I stared incredulously.  “Impossible,” I whispered, suddenly worried that this was the mental crack I had feared was coming.  There was no way I just imagined all of that-I’m not that creative, but the alternative was even less conceivable.

Miles laid me across one of the bench seats and placed a towel across my forehead just as the harbor police arrived.

A middle-aged woman stepped across the edge of the police boat on to ours and began putting on a pair of blue latex gloves.  The officer had no discernible expression on her weathered face. As she lifted her sunglasses to take a closer look at my cut lip, she began asking a series of questions-my name, what day and month it was, all while mashing on my head and flashing a light in my eyes.

One by one, I answered all of her questions.

“What happened?  Someone mentioned you got caught in a net,” the officer said, helping me to sit up.  “Does anything else hurt?”

This would have been the time to tell her that I was dragged under by some homicidal crazy person, who I had not ruled out to be Alex; was purposely trapped in a net; and that Alex mysteriously appeared to save the day and then suddenly dissolved into water.  Not only would I have sounded like I needed immediate hospitalization, but the sudden undeniable look of apprehension Constance gave Miles compelled me to leave out those minor details.

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