It was a dark and stormy night.
Zachary, wet and miserable, had been dispatched by his father to scamper across town to pick up some drugs for his step-mother.
From the road, he could see the still frozen river. It was only March but it was starting to melt. In a week, the ice would be gone.
The barbed sweet stenches of sewage wafting up between the ice cracks on the canal were arrogantly broadcasting an early spring.
From somewhere across the canal, a soft sound was barely audible over the moan of shifting ice and garbage: "Help."
Zachary stopped, at first unsure of what he had heard. But through the sound of the rain, he heard the cry again, this time louder.
Apprehensive but curious, he gingerly approached the source of the noise with deliberate steps.
Zack found the source of the sound and froze: a two-way radio. While common in the past, batteries hadn't existed for at least two decades.
What was something so precious doing in the slush next to the canal?
"Jackpot," he whispered.
Nervous but excited, Zachary bent down and gently picked up the radio.
It was one of the earlier models, with a slightly scratched ivory shell, and small metallic buttons.
As his fingers scratched the device, the speaker suddenly came to life again.
A voice faintly drifted from the old speaker, one that was immediately recognizable. The ghostly voice belonged to his dead wife, Lilly.
Zachary knew the voice instantly, it had haunted his dreams since her death.