Afraid to turn around, Luca risked a quick glance around the ocean. It was still empty, and too quiet. He didn't doubt that Charybdis was listening to every word they said.

"She's part of me," Alberto said in a fearful whisper. "I don't know how to get her out."

Seeing his friend like this made Luca's resolve crack like glass. "I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"I'm sorry."

"Not for that, for throwing your drawing out. I never should have done that… I didn't even know what I was thinking."

"Oh." Luca watched Alberto's eyebrows draw together as it all came back to him. His eyes darted around the ocean. "So what happened to it?"

"I still have it," Luca lied. Before he regretted it, he got up, extended his hand. "Come on. Do you wanna - ?"

"No." Alberto shook his head. "I can't."

"Why?"

"I can't leave the sea, Luca. Whenever I do, she just pulls me back."

"This is ridiculous," Luca said, at his wit's end. "Come on. You have to break free of her!"

"I can't go back," Alberto said, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Even if I wanted to… you should go too. Everyone would be better off."

"If what?"

Alberto raised his eyebrows, lifting his shoulders. No. He couldn't.

"No," Luca said out loud. "You can't… you can't. Besides, throwing yourself at a torpedo isn't going to help," he added, parroting Mr. Filellene's words. "She'll just find a new host."

This only seemed to frustrate, or deepen Alberto's dismay. "Well, what am I supposed to do? I'm afraid something horrible will happen if I ever go out into the world again."

Luca smiled as he heard his own words thrown back at him. He hefted Alberto up. "Let's get you to the surface first," he said, "and then see how you feel."

. . .

Once they were floating out in the middle of the deep dark deep, Tommaso lit the lamp, pulling out the sail. "Can't believe we agreed to do this again," he muttered. "On your father's ship, no less.

The S.S. Stefano-Germanotto, to be exact. "I never agreed," Giacomo said.

"You're gonna run out of family members."

"You know what, Tommaso - "

They waded out in the water, waiting for a motion, a movement, a moving motion. Whenever Alberto came out to suck them into the water, the fishermen would light flares, guiding his way into a trap Massimo had set up on the other side of the island. Tommaso started his "O mio babbino caro" on the record player and leaned back, enjoying a sandwich.

"Giacomo."

"Humh."

"Sometimes I sit and wonder: what do you think that boy would have been like if Charybdis never corrupted him?"

"Sometimes I sit and wonder too. Why do you keep playing that garbaggio!"

"He likes this," Tommaso said. "Besides, Maria Callas is one of the best sopranos in the entire world. Don't speak so ill of opera all the time."

"Sounds like high-pitched trash to me."

"Don't - you - that's because you have no class."

Giacomo reached for the needle.

"Giacomo," Tommaso warned. "Mama gave me that record for my wedding anniversary. Now you put it right back - "

"I shouldn't have to listen to -

"No, I don't care. You put it right back - "

The boat shook. The men grabbed each other. They looked over the side of the boat to find radiant red eyes staring at them from under the water.

Tommaso started to cry tears of fright and recited the Lord's prayer in Italian. "Tommaso, what on Earth - " Exasperated, Giacomo took charge.

He started rowing fast towards the darkness, away from the harbors - Tommaso started to see a whirlpool broiling in the space they had just occupied. "Charybdis mad," he panted in terror.

They screamed when he felt the boat turn, being sucked into the vortex. Gasping, Giacomo ignited the olympic torches, plunging them underwater. "I hope this works… "

"You hope?"

"You got any better suggestions?!"

Quickly the men began lighting the monster's path by sticking the torches underwater until they ran out of room on the boat, and had to resort to pitching them way out into the deep, towards the island. They heard something kicking up water beneath their boat as it followed the pretty lights.

Giacomo and Tommaso hugged each other, sobbing. "Whatever that monstrosity is," Giacomo blubbered, "I hope it gives that boy back nice and safe."

"I wanted him to help us catch fish. According to everybody, Alberto knows fish."

"I know fish."

"Then why haven't we caught any?"

"I - " Giacomo ignored him. "I just hope he doesn't attract any more of his sea monster brethren. No offense," he said automatically, even though there was no one there to take offense.

Meanwhile, Massimo was ready and waiting. He was ready to get his boy.

. . .

"No!" Luca let out a piercing scream as he lunged for his friend, trying to physically stop him as Alberto whipped up whirlpool after whirlpool near Isola del Mare with an fury like never before. Luca couldn't even see the water in front of his face, it was rushing that fast.

"Get off of me!"

"Alberto, don't do this - "

"I said get off!" Alberto doubled over, flinging Luca off of him. Luca went crashing into the sea floor; Alberto turned his finger, spinning poor Luca around and around.

"No no no… no!" As Luca felt himself rising, he clung onto a large patch of seaweed. "No! Alberto, please!" He looked up at the surface and noticed something that frightened him. "Alberto, your dad's boat!"

Alberto glanced up at the small boat with the white bottom. "I don't have a dad," he said.

"Yes, you do," Luca insisted. "His name is Massimo, he's a fisherman, he adopted you over the summer. And he loves you very much."

"Well, now he's fish food." Alberto made the currents stronger and stronger until the little boat was completely sucked into its course, along with Luca. After getting whipped up a bit, they were all flung out into the far depths of the sea. And Alberto moved on with his path of destruction.

. . .

Alberto woke up to an ocean way deeper, darker and deader than he had ever seen. Moonlight pierced the water in rays. It must have been late.

He must have done quite a number on the Mediterranean this time… but like always, he couldn't remember.

Alberto sat up, forced down by a throbbing headache. Wah-wah-wah, like never before. Slowly, he got up and swam at a steady pace. Any remnant of sea life closed their rocks, shut their anemones, hid in their caves. Or what was left of them.

Still Alberto looked around, searching for anything, any clues to unlock his memory. But the sea was barren, and told no tales.

Luca.

Luca's little green face, set with determination, was always the first thing that popped up in his memory. "Luca," Alberto called, tamping down his rising panic. "Luca? Luca?"

This was so lame. If he ended up harming Luca in any way…

After miles and miles of speed-swimming, Alberto noticed something winking on the seafloor: a ship shard. He picked it up, turning it around.

S.S. Marcovaldo.

"No no… no, no, nonono." Alberto gradually rose, swimming around in circles, screaming - "Massimo!" - maybe looking for a body, maybe not.

Even though he knew that if Massimo was in the sea somehow, he probably wouldn't have been able to answer.

Alberto broke through the surface, his heart hammering in his ears. "Massimo!" he shouted, looking all around. "Massimo, where are you?"

Nothing. No answer. The seas were still. Because of him.

"I'm sorry," he yelled out as loud as he could. "I'm sorry-y-y!"

. . .

Out of breath and energy, Alberto treaded to the nearest island he could make out. His old home. Maybe he'd have to stay there awhile… where he couldn't hurt anybody else.

He climbed onto the shore, shaking off his scales, and curled up on the cool sand. Soon he fell asleep, watching the sun rise.

"Mmm! MMGMMF!"

A hand clapped over his mouth. Alberto was scooped up and dragged away from the beach; kicking and struggling and thrashing, he finally bit the kidnapper's hand. "Who are you? Let me go! What are you doing?"

"Getting you away from the water."

Alberto stopped. That voice… "Massimo? Is that you?"

"Ciao, Alberto," Massimo said.

Alberto clutched his arm in shock. He immediately felt bad for biting his only hand. "I thought you were dead," he said. "I thought I killed you."

"You killed my boat - thanks for that, by the way. Now we take you home."

"Home?"

In the distance, they could see a familiar fishing boat, Giacomo and Tommaso waving their night lanterns. And he knew it was going to be okay.

While the old fishermen tied Alberto to the mast, the boy was apologizing for any and everything. "A-a-and I'm really sorry for stealing your playing cards," Alberto was saying. "And your wrench and your glass, and your singing lady machine. And for destroying your boat… I don't remember doing it but obviously I did it 'cause I - "

"For the last time," the fishers enunciated, "we forgive you!"

Alberto blinked. "You do?"

"Pbbbft," Tommaso said. "If I were under a curse by some big scary monster lady, I'd do some crazy things too. Oh wait a minute, I was; it's called knowing your mother."

"You know what, Tommaso - "

Massimo pushed off the boat, interrupting Giacomo's babbling. He went to sit down in front of his son. When Alberto convulsed in an involuntary shiver, Massimo wrapped a blanket around him.

"Thanks," he chuckled. "Cold."

"It's December." Massimo couldn't believe how much time had passed since his boy had been lost. "You're safe now."

"Where's Luca?"

Massimo hesitated. He took off his hat, wringing it in his hand. Alberto's heart dropped.

"Where is he?" he asked again, his voice sounding frightened and foreign.

"Non lo so, pulcino. I lost sight of him when he went down there to save you… I'm sorry."

Alberto nodded; he wasn't even looking at Massimo anymore. He was staring out at sea, his Adam's apple jumping.

"Dio Mio," Giacomo muttered, continuing to row.

"Shhh! Giacomo, basta. You're making the kid feel bad."

"Oh, oh." He locked his lips and threw away the key.

Alberto hung his head, the only free part of him. "This is all my fault," he choked out. "I never should have run away. Maybe then this could have all been avoided."

"True," Massimo said, standing up to man the post. "From now on, you're not going anywhere. You're not leaving my sight."

That, Alberto could live with.

I remember the laughing

We were always laughing

. . .