When Sheila had tripped, her eyeglasses flew off her face. She’d stumbled and landed on her knees, groping around for them. On this, her second day of running on the deck of the cruise ship, images of disaster ticked at her brain. What if she couldn’t find her glasses? What if they were broken? She didn’t have a spare. Finally, she found them and slipped them on. Now, what was it that she tripped over? What was she touching as she groped around? She tried to get a better view as she struggled to get to her feet. But the sun hadn’t cracked the Caribbean sky yet this morning, and the ship’s lights were dim. The glasses weren’t helping, either. It looked like there was a sack shaped like a body lying on the deck, with an arm strewn over the path. That can’t be right. She pulled the glasses off her face. These were not her glasses. Just then a huge floodlight flicked on, and Sheila now saw that the object she was looking at was indeed a person lying there in a most uncomfortable position.
