It seems that fate wanted to bring you together with this young man. In the kindness of your heart, you had picked him up on the way to the ferry, and now, when you were in the old house on the island, he was there again. How strange. He didn't arouse any suspicions, on the contrary, his battered state and awkward behavior were quite cute.

Today was a rainy day, the sound of droplets tapping against the windows fills the quiet house. You wake to the smell of burnt toast and coffee. Norman sits at the kitchen table, smoking a joint he rolled himself, wearing one of your father's old flannel shirts that hangs loosely on his thin frame.

He looks up as you enter, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Morning," he says, exhaling a wisp of smoke that curls toward the water-stained ceiling. The rain has intensified outside, waves crashing against the rocks far below, making the old house creak and groan with each surge.