broken body lay.  The sea surge hitting the rock threw great walls of water which beat back the small craft as it tried to draw nearer to the injured man.  There were two men wearing life-vests and black wetsuits on the raft; one man steered the outboard motor powering the raft close to the rocks, but he was careful not move so close as to have the sharp shards of black rock cut a hole in the raft.  The other man wore a facemask and snorkle; he held a rope tied to a grappling hook which he swung over his head and tossed on to the rock.  He pulled.  The rope tightened and the hook caught.  The rescuer threw his legs over the side of the raft while the man steering tried to keep tension on the rope by moving away from the rock.  The small engine labored against the strong current.  The twenty feet spanning the raft and the rock took several attempts to traverse, but the guy gripped the rope and held on tight.  He drew closer.  His feet found the side of the submerged stone.  At first it was hard to get a good grip on green slime of algae covering the rock, but once he rose above the water-line the rock was bare and movement was easier.  He pulled himself out of the water, and in several well calculated jumps, reached the battered body lying facedown on the rock.  

"We'll get you out of here."  hollered the man.  His voice sounded distant to Henry, like someone shouting far off through a thick fog.  Careful not to move the man before knowing exactly how badly he was hurt, the rescuer put his face close to Henry's cheek, and peered into his face.  To Henry's lolling eye the nearby face looking back at him was a mere shadow, a figure seen through thick smoked glass, a blurry cloud.  He heard the voice in the distance again. "Can you speak?  Can you tell me where you hurt?"  Henry tried to lift his head but he felt the broken bones in his neck crack together.  A wave of nausea hit him.  He vomited a mixture of blood and seawater into the face of the man who had come to save him, and then blackness overtook his tortured frame as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

The girl sat on a mossy rock at the edge of a deep pool.  She played with a stick, waving it back and forth in the water.  Her hair hung down close to the water, hiding her face, almost touching the surface.  Beyond her, Henry could see the pebbled bottom of the brook; there were weeds swaying softly, and looking closer, he saw fish holding their lovely rainbowed forms still and steady in the current.  Birdsong filled the forest.  The air smelled sweet, fresh, like spice--ginger perhaps, jasmine. 

"Who are you? Where are we?"  Henry ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed the nape of his neck as he looked down at the girl. 

"Look," he said, "I know that I'm not really here,"  He held out his arms. "I'm really on a rock half-dead from jumping off a cliff."  He shook his finger at her.  With a frenzied look to his eye, he went on, "You aren't really here.  You aren't real.  I'm dying on a rock.  I know it.  Who the hell are you?"  Henry shouted in frustration.   The birds were suddenly quite.  

In a small voice, neither hurried nor casual, but rather in a dreamy tone, the girl said as she swirled her stick, "We really should be moving along.  They are expecting your arrival.  It's quite exciting you know, you coming here."  

She tossed the stick into the water as she rose from the rock and turned to face the man.  She reached over, took hold of Henry's hand and said, "Come on.  We have to go now.  You have to decide, Henry.  You'll only learn of suffering and pain if you stay; come with us, Henry.  You will learn of wonderful things, things you never dreamed of before."  She smiled.  The sheer honesty of her face, the clear clean way the light touched her freckled skin and made it almost glow, the thoughtful expression in her eyes as they looked deepiy into Henry's soul, compelled the distraught man to take her hand.  Somehow, things would be okay Henry thought.  He smiled at her.  They turned together, and to the sound of birds singing over the babble of the brook, the man and child continued up the path.