Day Four

by Sarah Lotz

  Jacob’s eyes flicked over to Xavier, who was leaning against a pillar at a safe distance from Ray. Maddie had no clue whether Jacob recognised him from the New Year’s Eve reading. It was likely. Xavier’s old-school hipster look didn’t exactly help him blend into the ship’s crowd.

  ‘Jacob. Listen . . . has Celine said anything about me to you?’

  ‘No. Why would she?’

  ‘Do you know why she doesn’t want to see me?’

  ‘We’re welcoming everyone, Maddie. We all have to stick together.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Celine says it won’t be long now. We’ll be out of this mess very soon. And about time.’ He snapped off his gloves. ‘Just between the two of us, I’m getting heartily sick of tomato sandwiches and baloney.’

  ‘How are the others? The other Friends, I mean.’

  ‘We’re all doing wonderfully. It’s been such a tonic being able to share Celine’s gift with so many. Some of the crew are joining us now, Maddie. They’ve been working so hard on the ship and we’re doing all we can to put their minds at ease. Spirit will take care of us.’

  Jesus. She glanced at Ray, but he was staring off into the distance. ‘Listen . . . Jacob, I owe you an apology.’

  ‘An apology for what?’

  ‘I told Celine about your sister.’ Maddie fished for her name, came up empty. ‘You remember? You told me all about her at the meet ’n’ greet. Celine uses information like that, spins it to make you believe that she’s talking to the dead. It’s a con.’

  Jacob gave her a sad smile. ‘You’ll come round, Maddie.’ Shaking his head, he walked off to the entrance to the theatre. Maddie tried to catch Ray’s eye again, but he was clearly avoiding looking in her direction.

  ‘Well?’ Xavier asked when she re-joined him.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Back to the suite?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Xavier was right. There was nowhere else to go.

  The Condemned Man

  He’d made himself a nest in a shadowy area under the overhang, near to the towel station. After he’d fallen yesterday, someone had given him a couple of tablets and a bottle of water, and Gary had spent much of the night and the morning drifting in and out of consciousness. He hadn’t wanted to take the tablets or drink the water, but Marilyn insisted. The curious cloud that kept the black thoughts at bay was slowly clearing. He didn’t want it to go. There were things he’d rather not think about waiting on the other side of it. He still felt weak, and the whole of his body ached, but the physical pain helped keep his mind from latching onto the dark thoughts. And he kept having strange, hyper-real dreams. Last night he’d dreamt he’d woken to see Marilyn – he was sure it was Marilyn – naked and shrieking, her arms around someone in the Jacuzzi.

  He scrunched his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his head. Time went smoother if he slept.

  When he woke, his friend from the medical bay, the big black man in the shabby dungarees, was leaning against the railings. He grinned at Gary, then pressed a finger to his lips. Shhhh, don’t tell.

  I won’t, Gary mouthed back at him.

  Don’t tell what?

  A hot stone in his gut.

  Of course.

  The girl. His girl. Did the man know what he’d done?

  How could he?

  A whisper of fear tickled over his skin. And the fear was real. Something else had happened. Something that had caused him to end up in the infirmary, but it was slippery, and he couldn’t get hold of it.

  Good. He didn’t want to get hold of it. Let it swim away. Swim, swim.

  A shadow loomed over him and he looked up to see Mason looking down at him. ‘How are you today, buddy?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Yeah? You don’t look okay. Saw you talking to yourself.’ Mason leaned closer. ‘You lose it down here again, I’ll throw you off the fucking side, hear me?’

  Gary swallowed. ‘I’m fine. I’m not sick. Nothing happened to me. I’m fine.’ His mouth felt as if he’d been drinking a bottle of glue; gummy and foul.

  ‘Good. Then you can pull your weight. Go line up for food. We all gotta take turns.’

  Marilyn skittered up to join them, a pink hat slouched on her head. Fingers prodded in his mind. He remembered that hat, that hat was—

  No.

  ‘Gary. You’re awake.’

  Mason folded his arms and flexed the muscled on his forearms. ‘Gary’s gonna help us out today.’

  ‘Oh good.’

  ‘I don’t like your hat,’ Gary whispered to Marilyn.

  Marilyn laughed. ‘What? You were with me when I bought it, Gary.’ Gary saw her fingers stray to Mason’s shoulder, then stop, mid-stroke. ‘You remembered anything else about that morning before they took you to the medical room, hon?’

  ‘No.’

  Mason sniffed. ‘Selective memory. Seen it before.’ He tapped his head.

  ‘Sandy says you should take these.’ Marilyn handed him two blue tablets. ‘Good of her, as she doesn’t have many left. They helped you last night, hon. You were’ – she shared a glance with Mason – ‘not yourself.’

  Gary shook his head. ‘Don’t want to.’

  ‘It’ll help you, hon. You had a bad experience. C’mon. Do it for me?’

  He placed them on his tongue and sloshed warm water in his mouth, trying not to gag. But he couldn’t get them down, they got stuck in his throat, and he had to spit them into his palm – Mason staring at him in disgust – and try again. He managed it the second time.

  ‘Well, go on, buddy,’ Mason said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Time to get to work.’

  Gary hauled himself to his feet, looking past Marilyn to see if his friend was still there. He wasn’t.

  Mason pushed him up the stairs. ‘Make sure you get a big portion. Don’t let them railroad you.’

  The two men stationed at the top of the stairs stood aside to let him pass. At first everything was just a blur of noise and faces and the smell of chlorine and other, nastier things. A crowd was gathered around the buffet area. Three men in dirty chef’s whites, their faces hard masks, were sweating behind the counter.

  ‘Back of the line,’ a face loomed into his.

  ‘Okay.’

  He turned and trotted back. The line stretched all the way to the pool. Some of the people in the queue were laughing with each other, but most wore grumpy clouds above their heads. As he reached the end, he stepped in a puddle of water and skidded, but he managed to right himself. He could do this. It was easy.

  He looked into the green water, trying to make out his reflection. Two plastic bottles bobbed next to a red bag. They looked happy together. The woman in front of him turned and smiled. Her sun-glassed eyes made her look like a bug. ‘Baloney again. But it’s not all bad. Heard they were sending a ship to restock us today. That’s gotta be good, right?’

  Blah blah blah. The sun on his head. He should have a hat. His cap . . . he had a cap but he couldn’t remember what he’d done with it. Fuzzy wuzzy.

  A shriek behind him, and he turned to see a man falling in slow motion into the pool, scattering the plastic threesome. The man jumped up and shook his head. He was laughing. ‘Fuck you!’ he shouted.

  Then Gary saw him. His friend. He was standing next to the glass doors that led into the inside of the ship. Gary waited for him to beckon him over, but he didn’t.

  Shuffle shuffle. The line inched forward, the insect woman had given up talking to him. Good. The air wavered. He zoned out, felt a prod in his back. A gap had opened up between him and the insect lady. He caught up to her.

  Then, shouting. The lady in front of him moved back, the whole line rippled and fractured. Gary stepped to one side to see what was going on. A couple of men were wrestling with each other next to the raised stage. Pulling and pushing and grunting. Some people in the line were staring, some were cheering. Another man in a blue shirt tried to pull them apart. Two men in white shirts and black trousers were running towards them.
A squeeze of panic. Uh-oh. Security. The uniforms. He remembered them. Time slowed down, sound disappeared. One of the security men nudged the other and pointed at him.

  Gary felt all the strength, what little he had, draining away.

  Gogogogogogogogo.

  His friend. He had to get to his friend. He ducked and ran, shoving through the people queueing behind him, fighting his way through the line.

  He reached the doors and pushed, falling, almost falling.

  ‘Stop!’ someone shouted.

  But Gary didn’t stop. His friend was at the top of the main staircase, smiling and beckoning. Gary zipped across to join him. Then, down and down – his friend would show him the way. Round a corner, into the bottom of the atrium. His friend was gone again. He looked up at the glass elevator cubes frozen above his head. Which way now?

  He whirled. There! His friend was standing next to a golden pillar, a row of dark doors behind him. Gary knew that place. Marilyn had taken him there once. The theatre. He blinked. His friend was gone.

  Gary paused. Was he supposed to go in there?

  ‘Yo. You coming in or what?’

  A big man, with the same empty eyes as Mason, was staring at him. Gary didn’t remember walking up the stairs that led to the doors.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Got any concealed weapons on you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hey, chill. I’m kidding. Barefoot huh?’

  Gary looked down. He hadn’t noticed that his feet were bare and covered in nicks. His big toenail was almost ripped off. How had that happened? ‘Yes.’

  The man hooted. ‘You’re going to fit right in, my man.’ He opened the door, and waved Gary inside.

  Dark. Lights at the front on the stage though. A woman was speaking, her voice booming. He didn’t listen to her words: he couldn’t hear them, the blood was still pounding in his ears. Disorientated, he ran down the aisle steps and then back up again. At a loss, he made his way to a stool on the back row. The woman next to him turned and smiled. ‘Welcome,’ she whispered.

  Gary dug his fingers into his palms. Shut his eyes.

  A sound, like rain. No. Applause. The people around him were clapping. The woman’s voice was speaking again: ‘. . . going to be panic. There is going to be chaos. I want all of you who are here with me to know that I will take care of you.’

  He shouldn’t be in here. Every instinct was yelling at him to get out. But his friend had shown him. And now, what he thought of as his real self was slipping back in, chipping away at the lovely woollen warmth he’d cultivated. No. He wouldn’t let it. He didn’t want to remember.

  The girl. His girl.

  ‘As usual, I’d like to say a big welcome to our new faces. It will seem strange at first to you, so just imagine how it was for me the first time I heard Spirit coming through!’

  The people around him laughed. Someone handed him a banana. It was squishy and the skin was half-black, but he ate it anyway. He sat back in his seat. Better. He felt better. Calmer. He let the woman’s words wash over him again, and then began to listen. She was telling a story about a cat she had once had called Francine, and how it could also sense spirits. ‘All animals are spiritual beings. The ability to do so is inside all of us.’ Gary wasn’t a fan of animals, especially cats. Marilyn had wanted one, years ago, but he’d said no. All animals did was leech off you. What did they give back? ‘. . . even animals know that. Death is not the end, people. You never really die. We all just go round and round. Into the spiritual realm and out again. Know this, there’s nothing but the finest layer of vibration between realms. Light and energy, my friends. That’s all we are. And some of us have the ability to choose how we want to . . . Wait . . . my guides are coming through.’ Gary felt a ripple of anticipation rush through the audience around him. He didn’t like it. ‘. . . telling me something . . . A woman is stepping forward. She’s a young woman. Oh. She passed over recently. Very recently. She’s still bewildered. Hold on . . . she’s asking for . . . her name. I’m getting a K. Does that mean anything to anyone? Died very recently. In fact . . . I’m getting that she died on this very ship.’

  Someone shrieked. ‘It’s Kelly! Oh my God.’

  Gary craned his neck. In one of the lower rows, a woman had leapt to her feet.

  The woman on stage touched her throat. ‘I’m getting . . . She’s . . . she’s finding it hard to breathe. She’s choking. Choking. And sorrow. So much sorrow. So much pain. So much loneliness. She’s a restless spirit, I’m afraid, my love.’

  His bowels cramped. His scalp prickled. Get out.

  ‘Her mum . . . does she want to say anything to—’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you, my darling, but she’s got a message for the person who was with her when she died. She’s saying that—’

  Get out get out get out get out.

  Cold, cold, fear. It filled every vein, every artery – it pulsed through him. He threw himself out of the seat, and hobbled up the aisle. He didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to hear it.

  The Devil’s Handmaiden

  The man almost knocked her over as he ran out of the door, his elbow bashing into her side.

  A large woman with a broad kind face hurried over to her. ‘Honey, you okay?’ she stage-whispered. Althea retrieved the box of Wet-Wipes the man had knocked out of her hands as he’d hurled his body past her. ‘I am fine. Thank you.’

  ‘Sometimes it can be too much for people.’

  What the woman said was true. Not everyone liked what Mrs del Ray had to say. Right now she was saying something about healing and coming to terms with the ‘demise of the physical body’.

  ‘But we got to stick together, am I right?’ the large woman was going on. All the people here were loco. Out of their minds.

  ‘Yes.’ Althea gave her a professional smile.

  The woman patted her arm and went back down the aisle. Althea took the box over to a booth in the far corner. Pepe had done well. There were now several salamis, a box of American cheese slices and a crate of fresh tomatoes, peppers and bananas. She’d heard from him that the head chef had deserted his post, and the sous chefs were left to ration out what remained. There couldn’t be much food left. Soon they would be fishing off the side. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The water surrounding the ship was disgusting.

  She helped herself to a bottle of water and a slice of baloney and leaned against the table. The theatre, which was on two levels, wasn’t completely full, but it wouldn’t be long until it was. Most of the people here had decided not to return to their cabins, and were making themselves nests out of duvets and pillows. Some of the staff were doing the same.

  It had been easier than she thought it would be. It couldn’t have been easier, in fact. Celine had asked her to bring crew members to the Dare to Dream Theatre ‘to join the gang’, and no one she’d spoken to so far had refused. And why would they? It was comfortable, it didn’t stink. Celine’s group of elderly men and women were making sure that the bathrooms just outside the upper level were kept clean. They even had a system for disposing of the bags. All Celine asked was that the staff help collect supplies and water from the kitchen. Paulo and Pepe had been her first targets. They’d been reluctant only because they were afraid they would be disciplined for straying into the passenger areas, but Althea hadn’t had to spend too long convincing them. Security was too busy dealing with the mob on the main deck to worry about a few stewards leaving their posts. And they were helping keep the guests happy, weren’t they?

  And the news had spread. They were safe here. There was no Lady in White. No devils, no girls trying to crawl out of morgue bags. No angry passengers abusing them. Angelo had been more sceptical, but she’d expected that. She’d assured him that Mrs del Ray would pay well for anything he could do to help, and she knew that he would go where the money was.

  She left to check on Mirasol, who was supposed to be disinfecting the two bathrooms just outside the theatre. As Althea feared, she
was giggling with Ray, one of the men who guarded the entrance. At least she could see straight through Angelo. She was wary of Ray. He hadn’t bothered her, but she didn’t like the way his eyes followed some of the women. He reminded her of Joshua.

  ‘Mirasol,’ she snapped, making Mirasol start guiltily. Althea noted with distaste that her shirt was stained. Althea had made an effort to maintain her appearance. The water was sporadic, but she had no problem washing out of a bucket, and her smock – unlike those of many she’d seen – was still neat and clean. ‘Please tell Paulo that we will need to bring more water up here.’

  ‘Yes, Althea.’ Mirasol scurried away.

  Ray took a sip out of the flask he kept in his back pocket and stared at Althea. She stared right back at him. Perhaps she should tell Mrs del Ray about his drinking. There was no point. She already knew. She knew everything.

  ‘You got a problem?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ Lies. She had many problems, and the biggest one was in her belly. ‘Do you?’

  He snorted. ‘Crazy lady.’ Althea couldn’t tell if he meant her or Mrs del Ray. She sensed that he didn’t buy into Mrs del Ray’s act. She could almost respect him for this. Althea shoved past him and strolled down the aisle, looking for Rogelio. She was curious to see how he was reacting to Mrs del Ray’s performance. She’d snagged him in the mess canteen this morning. She could see he was broken. Distracted, worried. She now realised that she’d been wrong about him, and his cheerful exterior was in fact nothing but a mask. She could see he wanted someone to talk to, and she knew how to listen. Years of dealing with the fuck-darned cone-heads had taught her that skill.

  She spotted him in the front row, sitting in between Annabeth and Jimmy, two of the seniors who made up what she thought of as Mrs Del Ray’s core group.

  Mrs del Ray creaked closer to the front of the stage. ‘So many secrets in here. So much sadness and unresolved issues. Know this, those of you who are here, who have had the bravery and foresight to join us will be rewarded . . .’

  Althea had no idea where Mrs del Ray got all her energy from. Althea had never once seen her sleep. Or, for that matter, use the bathroom. ‘My guides are letting me know that someone wants to come through. A small woman is stepping forward. Dark hair. Long dark hair. I’m getting that she’s proud of her hair. And . . . wait. She’s touching her forehead. Does she have a scar on her forehead, perhaps? Does that mean anything to anyone? Don’t be shy.’