Chapter I

I hate boats.

I sat on a pink bench, the painted wood hot against my thighs. Holding a bottle of water in one hand, I tossed the white pill into my mouth with the other. I eyed the catamaran warily as it bobbed up and down in the harbor. The pill went down hard. Just watching the catamaran float on the waves made me nauseous.

I glanced at Sky and Tanya. Sky was reading some book about pirates and Tanya was putting on lip gloss. Neither one of them had thought about my propensity toward sea sickness when they’d signed up for this, and I hadn’t reminded them. I was enough of a drag as it was.

I sighed, looking back up as a group of college students sat down across from us, laughing loudly. I leaned toward Tanya. “I can’t believe we’re going on a booze cruise,” I muttered.

She pressed her lips together and flashed a coy smile at one of the frat boys. Not looking at me, she said, “It’s not a booze cruise. It’s a day-long excursion to Rose Island, which happens to serve alcohol.” She handed me her lip gloss. “Can you put this in your backpack?”

I had insisted that we only take one bag—my backpack—on this trip. I figured it was a better way to keep track of our belongings, and only one of us had to carry anything. Plus, it allowed me to sneak my cell phone along. I had to stay in touch with Linda, my secretary. What if she needed me? I shifted the backpack from one shoulder to the other. I hadn’t anticipated how much crap would get loaded onto my back. I felt Sky unzip the big pocket and slip her book into it as someone called us to attention.

“Ahoy, me hearties!” We turned to see our captain – a young man in his mid-twenties with bleach-blond hair. He was dressed in a pirate’s outfit he must have gotten from a Halloween costume store: red handkerchief tied around his head, white shirt with billowy sleeves, tight striped pants tucked into black boots, a sash around his waist. And of course, an eye patch. The shirt, as expected, had no buttons, and lay open to reveal a “V” of very tan, very muscular, very hairless chest. He explained to us what our trip would consist of, his words enhanced by the lilt of an accent. Australian. I wanted to roll my eyes. Of course he was Australian. This guy must get tourist “booty” like nobody’s business.

As we and the eight other passengers followed the Aussie, named Bryan, onto the 40-foot catamaran, Tanya hooked her arms around Sky’s neck and around my waist, pulling us close. She growled into our ears, “Wow. He can shiver me timbers any day of the week.” Sky and I smiled at each other. The minute Captain Bryan had appeared, we knew that Tanya would be lost to us today. Just as well. One less person to notice if I spent the trip puking over the side of the boat.

The instant we were seated on the catamaran, a young Bahamian woman hurried out with cocktails, grinning playfully at us. Jesus. It was, what, eleven in the morning? Who wanted to drink anything but coffee at this time of day? I sighed. I knew that, unless I wanted to be harangued mercilessly by Tanya, I would have to start drinking soon. I stared at the dock, trying to focus on the lack of movement there. So far so good.

“I hear the Bahama Mama is awesome,” Sky told me, handing me a fruity-looking drink as she took one herself.

I tried not to look disgusted. “What’s in it?”

Sky grinned. “Rum, rum, and more rum.”

Of course. How stupid of me. I settled back, holding the cup in my hands, my eyes focused on the shore as we set off. The speakers blared some calypso, and the college kids seemed to go through the drinks faster than the girl could bring them out. It was a particularly steamy day, steamier than yesterday, and a haze had settled on the horizon. It was neither cloudy nor sunny, just hot. Had we not been moving, there would have been no breeze.

I leaned forward, my eyes still on the shore, my drink still untouched. I wanted to have a good time for Tanya and Sky, God help me, I did. They had planned this girls’ trip to the Bahamas for me, to take my mind off of things. But every time I closed my eyes, I heard Jake’s voice. Telling me that this wasn’t the life he’d imagined for himself, for Sophie. That he hoped a separation would give me time to think, to prioritize. I clenched my jaw, remembering how he’d sat there on the couch, his arms crossed and his eyes cold.

My chest ached as I remembered Sophie’s face, her wide blue eyes, so like her father’s, flickering from me to Jake as we tried to explain to her what was happening. It’s not that Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other… We love you more than life itself…

“…and Sabrina grew up in Haiti. But we all live in Houston now.” I looked up at hearing my name and found that Tanya and Sky had befriended the college students. Let me rephrase that: Tanya had befriended two athletic-looking frat boys in baseball caps and Sky had been unwillingly drawn into the conversation.

One of the boys, a tall guy with shaggy brown hair, looked at me and grinned. “Haiti, huh? Do you practice voodoo?”

Idiot. I gave him the iciest stare I could muster. “You sure you want to know?”

His grin didn’t fade. I could tell he was one of those guys who didn’t get the hint when a girl wasn’t interested in him, one of those guys who went around saying, “Dude, she totally wants me,” even when he’d been slapped in the face. “You’re cute,” he said. “You married?”

Tanya replied cheerfully, “She and her husband are separated.”

“Tanya!” Sky hissed, looked worriedly at me.

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, even though it wasn’t. Separated. The word cut me like a shard of glass.

The shaggy-haired frat boy pointed to my drink. “You gonna drink that before we get to the island or what? You haven’t even had a sip yet.”

I set the drink down in irritation. “Don’t think so. Feel free to drink it.” I stood uneasily, wondering if going below deck was a terrible idea. I really had to pee, and I wanted to escape this conversation immediately. I deliberated for exactly one second, deciding that I’d rather vomit non-stop than continue my conversation with the shaggy-haired kid. I stumbled clumsily to the cabin, trying unsuccessfully to shut out the playful laughter of the college kids.

Chapter II

I dug my feet further in the powder white sand, grinding my teeth. The relief I’d felt at finally being off the boat was swiftly replaced with anxiety: Rose Island was secluded, pristine, and void of distractions. Nothing but the turquoise beach stretching endlessly before us, nothing but relaxation on the agenda. I glanced at Tanya, who was giggling with Captain Bryan. Well, nothing but relaxation for most of us.

Sky and I had found a quiet place on the beach to sit, and she rummaged through my backpack, pulling out another book. Realizing the torture I was in for, I pulled out my iPod. Sky looked around for a second, leaning back on her elbows. “This place is gorgeous,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” I replied, tucking the earbuds in my ears. “It’s really perfect if you’re looking for some privacy.” I rolled my eyes meaningfully in Tanya’s direction, where she and the Aussie were already wandering off together as she tossed back her head and laughed, touching him lightly on his arm.

Sky watched them walk off and then turned to me, a smile playing on her lips. “This is going to sound all kinds of messed up, but I’m kind of living vicariously through her. He’s pretty hot.”

I chuckled. “It’s the accent.” Then I added, “That’s not messed up. You’ll get back home and jump Dave like a hormonal teenager. He’ll love that.”

Sky grinned. “I may dress him up as a pirate for fun.”

I shook my head, smiling widely. “You do realize pirates were not like…” I grabbed the book out of her hands, opening it up to a random page. “…like Lord Lance.” I jumped up as Sky tried to snatch the book back, scrabbling from her beach towel and laughing. “Jesus, Sky, what on earth are you reading? The Pirate’s Fire? Are you serious? What happened to that history book you were reading earlier? It was just a cover-up so you could read this smut, wasn’t it!”

Sky was still laughing, wrapping her arms around my calves. “Come on, S, don’t lose my place, okay? I have an abnormal obsession with pirates. I can’t help it if being here makes me want to read about buccaneers. Historically speaking, Nassau was a pirate haven.”

I laughed. “Don’t you start lecturing me! I already know all that. And don’t try distracting me from the fact that you’re reading about being ravaged by a pirate.”

Sky’s lips twitched as she held out her hand. “My book, please?”

I handed the book back to her, pointing to the bronze-skinned Adonis on the cover. He was embracing a pale blond woman who looked to be in mid-orgasm. “Fine. But let me just remind you that in real life, pirates were nothing like this. They were filthy, had rotting teeth, and serious dingle-berries.”

Sky shook her head defiantly. “Don’t ruin my fantasies, S. I’m not listening.”

I plopped down, leaning to speak in her ear. “They suffered from scurvy and malnutrition, were probably more interested in each other than in women, and carried all kinds of fun STDs like syphilis. And all that bullshit about pirates being vigilantes. They were, and still are, thugs, Sky, just plain thugs who raped and murdered and—”

Sky clapped her hand to my mouth, smiling. “Shut. Yo. Face.”

I leaned back, deciding I’d annoyed her enough. “Just keep your hands where I can see them, okay?” Grinning to myself, I went back to my iPod. Sky continued to read her Harlequin while I scrolled through my list of songs, wondering if I had any new e-mails. The air was breezeless, and it felt abnormal, stifling, almost. The sea was eerily still, the azure waves lapping gently at our feet. I was starting to feel restless, wondering if I would get grief from Sky if I checked my phone, when I spotted Tanya jogging down the beach towards us, her clothes in disarray, her hair flying loosely behind her. “Guys! We have to go. Now.”

Sky and I jumped up. “What happened?”

Tanya scowled. “We were about to, you know, when he got paged. A thunderstorm is coming through here, and we have to leave, like, now.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The pirate carries a pager? How authentic.”

Sky looked up, confused. “A thunderstorm? I don’t see anything.”

Tanya shrugged. “Yeah, nobody did. Otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to leave this morning. In any case, Bryan wants us all back on the boat pronto.” As we started back, Tanya reached for my backpack. “Hey, S, can I have my lip gloss? And my eye liner? Actually, just give me my whole makeup bag.”

“You have an entire makeup bag in here?” I cried. “No wonder it feels like it weighs ten tons!”

Sky archly yanked a strand of Tanya’s wild hair and asked, “So? Is the pirate a good kisser?”

Tanya’s face stretched into a wide smile and she gurgled as she broke into a run. We chased after her, screaming obscenities at her, teasing her. Up above, the clouds quickly but soundlessly thickened into a gray fog, blotting out the sun.

Somehow, Bryan the Aussie Pirate managed to get every last drunken passenger on board in record time, and we were off. Bryan didn’t bother to unfurl the sails this time; he was trying to beat the storm, and the engine growled unpleasantly, coughing gasoline fumes that made my unsettled stomach all the more unwilling to keep down my lunch.

I looked up at the sky, watching an ominous patch of clouds move over Rose Island. How odd that no one saw this coming. Because it looked like it was going to be pretty bad. I tried to swallow the bile in the back of my throat, wondering if we’d get hit by the storm while at sea. I would definitely end up puking then.

“Hey, Voodoo Lady!” Shaggy Hair was smiling lopsidedly at me, a beer in his hand. “You’re the only sober one left. How pathetic is that?” I looked around me. Yup. Everyone was having a blast, completely oblivious to the danger we could be in. Even Sky was swaying giddily, her eyes not focusing on anything in particular.

“I’d better not be the only sober one,” I called back over the engine, jerking my thumb at Bryan, where he stood steering the boat. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his upper lip, and underneath his tan his face was bloodless. Several empty plastic cups lay crumpled at his side, and I realized with a flash of horror that I was, in fact, the only sober one on board.

“Come on, you prude,” he said, his voice suddenly in my ear. I jerked around to find that Shaggy Hair was standing right next to me, smiling. “One shot, and I’ll leave you alone.”

My eyes widened. “You promise? Because that’s all I really want—for you to leave me alone.” I kept glancing back at Bryan, fear swelling up inside me. I looked at Tanya and Sky, where they were laughing and dancing like nothing was wrong. Our captain was drunk, we were about to get hit by a monumental storm, and I was the only one who was worried. I snatched the shot glass from Shaggy Hair. I tossed it back without hesitation, then said huskily, “Get me another one, would you?”

Shaggy Hair hooted, his face flushed. “Yes, ma’am!”

After choking down another shot of whatever that was, I started to feel a bit calmer. I made my way to Bryan and asked, “Um, is there something I can do to help?”

Bryan didn’t even look at me as rain droplets started to splash against the control panel. “Could you get everyone to put on a life jacket and get below, mate? This is gonna be a bad one.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I answered doubtfully. I grabbed a few life jackets and stumbled back out to where the drunks had finally noticed it was starting to rain. The women started laughing, their faces upturned into the now rapidly falling droplets. This was going to be like herding cats. I started with Sky and Tanya. “Guys, the storm is here. Let’s try and get everyone below before someone ends up overboard.”

Tanya glanced at me, and I could tell what she was thinking. Of course I was the only person not having a good time. Of course I was the only person with a stick up my ass. Of course I was the one trying to ruin everybody’s fun. I would have been rigid with fury, but those two shots were working their magic. My joints were made of rubber. I pointed to Bryan, who was mopping his brow with the tail of his shirt. “T, your boy asked that you put this on and get down below. Don’t fight me.”

That convinced her, and before I knew it, I had managed to get everyone below deck, if not in a life jacket. The cabin was small, stuffy, and crowded with, well, drunks. Body odor and the smell of alcohol mingled in the stagnant heat, and I felt my stomach leap into my throat. The storm was getting worse, and the waves tossed the catamaran like a toy in the bathtub. The boat pitched from side to side, and as I stood pressed between Shaggy Hair and Sky, I suddenly knew I was going to throw up.

“Sabrina! Where are you going?” Sky cried, her own face a light shade of green.

“I’ll be back,” I mumbled. “I’m going to be sick.” At that moment, one of the frat boys retched noisily on the floor, and I knew I had to get the hell out of the cabin. I squeezed past the sweaty bodies and up the ladder, nearly falling as the boat rocked to the left. Above, the rain pelted down mercilessly, and Captain Bryan, drenched and panicked, was trying to radio someone, anyone.

“Get back below!” he yelled at me as I rushed to the metal railing and puked up a combination of hard alcohol, Bahama Mama, and chicken fingers. I wiped my mouth and looked at him, shaking my head. The rain felt good, and I wasn’t just about to go back down there. He yelled a series of incoherent curses at me, saying something about the compass not working.

As the cabin door began to push open – probably by the passengers who didn’t want to sit amongst the heat, sweat, and vomit – Bryan kicked it shut forcefully, leaning against it and padlocking it with one swift movement. “No one else is getting out of there until this storm is over,” he yelled angrily, flashing a look at me.

I lay down on the slippery deck, gripping the railing with one hand. I just wanted it to stop. I would do anything for this feeling to go away. Anything. I tried to roll on my back, but my backpack, which I had so cleverly strapped on over my life jacket, prevented me from doing so. I didn’t have the energy to tear it off, so I just lolled on my side, my hair matted to my face, looking up into the most frightening sky I’d ever seen. The clouds reached down to the sea like ghostly hands, illuminated from behind by an unearthly glow.

Suddenly the boat lurched violently. I felt my skull crack against the fiberglass hull, my body tossed like a ragdoll into the air. I’m not sure if I screamed. I’m pretty sure I didn’t, considering I couldn’t even get up the energy to flail or grab for something. I tasted salt water, felt it burn my eyes. It filled my ears and nose, pulled at my limbs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tell which way the surface was. The life jacket and backpack pulled in opposite directions, one dragging me down, the other trying to break the waves, both riding up around my neck. I shook my head in distress, and the backpack covered my face. Suddenly, death seemed like a welcome reprieve to the sea sickness, to the battering of the sea. My head hit something hard again, and the next thing I saw was my daughter Sophie’s face when she was four or five months old, smiling her toothless smile, her chubby hands reaching for me…

Take good care of her, Jake. I love you, Sophie.

Chater III

My first conscious thought was: I hate boats.

My head pounded, just at the crown. Illogically, I wondered if there was a hole in my skull. From the neck down, I was submerged in cool water, and waves tugged at my body rhythmically. Sunlight lit the inside of my eyelids to a bright, veined pink and warmed my face, which was pressed against the smooth nylon of my life jacket.

Was I dead? I tried opening my eyes, but it felt as though they were welded shut. I wanted to rub them, but wasn’t even sure I knew how to move my hands. Hell, for all I knew, I didn’t have hands anymore. I thought idly about sharks as I bobbed about, wondering if anyone would find me, and if not, how long it would take to die. Slowly, I was able to crack open my eyes. From between the strands of hair that wrapped across my face and stuck to my parched lips, I could see a blurry blue sky with scattered clouds above, and nothing but sea stretching before me. Water sloshed around in my ears, and I could barely hear anything over the roar in my head.

Was my death to be prolonged? Would I die slowly at sea, with various sea creatures nibbling at me like an open buffet? I tried to moan, but no sound came out of my mouth. What had happened to Sky and Tanya? To everyone else on the catamaran? Were they okay?

Then I heard it. Gurgling water, and a distinct creaking. I saw the shadow it cast on the waves before I saw the dark hull, painted with a stripe of black. The ship was approaching, and while I wanted to call out for help, I could do nothing but wince at the pain I felt as I tried to move. I heard voices, and knew that I’d been found. Funny, how one’s brain works when water-logged and beaten to a pulp: I remember thinking it was remotely odd that a wooden sailing ship had found me, but not exceptionally odd. My eyes tried to focus on the ship as it came dangerously close, creaking and groaning balefully, the sails shuddering as the ship turned into the wind.

I saw men’s faces peering down at me from the sides, speaking in what I thought was English. I couldn’t be sure, because my ears were partially submerged in water, but I thought I heard someone say “Avast ye!” The ship was within arm’s reach when I managed to focus my eyes on a flag flapping urgently in the wind: black, with a skull and two crossed bones beneath it. I tried to clear my head, blinking.

I was being rescued by pirate re-enactors. How droll.

Two men, clambering down monkey-like along the side of the ship, grabbed me by my vest and pulled. I was jerked from the water, my legs slapping against the wood of the boat. “Steady, clods, or I’ll cut ye in sunder!” a gruff male voice yelled.

I was then on my back again, looking into the curious faces of my rescuers. And, holy heaven, did they stink. I’m not sure I managed to keep the look of disgust off my face. My stomach began to churn again as I felt the ship rock beneath my body.

“Damn me, if it isn’t a bit o’ girl!” one fellow cried, blowing sour breath into my face.

“Close that yawp, dog!” another one growled. “Back to your post, and be quick about it!”

I turned my head to the side, groaning. I found my voice—along with a healthy dose of sarcasm—and croaked, “Seriously, guys. Enough with the pirate talk. Get me to a hospital.”

The men exchanged looks, and a man who hadn’t spoken yet examined me, touching the vest, eyeing my terry cloth pants and t-shirt. The others hovered around, muttering oaths to each other. What was with these people? I tried to push myself up on my elbows, and the men instantly stepped back. All but the silent man, who, my addled brain assessed, was in a position of authority. Unlike the others, he maintained a calm look on his face, speaking gently to me. “There, now. Whatever ails you, cailin? Have ye need for the surgeon?”

Surgeon? And what did he call me? “Uh… No. I was… I fell off a boat… I don’t know how long ago… during a storm. I was staying on Paradise Island with my friends. They probably think I’m dead.”

I swallowed down the foul taste in my mouth, disoriented by what I saw. These guys weren’t kidding around. They clearly took this re-enactment business seriously, right down to the stench of putrid ass that emanated from every crevice of the ship. The deck was littered with coils of tarred rope and dirty sails. The ship seemed small, a lot smaller than Johnny Depp’s galleon, in any case. It had two masts, an immense amount of sail, and a long bowsprit. I didn’t remember much about sailboats, despite the instruction I’d gotten in Haiti as a kid, but it was clear the ship was built for speed. Speed, and battle, apparently – I spotted several big cannons and swivel guns fixed to the railing. The men, about a hundred of them, were of various ethnicities, including African and Asian, but were strikingly similar in their appearances. They were all weathered, scarred, and filthy, and they were all clothed in variations of a loose shirt and baggy trousers. All of them wore something on their heads, either a knitted or felt cap. Most of them had on simple leather shoes, while others went barefoot. Some had dirty neckerchiefs, some sported short jackets. And every single blessed one carried a weapon, mainly knives and pistols that were hung around their necks or tucked in their belts.

I looked at the nice fellow, the one who appeared to be the captain. It wasn’t the way he was dressed that tipped me off—he was dressed like the others, except he wore knee breeches and knitted stockings—it was his presence. He was short but broad in the chest, with copper-colored hair that was tied back into a tail under a small tricorn hat. His face was creased and spotted from the sun, his cheeks ruddy from the wind, and he had a large, aquiline nose. He looked to be in his late thirties. His eyes, though bloodshot, were a bright blue as he surveyed me apprehensively. He had both a cutlass and pistol tied into a makeshift belt at his side, but he showed no sign of wanting to use them, thank God. “I need to use a phone,” I said, my voice sounding slightly choked.

The captain raised an eyebrow. The crew rumbled with… disapproval? Confusion? Fear? Oh, Jesus. Don’t tell me they’ve taken this so far as to not bring a damn cell phone. The throbbing in my head got worse, as did my nausea, and I felt my patience run out. “God, please, guys! I need to get back to Paradise Island. I need to use a phone. Don’t you get it? I fell overboard… My friends, Sky and Tanya. I need to find out if they’re okay. I need to find out what happened to the catamaran. This isn’t fun and games for me!”

One of the other men, a pale, rawboned man with a grand total of four teeth that I could see, leaned to speak in the captain’s ear. “The woman’s mad, Cap’n! What say you that we leave her ashore at Nassau – ”

“Nassau!” I cried, jerking upright and immediately wishing I hadn’t moved. My stomach heaved and every muscle in my body ached. “Yes, take me to Nassau. That’ll work.” Anywhere, really, so long I was away from these wackos. The captain sat still for a moment, seemingly surprised by my ardent desire to go to Nassau. His hesitation, however, lasted less than a second. He nodded, but before he could speak, I gagged and threw up on the deck. I had nothing to throw up except sea water, and the captain ordered that I be brought some ale.

“God no! Water, please,” I begged, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

The captain smiled, but was clearly perplexed. He said, “We’ve no sweet water, lass, just ale or rum. Here, Jameson, let’s get under way. I’ll take her to the cabin, where she’ll stay until we reach New Providence.”

There was a malicious cackle, and one of the men growled, “Aye, ye will… She’s a fair piece, that one!” The captain apparently chose not to hear the jeers as he easily lifted me into his arms and walked with a swift, rolling gait down the hatch and into his cabin. He smelled strongly of sweat and alcohol, and I held my breath, turning my head away from him. I heard the disgruntled Jameson cry, “All hands make sail!”

I cursed the fact that I was so nauseous and weak that I couldn’t think straight. Why wouldn’t these guys stop with the play-acting? They were obviously not American; the captain sounded Irish and the others… mostly British, I guess. But their English was definitely of a different century. Was I in danger? Clearly they weren’t mentally all there. A few fries short of a Happy Meal, if you get my drift. I concluded that I wasn’t in any more danger here than I was bobbing about in the middle of the sea.

If I’d expected some sort of luxury in the captain’s cabin, I was sorely disappointed. I guess in the back of my mind I’d hoped the Irishman would quit the pirate talk and offer me a bottle of Evian. The cabin was below the poop deck at the stern. It was cramped, hot and smelled like rotting fish, human sweat, and raw sewage. I retched again, but the captain seemed relatively unfazed. He set me down on a low bunk that was covered with dirty bedding. I ripped the life jacket off, panicking.

“I can’t stay down here,” I said, my stomach in my throat, sweat beading my upper lip. The rocking felt more pronounced away from the fresh air, from the view of the horizon.

The captain sat on a low stool beside me, his eyes hard. “Ye can’t stay on the decks either, lass. Ye saw the way the men looked at ye, surely. It’s here or back in the sea with ye.”

I flinched, struck by the fierceness in his voice. He was serious. What was going on? Why couldn’t I stop the insanity? “Then drop me back in!” I moaned, clutching my scalp between my fingers. “For God’s sake, let someone else find me. Someone sane, who doesn’t think he’s a pirate!”

This made the Irishman laugh—a deep, slightly hostile rumble. His teeth were crowded and discolored, but he seemed to have most of them. A young boy, skinny and sunburnt, his bare feet black and callused, came in carrying a pewter mug and a bundle of cloth. I retched, nothing but spit coming out at this point. The captain said something about salt pork and hardtack, but “that with the fewest weevils.”

Gross. Seriously?

I moaned, shuddering in my sodden clothes. The Irishman produced a linen shirt and wide, knee-length trousers that were worn and sun-bleached to a faded blue. He said, “They’re the boy’s, they’ll likely fit ye. We haven’t got ladies’ silks and satins, to be sure, but it’ll do fine for now.” He raised a thick, unruly eyebrow at me. He seemed to think about something for a moment, and then disappeared up the hatch with a speed that should not have been possible on a rocking ship.

After struggling out of my wet clothes and slipping on those the captain had left for me, not knowing—or caring—whether to pat myself dry with something beforehand, I curled onto my side on the squalid bedding, away from the cabin, with its wooden chest and hammock. I watched as a large, speckled spider crawled its way in between the planks in front of my face. I shut my eyes. Maybe I really was dead, and this was Hell. Maybe this was all a nightmare, and I would awaken in my bed soon, my daughter Sophie bouncing on top of me. What I wouldn’t give for it to all just go away…

I’m not sure how long it took for us to get to Nassau. It may have just been an hour, but considering how I felt, it may as well have been a week. It simply couldn’t end quickly enough. I dwelled in the darkest pits of hell, trying my damnedest to breathe through my mouth so as not to smell the feculence around me. I didn’t—couldn’t—think about where I was and why I was there. The only thought that floated through my mind as I moaned, curled up in the captain’s bunk and listening to the creaking of the brigantine as it rocked from side to side, was that I undeniably, unequivocally, wanted to die.

At some point, I became aware that we’d dropped anchor. It was a fact that was hard to miss—I heard the eager cries of the men, the stomping of running feet up above me, and a great rumbling that made the whole ship tremble. I wanted to be excited, to jump and run up the ladder into the sunlight, but I was crippled by my misery. Get off the ship, I told myself. The sooner you get your ass up, the sooner you’ll feel better. The sooner you’ll be able to get back to your friends and your family.

Before I was able to work up the will to stand, the Irishman had glided back down the hatch into the cabin, looking at me anxiously. “We’re at Nassau,” he said, setting his hands on his hips as I rolled over and pushed myself up with my hands. I groaned at the effort, and nausea welled up as I moved. I met his gaze as he said, “So ye’ll have friends here, will ye?” I nodded and he rubbed his chin. He couldn’t hide the curiosity from his face as he asked in a soft, bewildered voice, “What are ye about, lass? Yer hands are soft like those of a lady, but ye wear the strangest garments my eyes have ever seen.” He glanced at the life jacket, so bright and orange and foreign in the surroundings of his cabin, and the pile of wet clothes on the floor. “Ye speak like yer from the Colonies, but much of what ye say is foreign.”

I looked at him, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice. “I’m an American who was on vacation in the Bahamas with my friends. I went on a booze cruise that got caught in a storm. I got knocked off the boat. What’s so hard to get?”

The captain looked like he didn’t know where to begin. He stammered a bit before asking, “What the devil is a ‘booze cruise’? I never heard o’ such a thing.”

I tried to swallow, but my throat was completely dry. “Can I get off the boat? Then I’ll let the police explain everything to you.”

“How now?”

“What?”

Realizing this conversation was going nowhere, the Irishman rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s be off, then. I’ll help ye ashore. Will ye want…?” He indicated the life jacket.

I shook my head. “No, keep it. You guys could use it.” I wanted to add: “You guys could also use a good shrink and a padded cell” but chose not to speak the words aloud, since he was the one with the weapons. I picked up my damp clothes from the floor and gripped them tightly in my hand as I stood.

I wanted to turn his offer of help down, but the truth was, I didn’t think I could make it up the ladder and off the boat by myself. I grudgingly let him hold my arm as I stumbled up the ladder, clutching my gut and willing myself not to collapse into a retching heap. I found myself leaning heavily on the captain as we shuffled along the deck. We reached the railing and I finally looked up. My eyes sought the bright pink of the resorts, the white cruise ships lined in a row, the two bridges linking Paradise Island to New Providence arching over Nassau Harbor.

Instead, I saw several wooden sloops and longboats, including an enormous three-masted ship, darkly painted and bobbing peacefully in the  sparkling, turquoise water of the harbor. Several canoes littered the shore, and a couple of looted sloops rotted on the nearby beach, their skeletons bleached by the sun. What looked like a town of shanty taverns and huts was nestled in the palms and tropical foliage further inland, along with tents made of torn sails and palm fronds. Cooking fires lit the town with a glowing orange, the smoke curling slowly up into the sky.

I felt my heart thump erratically in my chest. Was there a Disney Pirates of the Caribbean part of the harbor I didn’t know about? I’d always wanted to take Sophie to Disney World, I’d just never had the time. Somehow, however, I had a feeling this wasn’t Disney World. Were we on the right island? I looked at the shape of the harbor, with Potters Cay nestled between New Providence and Paradise Island. I stumbled forward, gripping the gunwale tightly between my hands, feeling the wood splinter into my skin. I stared as the ship’s crew clambered down into gigs. They were clearly thrilled to be here, their rough, hardened faces beaming, barely aware of my presence. I listened as they shouted to each other in a language that hardly sounded like English, and some sang along to the distant playing of a violin.

I turned to the Irish captain, my eyes seeking an explanation, and saw that he watched me carefully, a peculiar expression on his face. I opened my mouth to say something—to curse, or beg, or scream, but all that came out was a weak, “What the hell…”

And then I fainted.