“Mick, it’s Dominique.” She turns on two more lights, then sits on the edge of the bed. Mick is bare-chested, his taut muscles drenched in a cold sweat. She sees his hands shaking.

He looks into her eyes, still confused. “Dominique?”

“Yes. Are you all right?”

He stares at her face, then looks around the cabin. “I gotta get out of here—” He pushes past her and stumbles up the wooden stairs, heading out on deck.

Dominique follows quickly, fearing he may jump.

She finds him standing in the bow, the cold wind blowing in his face. Dominique grabs a wool blanket and wraps it around his bare shoulders. She sees tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

For a long moment he just stares at the dark horizon. “No. No, I don’t think so. I used to think I was okay, now I think I’m pretty fucked up.”

“Can you tell me about your dream?”

“No. Not now.” He looks down at her. “Bet I scared the shit out of you.”

“It’s okay.”

“The worst thing about being in solitary … the scariest part … was waking up screaming, only to find myself all alone. You can’t imagine the emptiness.”

She guides him down to the fiberglass decking. He leans back against the pilothouse windshield and unfurls the blanket from his left shoulder, beckoning her to join him.

Dominique lies down beside him, laying her head on his cold chest. Mick pulls the blanket over her shoulders.

Within minutes, they are both fast asleep.

4:50 P.M.

Dominique removes two cans of peach iced tea from the galley’s refrigerator, rechecks their position on the GPS, then returns to the bow. The late-afternoon sun is still intense, its reflection off the fiberglass decking making her squint. She puts on her sunglasses and sits next to Mick.

“See anything?”

Mick lowers the binoculars. “Nothing yet. How far out are we?”

“About five miles.” She hands him the can of iced tea. “Mick, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Do you remember back in the asylum when you asked me if I believed in evil. What did you mean by that?”

“I also asked you if you believe in God.”

“Are you asking me from a religious standpoint?”

Mick smiles. “Why is it psychiatrists can never answer a question without asking one?”

“I guess we like to be clear.”

“I just wanted to know if you believed in a higher power.”

“I believe someone watches over us, touching our souls on some higher plane of existence. I’m sure part of me believes that because I need to believe that, because it’s comforting. What do you think?”

Mick turns, gazing at the horizon. “I believe we possess a spiritual energy, which exists on a different dimension. I believe a higher power exists on that level, which we can only access when we die.”