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the island. 
    He heard Gypsy Woman’s words in his head, “The sea must have her.”  
    He picked up the lifeless girl, took her out of the cabin, and tossed her over the side. She seemed to tumble gently, head over heels, as she disappeared into the depths. Steven hoped the sea, or whatever forces wanted the hurricane, would be satisfied with her, or her empty shell.  
    He tried to speak but could barely move the air out of his throat.“Stay away from the island, please,” he managed to whisper. 
    Steven started the throttle. He hurt all over and needed to get to shore to warn everyone; the nameless tourists, the young girl on the swing, all the divers, Ricardo, his kid helper and Angie. There was no high ground to run to. 
    He steered the boat back to the main dock where he had arrived in the morning. The water level had dropped so much that the dock was above his head. The boat bottomed out with a screech. Fredrico’s words echoed in his head, “We didn’t stick around to see the water come back.” The storm and inevitable tidal wave were coming.  
    Steven jumped out and sloshed through the last fifty feet of knee-deep water to shore. Front Street was empty. He ran to the lights of the Lazy Iguana. He could hear the reggae and the sound of the crowd. 
    The wind beat against the roof, ripping up brown fronds. 
    He reached the stairs and pushed his way up, knocking a beer out of a laughing diver’s hand. At the top, Steven yelled, “Take cover! The Hurricane is coming!” 
    Those near him who heard, laughed. A man pointed to the fronds swirling like out of control kites in the strong wind. 
    Steven leaned over the railing and saw a wall of water rolling over the reef. He watched the man’s drunken smile leave his face as he saw the water racing towards them.  
    The man yelled and ran to the bar. Within seconds the blasting music was cut and the catwalks and stairs filled with people running. Steven could hear the rumble of the water above the screams. He stood still. There was nowhere to run. 
    The wave rushed over him, pushing him into the frame of the Lazy Iguana and tossed him about with the dirt and palm leaves, uncaring, as if he were a stick. It forced itself down his throat as he tried to breathe. As the air left him, he thought it was a fitting revenge for depriving the sea of its prize that it should have him. 
    Despite the turbulent thrashing, he felt calm, the calmest he had felt since losing Elise. He saw her face in front of his, in the spinning water. She kissed him and he wondered if he were still alive. He saw her eyes—swirling green and blue and black, like the ocean, as he lost consciousness.  
    **** 
    Steven woke up on the beach to the shining sun. The remains of the seaside graveyard and the Caribbean Paradise’s cabanas littered the shore. The palm trees were stripped bare and a few coffins jutted out of the ground. The white cross marking Gypsy Woman’s grandfather’s grave defiantly stood. Steven looked up. The Lazy Iguana’s thatched roof was gone but the twisted framework somehow still remained. 
    “Ha! Hah!” a voice said. “Bob has protected this place.” 
    Steven rolled over. A few yards away sat a diver, who he recognized from the party, trying to light a water-logged cigarette with a lighter that wouldn’t spark. 
    Further down a half dozen people walked along the shore, apparently looking for survivors among the debris. He recognized Gypsy Woman’s long hair and sparkling rings even from far away.  
    One of the men saw Steven and the diver and yelled. 
    Gypsy Woman came closer, stopped, then ran to Steven. 
    “You,” she yelled and began hitting him. Her blows were wild and had no force. She turned her head to the white cross and began crying. 
    “Go slow,” the diver said. “We’ll rebuild.”  
    It seemed a hollow consolation but then Steven realized it is all you can do when everything is washed away. In his mind’s eye he saw himself