Day Four (36 page)

‘Is anyone hurt?’ A tremulous voice. It sounded like it belonged to Eleanor.

A groan from her left.

She dragged herself to her feet – she’d ridden out the storm on the floor beneath a row of seats – and focused on the stage. It was dark, but there was a darker shadow in its centre. She should help the Friends, but first, she had to see. Maddie crept towards the stairs that led up to it, picking her way through the detritus on the floor – bags, a scatter of water bottles and bizarrely, a whole salami – wincing as her foot slipped in something wet.

A woman was moaning from somewhere, but Maddie ignored her and continued onto the stage. Celine was still in her wheelchair (how had that not tipped over during the storm?), and her head was hanging forward, mirroring her pose on the night the ship had stopped.

‘Celine.’

No answer.

‘Celine.’

And then, like a doll coming to life, her head jerked up. ‘Madeleine. Did you think you were going to die?’

‘Yes.’

‘Scary, wasn’t it?’ Her voice was cold.

‘Celine. Just what the fuck is going on? Who . . . are you?’

‘I’m Celine del Ray, medium to the stars.’

‘The Celine I knew would have told everyone to sod off a long time ago. She wouldn’t have bothered to gather all these people together. No way. The Celine I knew would have been the first person off the bloody ship.’

‘You’ve got me. You can call me what you like. Jessie, or Stacy, or Tommy. Or Nonanthla, or Hiroko, or Jeremiah. Whatever you prefer. Your soul, my soul, all just old souls together. What’s the matter with your matter?’

‘Oh Jesus.’

‘Him, too. Brain damage. It can change the personality. Isn’t that what you think?’

‘Celine . . . I saw . . . I saw . . .’
I saw Lizzie Bean, sitting in your bathtub
.

‘Ghosts? Spirits? Ghouls?’ She laughed. ‘That was fun. I enjoyed that part. Although I’m not sure I got Papa Noakes quite right. Celine didn’t give me much to work with.’ Celine patted her hair, tapping a few stray strands back into place. ‘What is it you want out of life, Maddie? I’ve been thinking about you, trying to figure you out.’

‘I want to get off this ship for a start.’

‘You’ll get that wish soon.’

‘How?’

Surprising her, Celine yawned. A huge jaw-cracking yawn. ‘Run along now, Maddie. It’s time to get moving. You haven’t seen anything yet. This was just the appetiser. The main course will blow your fucking mind.’

The Condemned Man

The darkness was so pure that he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or shut. He breathed in. Sniffed. There had been a bad smell when his friend had brought him here at first, but he had got used to that quickly. He’d felt sick for a little while, but that had passed, too.

He wriggled his toes, hearing the crackle of the lumpy mattress beneath him. Sometimes it squished. Soft and hard in places. He had to contort his body to make himself comfortable.

A churning, grumbling sound. He reached out a hand; the snug sleeve walls of his hiding place were vibrating. Was this what had woken him? He couldn’t feel his left arm – he was lying on it, and it had gone dead. He flexed his fingers, feeling the tingle of blood circulating again.

He said a silent prayer of thanks to his friend for bringing him here. A large storage locker. Yes, that was what it was. That’s all it was.

His fingers found the wall again. A low throb, as if he was connected to a heartbeat. Gently at first, he pushed against the hatch. Just checking. Just checking it opened. He was safe in here and didn’t want to leave, but he just wanted to make sure it did open in case he had to run again.

It didn’t move. But that was okay, he wasn’t pushing very hard. He shifted his position to get more leverage, the mattress crackling beneath him.

Not a mattress.

Shhhhhh.

That’s not a mattress, Gary. You know where you are.

Shhhhhh!

He pushed against it with his shoulder this time. Nothing. His foot. Yes, he could kick at it.

Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout
.

He scrunched his body around, but there wasn’t space. He lashed out with his left leg, making a hollow bonging sound, but still it didn’t move.

Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutget

He just had to—

The mattress rippled beneath him.

The Devil’s Handmaiden

She’d waited it out in her cabin. And still the boy hadn’t come.

Trining had handed Althea her flashlight just before she’d been funnelled down into the life raft, and Althea was grateful for it now. Who would have thought that she, Althea, would ever be grateful to Trining of all people? Her wrists were bruised where Maria had tried to drag her into the escape chute, but she hadn’t been sick. Queasy, yes, but that was all.

The crew corridors were deserted, all she could hear was the sound of her feet sloshing through the water that had pooled on the metal floors. Her shoes were soaked, her toes numb. She stepped over a discarded life jacket, a sodden suitcase and the tangled insides of a smashed radio.

Mrs del Ray would know where he’d gone. If she hadn’t decided to abandon the ship too. Perhaps Althea was the only one left on
The Beautiful Dreamer
. Sailing alone forever until she starved.

The ship was listing badly now, slumping like a drunk. She trekked past the entertainment staff’s cabins, and through the door into the back of the stage. Voices. She pushed through the curtains, saw flashlights dancing over the darkened seats and aisles of the theatre. Broken lights, the crumped body of a rolled-up backdrop that had fallen.

And there was Mrs del Ray. Sitting in her wheelchair in the centre of the stage, as if nothing had happened. Down below, people were helping others to stand. She could smell the sickness; the storm had been bad, of course people would have been sick. Althea hurried up to her and dropped to her knees.

‘I can’t find him. The boy. I can’t find him.’

‘Shhh. Listen.’ Mrs del Ray cocked her head to one side. A low groan, as if the ship was sighing in despair, the lights flickered, died, then flickered back to life. Althea detected a slight vibration under her feet. It stopped, then started again. Mrs del Ray gave her a wide, hungry grin. ‘Here we go.’

The Suicide Sisters

The storm had blown itself out. The ship was no longer being thrown around like a toddler’s toy.

Helen was glad of the darkness. She didn’t want to see. She didn’t want to know. Elise hadn’t made a sound since the ship’s movement had ceased. Deliberately avoiding looking too closely at her, she sat up and slid off the bed, moving carefully across to the TV cabinet. A shard of glass stabbed into her foot. Her legs protested as she got down onto her hands and knees, scrabbling on the sloping floor for Elise’s handbag. Her fingers found it, and she dug through it until she found what she was looking for.

Keeping her eyes averted from Elise’s direction, she pocketed the Zopiclone, carried the last bottle of water over to her bed, and lay back.

The ship shuddered beneath her, and then the lights flicked on.

She didn’t care. It was too late.

Better together.

The Angel of Mercy

‘Wake up. Wake up, doc.’

Jesse covered his face with his arm as light pierced his eyes. ‘Go away.’

‘Jesse.’

He was lying on his back, something digging into his spine. A silhouetted shape was standing over him. The floor rippled under him. Gah. He swallowed. His mouth tasted of bile. ‘Who’s that?’

The dark man.

‘It is me. Bin.’

A low hum, and then the lights came on, sputtered out, then shone at full wattage. A growling sound came from somewhere. The floor was vibrating.

‘Are you hurt, doc? I thought that you had left with the others.’

Jesse’s gorge rose as he raised his head, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. ‘Martha?’

‘I don’t know, doc.’

‘There’s power?’

Bin nodded and grimaced.

‘We’re moving again?’

‘No. But soon.’

‘How do you know?’

Bin pulled a face again. ‘There are crew down there. I saw them when I came here. Not everyone left the ship.’

‘They can make it work? Drive it?’ Did you drive a cruise ship? He didn’t know the word. Christ, his head . . .

Bin helped him to his feet. The place was a tip. Files and vials everywhere. A tangled mess of drip stands. A flood of panic as he glanced at the pharmacy door. It looked intact. Thank fuck for that.

‘People are hurt, doc.’

‘Where?’

‘The atrium, the main deck. They’re being take to the Dare to Dream Theatre.’

‘Anything serious?’

‘Nothing that is life threatening. Maybe some fractures. I have done what I can. One I think has a concussion.’

Bin grimaced again, held up a hand, then stepped away neatly to be sick in a kidney bowl. Jesse noted that the nurse seemed to do even this with grace and precision. He handed Bin a cloth. ‘Bin. You go on up. You’re in no state to be helping anyone. I’ll bring whatever I think we might need.’

‘You are sure?’

‘Yes.’

Jesse held his breath while Bin left the room. Fingers trembling, he hurried over to the cabinet.

Then it hit him. He’d just survived a major storm at sea relatively unscathed. Did he really want to continue along this path?

Fuck it.

He shoved the remaining ampoules in his pockets, and pulled the plastic wrapping off a syringe with his teeth. Within minutes, he’d have his armour back.

They were gathered in the foyer of the theatre, lying on the stairs and the carpet in front of the door. The interior of the ship hadn’t fared too badly: he’d crunched over broken glass, and water had pooled in places, mostly in the crew decks, but it was nowhere near as bad as he’d imagined it would be. If anything, the storm had freshened the ship; it now smelled salty and damp, instead of like the inside of a sewage farm. And the wind would have swept away the blight of red bags that had followed in its wake.

Crew members were handing out water – reverting to old habits – and those who could walk were helping others out of the theatre. Safely swaddled in his pethidine embrace, he scanned the passengers, looking for who might be in the most need of his services. Bin was right. There didn’t appear to be anything too serious. Several people looked green – but whether this was from seasickness or the ongoing effects of the noro he couldn’t say – and there were a few minor contusions. A large woman who was sitting next to a guy with a bandaged arm gave him a tentative smile of recognition. He smiled back automatically, trying to recall where he’d seen her. Then he got it – the hysterical passenger from the VIP deck. She’d tried to hit him, and he’d meant to bring her some Xanax. If she hadn’t have lashed out at him, would he have been tempted to fall into his old habits? But he knew the answer.
Ja
, he would. He would have found an excuse sooner or later.

The rumbling of the engines stopped, there was a moment of silence as everyone appeared to hold their breath, then they started up again. Those who could gave a watery cheer.

Jesse supposed he should do something other than hang around like a spare part. He was heading for the VIP passenger, when someone shouted: ‘Doctor!’ A pretty Filipino guy standing at the top of the stairs was waving at him. Jesse made his way through the casualties and over to one of the pillars, against which a guy in a blood-soaked white shirt was leaning. Christ. Jesse realised it was Devi, the security guard who’d helped him sort out that
kak
at the morgue. The left side of his jaw was swollen, and the cut behind his ear would need stitches. He barely flinched as Jesse examined the wound behind his ear; his eyes darted around, grazing and assessing everyone around them.

‘Looking for someone?’

‘That man. Gary Johansson.’

The man who’d invaded his hiding place last night. Jesse hadn’t given him a thought until now. He’d had more important things to worry about. ‘Now
that
I can help you with.’

The Keeper of Secrets

Devi gripped the railing, which was slippery with moisture, clunked down the steps and staggered out onto the corridor that housed the laundry room and the morgue. Every muscle throbbed, every time he moved his elbow a spike of pain jolted to his fingers, and his head was a dark blur of ache. He touched his lip with his tongue – it felt like it was the size of a cricket ball.

The vessel trembled around them. Rogelio had been to the bridge and said that Baci, one of the few officers who had not abandoned the ship, was scrambling to assess which port they should make for. The storm could have pushed the ship far from the last known navigational point.

Rogelio held onto the back of his shirt as he shuffled along, and Devi was grateful for his support. Rogelio had stood by him every step of the way. When this was over, Devi promised himself he’d make it up to him.