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hilt of a knife tucked into Ricardo’s shorts. 
    “Maybe you’ll understand now,” Ricardo said. 
    “Understand what?” 
    “Most people come here and see what they want to see: the sun, the sand, the stars, happy people living on an island.”  
    Ricardo twitched his head nervously, as if looking to see if anyone was around, then kicked the sandy road.  
    “People here are angry, I’m angry,” he said. “We get our lives wrecked by every passing storm.” 
    Steven quickly glanced at Ricardo’s hands, then back at his face. 
    “The sun and the sand. You take that away and we have nothing. Your friend Matt didn’t understand that. He always had America to go back to. He wasn’t willing to do what needed to be done, and the hurricane claimed him.”  
    “Ricardo,” Angie yelled from the road. 
    Ricardo looked at Steven, shook his head, and turned away toward Angie. 
    “You are lucky tonight,” he said. “The storm is gone and I have a girl waiting. Things could have gone a lot worse for you.” 
    Ricardo walked to Angie muttering under his breath. Together they headed back toward the Lazy Iguana. Steven stood in the graveyard. There was so much he wanted to know about Elise that he had hoped Matt would tell him. Now, there was no chance at all. 
    Steven followed the path through the old stones toward the water. A few lonely boats rocked in the lagoon, attached to a private dock littered with cans, crates, fishing poles, fishing sling spears, and pails.  
    Steven registered movement on the dock from the corner of his eye. He walked a few yards to see better. Flicks of rain hit his face. Geckos chirped frantically. The moonlight on the lagoon illuminated a pair of yellow eyes just above the water.  
    At the edge of the dock, a girl was tied between two docking posts. A woman stood before her, raising her arms to the sky. Their shapes blurred like an inky thing from the deep.  
    Steven ran to the dock. The wind rushed past his ears, drowning the jungle sounds. The dock’s planks rattled beneath him. 
    Gypsy Woman stood at the edge of the dock, before the frail girl. Steven recognized her as the young girl from the boat. Her hair spun in swirls, as if in the grip of tiny storms. Wind rushed around and the air felt heavy, full of moisture. 
    “Go away, man from the boat,” Gypsy Woman said with a fierce calm. In the night, with her face in shadows, she was more than the exotic woman from the boat, more than the mourner in the graveyard. 
    Behind her, the girl slumped between the two posts, barely straining the bonds. Welts covered her wrists where the ropes bound her. Her eyes were blank and a slight mist rolled off her skin, as if she were taking in all the moisture and could hold no more. 
    “What the hell is going on here?” Steven asked. 
    Elise filled his mind, her hair swaying in the water as she drowned. 
    A line of water trickled from the corner of the girl’s mouth. The air tingled with the kinetic energy of the moment before a cloudburst. 
    “I’m untying her,” Steven said. 
    Gypsy Woman moved, blocking his way. 
    “You don’t understand! The sea must have her!” 
    For an instant they were close, closer than on the boat, close enough to kiss. He didn’t want to hit her; perhaps he could push her out of the way. 
    Pain radiated from his shins and his legs buckled as she swept his legs, sending him crashing into the fishing rods. He hit the planks and the pails fell off the dock with a splash. Lights from the house flashed on. Something hard hit him. Her elbow? Her knee? He put his arms up to defend himself.  
    Instead of hitting him again, Gypsy Woman lunged for the girl. Steven threw himself forward and grabbed the back of her calf. She fell and her own momentum sent her sliding off the edge into the water. 
    Steven stood up and began to untie the girl’s restraints. Mist poured off her as if she were dry ice. Her wet hair hung in front of her eyes and stuck to