Momentarily shocked at the shear brutality and horror of the images before her, Christine found herself unable to tear her gaze from the paintings, straining her eyes as the stormy illumination gave way to darkness once more.
It was only with another streak of hot, blue lightning and the rolling boom of thunder that accompanied it, did Christine’s eyes finally discover Kelly, confirming what her hands had already felt and her olfactory senses had already guessed at. The incredible terror of the realisation that her fears were not unjustified hit her like a bucket’s worth of ice in the pit of her stomach. It was not an irrational fear of something lurking in the dark, but of someone. Someone with intent to harm.
The soft skin of Kelly’s cupid’s bow lips had been split and streams of blood were now drying around her mouth and button-nose; crusting amongst the nest of bruising that fell across her face and cheek. Her left eye too looked swollen, even in the dim light.
She was wearing a pair of dark shorts and a matching top that looked more like a sports-bra than anything else. Her lean, muscular torso that showed — by its definition — her commitment to the gym, was now a collage of paint and blood and swollen bruises. Her left hand was cut to shreds, as were her arms and legs.
She was a mess.
Christine pulled herself up next to Kelly. Leaning over her she searched for any sign that she was breathing, praying that she would find it.
She ran her hand gently through her short, black hair, pulling her shimmering fringe — also slick with blood — back from Kelly’s battered face.
‘Kelly?’ she said, biting back tears. She couldn’t do this again. Couldn’t watch this happen again.
The ship bobbed suddenly, throwing Christine a little off balance. Something moved in her periphery and an intensely cold shiver shot up and down her spine.
‘Who’s there?’
The door slammed shut.
17:35
Saturday 14th May, 2011
Prior had done his best to pull himself together.
He’d bolted from engineering several minutes earlier, only just making it into one of the public restrooms on the floor above before throwing-up the contents of his stomach. Which, wasn’t much. His muscles contracted time and again as he retched over the lavender-scented bowl.
He fell to a sitting position on the floor of the tiny cubicle, reaching up to pull the handle. He listened to the swoosh of the water and the cistern filling once more. He pressed his head back against the flimsy divide, his eyes brimming with tears every time he thought of Rachel.
He could think of nothing else. Could see nothing but her face . . . drained of colour. Her arm outstretched. Reaching out. To him.
He smashed his head back repeatedly against the cubicle wall, his ears filled with an alien sound of desperation, agony and disbelief as it roared from his lungs. He jumped to his feet, pounding his fists into the door, kicking it and near ripping it from its hinges in a helpless fit of despair and utter uselessness.
He crossed the room, raging like a madman as he ran the tap; the water trickling slowly into the sink.
He swilled his mouth, spat and splashed his face. He drove his fist into the reflection of his own tear-drenched, bruised and sopping countenance as it stared defiantly back at him.
The mirror shattered.
The outer door pushed open and Marc Davies stood in silence, watching him; concern etched into every corner of his young face. Prior pulled a splintered shard of glass from between his knuckles. It wasn’t deep. He couldn’t feel it anyway.
He couldn’t feel anything.
‘Sir?’ said Davies.
Prior looked up at the officer who — he knew — admired him so. He felt a twinge of guilt that he was somehow letting Davies down; that he shouldn’t see him behaving this way. But, then again, how should he behave? How should he deal with this?
Davies shook his head, silently apologising for the intrusion. ‘I’ve been meaning to report that broken mirror.’ he said.
Prior managed a small half-smile even as the tears stung his eyes once more. Davies was kind and thoughtful, he was trusting and honest; a true and loyal friend who never pushed him and clearly cared for him. And yet, Prior had never even revealed the truth about his relationship with Rachel to Marc Davies.
Then again, he hadn’t had a chance.
A second twinge of guilt stabbed at his heart as the silent mention of her name threatened to break him all over again. He felt his knees give a little.
His head was spinning and he was shaking uncontrollably.
Davies stepped forward and, before he knew what was happening, Prior had been enveloped in the young man’s strong arms.
He held onto Prior, letting him ball the shirt on his back into tight fists as he continued to shake, sobbing into his shoulder without the need for explanation.
Under different circumstances such an embrace in a setting like this could have been wildly misinterpreted, but Prior didn’t care. He needed this. If he was to be of any use to anyone else anytime soon, he needed this. Now.
A silent understanding passed between the pair; Davies bearing Prior, Prior holding Davies. Who let him. Without judgement, desire or motive.
And Prior was suddenly very glad that — despite the keep your distance attitude he had developed over the years — he was fortunate enough to have earned the friendship of the strong, but sensitive Scouser he now embraced.
17:35
Saturday 14th May, 2011
Shona froze high up on the rig. She shouldn’t have even been up there, she’d been warned before, but there was nowhere quite like it for clearing off the cobwebs of the mind and getting a new perspective on things.
She liked sitting up here on her own. Away from the twirlies and drama queens. She had never really counted herself as one of them and preferred the company of the technicians — the lampies and the noise-boys (and girls) — any day.
That’s how she had come to find this spot.
She had smiled only moments earlier, recalling the sensual memories of stolen moments with Heather; with Jack; with Craig and Carly.
But, then the lights had cut out. Just like that. She had no idea how or why this had happened, all she knew was that it was ridiculously dark inside the cavernous theatre and she was treacherously high up.
‘Shit!’ she cursed out loud.
It had suddenly turned quite cold and she was glad of the warmth her thick grey and pink hooded-top provided to her mid-riff and upper body. Glad that she had picked it up after all!
Her bare legs, however, had suffered in the tiny denim cut-offs and, though beautifully tanned and superbly crafted by her profession, they were now awash with goose-bumps in the dithering cold of the upper platform.
Reaching in to the front pocket of her hoodie, Shona pulled out her phone and using the light from the LED screen as a torch, navigated her way slowly across the rickety platform and back to the steel wall ladders.
Stuffing the phone back into her top, she scuttled down the ladder one rung at a time, reaching the stage floor some forty feet below with an audible sigh of relief.
However, being alone in the dark can do strange things to a person. Shona knew this and forced herself to try and remain calm even as her mind began playing terrible tricks. Though she knew the Dionysus Theatre like the back of her hand, she couldn’t help but feel the heavy palm of fear pressing down upon her chest; quickening her heart and causing her breaths to become short and sharp.
Despite the fact that there was a little more light down here, Shona still couldn’t see clearly and, worse still, she suddenly felt a cold bead of sweat trace a slow course down her long spine as she came to realise that her fears were not unfounded.
That she wasn’t alone.
She pulled out her phone for the second time, diving straight into the calls menu. Kelly’s number appeared at the top as they had spoken earlier, arranging to meet for a bite to eat before the show. Though it was now looking very doubtf
ul that there would be any performance at all tonight.
She looked at the display.
Shit!
No signal.
Shona shook her phone, then tapped it against her thigh. She threw it in the air — not too high — to try and ‘catch’ a signal. But it was no good. She usually had four bars in here.
Something stirred to her right, causing the legs — the wing drapes — to ruffle and sway in a breeze of movement.
Her heart was thundering now, pounding like fists against the inside of her chest as her small, quiet breaths clawed their way to escape her lungs. She tried to use the phone’s screen as a torch once more, despite the overwhelming fear of what she might find. But, by the time she had organised herself and aimed the face of the phone in that direction, there was nothing to see.
Nothing there, but the swaying leg.
Turning, Shona was prepared to bolt from the stage and through the auditorium when she slammed into a wall of flesh and a tight, masculine grip. The thumbs of the unseen force-to-be-reckoned-with pressed painfully into her arms, causing her to let out a small cry.
Instinctively, she brought her knee up to connect with her assailant’s groin.
It worked.
He released her, falling to his knees, unable to speak or make any other sound as he rolled around on the floor, clutching himself.
Shona wasn’t about to hang around and had reached the main doors by the time he found his voice.
‘Fuck! Fuck!’ he spat out, sucking in breath as he did. ‘You . . . fucking . . . Oh, god! Why did you do that?’
She knew that voice.
‘Mike?’ she called.
‘Who . . . the bloody hell . . . did you think it was?’
He continued to wince and writhe on the dark stage. She still couldn’t see him, but knew his position from the noise he was making.
‘You scared me to fuckin’ death, you prick.’ she said, anger replacing the fear she had felt only moments earlier, ‘What the fuck did you think you were doing? Why didn’t you answer me when I called?’
‘I thought I’d . . . scare you.’
‘Well, congratufuckulations! It worked.’
‘I think you knocked my balls up into my stomach!’ he said, struggling.
Shona couldn’t help but smile, briefly. ‘Well, that’s what you get!.’
‘I’m fucking dying up here. Aren’t you going to come and help me?’
An icy chill washed over her as sudden as an April shower. ‘No.’ she said assuredly, ‘You really scared me, Mike. And you hurt me too.’
‘Hello?’ he returned, sarcastically.
‘How was I supposed to know it was you? When you grabbed me . . .’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Instinct just kicked in.’
‘That’s some fucking instinct!’ he said, ‘I wished it’d have kicked somewhere else though.’
She could tell from the change in the height of his voice that he had now managed to scramble to his feet. She lifted her phone, angling the screen towards the stage. She supposed that after relocating his bollocks to his abdomen, lighting the way as best she could to ensure that he didn’t also fall and break his neck was the only half-decent thing she could do.
But, as the light from the screen found him it bounced, reflecting off something slim, sleek and metallic. Something that flicked and clicked away into nothingness as he shoved his hand sheepishly into his trouser pocket.
Shona gulped, trying to pretend that she hadn’t seen the sharp, metal object. Fighting the urge to ask him what he had just had held in his hand. Though, she already knew the answer.
‘I’ve got to go.’ she said as he struggled his way slowly towards her, each step clearly as painful as the last, knocking the wind from him.
‘Shona . . .’ he called, his voice a mixture of pain and anger, ‘Why don’t we get some . . . food? A drink?’
She shook her head in the darkness, pushing through the door as he approached. There was something in his eyes. Something she just didn’t trust.
‘I’m meeting someone.’ she called, letting the heavy door fall shut behind her, breaking into a run and taking the dimly-lit stairs three at a time as soon as she was clear of the theatre.
In the pitch black of the Dionysus Theatre Mike drove his fist into the dark wood of the door. He slumped back against the cool wall and stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket. Pulling it out, he felt the comforting weight of the object he’d been forced to hide.
He fingered the smooth, rounded handle — crafted from a mosaic of colourful enamel — that housed the blade of his flick-knife.
He relaxed and smiled, breathing a sigh of relief as his stomach began to settle, though his balls still throbbed with a sickening pain.
‘Nearly.’ he whispered to the darkness.
17:42
Saturday 14th May, 2011
After spending some time in the strangely comforting arms of Davies, Prior cleaned the wound on his hand once more; washing and drying it with care. He splashed his face with another handful of cold water and looked up — instinctively — at the empty space where the mirror should have been.
He grunted and shook his head, annoyed that he had lost control like that.
Then, leaving the sickly, lavender-scented men’s washroom behind, he locked the door and, in passing, informed a maintenance crewmember of the broken mirror.
Now, as the pair pressed on towards the medical bay, torchlight guiding them, Prior tried to organise his thoughts into some reasonable, logical course of action. He wasn’t entirely certain of how he should proceed, but, anticipating Captain Andrews’ inevitably vague instruction to simply get to the bottom of things; he chose to take matters into his own hands.
Immediately.
‘We need to speak to Dr Matthews.’ he said, ‘I think it’s fairly obvious that those . . .’ his voice tailed off as he came to a full stop, his feet unable to take another step. He’d wanted to say ‘those people’, but then, they weren’t just people.
They weren’t simply unknown victims; nameless with numbers and temporary ID tags in place of any true identity. They weren’t just bodies. They were friends.
‘I think it’s obvious,’ he continued, clearing his throat, ‘that the CO2 canisters released and . . .’ He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring himself to say the words suffocated . . . killed . . . murdered. Not yet.
All efforts to try and describe the sequence of events that had culminated in the horrendous discovery down in engineering only brought the image of Rachel Adams — his Rachel; with her soft, milky skin and fiery red hair; her incredible topaz eyes and honeyed voice — crashing, along with the reality of losing her, down on the shores of his agitated brain.
Davies nodded, placing a firm hand briefly on his superior’s shoulder, squeezing his support, before releasing him once more. ‘Dr Matthews should be able to tell us for certain.’
Prior pursed his lips together, his eyes filling once.
This time they did not spill.
‘Did you manage to get hold of the medical records for the crew earlier?’ he asked.
Davies gave a short, sharp nod, the smallest hint of a smile spreading over his boyishly handsome features. ‘I didn’t know who half of them were . . . even with pictures. I don’t know how you do it, Guv’. How you keep a track of everyone.’
‘I have too much time on my hands. And I don’t have any real hobbies.’
Prior flashed that same half-smile at Davies, who returned a subdued chuckle. ‘I don’t believe that for a second. I know what you’re like. You’re thorough. And maybe even a tiny bit of a workaholic, but that’s just you. Just who you are, and people feel . . . comforted knowing that. Knowing that you’ve got it all covered.’
‘But, I didn’t. Did I?’ Prior said, turning to face Davies, his voice low and shaking. ‘If I’d had it covered, something like this — ’
‘Sir, you can’t blame yourself
for this. No one could have known . . .’
‘I should have!’
‘No.’ Davies said simply. ‘No. You shouldn’t.’
‘She’d still . . .’ Prior stopped, squeezing his eyes as tight shut as his clenching fists, swallowing hard, ‘They’d all still be alive if I’d have been more . . .’
‘There’s nothing you could have done. No one could have seen this coming.’ he said, forcing Prior to look at him, ‘This really isn’t your fault. But, we will get whoever is responsible. I promise you.’
Slowly, Prior shook his head in the silence of the dark corridor, ‘I didn’t tell you about me and Rachel.’ he said finally.
‘You didn’t have to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re a very private person. I get that. And — no offense — but, sometimes you can be a little . . .’ Davies hesitated, tilting his head this way and that, before abandoning the sentence completely.
‘Grumpy?’
Davies grinned, giving a single nod, ‘But, not recently, sir. Nah, you’ve been totally different. A new man. Cheerful. You know, with a skip in your step and all that . . . I saw you and Chief Adams having dinner one night. I put two and two together. You looked happy. You both looked very happy. And I was pleased for you. But, I knew you wouldn’t say anything until you were ready and that you wouldn’t appreciate me bringing it up before that.’
Prior choked back tears once more, recalling the too-few dinners that they had shared; the long evenings they had spent together. The way her golden-red hair would spill across his pillow and the scent of her would linger in his bed long after. The way her eyes sparkled, creasing at the corners when she smiled. The way she felt in his arms; small and warm and soft.
And now she was gone.
Simply . . . gone.
Ripped from him before he had even had a chance to really explore this strange new feeling; this unplanned thing that he had reluctantly begun to accept and even refer to as an actual, real, genuine relationship. Rachel had laughed sweetly at him, mocking him that it was all downhill from here.
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