The voice that came from his throat didn’t feel like his. It was some small boy’s. Some 
crybaby who shivered and spilled emotion across the girl he loved.
  “He…I didn’t…I didn’t want…I can’t talk about…I didn’t…he just kept…he just kept…he 
kept…he…I tried to…fight…fight…fight…push…hit…but…he just kept… he just kept…he just 
kept.”
  “Oh my god,” Jenna said, her voice chilled and haunted. “No. He didn’t. No. Did he? 
Owen? Did he rape you? Did he?”
  “He just kept…oh god, Jenna, I can’t face this…I wanted to…I wanted to…I wanted 
to…kill…myself...I wanted to...”
  And so it began, and she said all the things that she was meant to say; and Owen told 
less than he needed to tell, because she made the connections herself, and he sat with 
her for hours in her arms, and then, they made love.
  5
  He went to the boat that night.
  It was over now. It was all over. Dagon was still within him, and he had won.
  He wanted to take it to Jimmy. He wanted Jimmy to suffer from it. If he could, he 
would’ve videotaped the afternoon, he would’ve tape-recorded Jenna’s voice saying over 
and over again that she loved him, that it was all her fault, that Jimmy should never 
have come to the island, that he was bad, he was evil, and they should call the police, 
they should do something. She even told him that if that bastard ever set foot on her 
property again, she would take that gun and shoot him right between the eyes.
  The storm continued to rage, but in muted anger, across the gray mood of sky. The Sound 
and the distant islands that could be seen were like watercolor images, fuzzy and melting 
in the rain. Owen wore a bright yellow raincoat that belonged to his father. He was a 
fire in the darkness.
  “Mooncalf, you look like a fisherman,” Jimmy said. He wore cut-off jeans and a striped 
rugby shirt that was already soaked through, and his hair was like seaweed, hanging in 
his eyes. In his hand, a green bottle of beer. “Like, you know, a real New England Clam 
Chowder Fisherman!” He had to shout over a roll of thunder and a crack in the sky; then 
the world lit up for a moment; it returned to gray.
  Owen laughed, shaking his head. “You’re drunk, boy.”
  “Want a beer?” Jimmy asked.
  “Sure,” Owen said. “How many you drink already?”
  “Four. Maybe five. Who’s counting?”
  “Let’s get out of the rain!”
  “I like the jetty,” Jimmy said, tossing him a small bottle and then leaping to the 
dock. He grabbed Owen’s free hand. “No one’s looking. We can hold hands, all right?”
  “I don’t know.” Owen tugged away. He twisted the top off the Rolling Rock bottle, and 
took a swig. “God, I’m sick of rain!”
  “Me, too!” Jimmy tried to kiss him, but Owen stepped back to avoid it.
  The rain lightened slightly; it was a warm rain; it washed across their bodies. “She’s 
sort of expecting us,” Owen said.
  “Who?”
  “Jenna.”
  “Jenna?” Jimmy laughed, and then looked sidelong up the hill to the Montgomery place. 
“What for? I thought it was you and me tonight.”
  “She’s…she’s pissed. I guess that’s what it is,” Owen shrugged. “She's pissed and she 
wants us to talk to her. I told her.”
  “You…you told her?”
  “After yesterday, in the truck, Christ, Jimmy, I can’t not tell her. I've known her all 
my life. She’s one of my closest friends. I told her about us.
  About how we’re going to go away together. How you love me now. How everything’s all 
right.”
  “You...you…” he stammered. The bottle in his hand dropped to the rocky ledge, 
shattering. “You told her.”
  It was coming out now. The madness that they all had within them.
  Owen wanted to smile, but knew that if he did, he would give himself away.
  6
  The rain thinned. Minutes had passed while Jimmy had taken in what had just been said. 
Owen could practically see the thoughts in the eyebrows as they squiggled around, 
flashing anger and confusion, and the way he chewed his lip, and his eyes wouldn’t stop 
blinking. Owen reached over and touched his scalp. “Sometimes I think I see a halo around 
your head. I do. I think you’re some kind of angel,” Owen said, and then scruffed his 
hair.
  “You fucking told her?” Jimmy growled. “You goddamn fucking son of a bitch told her 
what we’d been…what we’d…”
  “Do you think she didn’t see?” Owen set his bottle down on the jetty, and put his hands 
on Jimmy’s shoulders, pulling him into him. “Do you think she’s stupid? We’re her 
friends, for Christ sakes. She can see. She told me she watched us that first night. She 
saw us. There was enough light to see our shadows, puppy. She told me it upset her, but 
she understood. She wasn’t sure if it wasn’t just one of those drunk boy things…or 
something else. I told her it was.” Then, he added hesitantly, “Something else.”
  “You fucking goddamn son of a bitch gardener’s son living in your goddamn peasant 
fucking world you don’t even know what you’ve done!”
  Jimmy shouted. His face had contorted until it was more mask than face, a mask of pain 
and fury. It was no longer human. “You fucking think that,” spit flew from his mouth, 
“that…that…you, you, with nothing to lose can just throw what we have in front of her, in 
front of — you know what you're playing with? You’re playing with things you can’t even 
understand!” Jimmy began stomping around in a circle, alternating his shouts with lion 
roars.
  When he finally quieted, Owen said, “What happened to yesterday? You looking up at God 
and telling me how this all felt, how you felt on the inside.
  How you felt you needed to let this out? What happened to that?” He kept his voice low.
  Jimmy’s eyes lit up. “Don’t you, you son of a bitch, use my words against me! I wasn’t 
born to lose everything because I’m sleeping with some island townie pervert, I wasn’t 
born to have this get out, to have this ruin everything I’ve ever built.”
  “Listen to yourself. It’s practically a whole new century. You talk like it's 1950. You 
won’t lose everything just because — ”
  “You think so? You little bitch, you think I won’t lose everything? You don’t even 
understand what is going on here do you? You think it’s about me wanting you. The stakes 
are higher! I’ll tell you something, boy, I want you, but I don’t want you. You don’t 
even understand why I have to be with Jenna, do you? Do you?”
  Owen turned and began walking toward the strip of beach. “I don't want to hear.”
  “Well, you need to. Maybe living in some little caretaker’s house gives you no 
perspective on this, but Jenna Montgomery means I will not be some poor shit like you.”
  Owen glanced back. “You’re rich.”
  “Ha!” Jimmy cried. “You don’t know the half of it.”
  “You’re an heir to some fortune. Some sports store chain.”
  Jimmy shook his head. “It’s not like it looks. My father has these stores.
  That’s all he has. But the business is changing. It’s changing, and he’s had some