Tidal Rage

by David Evans

  “Thank you. I am not afraid of flying. In fact, I have over eighty parachute jumps to my name. I’m going home to a family crisis; my sister is missing,” Cutler said, not really knowing why he was opening himself up to this stewardess.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry. I don’t know what to say, apart from forgive me for interfering,” she said, embarrassed.

  “No, it’s okay. In fact, thank you. I needed to tell someone before I burst. I don’t mean to come over as someone in need of your pity, or vulnerable at the moment. I’ve had a long trip back with this on my mind,” Cutler said.

  “She may well have turned up by the time you get off this plane,” the stewardess added hopefully.

  “Somehow, I do not think so; she has gone missing off a ship, just off the coast of Alaska. I think in all probability she is dead. There are two possibilities: she has gone overboard, either alive or dead. If she went into the water, she’s dead. If she was kidnapped, there is a possibility she is still alive,” Cutler said, finalizing the logic and fear that he had been dwelling on.

  The stewardess sat down in the empty business class seat alongside Cutler and put her slim, light hands over his large, left masculine hand, ever so lightly. It was like his hand had a feather resting on it.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. This may not be the time to say this. When you’ve been flying for as long as I have you hear all sorts of things, and sometimes missing people turn up in places you would not have dreamt possible.”

  Cutler half-turned towards her and looked deeply into those beautiful, dark eyes. He could tell she had honest eyes, beautiful and soulful.

  “Have you come across people going missing on ships?” Cutler asked, without any hint of sarcasm.

  “Actually, I have a couple of times. It’s more common than you would think,” she replied.

  “And did they find any of them alive?” he inquired.

  “Once, a lady in the Bahamas with dementia wandered onto a supply boat. She had wandered off and gotten into a restricted area. Once in the area she had access to and got on the boat unseen, only to turn up in Nassau three days later, not knowing who she was and what country she lived in,” the stewardess explained.

  “My sister is eighteen years old and in control of all her faculties. The others you mentioned; what happened to them?” he pressed.

  “Oh, I don’t really know about all of them, just a few,” she said, somewhat flustered.

  “All of them; how many is all of them?” he asked, with a growing sense of bewilderment.

  “Well, you understand it’s not all me, it’s other flight attendants as well. When something like this crops up on a flight, you typically find out because the relatives are upset and often talk to a cabin member when asked if they are okay. Well, they tell one person, who tells another, and before you know it, we are all aware. Sometimes people add a little in to spice it up, most times not. It is a closed environment in the airline industry, and we do get to know an awful lot of what goes on. All in all, I’ve heard of about ten or eleven different cases.”

  Cutler sat upright at the mention of the number of instances. “And of these, how many outcomes do you know?”

  “Most...” she replied hesitantly.

  “And how many turned up alive?” Cutler took hold of her hand. “Please be honest with me,” he continued.

  “Just that one I told you about, the lady with dementia,” she said quietly as she squeezed his hand.

  “Thank you for being honest with me,” Cutler said, as he reluctantly let go of her hand. The warmth and silkiness of her skin had soothed him for a millisecond until the nightmarish thoughts returned to haunt him.

  Cutler sat quietly for the rest of the flight back to Seattle, his training helping him to control his emotions, mostly. The fear in his gut, the tightness of his chest and the lump in his throat gave way to an eruption. A sob cascaded up like a flow of lava. He fought to quell the volcano of emotions until he knew he was at his limit.

  Cutler took himself to the on-board toilet and sobbed for the first time since he was a child, and for the last time in his life. He washed his face and returned, in control of his emotions, to his seat.

  It was not long before the flight attendant came over with another double Glenfiddich.

  “Thought you might need this,” she said tenderly, looking at his red swollen eyes, guessing why he had spent so long in the lavatory. “On the drink napkin is my phone number. I am not that crass to be trying to pick you up when you are obviously in a deeply worried state, but if you ever want to talk, my name is Cathy Lavine. I live in Seattle when I am not flying. No strings; phone me, use me as a sounding board, any time, night or day.”

  “You’re a very special lady, Cathy. Thank you for your kindness. You might be sorry you gave me the number, as I might be phoning you sooner than you think,” Cutler replied, already thinking she may be a good contact for information should he need it. Somewhere deep down within him it registered that she was beautiful, and it would be nice to spend time with her, but his brain would not allow him to process the thought amidst his trauma.

  Chapter Nine

  Sebastian had been away from the American hub for several years, and lately had spent two years in the Antipodes circumnavigating Australia and New Zealand several times.

  His tally of murders was now at twenty-five; twenty-three since he had first signed on the cruise ships all those fourteen years ago. This equated to one killing every eight months. Sebastian knew he had hit on a vein of gold when he had cemented the idea and plan of his killing spree.

  Sebastian was not stupid; he knew if there were too many deaths, sooner or later someone would work it out, and his way of life would have to change. Eight months was about the maximum length of time he could go without killing. He had once got to nine months, but, on the other hand, had also killed three women in a one-year period in 2004, two years previous.

  The ship was called the Oyster, a nine-decked, three-year-old cruise liner owned and run by the Wave Runner Cruise Company, and they were undertaking the Caribbean circular route.

  Guests that night sitting around his piano had been a mix of Canadians and Americans, with a single middle-aged Japanese woman. The tip jar was full, as was the request docket sitting atop the white mini grand piano. The requests varied from country and western to Phantom of the Opera, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, and Piano Man. He would certainly do the music, but he would not be singing the lyrics to Stand by your Man, as the Japanese guest had requested.

  It had been a laborious night, made worse because everyone spoke English, and this meant he had to converse with them at a level, something he profoundly did not want to do. He had enjoyed cruising out of Hong Kong several years earlier on the Red Star Cruise Line, as most of the guests did not speak English, so there was no need for any chit-chat.

  Sebastian had perfected his killing, but although quick, he had never quite reached the peak of enjoyment, he knew there was more to come.

  He had noticed a young couple sitting at the back of the bar the previous two nights. She was petite, with a slim figure and very light hair; maybe dyed, but Sebastian thought it looked too perfect to have come out of a bottle. Her companion was of medium height, medium build, cropped hair, liked his beer, nothing special. He did have a tattoo on his forearm, which had an eagle on a crest, so Sebastian hazarded a guess that he was either English or German; he later confirmed German. What was apparent was that the couple argued most of the time.

  Having open access to the ship and its records meant Sebastian could quite easily discover who was staying in what cabin; all he needed was a name. Sebastian had access to the ship’s computer and had previously heard a bartender call the man Herr Shultz. From there on in, it was just a matter of time for both Herr and Frau Shultz.

  Over the next week of the cruise he kept a close eye on the couple from a distance and waited patiently for his opportunity.

  On the Tuesday—Sebastian knew it
was Tuesday as the cleaners changed the carpets in the glass elevators that had the day of the week on them—the Oyster anchored off the port of Samana in the Dominican Republic. The port did not have sufficient depth for the Oyster to berth in the port so she anchored off in deep water, a half-mile from the harbor.

  The tenders were small boats from the island, which came across on the starboard side, and there they picked up all the guests going on shore.

  Sebastian noticed that the young German man was without his young, fair, beautiful Germanic frau as he boarded a tender in an ungainly fashion, due to the swells beneath the small boat. He noticed because he had duties on many occasions to wave off the guests on their various excursions, as did a lot of the entertainers. It was excellent customer service, as far as the cruise captain was concerned.

  As soon as his duties had been discharged and all the excursions had departed, Sebastian headed for the Pearl Deck, which was the name given to deck four. This deck was an accommodation deck only. The deck had long corridors running down the port and starboard sides of the ship, with breaks every forty-five yards or so to enter the open area where the stairs and elevators were sited. On the outer side of the corridor the cabins had ocean-view windows; opposite them were the interior cabins, with pictures instead of windows or portholes. The cabins had a bathroom immediately as you walked to the left or right, depending on what side of the corridor the cabin was situated on. A small desk and chair under a television hung on the wall. Opposite this were two single beds with a little night table in between. Under the window of the porthole or picture was a day couch, which could convert into a single bed if required.

  Frau Shultz had cabin 4092, which was an ocean-view cabin, but this was irrelevant to Sebastian’s plans, as ocean-view cabins had a view through a window, but the portholes or picture windows were locked down with bolts. There was no CCTV in the accommodation deck corridors or in the stairwells.

  Sebastian checked on the location of the cabin stewards; in a corridor this size there would almost certainly be three cabin stewards. He knew he didn’t have to worry too much about guests, as nearly all the ship had gone ashore, with only a few staying on-board, enjoying the sun by the swimming pool on the Lido Deck. As luck would have it, he saw a sign on the canteen noticeboard on the lower decks that the stewards were on lifeboat drills and would be late starting their cleaning schedules this morning.

  The door of 4092 had a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on it, but this did not deter Sebastian from knocking. He knocked several times before a dishevelled and obviously weepy Frau Shultz opened the cabin door.

  “Good morning, Frau Shultz. I’m one of the entertainers, and as a lot of the crew have shore duties today, I have been allocated communication duties on-board,” he lied.

  “Ja, I know you from the piano bar. What is it you want?” she asked sleepily.

  “Can you accompany me to sick bay? Your husband has had a fall. He is okay, but he has broken his ankle. We need you to come down to the sick bay and fill out some forms and details, plus see your husband,” Sebastian continued.

  “Broke his ankle? I wish he had broken his neck. Only six weeks married, I wanted a ship day. He leaves me here on-board while he goes off to the island, not to see lovely sights, but to drink beer.” she said, more upset than angry.

  After some more exchanges, she excused herself, retreated into her cabin and tidied herself up. She exited the cabin a few minutes later and followed Sebastian a few yards down the corridor to a service door which had a ‘No Entrance’ sign. Explaining this was the quickest way, he led her through the doors and down the levels to deck one, which at this time of the day he was sure would have no members of staff around. Deck one was where the refuse holds were, and he knew the trash collectors worked around here at night only.

  The light was dim and there was a large door in front of them. Frau Shultz started to turn to ask him what a first aid station was doing in this dimly lit place. The stench hit her as soon as he opened the door. Sebastian had directed her to the garbage room. Each evening, the elevators would be filled with bags of garbage generated from the multiple bars and restaurants, and throughout the hours of darkness the bags were thrown into the room.

  The garbage room was a large metal hold that looked like the inside of a massive container, but with one side bent in the shape of the hull. It ran the length of thirty-four cabins and was two decks lower than the guest cabins. There were metal grids on the ground to allow some of the sickly-sweet ooze that spilled from the garbage bags to drain. The grids had drains that directed the stinking fluid into receptor tanks, which were cleaned and emptied into the sea most nights.

  The lighting was subdued and background only, with orange lights in steel enclosures and glass on the side of the hull.

  Inside of the giant disposal receptor, the garbage bags were piled up unevenly, some ten high on the starboard side. On the port side was a six-foot hull door that was opened and used to remove the bags to waiting garbage wagons when they arrived and berthed in ports.

  Frau Shultz knew immediately something was amiss. She turned sharply on her heels to retrace her steps at a pace. Sebastian placed his middle and forefinger of his right hand swiftly on the pressure point in front of her left shoulder by her neck. This pressure point is an acupunctural pressure point that Sebastian had learned by studying and practicing the Chinese martial art of dim mak. The pain was intense and agonizing for a millisecond; Frau Shultz was unconscious before the scream could escape her mouth.

  Sebastian dragged her deeper into the garbage room and closed the heavy hatch door. It was pitch-black once the doors were shut. Sebastian retrieved a pencil flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on to light the way ahead down the narrow aisle through the bags of garbage. He dragged the limp body over the metal steel decking and through the slime of the ooze that had leaked from the bags.

  He was in no rush; he knew no one would come down here until night. He put on his disc player with earphones to listen to Wagner; this way he would not have to listen to the sounds of death. While the act of murder was euphoric, the sounds of the human body dying disgusted him a little. He really did not enjoy the groans, the moans, or the gurgling and bubbling as the fluids escaped the body. Wagner was much more appropriate to support what was to follow.

  Slowly she regained consciousness and tried to scream, but no cry came out, only gurgled nonsense. She realized quickly that her arms had been tied behind her back with her own dress, and a piece torn off and strapped around her mouth. She was naked and dripping in the fetid garbage ooze. Frau Shultz urinated involuntarily with fright; she now feared the worst, except what she feared was not the worst.

  As Frau Shultz regained some of her senses, she realized she was naked, and that her private area and under her arms stung intensely. She could not move her arms as they were tethered. At first, she could not work out why her lower regions were covered in blood, as she had only days ago finished her cycle. Clarity only came as her eyes adjusted to the dark room and she saw the shape of a man; he was eating. Several seconds later her terrified eyes achieved full night vision and she realized what the man was eating. No, not eating but eating and balking at the same time. His meal of the day was hair, her pubic offerings.

  Not content with his meal, Sebastian moved over to her wriggling, constricted body. With all his strength, he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked it so hard a large piece of scalp came away with the entrée.

  Frau Shultz was in agony and endured this torture for a further hour. When Sebastian could eat no more, he continued with the hair extraction, taking pleasure in the tears and terror reflected in her eyes.

  Finally, Sebastian made her watch him as he placed his hands around her throat. He strangled her to the point of unconsciousness, and then relaxed his grip. This went on for a further thirty minutes until Frau Shultz’s brain could take no more and shut down again for several minutes.

  Sebastian had been getting more and more exhilar
ated as she became more petrified and fought for her breath. He removed his headphones that were attached to his portable music player. Wagner blared out through the earphones. Sebastian placed the headphones several yards away from Frau Shultz, worrying that what he had planned may ruin the player.

  Sebastian walked over to the bulkhead, where a fire hose was bolted to the hull. He pulled the hose and tugged it the two yards to where the naked, bloodied, spoilt body of Frau Shultz lay.

  Sebastian ripped the gag from her mouth and slapped her several times to bring her around. As soon as she started to regain consciousness, he forcefully shoved the one-inch diameter hose deeply down her throat, while her teeth that had been knocked out by the force filled her cheeks like a gorging hamster. Her once immaculate, straight, white teeth were now dead bone. He turned the valve on, and high-pressure seawater began to flow, flooding both the lungs and the stomach as he destroyed the individual tubes within her throat.

  Her eyes opened wide in absolute horror as she was jolted back into consciousness. The water being forced into her lungs and stomach was a terror too far. Mercifully, her heart gave way and her eyes rolled towards the top of the sockets as she died a most horrendous death, a death fit for no man, woman or animal.

  Sebastian removed the hose just before it burst her lungs and pinched her nose with his fingers while covering her mouth. Her lungs were full of seawater; it looked like she had drowned. If her heart had not given out, it would be put down to drowning.

  Sebastian’s emotions were running riot. He had such an intense high; Geraldine, the skier, the other twenty-odd bodies were nothing compared to this. He had found his path, his way. He had enjoyed her death. He was elated.

  An hour, it may have been more, Sebastian was not sure, and the elation subsided. The burning heat inside his head began to cool down, and he returned to some semblance of sanity. As his logic returned, his first thought was about the clean-up. He redressed the body.

  During the killing, the blood had pumped out of her when she was alive. It leaked out of her when she had stopped breathing. Sebastian was not worried about detritus—blood and faecal matter—on the metal deck, as this intermingled with the natural waste fluids from the waste bags. Sebastian knew you could, if you looked carefully, see human matter, but this would be diminished and cleaned before anyone would notice.