Yet, it was her son.Doris tore her eyes to the bedside clock and saw that it was three minutes to the hour.At her retreat after Peter had interrupted ...hat surely would have taken mother and child to a new perverse level, Doris had agreed to her son's question about another hot tub and massage. How could she be so weak she chastised herself! If her son was any other man, she would not blink to jump into that tub to pleasure and be pleasured. Years of a cold marriage and and even colder bed would. But then, what is essence? Is it possible for some form of un-embodied intelligence to survive the death of its host? Apparently so if Annie wasn't a total figment of my imagination, but how and in what form?While my brain was grinding through these questions, her last comment popped into my brain. She said, "I have no idea" when I asked her what was holding her together. I pondered that for the rest of the afternoon, finally deciding to call an acquaintance who teaches physics at the community. More

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