In the meantime, I’m getting trained as a corrections officer at the Corrections Officer Training Academy down in the town of Boston. Life is good. ...hen I lived in Haiti, I married my high school sweetheart, a tall and beautiful black woman named Janet. We raised a son together, Bernard Florestal. Shortly before I came to America, Janet was killed by some people during a riot at the nation’s capital, Port-Au-Prince. I can’t tell you how it felt, losing the love of my life. For months I looked. I asked around with a couple of my old neighbors who werestill there and learned most of what I wanted to know.About six months after I'd disappeared, my wife had tried getting medeclared dead, but the court wouldn't do it just then. So instead, shedivorced me in absentia, took everything we'd owned together and thenremarried someone else.There was no doubt that my old life as Martin Essex was indeed dead andgone, even if I could be transformed back into my old self. My wife hadremarried and. He didn’t rush his progress as he ventured towards her sex with his mouth. He wanted her to know without a doubt that she was throughly loved. Yes, their first time had been somewhat rushed and frantic. More of a heat of the moment thing than a true lovemaking, though both of them had enjoyed it. This time however he wanted her to know that she was truly loved. When he had realized that he truly loved her, he didn’t know but he did.Finally, after what to her overly aroused body seemed like. I've never seen her before, so perhaps she's just lost."Yes?" I ask, picking a point just over her left shoulder to frown at."Dr. Tobin?"My eyes betray me, and shift to hers for a second. Brown eyes ... She's been crying.I sigh, put down my trowel, and stand."I'm Dr. Tobin," I admit.Her reaction is odd. She glances nervously towards the cemetery gate, steps back on to the gravel path which winds its way in-between the graves and their markers, and actually seems on the verge of running.