The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  Cortez and his team would speed them ashore.

  Sam, Vanessa, and the others waved as the small craft disappeared into the sunrise.

  ~~~

  Radzinski took the stairs back to Underworld. Foolish, perhaps, but he found in himself a new sense of purpose, of belonging. There was a certainty about his future. A satisfaction in knowing that he was needed and was looked at as something more than some brute to act as a stopgap or be used as someone who gave pause to one’s enemies. For some denizens of Underworld, Radzinski had become family. That wasn’t something he had considered until Jinsoku made her presence known back in stowage.

  He neared the exit that would deposit him onto Underworld’s main drag when he bumped into one of Todd’s security. Unfortunately, this wasn’t Jinsoku in disguise again. Radzinski was caught where he wasn’t supposed to be.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Underworld scum?” the security guard asked with his hand firmly gripped on his shock stick.

  “Yeah, about that,” Radzinski said just before leveling the guy with a right hook.

  Radzinski strode into Underworld proper using the same entrance he first came through many months ago. The atmosphere looked much the same as it did back then when he was forced down here. This time, he entered of his own free will. There was a clarity to the place now. The fog was lifted. He took in the myriad of sights again but this time with a sense of duty, of purpose.

  Across the promenade, bartender Mike toiled alone for his customers. Even at this early hour, the River Styx hosted an impressive number of patrons. Radzinski was convinced that most of them were holdovers from the night before. It was still an impressive sight. He would have to see what he could do about getting Mike some help. Maybe Vanessa or Lillian could lend a hand. He pulled up to the bar; Mike poured him his usual scotch and a beer.

  “You ever have one of those days where everything suddenly makes sense, Mike?”

  “Can’t say that I have. Not recently, anyway,” Mike said with a curious eye toward Radzinski. “Why? What’s cooking?”

  “Things are about to change around here, Mike. I can feel it.” Radzinski finished his drinks, then continued his tour of Underworld and descended into Frost.

  Sona was never on her throne this early. She would have been at home, back in her cabin, having her first coffee of the day. Amaranth, though, was at the tail end of another long night of entertaining. She had all the vigor Radzinski had come to expect from a woman who so loved her work. She made eye contact with Radzinski from her dungeon—a room that was off to the side of the throne where she saw to her clients—and nodded behind a neon-blue latex mask as she forced her latest playthings head-down in front of her. She had some guy from engineering bent over and in tears as he begged for more. Amaranth laughed and she slapped the man’s ass. She went to work on him with a strap-on as big around as a soda can; she winked at Radzinski as she slid a privacy curtain closed. Radzinski did a double take. Eyes wide, he shook his head and smiled as he kept on walking.

  Sona was in her quarters, sitting on the sofa in her silken white robe, reading beside a steaming cup of coffee. She awoke alone, took notice of the absence of Radzinski’s things, and began her day like any other. She had grown accustomed to him making coffee on his way out every morning, but if he was gone, she would revert to her old ways with hardly a missed step. She heard him fumbling with his keycard. He always had trouble with such a simple, insignificant detail. Radzinski entered and dropped his duffel to the floor.

  Sona greeted him the moment he entered the room. “I thought you had gone.” She sat her book aside but remained seated.

  “I considered it. I had myself convinced that you guys didn’t really need me down here.”

  “And what changed your mind?”

  “Wait a minute. If you thought I was leaving, why didn’t you try to stop me?”

  “I told you the night we met that the decision to stay or to go is yours and yours alone. I won’t attempt to sway you either way. Do I want you here with me? Yes, I do. Of course I do. But it needs to be of your own accord. I need you to want to be here with me.”

  “Well, I chose to stay to help the people of Underworld.” He extended his arms as if to take in the entirety of Underworld from the comfort of Sona’s living room. “This is my home now, and these are my people.”

  “Good. But the question still stands. What changed your mind?”

  “Miller doesn’t need me. Underworld does.”

  “Is that the only reason you stay?”

  “No.” Radzinski cut the distance between them in the blink of an eye. “I also choose you.” He took her hands in his. “Whatever happens next, we’re going to face it together.”

  Sona removed her reading glasses and rose to meet him. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said as she gently wrapped her arms around his waist. “And what does happen next?”

  “About that. I ran into Jinsoku out by stowage.”

  “Oh? And you lived to tell the tale?”

  “Even better. She’s not as tight with her master as we thought. We really can change Underworld for the better. But first, I need to take care of something,” he said with determination.

  “And that is?”

  “I’m going to kill Lady Setsuko.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Captives

  Mensa was fresh from the shower. He found through trial and error that if he stayed under the water at its coldest setting for upward of ten minutes, it lowered his body temperature enough that his wife stayed calm in his presence. Twice a day he would soak her in an ice bath; that kept her docile as well, to a degree. He needed to keep her as cool as possible, so he stopped dressing her altogether or even putting her beneath the bedsheets quite some time ago. He already kept the room at its coldest setting; he had been for weeks.

  He dropped the towel from around his waist and lay beside her. She was still bound but not breathing. She stopped that long ago. His wife moaned considerably, her mouth opened and closed, her lips curled, and her breath was appalling. He blinked in fast succession; tearing up helped expel whatever putrid odor was escaping her orifice. He popped the cap from a bottle of antibiotics and quickly swallowed one before kissing her on her foul mouth.

  “Yes, my love. I know.”

  His wife moaned, and for Mensa, that was sign enough that she was fully aware of his presence. For him, each gasp and tic and every facial expression spoke volumes. She might as well have been talking back, guiding him.

  “I have almost everything that I need.”

  Her head flopped to the side, her gaze opposite his. He took that as a sign that she had grown bored with talking, that action must be taken. Small talk was never his strong suit. She knew him well.

  “I will do the only thing I can, of course.” Mensa kissed her again. He worked his lips down her neck, around her chest, and back up again. He brushed matted hair from her face before lying atop her desiccated, graying body. “I will sink this ship.”

  ~~~

  Markus scoured the ship for Samantha. The sun was at last ducking beneath the horizon, and he hadn’t seen her all day. She stood him up this morning when she was supposed to leave work for an hour to see Miller and Soraya off. They were to meet back at their place, change, and wrap a parting gift that they wanted to present together. He waited so long for her that he missed the entire farewell gathering. Markus stayed back at their place for a few hours with no sign of her. He was irritated but got over it. Her being out of contact for so long had become alarming. If she couldn’t leave work, fine, but she could have at least let him know. Now it was getting dark and she was still nowhere to be found.

  His first stop was the housekeepers’ locker room. The staff barely functioned without Paula. Maybe Samantha had already been promoted like she’d hoped and was swamped with work. One of Samantha’s coworkers was quick to dispel that notion. “No, she didn’t show up and neither did her friend Casandra. If they’re sleeping one of
f and you’re covering for them, that’s fucked up. We’re shorthanded enough without Paula.”

  Next up was Trix’s bar. It wasn’t really in Samantha’s nature to have a drink before dinner, but he’d give it a shot anyway.

  “Hey, Vanessa, Lilly. Have you guys seen Samantha around?” Markus scanned the bar. Nothing.

  Vanessa was busy drying glasses in preparation for the night rush, but she would always make the time for Markus. “No, I don’t think I’ve seen her since yesterday. We missed you guys when we saw Miller and Soraya off this morning. What happened?”

  “We were supposed to be there. I was waiting for Samantha to come home, but she never showed.” He tapped his hand on the bar top.

  Lillian asked, “When did you see her last?”

  “She was asleep next to me last night. Everything was fine. I haven’t seen her since.”

  Trix asked the hard question. “I’m going to be blunt with you, sweetie, but is there any chance she’s seeing someone else?”

  “What? No, man. No.” Markus was nearly boiling.

  “No offense intended. It’s just a base that needs to be covered.”

  “Yeah, I get it. Look, I’ll see you guys later. There’s a few more spots I need to check.”

  Markus raced through the cold steel corridors of Haven, down flights of steps, and ultimately stormed into Underworld. He hurried past the River Styx and over to a darkened corner where Damon and a group of his new friends did business. He pushed past two ineffectual guards, ran up to Damon, and decked him.

  “What have you done with her?” Markus demanded.

  Damon stumbled back a step. “You better slow your role, partner. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  A handful of Damon’s associates encircled Markus. Damon waved them off.

  “I’m gonna let that go, but if you come down here hot like this again…” Damon trailed off while rubbing his jaw.

  Markus pulled away from the thugs. “I swear to God, Damon, if you had anything to do with this…”

  “You’ll what?”

  Markus was dead set that Damon knew something; he was sure of it. Damon never liked Samantha, but he and Markus had been friends long enough that being face to face convinced him that Damon wasn’t lying. He knew right away that Damon had no idea what was going on. Markus hurried out of Underworld on his way to see Sam. Concern had given way to full-blown panic.

  Damon turned to his cohorts. “Hopefully the bitch is dead,” he sneered. “Maybe then he’ll get his shit straight.”

  Isabelle watched the exchange from her perch across the promenade. She leaned against her doorway, smoking, and drinking from a bottle of whiskey. She didn’t buy booze or smokes but had cases of the stuff. She earned them. Isabelle went back into her room. She left the door open as she often did; she liked to hear the commotion from the River Styx. Isabelle sat the bottle on the sink beside the toilet, lifted her dress to her waist, and sat down. She reached forward and pulled back the shower curtain. Her prisoner was still there, tied to the handicap rails and wrapped in a sheet. The captive began twisting and turning. His muffled screams echoed through Isabelle’s quarters. Isabelle rose; she used the whiskey bottle to knock him out in one mighty swing. The prisoner dangled from his restraints. Isabelle put her cigarette out on her captive’s head before returning to the toilet.

  ~~~

  At the far end of deck twelve, in the private section of the Elites’ living area, the twins sat down for a night in. There were no shows to perform this evening, and no boring afterparty for the commoners meant no mingling with the unwashed masses. In their eyes, even the Financiers were considered beneath them—far beneath them. Not a soul aboard this ship was at the twins’ level of eccentricities.

  They often shared dinner, late and alone. A plate of various cuts of meat garnished with garlic potatoes and fresh onions and peppers sat before them. The largest flank was no more than three inches in circumference. The meat was cooked to varying degrees from just about rare to almost well done. The twins’ meals were prepared personally in-house. Even a chef as talented as Sweet Lips wouldn’t have the skill to satisfy their refined palates.

  “Medium is cooked to perfection. The meat falls right off the bone.” Meifeng chewed slowly, savoring the meat’s tenderness. Warm juices lingered on her lips.

  “I don’t like this one. I find it tough and bland. You overcooked it.” Lixue tossed most of her steak in the garbage. “Let me try yours.” She reached across the table to cut herself a sample of her sister’s portion.

  The twins’ disregard of finely cooked food was excess in its purest form.

  Across the cabin, in the small kitchen area, Casandra was bound and gagged. She was unmoving but breathing. Her left arm was in a tourniquet. It had been severed and cauterized just below the shoulder. An array of bloody kitchen utensils was spread out on the table beside her. Next to those sat a small electric grill. Her hand had been discarded. It sat atop a pile of garbage in a bin where her clothes had been cut away and thrown in the trash like so much used deli paper. Beneath and beside her hand and clothes, vegetable scraps and grease-soaked paper towels filled out the waste.

  Casandra had been stripped bare and tied face-down with her chest against her knees. Her right hand was bound tightly to her left foot, which was secured to its counterpart. The twins had bunched together all three of Casandra’s remaining limbs just beneath her ass and wrapped them in a bright white rope. The bonds were thick and layered to give the impression of a dressed turkey. Her mouth was forced open, an apple jammed between her teeth. The sides of her mouth dripped spittle onto the piles of garnish and vegetables. Saliva pooled on the oversized silver serving platter that she was displayed upon. They had fashioned Casandra into a living caricature of a holiday meal.

  ~~~

  Stowage was alive with the sounds of a tantrum. Krysler was in a fit as he hurled boxes of inventory and carefully stacked stowage around the floor. The origin of said tantrum was unknown to all, save for himself. Even his closest confidant, Todd, had no insight on this latest outburst. Most of his coworkers—or underlings, as Krysler liked to think of them—stayed clear of his path. Joelle laughed and continued about her business of inventory-taking.

  Todd had made an unexpected stop in de-cons before heading home for the night when he heard the commotion. He closed his eyes for a moment; if he concentrated hard enough, the noise might all just fade away. It didn’t. He laid his clipboard atop a nearby unmolested stack of boxes before approaching the scene. He stood well back, but his demeanor screamed for Krysler to accidentally send something flying his way.

  “I’m gonna kill the motherfucker!” Krysler was pacing, his hands flailing about.

  “Are you done?” Todd was fed up.

  “You had it coming, if you ask me,” Joelle added.

  “Wait a minute,” said Todd. Joelle’s comment stopped him in his tracks. “This tantrum is over that old man hitting you?”

  “Fucking right it is.”

  “He hit you again?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re still going on about what happened months ago, even though Sam’s been moved over to fishing?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “Unbelievable. I don’t have time for you tonight. Clean up this mess. I’ll handle the old man. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually do have important things to take care of.”

  Todd traveled through the darkened bowels of Haven; he preferred traversing the ship that way—the secret ways, the places only the staff knew about. This way, he could avoid the constant questions from Haven’s residents, but more importantly, he could avoid scrutiny from the more curious members of the crew. His business was his alone; he had a ship to run, after all. Every time someone stopped him for some inane question, it slowed him down. Time was precious to him. He would have loved to just ignore these requests, but it was all part of the job. Hence the secret ways.

  Krysler was too stupid to be
left in charge of anything, much less people. Todd knew he would have to address the situation one way or another, sooner rather than later. Where would he move Krysler to now? He had already put the guy as far away from the rest of the ship as possible. He could worry about Krysler another time; he was home. The aft maintenance stairs let Todd out close enough to his cabin that if he hurried, he could usually make it inside before anyone spotted him. Without fail, he kept his keycard in hand to speed up his entrance.

  Todd shut the door of his cabin behind him. He took off his carefully pressed uniform and hung it up for the dry cleaners in the morning. He went straight to the shower and was clean in record time; now he could relax. Todd let the warm water flow over his body while he leaned against the shower wall. He exhaled heavily. If he kept his head just right under the water pouring from the showerhead, he could tune everything else out, mostly. Todd’s daily life was a lesson in frustration, but a quick session of masturbation would help relieve the tension. Alas, as quickly as the notion rose, he was yanked from his thoughts by a knock at the door. He hung his head.

  “I didn’t hear you come in, babe. Is that you in there?” Imogen asked from just outside the bathroom.

  She didn’t sound drunk yet, so at least he had that going for him.

  Who else would it be? he thought. “I’ll be right out,” he said.

  Todd turned off the water and sighed. He dried, wrapped a towel around his waist, and wasn’t one foot out of the bathroom when his wife jumped him.

  “I got her to talk!” Imogen was ecstatic.

  “Did you now?” He feigned interest.

  “Watch this!” She pulled Todd into the living room and rushed over to her pet. “Beg, go on,” she said with a childlike glee.

  “Please,” Imogen’s plaything whimpered.

  Samantha was bound atop a plastic sheet. Her arms and legs were tied together behind her back. Samantha’s long, flowing red hair had been mostly cut off or pulled out. Only a few clumps in odd lengths remained. Her scalp was largely bald and bleeding. What hair that remained on the back of her head was matted down in bloody clumps, the result of repeated blows to the back of the head. Her body was bruised; whip and cut marks were everywhere. There was an empty cage in the corner of the room. It was just barely bigger than she was, and its edges were rough and bloody.