Moron?” Leonardo bristled.

He turned from Karen who was prone on the table. Prone, but not yet posed. He struggled through the cameras and tripod lamps and climbed up on deck to search the helm for the running light switch. The big boat with the idiots and searchlight passed by, and the only sound was the slight gurgle of his trolling motor set in neutral.

He knew he should get the boat out of the harbor and into open water, but the attraction of the Karen canvas was magnetic. There she really was. Asleep under the stage lights with the cameras at the ready.

Like forgetting to park the car and trailer, he knew he was making an impulsive decision, perhaps mistakes. With the mast light turned on, he decided to paint in the calm harbor waters. He checked to see that the sailboat was to the side of the stream to the harbor mouth. He tossed out the anchor. Another fishing boat passed—no horns, no spotlights, and no insults. He headed down below.

PAULA WAS GOING TO dive when she reached the end of the dock but instead lowered herself into the icy black. The water stunned her with cold, and she was glad that she hadn’t dived and submerged her head. She started to swim, keeping her chin up, keeping the sailboat in sight.

The boat was sixty yards out. Her teeth were chattering. Her entire body began chattering as she stroked and kicked.

There was no ladder, no swimming platform at the stern. She struggled up beside the idling motor after seeing that the prop was not turning. There was an unfolded plastic sheet on the deck and she opened it and draped herself. The tarp was stiff and noisy. A box marked Emergency was at the base of the helm and large wheel.

She tried to be quiet, but her movements were shaky, her body quaking. She opened the box and dug through it. Her quaking hand came out with an orange plastic gun. Finding the safety switch, she turned it.

The only light was a faint green glow from the mast above. Extending her shaking hands from inside the plastic, she aimed the wavering flare gun at the salon door.

“Hey fuck face, your moviemaking days are over!”

She lowered onto her rear and scooted back to the stern rail. She splayed her legs out, forming a V and waited, the flare gun trembling.

The door opened and Leonardo climbed out, dressed in warm and casual clothing, offering a kind and patient smile.

Paula tried to look past him into the white lights for Karen. When he stepped closer, she refocused the gun on Leonardo.

“You want to be careful with the flare gun. Lots of boats go down in flames because of fools and phosphorous.”

“Move to the side. Away from the door.”

“You poor darling—you must be freezing. Let me get you some heat packs.”

Paula shook her head and swept the gun to her left indicating to Leonardo to move.

“You barely got your lovely, silky hair wet. Girl’s got style.”

He turned slowly and reached back to close the galley door.

“Don’t,” she called.

He gave the door a backward kick, ignoring her. “Let her rest. I just started her I.V.”

The galley door extinguished most of the white lights from below.

“Remember me?” he asked.

“Sort of.”

“We danced. At the concert in Morro. Later, you and I went sailing.”

“You sick fuck.”

Leonardo’s pleasant smile faltered for the first time, melting to a frown. “Name calling isn’t necessary.”

Paula noted the damp cloth in his hand.

“So you know,” he told her, following her gaze. “The flare gun isn’t loaded.”

His smile returned. He took another step closer.

“Damned thing could be dangerous. And besides, there’s been no need, this being the first time the boat’s ever been on water.”

The light along the sides of the salon door wavered. Paula told Leonardo, “Step to the side.”

“Well, no.”

He took a step closer. His arms rose from his sides as though offering an embrace. His expression was patient and caring.

Paula pulled the trigger.

Everything went white.

The air filled with his screaming.

Turning away, Paula clenched her eyes tight to squeeze out the roaring light. She heard shuffling sounds under the high pitched screeching.

Then a splash.

Paula opened her eyes, her vision was full of red spots.

A glow was rising from the water over the port rail. Paula stood up on shaking knees.

Leonardo was floating on his back, his arms and legs outstretched, the meat of his chest boiling, bubbling with white phosphorus light. His head was tilted back, as in exaltation, his eyes under water.

As he sank, he carried the white light under the surface. Paula looked away.

Greasy chucks of Leonardo were sparkling with white embers on the smooth shiny deck.