by C. L. Stone
“I need an account number and amount,” I said, whispering, hoping to placate him and keep him from making a scene. “The money you’ve put in. To the penny. It’ll help me figure out which account might be yours. I don’t have authorization to release funds, but it’ll at least get the ball rolling.”
Mr. Smith backed off, taking a pen out of his pocket. He examined the items on the table, picked up the paper napkin on top of the bread plate, and placed it onto his dinner plate. He wrote out a number and then shoved the napkin toward me. “I want what is owed to me out before I leave this ship,” he said. He picked up his empty whiskey glass and stood up. “I’m going to the bar.” He staggered around tables, heading for the door.
“What was that all about?” Colt asked, brows knitted together in concern. “Was he threatening you? You look pale.”
“I’m...fine,” I said. I was pretty sure Colt had heard the last of that conversation after the clapping had died down. I couldn’t believe Mr. Smith was so angry. He wanted his money and thought I was the key to it and now...now I was in big trouble.
“One down,” Blake said, his voice low. “Although even if we have the amount and account number, we don’t know where this money is. We don’t know where Mr. Smith got it from, either.” He sounded breathless.
I picked up my water glass and muttered behind it, “Where are you?”
“I thought someone was following me. I got a little turned around. Don’t worry. I’m headed to the dining room now. I may as well show up. Don’t let Colt get any more information out of you.”
I put my glass down, crumpled the napkin in my other palm and shrugged at Colt. I glanced around the dining room. “So when do they start serving food around here?” I really was starving now. I hadn’t eaten in hours and after all the stress, I needed to refuel.
Colt adjusted the glasses on his face and scanned the room. “I don’t know. Maybe it would be better if we escaped, too. We might get fed faster somewhere else.”
“We’re already here,” I said. Was he still pushing for a date? After being told Axel was my boyfriend? I spotted a server coming around the table with bowls of soup. “Looks like they’re getting started.”
Colt sat back in his chair a little, looking at Axel who was talking to Ms. Wayward and Mr. Jones. Then he turned his attention back to me. “I just feel a little uncomfortable. I don’t know about you.”
Ditto. Only I couldn’t just leave. Could I? With an empty seat beside me, I was expecting Blake to scoot over one when he got there and help with this conversation. I didn’t want to talk about Mr. Smith, but I didn’t know what else to say, either.
As my eyes scanned around the table, I noticed Ms. Wayward looking in my direction. Her eyes shifted immediately, but I got the feeling she was paying more attention to us than to the people around her. Was she making Colt uncomfortable, too?
I looked at Colt, undecided. I needed to get to the bottom of this. Colt didn’t seem to know about the investments like Mr. Smith did. There was something about him, though. He was flirting too much. Too interested.
I was about to talk to Colt about what he planned to do the next day when I heard something.
There was a thud then a grunt. I turned my head, thinking it had come from another table. Then I realized it was talking in my earpiece, but I couldn’t distinguish what was being said.
There was another thud. Then silence.
I waited, listening. Nothing.
My heart stopped. This was much too familiar. I couldn’t ask how he was doing, or what was going on with Blake. I glanced at Axel, but he was involved in talking to Ms. Wayward and Mr. Jones now, oblivious.
I started to stand up quickly, and then slowed, smiling sweetly at Colt. “If you don’t mind, it’s time to powder the nose.” I think I said that wrong but I was in a hurry and I wanted to give myself an excuse to leave. “I’ll come back.”
“Good idea,” Ms. Wayward said, grabbing her purse and standing. “Should we go?”
Crap. The girls need to go together thing. How had she even heard me across the table? Maybe she had better hearing than I thought. I forced a polite smile. “Okay.” I looked at Colt. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” he said, and then focused on his glass of water, drinking some.
I scurried around the table. Ms. Wayward joined in, following me out. She was in a fancy pantsuit. Her hair was high on her head, giving her the school mistress look: sharp face and little in the way of makeup. She was quiet at first as we wound around other tables toward the door and I wondered if I should say something.
Luckily, she started before I could. “I saw how Smith grabbed you,” she said.
“Mr. Smith?” I asked. I didn’t want to answer, just ask questions. I really didn’t want to talk about him right now.
“Yes,” she said. “Don’t let him push you around. He thinks he can do that to all the women.”
“Does he push you around?”
“Oh sweetie, no one pushes me around.” She threaded her arm through my elbow. It was a very awkward thing. She was trying to make friends. “By the way, did you manage to find Mr. Murdock?”
“Ethan or his father?” I asked. “I found Ethan.”
“No, I meant his father,” she said. “I thought he’d be here.”
“Yeah, actually, I wanted to see him, too,” I said.
Her arm tightened through mine. Her sharp eyes focused on the blue carpet, but could have been cutting right through it. “Really?”
Jealousy? Could Fancy have been right about her? Either for power or romance, I couldn’t figure out the connection.
“Uh huh,” I said. “Since I was working for him…I don’t have anyone to report to since he’s gone. I have all this work he had me doing, and now he’s gone and I don’t have much direction anymore. I’m really not sure what to do.”
She seemed curious and yet remained quiet for a long moment.
“Maybe we can work together to find him,” she finally said. “He’s been missing for a while.”
“I thought Mr. Cline said he knew something, but I wasn’t sure.”
“I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve asked him. I think he assumes he’s on a vacation and will be back. He used to do that, but not without some contact with someone.”
“What about Mr. Smith?” I asked, and then regretted continuing this conversation. I needed out. Quickly.
Ms. Wayward shook her head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to me but he seemed willing to talk with you.” She patted my arm. “You and I should work together on this. Maybe we can piece together some clues. Did you need another job while Mr. Murdock is out?”
Should I agree? I was supposed to get on their good sides, right? “Maybe,” I said. “To be honest, with his disappearances and with the stress, I’m a little worn out.”
“Maybe I can help, then,” she said. “I’ve got friends in powerful places that are a lot less stressful.”
I wished I could have kept up with this but I needed to get going. The longer Blake went without saying anything, the more I was sure he was in trouble.
Suddenly from up the hallway, Fancy appeared. She wore a long red silk dress, her nails striking in bright red, her hair blond. She walked in heels and wore more jewelry than a department store display. She waved enthusiastically at me and grinned. “Miss Kitty!”
“You know her?” Ms. Wayward asked.
I groaned internally, unsure if I should be grateful for this. Had the guys sent her along to follow me into the bathroom so I wasn’t by myself?
“Yeah…” I said, and then smiled weakly to Ms. Wayward. “Go on ahead? I’ll catch up with you later.”
She nodded and slipped into the bathroom, maybe to escape Fancy.
Fancy walked up to me and grinned. “How’s it going?”
I put a hand on her arm. “We need to go.”
“Go? I just got started. I was going to sit next to Axel. Or Blake. Maybe Axel. Blake’s no fun. Axel
blushes more.”
Axel blushes? “Something happened to Blake. He was on the line with me.” I tapped at my ear. “Now he’s gone.”
“Are you sure?” Fancy said, raising an eyebrow. She put her hands on her hips and scoped out the hallway. “No one’s here. Try again.” I checked out the area, too. No one was around. I walked away from the bathroom. Fancy kept a lookout as I started talking. “Blake? Can you hear me?”
Silence.
“Blake?”
“It’s not Blake,” Doyle said. “Your signal reverted back to me. Something happened to Blake’s earpiece. I don’t know why I bother to keep up with these little things. You all just throw them away whenever you want.”
“Will you just find Blake?” I asked. “Where is he?”
“Hang on, Jezebel. I’m looking.”
I ground my teeth, ignoring the comment. I imagined he really didn’t like me right now.
“It’s not him?” Fancy asked.
“It’s Doyle,” I said. I touched my ear. “Doyle? Hurry up. I think he’s hurt.”
“You don’t know if he’s hurt.”
“I heard a thud, like last time. Just tell me where he is. I want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Huh,” he said. “Go down the hall in front of you. Make a left.”
“Down the hall,” I told Fancy, pointing the direction.
She nodded. “Come on, Kitty-Kat. Let’s go find Blake-y. By the way, love the new name. You should keep that one for a while.”
I started walking faster. “Hurry,” I said, leading the way.
Doyle continued to guide us through the ship, following our movements with the black box, and directing us toward Blake’s signal.
I hurried as much as I could in sandals and the black dress. Fancy was surprisingly quick on her heels.
We ended up in a long hallway that was dimmer than others. I got the feeling staff didn’t want guests down here right now. “Do certain parts of the ship shut down around dinner time?”
“Maybe,” Fancy said, her man voice stronger now as she whispered. “Or this place is haunted.”
“It’s not haunted,” Doyle said. “She’s an idiot.”
I reached for Fancy’s arm, nervous. I didn’t believe it was haunted, but I didn’t like the lowered lights.
She took my elbow and we walked together down the hallway. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve got a gun taped up next to my dick.”
“Maybe you should take it out,” I said.
“Take what out?” Doyle said. “Oh you mean her. Him. It. Don’t tell me. Never mind. Just find Blake.”
“I am trying,” I said to Doyle.
“Hurry,” he said. “Please. He’s the only brother-like person I’ve got. He was an idiot for doing this. He shouldn’t have brought you onboard. You’re making more trouble for him.”
“I’m sorry, Doyle,” I said. “I’ll fight with you later about it. Just help me find him. Which door?”
“There’s an Observation Deck.”
Fancy and I hurried down the hallway until we came across a door marked Observation Deck.
Fancy put her ear to the door and listened. “Nothing.” She moved to put her back to the wall next to the door, and then hiked up her skirt until she revealed the gun strapped to her thigh. She brought it out and turned off the safety. “I want you to open the door,” she said in her full, deep man voice, letting me know she was serious. “But do it and then back up. I’ll cover us.”
I gulped. I didn’t have time to think too much. I did as she did, putting my back to the wall. Maybe I needed a gun.
I reached over, twisting the handle. It was unlocked. I opened it, swinging it.
Fancy weaved her way around the door and aimed into the dark space beyond. “Freeze muthafuckabitch!” she cried out.
My heart leapt to my throat, surprised by her movement and force, assuming someone was actually inside. When no shots rang out, I peeked in.
The deck was a long bit of space, like the day room, only exposed to the open air. The area was empty of people, set up with chairs, tables and lounges nearby. I went to the rail and looked out over the side, realizing I was at the back corner of the ship. The water was dark below except for the white peaks of waves as we cruised along. There were lights from other parts of the ship glowing, but the observation deck was dark.
Fancy huffed. “No one’s here.”
I touched my ear gently, readjusting the earpiece. “Are you sure he’s here?” I whispered
“That’s where his little dot thing is. It says you’re in the same room with him.”
“Could he be down a level? Or up?
“Nope. Look around.”
I wasn’t sure how he knew, but I guess the GPS on the ship was more sophisticated than I thought.
“Maybe I should check the rooms next door?” Fancy asked. “You look around here for clues.”
That sounded like a good idea. There was clearly no one here. “I’ll have Doyle send up some of the guys.”
“I heard you,” Doyle said. “On it.”
Fancy left with the gun. I went back to checking out the deck.
There were chairs pushed together very neatly. It seemed like no one had been out here yet: too staged. I scouted the seats and then in a lounge, between the folds of the pillow. I dug into the pillows and I found a little black cord with the black box dangling from it.
My heart leapt into my throat. The box. The one around his neck. “I found the box,” I said. “He took it off. Or someone took it off him.”
“If he took it off and left it, I will murder him,” Doyle said. “Does it look like a struggle? Just tell me there’s no blood. I’m guessing there’s not, or you would have said something.”
I moved to the rail, looking out, worried he’d been knocked out again, and might be in another part of the ship. It was dark but none of the furniture looked like it had been messed with. Had Blake removed his black box himself? And why? Not a whole lot of people would know what it was, besides him.
I held the cord between my fingers. It wasn’t ripped or broken. Someone had to have pulled it over of his head.
Suddenly, I saw a light out in the ocean, although it was hard to gauge the distance. I thought perhaps it was another boat out there.
Then, for a split second, the light flashed. Then again. A signal of some kind. It was white, small, but it was definitely there.
I strained to look, not seeing anything. It was dark, and while the observation deck was dark, the rest of the ship’s lights weren’t focused where I wanted to look. It was impossible to tell what it was.
The door behind me opened. I turned. “Blake?” I said before I could stop myself from speaking. “Fancy?”
A dark figure stood in the doorway, facing me. I forced a smile, an excuse on my lips for being here in case it was a crewperson. I thought maybe it was one of the boys after Doyle called them in.
Before I could get a word out, the figure rushed at me, arms reaching for me.
I panicked and stepped back, my back slamming into the rail. I held my hands out, warding off whoever it was. I cried out, “Doyle!”
“What? Is it him?” Doyle said loudly in my ear.
I couldn’t see his face. He must have been wearing something over it. It was all shadow.
He collided with me, knocking the wind out of me and pushing me harder into the rail. His hands grabbed my hips and lifted until my feet were off the deck, my back angled over the rail.
I smacked at his body, but he was bigger than me and I was flailing, unprepared, paralyzed by terror.
Doyle kept calling after me but I couldn’t answer him.
The attacker’s hand caught my arm, and the bracelet snapped away.
I hovered on the rail, trying to correct myself, grabbing at him to regain my balance.
He pushed me hard, the weight of my body pulling me away from him, losing my grip on his shirt.
The next thing I knew, I was falling
backwards over the rail.
OVERBOARD
The moment I was over the side, I screamed, but the swift moving air hit my lungs and I lost my breath on the way down.
I was going to die.
Regret filled me immediately after. How stupid, how crazy but mostly, how wrong I’d been. I should have stayed near Axel. I should have kept my promise to him to stay with someone at all times. Fancy and I should have stuck together.
I should have never let Blake go anywhere alone.
I splashed down hard into the water, a smack against my legs and then my stomach. My body plunged in. The shock shut down my brain, all the regret and fear dissipating. I didn’t feel anything, numb all the way through.
I went down, down further. Down forever.
Was I going to sink and never come up for air? Was I going to give in?
I thought of the guys. Of Axel, Blake, Marc, Raven, Corey, Brandon. Could I disappear on them like this? Would it be better if I did?
Blake was right. The others were right. I had gotten pulled down. It was a depression. I realized in that instant, being down in the darkness, no light to guide my way, my lungs screaming for air, that I had more than once said something in reference to dying.
Yet here I faced it, and I didn’t want to die. It wasn’t the answer I wanted. Maybe it would be easier on everyone, but I was afraid to let go.
I held onto that fear, and felt it build into desire to keep going.
So I swished my legs, a revolt against dying. With the motion, my brain went into overdrive, thinking of the guys, of how I would change, if I only got the chance. I’d make things right. I’d force my way out of my depression, do whatever it took. I’d had enough of living in the dark. I wouldn’t be mean to them anymore. I’d be nice. I’d change. They deserved better than what I’d been.
I started to float upward. Not enough. Not high enough. I couldn’t see the surface, and knew I was never going to make it. I’d let myself go down for too long and I needed air now.