Three things weighed Bruce Webb down with worry. His biggest fear was for Cassandra. He must've been out of his mind allowing her to jump into the Gulf of Mexico so far from shore. She was a teen, for heaven's sake, and he was the adult. He shouldn't have allowed her to act so impulsively.

Together they could've figured a way to ensure her safety, maybe an air tank or even a long length of rope he could use to pull her up if she got into trouble. His most egregious error was to leave her there. Why hadn't he waited on the surface with the waverunner? Why had she asked him to wait for her on the island? Most importantly, why had he listened to her?

If anything happened to the girl, he'd never forgive himself. Neither would the law. The harbormaster knew they had been together. If she suddenly vanished, he would be pegged as the last person to have seen her. The old harbormaster would be keen to testify he had spirited her away under dubious circumstances.

That led to his second worry. The Tipstaff crew would figure Cassandra might go to the marina to escape on a watercraft. The harbormaster would give them up in an instant. Worse, he would tell them they were headed for Anclote Key. It had been a fatal lapse in judgment revealing their actual destination. He hoped they wouldn't come for at least a few hours for Cassandra to do what she needed. Then he'd get her the hell away.

Webb decided to race around the island and park the waverunner among all the other watercraft at the tour pier. Hiding the craft among the others was better than beaching it along the lonely stretch of sand where Cassandra indicated. From there it would stick out and be easily spotted by pursuers. Webb wanted them to believe he and Cassandra were mixing in with the other visitors. It might buy them an hour or two.

From the pier, Webb hoofed it. He hoped to make it back to the designated spot before Cassandra, not wanting to panic her if he wasn't there to meet her.

He wasn't dressed for the beach and felt self-conscious in his street shorts and walking shoes. Also, he was sopping wet and carrying Cassandra's wet things. Webb avoided people, because they would notice and remember how odd he looked.

As he crashed through the scrub brush and swamp grass, Webb was thankful the constant breeze on the small island was too strong for mosquitos to find the habitat favorable. He tried not to think about the other creepy crawly creatures he trampled underfoot. He figured there could be snakes, and he hoped the island was too far from the mainland to be home to alligators.

While running, he contemplated his third worry, namely his home life. Anclote Key had no cell tower, and he had no way to call Bonnie with an update. She suspected the worst and had threatened him. When he finally got out of the mess he found himself in, it might be too late. Going home he might find the locks changed. Worse, she might take Brandon and leave.

He reached the other side of the long, narrow island and worked his way up the beach to where tourists rarely traveled. He found the bent tree and thicket of shrubs.

"Cassandra," he called. It was possible she could have swum here and arrived before him. He called her name again and walked around looking for signs.

Nothing.

He looked west into the Gulf. Overcast skies blocked the sun. He saw nothing save for a few boats near the horizon.

Webb sat in the shade of the bent tree and waited. Anclote Key was a pack in - pack out tourist destination with no available provisions, not even a water fountain. He was getting thirsty and knew Cassandra would be too when she came ashore. The more he thought about it, the more Webb realized how poorly they had planned the trip.

Fatigue caught up to him. Having slept only a few hours overnight and with adrenaline pumping all morning, he was spent. When Cassandra came, she would wake him. He laid back and closed his eyes.

*    *    *

The rain woke him. It fell in sheets. Webb cursed and checked the time. How could he have slept four hours? He cursed again and stood. At three in the afternoon, Cassandra should've arrived long ago.

He shouted her name several times but got no response.

"Dear God," he murmured and looked out to sea.

The storm was churning two to three-foot swells. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Not even the strongest swimmer could survive in that chop.

Webb sunk to his knees in despair and began to weep. He had killed the girl by yielding to her wishes.

What should he do now? If he were lucky, a lightning bolt would strike him dead. Of course, that would be too easy. How could he live with himself? The sweet kid he had watched over all these years was gone due to his negligence.

Webb collected himself and took a breath. He would return to the mainland and turn himself in to the police. He'd tell them Cassandra charmed him into renting the waverunner because she wanted to come here and didn't have a license. The harbormaster would corroborate that much.

He would say she went for a swim in the Gulf and never came back. The truth.

Of course, he being an older man and she a pretty teen, they would suspect him of vile deeds. He would never be able to satisfactorily explain his true intentions to Bonnie.

His marriage was over. His life was over.

Webb sat against the tree, buried his face in his hands, and waited. He agonized while the passing thunderstorm ran its course. It eased up around five. He sighed and stood. With two hours of daylight remaining, he needed to leave to make it back before dark.

He started walking and stopped upon seeing what appeared to be a clot of something unrecognizable in the sand. He approached and saw it was a person. He ran toward it.

"Cassandra!" Webb exclaimed and dropped to his knees beside her. The girl's skin was puffy and red as if she had been out in the sun too long. She felt cold to the touch, but she had a pulse. She was breathing. He teared up in relief. "Cassandra, can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes and moved her lips.

He bent closer.

She whispered, "When are you going to start calling me Cassie?"

He laughed. "I'll call you whatever you want, just don't ever scare me like that again."

She reached out to him.

"You want me to carry you?" He bent close.

"Cold, so cold." Her teeth started chattering.

Not good since it was probably close to eighty. Her forehead was cool, so she had no fever. He got his arms beneath her and easily lifted her.

"I parked the waverunner at the dock. I'll try to take you to the lighthouse. If I can break in, it'll be a good shelter."

"No," she said with a soft voice and pointed at the thick scrub. "There."

Maybe she was delirious. "Cassie, there's nothing there."

"Lay me down in the swamp grass and brush. It's good camouflage while I morph."

This was it then, the process Doctor Armando had been waiting all his life to observe. He was glad the bastard wouldn't have a chance to intrude on what would undoubtedly be an intimate time for her, a time when she would be totally vulnerable.

"Are you sure about this?"

She nodded and wrapped her slender arms around his neck, pulled herself closer to him. "You're so warm."

Webb trudged into the wild growth about fifty feet. From there, she wouldn't be visible to anyone walking along the beach. The isolated island had no wild predators. She'd be relatively safe. He lowered her gently to the ground.

"Help me take off my swimsuit," she said.

She obviously wasn't herself. "I can't do that."

She grabbed his arm and squeezed. "It needs to come off or it will interfere."

Webb sighed. "Ah, jeez, Cassie, it's not appropriate. It's awkward and will really make me uncomfortable."

"You're my custodian, so you have my permission to do what you must."

He relented and helped her. "I wish I had water to give you."

"Not necessary until later."

"What more can I do for you?"

"Take care of yourself so you can take care of me. Go, but come back. Tell nobody else."

"Yeah," he said. "I am dehydrated and dizzy."

"Wait." Her voice had grown weak. She whispered, "When you return, don't be alarmed at what you see. Don't interfere or it might cause me harm."

"I won't hurt you, Cassie. You know that."

"Thank you. The sea chose well."

What did the sea have to do with it? He thought about asking her but decided it could wait until later.

Question - Cassie is about to go through metamorphosis. What do you suppose that will  be like?

Top photo credit: andres musta http://www.flickr.com/photos/32399948@N06/4654324296 via photopin.com Creativecommons.org license