Splintered

by Laura J Harris

  ‘Did you see him at dinner . . .’ she said, before mouthing; With the wine?

  ‘I think everyone saw it.’ he said. And I don’t think you helped matters much. ‘He was supposed to be on duty last night, right?’

  He knew the answer, but still.

  ‘Yes.’ Dr Matthews nodded furiously, her head bobbing about like a nodding Churchill on the parcel shelf of a car.

  ‘Do we know if he turned up at all? Did he swipe in?’

  ‘Yes.’ Dr Matthews said as she led Prior to a small card reader near the freezers. Swiping her own card through, she swiftly keyed in several dozen numbers to access the main menu and from there scrolled down to recent activity. ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dr Cunningham swiped in, but he didn’t swipe out.’

  ‘Has he ever forgotten to do it before?’ Prior asked.

  Dr Matthews hesitated. ‘No. Never.’

  Sensing that there was more to this than she was giving voice, Prior pressed her.

  ‘What is it? Doctor, we are literally minutes away from me having to file a Missing Person’s here. And there’s only so many places you can go missing on a ship. D’you know what that means?’ Prior paused, ‘All-stop. Ship’s engines turned off, which is a nightmare in itself. And then I have to send my men in the waters to try and recover what I can only hope won’t be a bloated body . . . so please, if you know something, now is the time to tell me.’

  ‘Natalia, wait outside.’ Dr Matthews barked. She sighed, long and heavy, as the petite, chestnut-haired nurse left the room. ‘I shouldn’t be protecting him anyway. It’s his problem . . .’

  ‘Look, I know about his drinking — ’

  ‘Of course. Everyone knows about the drinking!’ she said, her stern expression softening ever so slightly, ‘Stuart had problems. But, then we all have problems. I was trying to help him . . . thought if he was working he wouldn’t dwell on . . . other things.’

  Prior thought about asking her what exactly she meant by other things, but time was against him now. ‘How,’ he said, ‘How did you help him?’

  ‘I . . . I forged his medical examination documents.’

  ‘You did what?’ Prior exclaimed.

  ‘I’m telling you this because I’m worried about him, but it can go no further. Do you know what could happen to me? And it was only something simple. Tiny. Easy to overlook.’

  ‘I think you’d better let me be the judge of that.’ Prior said, folding his arms across his chest.

  ‘All I did was give him a clean bill of health.’ Matthews paused. Prior raised his eyebrow. ‘I said that he’d stopped smoking.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it? Yes, that’s it!’ Dr Matthews said, annoyed. ‘What were you expecting? That he was snorting ketamine? Injecting Diacetylmorphine when my back was turned? No. He smoked. He still smoked. Even though he was supposed to have stopped . . . Captain’s regulations for Medical staff . . .’

  ‘I didn’t think he had the authority to . . .’

  ‘Apparently so.’ Matthews cut in, ‘I wanted to help Stuart. So I said that there was no nicotine present in his system; that he’d been at least six months without a cigarette. I did this for him. So that Captain Andrews would agree to have him back on board. Which, he did. Reluctantly.’

  Prior nodded, remembering some of the mistakes Cunningham had made last season.

  ‘But he hadn’t given up. And I know he used to slip out the back there,’ she pointed beyond the freezers and medical cabinets to a discreet exit, tucked away, ‘it leads out onto a bit of balcony. Not very big. But, he’d go out three or four times a night for a smoke, which was fine really. It wasn’t harming anyone else . . . and it seemed to help him cope.’ she paused, ‘Only . . . when I opened up this morning there was a near-empty bottle of red wine in the office. One glass.’

  ‘Jesus! He could have gone out there for a smoke and fallen overboard!’ Prior said in horror and disbelief, ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

  ‘Because I didn’t think of it like that . . . I hadn’t . . . I just didn’t think. I was angry before. Annoyed with Stuart. I thought he was just sleeping off a stupid hangover and leaving me to deal with everything on my own. Cleaning up after him as usual. But, now . . . well, what if that is what happened?’

  Prior shook his head angrily. ‘I need to speak to Captain Andrews.’

  ‘You can’t say — ’

  He didn’t wait to hear her protests. Striding across the Medical Bay, he left Dr Matthews to her wondering; to her suppositions and her guilt.

  16:40

  Saturday 14th May, 2011

  He puffed on a menthol cigarette. One of Stacey’s cigarettes. He had never tried them before — he’d certainly never buy them himself! — but, she wasn’t going to need them now.

  He lay back on a recliner, staring at the cloudless sky. This whole being at sea thing really wasn’t so bad if he just concentrated on the sky and tried not to think about the open ocean beneath him.

  His stomach lurched.

  He lifted his head, raising the shades that covered his blue eyes and blinking in the bright sunlight. Silently, he summoned a wandering member of the ever-present bar-staff and gestured to his empty pint glass. The young-looking lad nodded, taking up the empty along with his cardkey and returning swiftly with a fresh glass of cold, amber-coloured nectar; a small head of bubbles glistening in the sunlight.

  ‘Thanks.’

  It was one of the few words he’d uttered since leaving Stacey — or what was left of Stacey — in her room.

  Despite her best efforts she had been unable to please him. To do anything for him!

  He had imagined shooting his mounting load into the mouth of that foxy little bride-to-be; he thought he’d smile as he watched her drinking down his own frothy liquor, reeling in delight as he relaxed back into the shiny white tub that stood inside her pokey little bathroom.

  But, no.

  There’d been nothing. No sign of life down there at all.

  And it wasn’t for a lack of trying on her part. No, Stacey had given all she that she could . . . given her life even, which went some way towards making up for the rudeness of her dismissive comments earlier.

  Not my type! Ha!

  She had sucked and licked, nibbled and teased, but all to no avail. She had even kept her promise not to scream or shout and he had liked that . . . that small sense of cooperation. Of acceptance.

  And then, eventually, he had lost his patience.

  He couldn’t quite remember when it happened, when it all changed. When he had changed.

  He remembered taking a fistful of her thick, yellow hair and lifting Stacey’s tear-stricken face; looking into those cloudy, hazel eyes one last time with a twisted, lop-sided grin.

  The perfect imitation of undiluted evil.

  Then — suddenly the picture of calm — he had proceeded to smash her face against the side of the bath. Once. Twice. Three times. More.

  Her cheek had splintered under the soothing, balanced, rhythmic process that seemed to bring both peace and excitement to every inch of him simultaneously.

  It quelled some deep, dark desire that he couldn’t explain or even locate in its fullest sense. And yet it had spurned in him a new desire; to delve deeper into that darkness.

  Like the feeling of extinguishing a flame in a dark wood with the knowledge that it is your only light; that point when fear and excitement tingle every sense and touch every nerve. When the mind screams out to light the flame anew, but that sensation . . . oh, that sensation. It is too strong. Too seductive.

  He smiled and gulped down several mouthfuls of lager. Savouring the taste as he did the memories; already wanting more. To create, to experiment . . . to perfect.

  He had had fun with Stacey then.

  Forget the sex!

  This was so much more . . . satisfying. It was intense and raw and so much more . . . just more . . . than a simple exchang
e of bodily fluids.

  And who would have thought it? That floating out here in his long-held idea of hell, he had found his own little corner of paradise.

  If only it could never end. Imagine what he might achieve!

  A climax so grand they’d have to come up with a new name for it! Artistic, bloody delight; sensuous, exploratory physical grandeur like no man or woman had ever known!

  Was he mad? Was this what madness felt like?

  ‘Well,’ he whispered to himself, ‘bring it fucking well on, if it is.’

  Out here was a world of untold possibilities. Untapped potential for a newly self-discovered life-form such as he. A place to create and to hone and to enjoy every excruciating and delightful moment of it.

  Boom!

  That sensation. It rattled his chest once more. Gripped him; shook him. He felt it pulsing between his legs; in his gut; and his pitiless heart.

  It was growing stronger. His breaths quickened ever so slightly, but he needed to keep control. At least for a little while.

  He wasn’t too concerned about anyone finding Stacey anytime soon. He had taken a mobile phone from the little princess, in which she had very kindly created a group of all the friends joining her on this trip. Typing a message with little difficultly and adding the obligatory kisses at the end that he assumed Stacey would herself have added (she struck him as that kind of girl), he selected Send to, then Group, then Hen Party.

  And it was done.

  He had momentarily contemplated keeping the phone. Not something he would normally do, but it was so slim and sleek and shiny and far more advanced than anything he had seen before. It could do everything bar opening a tin of beans!

  Which was good, as he didn’t like beans.

  He had immediately realised what a stupid idea that would be; what a mistake. And he wasn’t about to risk getting caught for the sake of coveting a little piece — all be it a very desirable little piece — of technology. He wasn’t about to give up this brave new world so easily!

  Stubbing out the cigarette, he finished his drink, the bubbles sliding over his tongue and down his throat; bursting and tingling. An echo of that which tingled — even now — in his stomach and below; in every private place that desire can take hold.

  Making his way off the open deck and down to the main reception area, he stopped at a map, a colour-coded schematic of the ship at all levels. He scanned it, quickly discovering that the engines and engineering section in general were coloured in a slightly odd off-green He followed the map and discovered that engineering was located several decks below and aft of his current position.

  Aft! He smiled at how nautical he suddenly sounded.

  Who’d have guessed it?

  As he made for the stairs that would take him back into the bowels of the ship he heard a ruckus coming from the medical bay. For a moment he wondered whether they’d discovered Dr Drunkard.

  Oh, he would enjoy watching that scene unfold!

  But, the noise didn’t seem . . . excited enough for it to be that particular event!

  As he stared past the frosted glass divider that marked the outer waiting area of the medical bay, a uniformed man in his twenties with a shock of blonde hair and an armful of folders stumbled out of the doors that he knew — from experience — led to the room of stainless steel and bright lights. And freezers.

  Distracted by the female voice shouting harsh instructions at him from the room within, the Blonde Shock staggered straight into him sending the pair crashing to the ground along with the tower of folders in his arms; spilling a sea of A4 across the floor.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  His initial reaction was to call the man a dickhead, drag himself up and continue on his way. But, he immediately thought better of it. It was obvious from his uniform that the guy worked in security. This could be a valuable opportunity. One he might not come across again.

  He started picking up the pieces of paper that had scattered far and wide.

  ‘It’s no problem,’ he lied, ‘these things happen. Let me help you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got enough on your plate.’ He said, nodding towards the medical bay.

  ‘Oh, Dr Dildo’s got her knickers in a right twist today — ’

  The Blonde Shock of Scouse cringed even as the words left his mouth.

  ‘Dr — ’

  ‘Shit!’ he cut in, ‘Sorry. Please don’t tell anyone I said that. She’s just a bit pissed off. Shit! She’ll kill me if she finds out . . .’

  ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ He laughed and continued to pick up the pieces of personal information, scanning them as quickly as possible, before slipping them into the nearest folder. They were mostly crew evaluation and medical reports from what he could tell. ‘What’s she so upset about?’

  The blonde hesitated. For a moment. ‘A member of her staff seems to be missing.’

  ‘Missing?’ he intoned. ‘On a ship?’

  ‘That’s the worrying part.’

  ‘So, what’re you doing with these?’ he nodded to the files, ‘will they help you find him?’

  The blonde eyed him once more. ‘I hope so.’ he said, slowly.

  ‘I suppose it must be difficult. Being all self contained and what-have-you. You can’t call in extra help like you could if you were on land . . .’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘And I don’t suppose there’s a lot of help in terms of forensics and stuff, eh?

  ‘You’re very . . . curious, aren’t you?’ said the Blonde Shock as he stacked the folders once more.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve always been the same. My uncle worked on some crime scenes in Wales.’ he said, not entirely lying. Without his uncle there would have been no scene to investigate! ‘I’ve always been interested, you know. I wanted to follow him . . . but I didn’t get the grades and . . . well . . .’

  He fell to silence, allowing the young, blonde officer to make the next move. Would his story of unfulfilled dreams be enough to reel him in?

  Silence.

  Then.

  ‘If I’m honest with you, it’s not the best.’ Jack pot! ‘We don’t even have a permanent database on the ship; no criminal records, forensic records, nothing! We have to log everything, send it back to the Golden Star’s Central Investigations Unit, who then contact the relevant medical and police departments and what-have-you. They have access to all kinds of databases, but it costs too much — apparently — for us to have that kind of access at sea. Something to do with Ocean Satellite and their bandwidth prices. But, then, Ocean do have the monopoly on all that and, well, Golden Star are simply too tight to pay. Cheap bastards!’

  It seemed as though the blonde security officer had been keeping that particular rant locked up for some time and once the tiniest drop had begun to leak, the rest was quick to follow.

  He imagined this officer and his colleagues sat around a table discussing the hardships of their job and the piss-poor decisions of the penny-pinchers back at Golden Star HQ.

  For him, however, this was delightful news. Just what he’d been hoping to hear.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ he feigned, ‘it must be frustrating.’

  The blonde nodded. ‘And time consuming. I suppose they think that ‘cause we’re at sea the suspects haven’t got nowhere to go, but that’s not entirely true either. There’s life boats and all sorts. If someone had enough knowledge about them . . . you get the picture.’

  He nodded.

  ‘So, what do you do?’ asked the blonde muscled man, standing now and dusting himself down absently.

  Handing the last of the folders back to the officer, he smiled, ‘I’m an Artist.’

  ‘Yeah?’ came the pleasant reply, ‘We seem to have loads of artists on board this time. You’d think there was some kind of convention going on or something!’

  ‘Is there?’ he asked, suddenly. Eagerly.

  ‘No. Not that I know of. Just some mad coincidence I suppose.’
>
  He nodded, surprising himself with his own disappointment at hearing this news.

  ‘Thanks for your help.’

  ‘No problem.’ he said.

  ‘My name’s Marc, by the way. Marc Davies.’

  I didn’t want to know your fucking name.

  This — by all unspoken laws of polite society — meant that Marc now wished to know his name. And — under the same laws — it would be completely impolite and improper (not to mention suspicious) to not give a name in return.

  Shit!

  But then, recounting their conversation and feeling suddenly quite safe within the anonymity of this self-contained, tin world, he did something he’d never done with a stranger before.

  ‘I’m Leigh.’ he said, his heart pounding in his throat as Marc extended his hand and he — in an almost trance-like state — took a hold and shook it firmly.

  ‘Nice meeting you. I hope to see some more of you. And thanks again.’

  Leigh smiled, releasing Marc’s hand. ‘Yeah.’

  As he turned to leave, Marc threw a glance back at Leigh; a full, sparkling white-toothed smile spread wide across his face. Leigh watched him move down the corridor.

  What the shit just happened?

  Had he, in fact, just given up his name — his actual name — to a junior member of the Sea Police? Yes. Yes he had!

  And had that same fella — all be it a strikingly handsome young fella in a uniform — just openly come-on to him? Again, he’d have to go with yes.

  Yes! He was pretty certain that between the exchange of names, the handshake, the glance, winning smile and the see some more of you comment that he had, in fact, just managed to pull a member — a male member — of the security team!

  Well. That was different!

  Turning towards the stair-well once more, something caught his eye. It was a missed piece of paper from the many strewn papers that Marc Davies had managed to spill all over the place. He picked it up.

  It was a passenger list.

  He scanned it quickly, but could not find his own name — though there were plenty of passengers named ‘Lee’ on there to satisfy Marc, were he to check. Vince had obviously got him on board using a fake name. The only trouble was that he didn’t know which one was supposed to be his! Not that it mattered much; he could figure it out later.