Her voice, a shriek, reverberated against the stone, overwhelming the rushing sound that had begun in his ears, and the otherwise peaceful sloshing of slowly encroaching tide.  This place was usually his sanctuary — his, and Justin’s (and oft-begrudgingly, his other cousins’).  It was usually where he went for Thinking Time, when he wasn’t devising adventures for the battalion of Star Ware figures, Matchbox cars, and model kits that he hauled on every trip.  He tried, now, with his heart pounding, his stepfather groaning as he — thankfully — struggled to his feet, his aunt teetering on the edge of one of her explosions — to put himself back there.  To shut out what was real and immediate; to fend off figurative (or, it seemed, actual) blows with his disappearance.

It wasn’t working.