The elevator is empty, unmotivated. So very slow. Maybe I actually wouldn’t mind being stuck here for a while. Because I’m actually pretty sure people don’t really die in elevators anymore. If they ever did. But I won’t tell Nora that; that her whole premise is flawed.
A couple with two young boys gets on, each parent carrying a sleeping child. “We overdid it,” the woman says, like she needs to explain.
I’m not sure I’ve ever overdone anything—at least not before this week, this moment. Maybe the reason I’m so scared of the ship’s heights is because my whole life to this point has been flat.
There’s no line at guest services. The man behind the desk asks me how he can help me.
“I’m wondering if you have a lost and found? I’m looking for a shirt? It’s a men’s white linen short-sleeved shirt. It’s my brother’s.”
“We have a bin but I haven’t logged everything in a few days,” he says. “You’re welcome to look through it, though.”
“That’d be great,” I say.
He goes to the end of the counter and opens a short swinging door and gestures at the clear plastic bin.
“Thanks,” I say.
I kneel down and start to rummage. Some pale blue cat’s-eye sunglasses I’m tempted to take. A book called The Woman in Cabin 10, about a murder on a cruise ship, which seems a weird pick for someone to have brought along. A pink shawl. And there, under it, a men’s white linen button-down shirt. Short sleeves. My lip gloss on it.
Two shirts.
Two boys.
Too late.
“This is the one,” I say, taking it with me because I sort of have to, to keep up my fib. “Thanks.”
I head back toward Supernova and leave the shirt on a porthole sill on a long corridor when no one’s looking. Apparently, my imaginary brother loses stuff all the time.
Back in the lounge, I’m dragged up to the stage to sing “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” with my friends.
But it’s not true.
Girls don’t just want to have fun, not always.
I didn’t that night at Nora’s.
I don’t right now.
Afterward, I tell the girls that I’m heading back.
I think about finding him, apologizing.
But if he’s so dead set on not letting me in, I won’t let him in either.
Teeth get brushed. Pajamas get put on. Almost by invisible hands controlling me.
Not my circus or monkeys after all.
I crash hard.
I dream I am walking across a high skinny bridge. It’s crowded enough that people are walking single file. Then suddenly there’s no one ahead of me except a young girl, maybe nine years old. She takes a wrong step and she falls and, impossibly, her body spins flat like a record the whole way down before landing with a thud.
It’s only when I climb down off the bridge that I see that it’s a younger version of myself lying there dead.
I wake in a cold sweat, kick off the thick blankets, and take purposely deep breaths until my heartbeat calms and my skin dries.
Nora’s grinding her teeth, like she’s eating chalk.
I hear the ship’s engine cut out.
I check the clock.
Two a.m.
My birthday.
Pisces Day 5! Are we having fun yet???
Port of Call: STARLITE COVE!
Highlights:
On the Pisces:
7:00 a.m. — Wake-Up Zumba
11:00 a.m. — Bridge tournament in the Saturn Room
1:00 p.m. — Water aerobics, first come first served
3:00 p.m. — Matinee Movie: The Fault in Our Stars
7:00 p.m. — Newlywed Game—Atrium
8:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. — Improv comedy troupe That’s What She Said takes over the Starlite Theater (18 and up)
On the island:
9:00 a.m. — Snorkeling lesson
9:00 a.m. — Bike rental station open
9:00 a.m. — Light hike. Meet by the entrance to the first beach.
1:00 p.m. — DINO DIG in the sandbox at the KidZone
10:00 p.m. — Fireworks on the Aquarius Deck
W hen I wake up again, everyone else is still dead asleep. I find a copy of the Stargazer, slid under the door, then I slip out onto the balcony. The air holds a cool mist and smells unmistakably of land—as distinct as the smell of fish food or blood.
I sit.
I feel older, or maybe just calm.
My phone won’t be buzzing all day with people wishing me a happy birthday. I won’t be taking or posting birthday selfies.
I noticed a birthdays section in the Stargazer. I look for it now.
Happy birthday to Angie, Matt W, Lester B, and Natalie!
I put the paper down and tuck my knees up under my nightgown and watch the day form. It starts out hazy, out of focus, then the lens clears.
I wonder whether Ray is plotting some response to my note.
I wonder whether Michael feels sick and sad about it all, the way I do—whether he even cares that it’s my birthday.
The girls pull small gifts from hidden pockets of suitcases like magicians. From Lexi, a small clear tote that holds a dozen perfume sample wipes, all with funky names like Secret Genius and Wild Child and Garden Gangster and Tambourine Dreamer.
From Charlotte, something called a Mini Cinema Lightbox. It’s a small white box light with letters and numbers you can slide in to make little signs like a movie marquee.
Nora’s is last and smallest, like a box for jewelry.
“You guys are so sweet,” I say as I rip off the paper. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
The paper comes away to reveal a small white box.
I open it and see my initial N in a funky font on a shiny circular pendant on a delicate sort of metal rope. I lift it out. “This is so cool,” I say. “I love it.”
“Put it on,” she says, and for a second I go to do just that, but then I hesitate.
“I will,” I say. “Later.”
That choking sensation again—a heavy chain of emotion suddenly tugging at me. Links of anger and more. She knows what the necklace I’m wearing means to me and that it has to do with Paul.
“Thanks so much, guys,” I say, to move things along. “All of you. You’re the best friends ever.”
We have a quick breakfast with my parents, who’ve signed up for some kind of low-impact hiking excursion on the island, then pack up day bags and disembark. Just beside the ship, Starlite has left out bug repellent and Zika warnings. I haven’t missed bugs, that’s for sure. I Deet-up and wonder how things worked out for that ladybug back in Miami.
Next we pass a cruise photographer, who positions us near a large anchor prop; the ship looms behind us. We smile, then “go crazy” for a second shot.
The island is a long curved strip of beaches that form a small bay.
At the first beach along the path, Lexi says, “Let’s keep going.”
“Why?” Nora asks.
“People are lazy.” Lexi doesn’t even stop. “Especially people who are on cruises. It’ll be less crowded.”
She charges on; we follow—past a big barbecue hut and picnic tables; past a small souvenir shop; past a tube and float rental stand, and beverage stations and fresh fruit buffets.
The second beach is, in fact, less crowded—at least so far. We pick a spot near the water in the shade of some dwarf palm trees. There are two chairs per umbrella so Lexi and I grab one pair and Nora and Charlotte the other.
“I’m already frying,” Lexi says, taking out still more sunscreen and putting a hat on.
I head for the water and start to wade in. Sharp shells scrape my feet, like a warning. Beaches are fun and games, but the ocean itself is a horror show and I better not forget it.
The water is bright turquoise around me but gets darker along a clear line about fifty feet out. I feel strangely drawn to it, wondering if the water drops off and gets much deeper there, so I push fo
rward, and the water inches up around my waist.
It turns out it’s seaweed. I back up some—eels could hide there?—and turn to face the shore. Hundreds upon hundreds of chairs and umbrellas lined up neatly along the beach. Some mom types have dragged chairs to the water and sit half-submersed, while their children play, completely oblivious to the fact that the ocean could kill them and might. A toddler girl cries—seawater in her eyes.
I miss my parents.
When I get back to the chairs, we’re down one.
“Where’s Nora?”
“Went for a walk,” Charlotte says, without opening her eyes.
When Nora still isn’t back an hour later, Lexi starts to get nervous. I admit I’m a bit nervous, too. Maybe it’s because we’ve been put on high alert due to the cruise’s bizarre circumstances, but my mind goes directly to some kind of tragic fate.
We set out to find her, heading farther into the island since Lexi saw her go that way. All the while I’m looking for them, too.
But mostly him.
Michael.
Something bad has happened to Nora.
I’m sure of it.
EXT. TROPICAL ISLAND -- DAY
A teenage girl, NORA, walks obliviously down a path. A menacing-looking man appears from a connecting path and starts to follow her. When they turn a corner, they’re alone between high shrubs. He seizes an opportunity, puts a hand over her mouth and drags her off the path. When he removes his hand to better hold her:
NORA
What do you want?
MAN
Just cooperate and you’ll live.
EXT. TROPICAL ISLAND -- DAY
A teenage girl--this is NATALIE--walks down a beach path, clearly looking for someone. Around a bend, a boy--RAY--appears. They share a look; there is history of some kind there.
RAY
You’re going to want to come with me if you want her to live.
NATALIE (bluffing)
You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone who cares.
We don’t find her after scanning the next two beaches, so we double back—coated in sweat and irritation.
Nora’s in her lounge chair and looks up. “Where were you guys?”
“Looking for you,” I say.
“Where were you?” Lexi says.
“I took a walk,” Nora says. “Like I said I was going to?”
“We were worried,” I say.
“Well, you shouldn’t have been,” Nora says.
Charlotte says, “Anyway, we’re all together now!”
Then everyone high-dives into silence. It seriously feels like a competition—who can be the most quiet and irritated for the longest, who can score a ten for the most elaborate righteous indignation with the smallest splash.
After a while, Nora surfaces and says, “I saw one of your twins.”
“Which one?”
“Not sure,” she says.
“What was he doing?” I try to sound aloof and fail.
“He was in the water at the next beach down.” Then after a quick dip back into that deep silence, she says, “Talking to some girls.”
My face gets so hot it’s almost cold. Why is she trying to hurt me? Because I’m daring to try to move on?
“Did you notice if he had a tattoo?” I ask, because who cares what she thinks of me anyway. “Or was wearing a sort of rope bracelet?”
She tilts her head, like she’s re-creating the scene, and says, “Pretty sure both.”
Which can’t be right.
I clap a mosquito dead.
After a barbecue lunch at a big buffet, I decide to be the one to take a walk. But I make a promise that I’ll be back in no more than half an hour. They know where I’m going and why. I don’t care.
When I spot one of them, he’s talking but I can’t see to whom. My angle’s all wrong; there’s a palm tree in the way. I don’t want him to see me, not until I can try to figure out which one it is.
I have to walk a few more feet and wait for some people to pass before I can find a better vantage point. He takes a few steps backward around the same time, and his companion comes into view.
His twin.
They’re together.
I reel.
They’re laughing. Like the joke’s on me.
I can’t spot a bracelet on either one of them, and their backs are to me so I can’t see which one has the tattoo.
I head for them, but there are so many chairs and people and umbrellas that I can’t walk a straight line. I have to weave through the beach crowd, and each time I look up to see where I am in relationship to the lifeguard stand where they’re standing, I’m turned around. It’s like the game show in the Atrium again, only worse. Because of burning sand and hot-hot sun and a more high-pitched anger in my gut.
By the time I get free of the chairs and loop over to where I saw them, they’re both gone.
I put a hand to my forehead like a visor—my sunglasses aren’t doing the job—but I can’t see either of them anywhere. There are too many bodies; too many bare chests. I do my best methodic sweep of the beach, but the suspects remain at large.
I head back to the girls and take my seat in silence.
“Did you find them?” Lexi asks.
I say, “Nope,” just as sunscreen finds a sweat channel right into my eye. It stings.
We know the drill. We stop at the hand sanitizer station by the gangplank. We put our bags on the belt for the metal detector. The air-conditioning in the Atrium hits us like an iceberg.
Nora and Lexi figure the line for the tube ride will be shorter than usual, so head there. “It’s a really mellow ride,” Lexi says to me. “Not scary at all.”
“I’m going to go shower,” I say.
“I’m just peeking into Supernova for a minute,” Charlotte says. “Shaun said he’d be there. Then I’m going to shower, too.”
“It’s really fun,” Lexi says to me. “You sure?”
“I’m good,” I say.
Nora looks away and I know she’s rolling her eyes, but seriously.
It’s a tube ride on a cruise ship.
It’s not like it’s a Venetian gondola or the Panama Canal.
I step on the note slipped under the door.
Happy birthday, Dollface.
Hitchcock always said blondes make the best victims.
My sense of self inflates.
I’m right about the doll.
So I know how he did it but not why.
The horn sounds and we’re off again. We watch from our balcony as we back out of the port and then slowly turn toward the open seas. On our way out we pass a small lighthouse on a tiny barrier island. I wish I could somehow be there and not here. I wish I could climb its winding staircase up to the top and turn on a light, like a beacon, and announce, “Here. Here I am.”
Like a warning.
Once we gain speed, the ship’s waves are reflected in the glass of the captain’s bridge and it looks like the whole glass chamber is filling with bright white smoke. But it’s only an illusion.
We get ready for dinner—I put the necklace from Nora on along with the one I’m already wearing.
Bonny wishes me a happy birthday.
The meal goes exactly how I feared it would.
INT. CRUISE SHIP DINING HALL -- NIGHT
The room is gardens and fountains. Lights like stars overhead.
Waiters gather around a table with a lit piece of cake.
They are singing “Happy Birthday” to a girl, NATALIE, who is smiling awkwardly while the candle burns and burns. When the song ends, her companions--MOM and DAD, we assume, and a few friends--clap.
MOM
Well, go on and make a wish.
NATALIE
I wish you’d listened to me when I said “no singing.”
Lexi booked the escape room. It’s the four of us plus Ben, Leo, Nate, and Shaun and we get locked into a room midship on a lower deck; the belly of the beast. For a second I think about levels of
trapped; how if the boat started to sink, other people might survive—just jump from decks and swim to lifeboats—but not us. It makes it seem more essential to me than I would have guessed that we try to solve the mystery and get out.
It’s a Clue-like murder mystery set in an old hotel. The room is set up to look like a hotel lobby and a video plays on a monitor, presenting our mission: to find out who killed a guest named Ava. They give us a short list of suspects. Ben takes notes on the whiteboard.
There’s a key in a mailbox behind the desk, so we open it and find a note for Ava. It’s in the mailbox for room 204. It says: “Meet me at the bar at 9 p.m.”
“Wait,” I say. “There’s another message here on the desk for the same person. It says, ‘Ava. I waited an hour. Call me—Alex.’ ”
A door on the far side of the room says “204,” but it’s locked.
“How do we get in there?” Nate asks.
The monitor is now counting down the hour we have to figure this out.
We scour the room for clues and revisit what we know about our suspects. The hotel owner. The bartender. Alex. Ava’s ex-husband.
Shaun finds a plastic card, like a room key, on the floor behind a fake plant and waves it in front of the door marked 204.
The lock beeps.
He opens the door.
It’s a guest room. Some strewn possessions. A light on the phone is lit, so Charlotte picks it up. “Voice mail,” she says.
It’s from a woman named Ellen. She says, “Got your message. I’m on my way. I have what you need.”
We add Ellen to our list of suspects.
I’m tasked with hunting through the drawers of the bureau, looking for clues. I find a glove that has a key in it, and it opens a desk drawer. There’s a flashlight in there. But it has no batteries.
Nate and Ben think we should be looking for clues as to motive, that that will help us figure it out. They want to think big picture. I’m thinking small.
I go back to the drawers, pulling them out and turning them around, and find a battery taped to the back of one.
Nora finds a key in a suitcase, and everyone starts trying to figure out what it might open.
The Opposite of Here Page 12
