Day Four

by Sarah Lotz

  Mason (what kind of a name was Mason, anyway?) shook his head. ‘Should have had a redundancy in place.’

  ‘Redundancy?’ Marilyn asked.

  ‘A system that would kick in during a situation like this one. It’s the regs. Saw it on Cruise Critics. All Foveros ships were supposed to be equipped with them after the incident with The Beautiful Wonder.’

  ‘How clever of you to know that!’ Marilyn said, eyeing Mason with awe. Gary hated her for it.

  ‘The least they could do is send one of their other ships to check on us. A helicopter, something,’ Mason said. ‘Hey!’ he shouted at a passing crew member who was stepping through an obstacle course of prone bodies collecting plastic soda cups and discarded water bottles. ‘When the hell we gonna hear what’s going on?’

  ‘The captain will be making an announcement soon, sir,’ the crew member said in a voice leached of any inflection.

  ‘That’s what we’ve been hearing all morning. This is bullshit.’

  ‘Hon,’ Samantha said. ‘It’s not his fault.’

  ‘I’m sick of this shit. I paid good money to be here.’

  ‘I know, baby. I’m just saying—’

  ‘And I don’t need you telling me what to do.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yeah? Sounds that way to me.’

  ‘Sorry, babe,’ Samantha said, with a little girl pout.

  Marilyn’s eyes were gleaming at this unexpected entertainment. Mason puffed his chest out like a rooster and waved the crew member away. The man drifted off, only to be accosted by a group sitting at the neighbouring table, who asked him the same question.

  ‘It’s gonna be a hot one,’ Samantha mumbled, fiddling with the straps of her top.

  ‘That reminds me,’ Marilyn said, turning to Gary. ‘Hon, I left my hat in the cabin. Could you get it for me? I’m gonna cook out here without it. And you’d better go to Guest Services and find out what’s going on.’

  ‘Sure.’ At the very least it would give him a chance to get away from the Patchuliks. Hopefully Marilyn would tire of them soon. If not, he’d feign illness again and find a place in the ship to hide that wasn’t as stuffy as the cabin. ‘I could be a while. The line looked like it—’ he froze as a security guard strolled past the pool deck; Gary could have sworn the guy looked right at him.

  ‘Hon?’ Marilyn and the Patchuliks were looking at him curiously. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Sorry. Sure I am. I’ll go right now. See you later.’

  Gary picked his way through the herd and headed into the heart of the ship. The line for Guest Services had almost doubled, as had the clamour of raised voices. He cut past the art gallery and padded down towards his deck. In contrast to the racket outside and in the atrium, the lower decks were eerily silent. A door banged, making him jump. He told himself not to be ridiculous; he’d only just been down here. The low ceilings and endless corridors didn’t usually bother him, in fact he liked the idea that he was bobbing in a subterranean underground, surrounded by miles of ocean, but for some reason he was beginning to feel on edge. The lights were dimmer than they were before – he was almost sure of it, and the screen-printed murals, all of which showed angels wrestling with each other, were now a blur of lumpy limbs and holes for eyes. The garish carpet seemed to be breathing. A door banged again, and then he heard a steady thumping sound. A sick heartbeat. As if someone was running up to him.

  He turned. No one there. ‘Hello?’

  With no warning, his bowels cramped. He fumbled for his room card, dropped it on the carpet. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck bristled, his heart sped up. Gary didn’t think of himself as possessing an overactive imagination, but it really did feel as if he was alone down here; the sole passenger on an entirely empty ship. Thump, thump, thump – he whirled again, but the corridor was deserted. He couldn’t decide where it was coming from: beneath his feet or from one of the cabins, perhaps. He tried the card again, and this time it opened. He propped the door open on its magnet and flicked the switch. The lights were out. His shirt was now soaked through, and he stripped it off and fumbled in the closet for another one. He was swamped with a strong, urgent sense that he had to get out of there, but his bowels cramped again, and he had no choice but to hurry to the bathroom. He barely made it. The flush button plinked hollowly. He tried it again. Nothing. Screw it.

  Get out get out get out.

  He lurched into the hallway, was about to hurry away when he realised he’d forgotten Marilyn’s hat. Reluctantly, he returned. The cabin reeked of his own waste and he gagged. The hat, a pink straw thing that she’d bought from a vendor in Cozumel, hung innocently over the edge of the television. He ran for it, almost had it in his grasp, when he heard the door slam behind him. He looked around wildly, thought in the blackness he could sense movement, getting the impression of two darker shapes twitching at the far end of the space.

  Gary backpedalled, the backs of his knees bashing against the bed.

  It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. No one’s coming to get you, there’s no one there, you’re just—

  He screamed and bit down on his tongue as a weight landed on his chest, squashing the breath out of his lungs. He tried to thrash out, but his arms wouldn’t – or couldn’t – move. Paralysed, there was nothing he could do as icy breath tickled his cheeks and cold fingers slowly spidered up his thigh.

  The Devil’s Handmaiden

  ‘I haven’t been able to spare anyone to service your cabins this morning,’ Maria said to Althea by way of a greeting. ‘Trining is still sick, and Joan says she is unable to work today.’

  Althea nodded in response. There were no eyebrows on Maria’s face today, just a smudge where they should be. It made her look as if her facial features were slowly disappearing. Perhaps tomorrow her nose would be gone, then the eyes, then the mouth, and then just smooth, blank skin. Althea mentally shook herself – what thoughts were these? She ran her tongue over her teeth. She’d been plagued with hyper-real nightmares last night; a man with rusty pliers – she couldn’t see his face – yanking her teeth out one by one. She could still hear the crunch of each root being ripped out of her gums in her mind. Her lola firmly believed in finding meaning in dreams, and Althea had heard somewhere that pregnant women were more likely to suffer nightmares. And then there was the boy . . . he hadn’t haunted her dreams, but somehow, that was worse.

  ‘Althea? Are you listening to me?’

  ‘Sorry, Maria. Could you repeat what you just said?’

  ‘I said that Security would like to talk to you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes, Maria.’ Althea was expecting this. She needed to get her story straight. She could hardly tell them that a ghost boy had led her to that particular cabin. Or admit that she was going loco. After she’d been dismissed by the tall security guard, who’d returned to the dead girl’s stateroom accompanied by a senior officer, Althea had fled to her cabin. Grateful that Mirasol, her cabin mate, was absent, she’d rolled herself in her blanket and shut her eyes tight, feigning unconsciousness. She was practised at that, it was what she did at home when she wanted to avoid Joshua’s attentions. Sometime later – it could have been minutes, or hours – she’d fallen asleep. She had a vague recollection that Mirasol had tried to wake her this morning, but when she finally crawled out of bed – three hours late for her shift – the cabin was empty. And now her brain felt like overcooked rice; she needed to clear her head, sharpen her wits.

  Maria wiped a finger over the bald patch where her left eyebrow should be. ‘I know what occurred last night. I know about the dead passenger.’

  ‘Security informed you?’ Althea hadn’t yet told anyone about the girl, but she was not surprised that Maria knew. Maria made it her business to know everything about her staff, and it made sense that Security would have spoken to her.

  ‘Yes. They needed to talk to Trining. It must have been a shock. You are fine to work today?’

  Althea considered saying that n
o, she was not fine to work, but what else was she going to do? The only other option was to sit in her cabin or the mess canteen and obsess about the boy while they waited for the engineers to fix the problem or for Foveros to send a rescue boat. She felt a twinge in her lower belly. A swift, sharp pain. A reminder of what else she had to worry about. ‘I can work.’

  ‘Good.’ A small smile. It struck Althea that she had never seen Maria smiling before. ‘You are the best I have on my team.’

  Althea blinked, surprised at the thrill of pride she felt at this unexpected compliment. ‘Thank you, Maria.’

  ‘You should know. Trining will have to go. She will be taken straight to the airport when we return to port.’

  ‘But . . . she is a good worker,’ Althea said, as she knew was expected of her, although she couldn’t care less if Trining was fired. That stupid puta should have been the one to find the girl, not Althea. Sure, she would miss the extra cash Trining paid her for picking up her slack, but there were plenty of ways to make extra money – Althea wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. ‘You have told her?’

  ‘No. But soon. And there is something else. Several of the vacuum pumps that work the sanitary system are malfunctioning.’

  ‘Which areas?’

  ‘Issues have been reported in most of the public restrooms and the staterooms mid and aft of the ship.’

  ‘Not the VIP section?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. But your guests will have to be informed. There will be an announcement shortly. I have already briefed the others. You know the procedure.’

  Althea did. She and the other stewards would be sent to hand out waste bags to the passengers, which would add another layer of misery to her day. She’d dealt with a situation like this a month into her last contract, when a propulsion issue disabled the sanitation system and resulted in the stranding of the ship in Cozumel for several days. But in that instance there were no passengers to deal with; they were all disembarked while the problem was addressed. Althea toyed with telling Maria that she couldn’t work, after all. Then again if she proved herself to be reliable, the chances of getting that promotion might increase. You are the best I have on my team. ‘Maria . . . do you know when help will arrive?’

  ‘No. I have not been informed.’

  Althea was certain Maria knew more than she was letting on. Paulo, one of the crew stewards, had told her he’d seen Maria slipping into the second officer’s cabin on more than one occasion. ‘The passengers will want to know.’

  ‘Tell them that there will be an announcement as soon as we know more.’

  Althea doubted that would cut it. It was nearly midday, four hours past the time they were due to dock in Miami. ‘Should I go to Security first?’ Althea wasn’t sure which was less appealing: being interrogated by the Indian mafia or facing the wrath of the passengers when they learned they would have to do their business in plastic bags.

  ‘No. Make sure your guests are comfortable first before you go to Security. I will tell them that you will go there when you have finished your shift.’

  ‘Thank you, Maria. May I please go to the mess hall first and have something to eat?’ Althea wasn’t hungry – the twinge she felt in her belly wasn’t from lack of food – but she wanted to regroup before she faced the day.

  ‘Yes. But hurry. And Althea . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If . . . if things get worse, I can count on you, can’t I?’

  Who was this new Maria? Althea struggled to imagine how things could get worse. Surely it wouldn’t be long before Foveros swung into action and sent a support crew. ‘Of course.’

  She left the housekeeping office, narrowly avoiding colliding with a couple of crew members hefting bales of the red plastic waste bags out of the storeroom. Mirasol was helping to unpack them, and she flinched when she caught sight of Althea. ‘I am so sorry, Althea,’ she said in a rush. ‘I tried to wake you this morning, but you would not get out of bed.’

  ‘I know. I’m not angry.’

  Althea noted Mirasol’s sigh of relief with amusement.

  ‘Althea . . . is it true that a guest on Trining’s station is dead?’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Angelo.’

  Of course. Angelo, one of the assistant waiters, and an old gambling buddy of Joshua’s, could sniff out gossip like a rat detecting rotting meat. ‘Don’t listen to everything Angelo says. And stay away from him, Mirasol.’

  ‘Why?’

  So that you don’t end up like me. ‘He likes to take advantage.’ The girl was too naïve, had only been with the ship a month. Althea had meant to take her under her wing, but hadn’t yet found the time. She remembered how bewildered she’d felt when she’d started on the ships, which was part of the reason why she’d accepted Joshua’s attentions. She’d been lured in by his confidence. Stupid. No. She must keep a close eye on Mirasol, especially with everything that was happening now.

  And it never hurt to have people owing you favours.

  ‘He heard it from Paulo, Althea. One of the security men was asking about the “don’t disturb” sign on the guest’s door. They were angry at Paulo because he said he put it with the others in Trining’s station. Why would they do that?’

  Because they think whoever killed her touched it. ‘I am sure they have their reasons.’

  ‘Angelo said that Paulo might get in trouble because he didn’t check the rooms properly before he—’

  ‘Angelo shouldn’t talk so much.’

  ‘Did Maria put you on a warning for being late, Althea?’

  ‘No. It’s fine.’

  ‘Maria says I must do Trining’s station after I have finished mine. I don’t like it down there. The passenger who died . . . is it true that she was murdered?’

  Fuck-darned Angelo. ‘We don’t know how she died.’

  ‘Althea . . . what if her spirit is still trapped down there? Also, Angelo said that one of the maintenance-crew men had seen the Lady in White when he was—’

  ‘That is crazy talk.’ But who was the one who was really going crazy? After all, Althea was the one who was seeing imaginary boys – or the ghosts of imaginary boys. No child had ever died on any cruise ship she’d worked on – that was for the elderly and the suicides. An assistant waiter had thrown himself overboard on her first ship after a fight with another crew member, but as Foveros ran shorter routes, there were usually very few deaths. But, she thought, that didn’t stop superstition taking hold, and the Lady in White was the most popular ghost story amongst the staff. The Lady, the vengeful spirit of a deceased passenger who dressed, for some unaccountable reason, as the majority of Foveros’s ships had been built in the eighties, in a Victorian gown, had been present on all of the ships she’d worked on. A very busy spirit, that one. She’d had enough of this talk. ‘You know what to do with the bags, Mirasol?’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘And be polite to the passengers. Some of them will be angry with you.’

  ‘I know. Maria told me. But most of them have moved out of the lower decks.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘Outside.’ Mirasol scrunched up her nose. ‘They are saying that it stinks down there. Pah. They should be down here.’

  ‘I must hurry. I will help you with Trining’s station later when I am finished.’ Which would give her an opportunity to check out Deck Five again – where she’d seen the boy.

  ‘Thank you, Althea.’

  The atmosphere in the mess was subdued, several people were lying with their heads on their arms, dozing. She slid her tray along the rack, past platters of bread, sliced cheese and olives. There was no cooked food. She dished up a bowl of yesterday’s rice, cold and glutinous, some chopped tomatoes and a sliver of dried fish. Over by the recycling bin, Angelo was gossiping with Pepe, one of the kitchen assistants. He was trying to catch her eye, and waved her over, but she pretended not to see him. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to him today. Instead, she made her way over
to where Rogelio was sitting alone at a table in the corner – he was entitled to use the officers’ mess, and she liked him more for continuing to eat with his paisanos.

  She greeted him, but he barely acknowledged her. ‘Are you okay, Rogelio?’

  He shrugged, and wouldn’t meet her gaze, which was not like him. Rogelio was usually full of energy, smiling and upbeat even when he was off duty and could let his mask slip. He often hosted karaoke crew parties long into the early morning in his own cabin, and she rarely heard anyone bad-mouth him.

  ‘Do you know anything more about the situation?’ He was Damien’s right-hand man, after all.

  ‘They’re working on the problem.’

  ‘Come on, Rogelio. You know more than that.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘We should have been in Miami several hours ago.’ When the last ship she was on ran into difficulties, it had only been a matter of hours before Ground Support flocked to help.

  ‘I know nothing.’

  ‘What does Damien say?’

  Rogelio grimaced. ‘He is spending most of his time on the bridge with the captain.’

  As if summoned by magic, an announcement came from Damien himself. The clattering and murmurs in the mess ceased as everyone heard the bad news. But it was Althea and the other stewards who would be in the firing line.

  Rogelio pushed his plate away from him. ‘I must go. We are putting on extra activities for the guests.’

  Althea automatically turned her plate as he left the table. Stupid. She was already married – she didn’t need superstition to keep the spectre of spinsterhood away. The rice sat in her gut in a hard ball.

  Angelo sidled up to her the second Rogelio left the mess hall. ‘What did pretty boy say to you, Althea? He won’t talk to me.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Ah, come on.’ Without being invited, he sat opposite her and leaned over the table. ‘Pepe says that the kitchen crew were told this morning that they had to be extra careful with the supplies.’

  Althea snorted. ‘What does Pepe know? He works in the side kitchens.’