Kelly shook her head slowly, feeling the heat of tears sting her eyes and trying her best to beat them back. She really wasn’t used to revealing her emotions and was certainly less-used to actually, physically crying in the presence of another human being! Particularly when it was someone she found herself attracted to and had had plans to try and seduce!
‘What do you remember?’
‘I don’t know.’ she sniffed, ‘I think . . . I remember being in my room and . . . I don’t know. I remember the darkness. I was . . .’ she shook her head again, covering her face as the tears broke free. The mixture of pain and exhaustion and broken memories was simply too much.
‘Hey,’ Shona said softly, wrapping her arms cautiously around the tenderised artist, ‘Come here. It’s alright.’
As she rocked her gently back and forth, Kelly found herself slipping into the seduction of simply letting her emotions flow. Shona didn’t seem to mind her sobbing against her shoulder. She didn’t make her feel that she was any less of a person for opening up and spilling her tears against her soft, warm flesh.
‘It’s not alright.’ she whispered eventually, sniffing and pulling out of Shona’s rich embrace. ‘It’s not right that I don’t remember anything. That I’m battered and bruised and feverish . . . that I have stitches I know nothing about! It’s not ok that I somehow came to be knocking on your door at some ridiculous time of night, before crashing out and leaving you to clean up the mess! None of that is alright!’
‘Is that what you’re worried about? How this looks? That you’ve somehow embarrassed yourself in front of me?’
Kelly flicked a small shrug at Shona, ‘That’s not all I’m bothered about, but . . . yeah. I suppose I’m a little embarrassed.’
The biggest smile Kelly had ever seen spread across Shona’s face as she leaned in, making a small awh noise before planting a full kiss on Kelly’s inflamed lips. She winced at the small bolt of pain that surged through her muscles as she suddenly tensed, but it was a pain she was more than happy to bear. ‘You are so cute.’
‘Don’t tell me I’m cute.’ Kelly said, playfully, ‘I’m not fucking cute! What’s cute about a puffy, broken face and amnesia?’
‘Just that.’ Shona said, pushing a strand of Kelly’s jet-black hair back from her face, ‘And the way you got all defensive about crying in front of me. It’s . . . sweet . . . it’s endearing.’
‘Endearing?’
Shona nodded.
Wiping gently at her eyes, Kelly removed all evidence of her tears. ‘Well, if I’d have known that’s all I had to do to get you into bed . . .’ she said, grinning.
‘Somehow, I don’t think it’d have worked the same.’
‘Still, it kind of makes me feel like I should go and shake the hand of whoever beat the shit of me last night.’
‘Hey, I didn’t just do this out of kindness and sympathy, you know. I’m an incredibly shallow and egocentric person when you get to know me.’ Shona joked, ‘Not to mention cranky when woken in the middle of the night. It’s a good job you’re a looker or I’d have left you out there ‘til morning.’
‘I don’t believe that for a second. Have you seen this face!’ Kelly replied, smiling though it made her facial muscles ache and the pounding in her head amplify massively. ‘Still, if you’re as shallow as you’re trying to make out, I have to ask . . . what exactly was it that you hoped to gain in return for taking me in?’
‘Only your gratitude.’ Shona rolled the words around her mouth as she traced her finger gently over Kelly’s jaw and her neck and still further down until she reached the barrier of the quilt, ‘When health and strength allow.’
Feeling her heart quicken, Kelly found her mouth suddenly dry once more and made a small coughing noise in the back of her throat.
Shona grinned impishly, clearly enjoying herself.
‘Right,’ she said eventually, doing what Kelly seemed unable to by stringing several words together and moving the conversation steadily forwards, ‘I say we should get you dressed and take a trip up to medical. I don’t really think a big blank canvas in your memory is something that should be over-looked, do you?’
‘You’re the boss.’
‘And don’t you forget it.’
Shona stood as Kelly pulled back the quilt and swung her bruised legs out of the bed. The dancer offered her hand, which she accepted gladly. Then Kelly felt Shona’s free arm slip around her waist, steadying her as she pushed up to stand cautiously on her feet.
‘I’m sure I can manage to dress myself.’ she said, wincing as they made their way round to the bathroom.
‘You say that now,’ Shona replied, ‘but you didn’t see the nightmare I had trying to get the bloody things off you.’
Kelly raised an eyebrow.
‘What? I told you, you were feverish. I was scared.’
‘And in the face of fear you usually strip people naked, do you?’ Kelly teased.
‘Not . . . people.’
Shona pushed the door open and a renewed wave of lemony-bleach-scented bathroom air hit Kelly as she felt the soft lustre of the carpet give way to the pitted linoleum of wet-room flooring. ‘I’ve already seen the goods. So, you needn’t be shy. Or embarrassed. You have nothing to be embarrassed about anyway.’
Feeling her face flush slightly, Kelly laughed and tugged at the oversized shirt. ‘In that case, why did you subject me to this?’
‘Well, you weren’t conscious before and I thought you might freak out — even more than you did — if you woke to find yourself naked in my bed with no knowledge of how you got there. Especially, as I know that you don’t drink. You might have thought I’d drugged you or something.’
‘You remembered.’ Kelly said.
‘Of course I remembered. It’s good for business. People tip you better when you make the effort.’
‘I’ll have to remember that. But, still.’ She tweaked at the garment again and Shona stopped, her face blank and suddenly very solemn.
‘It was mine.’ she said, ‘Before I lost the weight.’
Kelly could have kicked herself and was suddenly quite glad that someone had already done the job for her.
Why did she have to do that? Why had she gone on about it? Now, far from showing any gratitude to the woman who had helped her and nursed her through the night, she had wound up insulting her and making her feel like shit instead!
Nice one.
After a moment a child-like grin spread across Shona’s face as she began to giggle. ‘I’m only pulling you’re leg. It belonged to one of my ex’s. He was a professional rugby player.’
Kelly’s relief was plain to see as she perched on the side of the bath and finally exhaled,
‘I don’t wear anything in bed.’ Shona continued, ‘It was the only thing I had that I thought might be comfortable. Oh, and on that note, you didn’t get me into bed. I slept on the couch.’
‘Your such a gentleman.’
‘Somebody has to be. God knows blokes bloody-well aren’t these days!’
Kelly laughed as Shona disappeared before returning with the clothes she had arrived in. ‘I gave them a wash. Like I said, you’re stitches had started to seep and there was blood . . . a lot of blood. Fortunately they’re all quite dark so it’s not too bad.’
Kelly didn’t flinch as Shona lifted the professional rugby ex’s t-shirt over her head. She slipped her arms into the straps of her bra and only stiffened slightly as Shona leaned in, fastening the clasp behind her. Turning her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror. Her ribs were bruised and cut, as was most of her face; her lips were as swollen as they felt; her left eye too was puffy and looking more than a little blood-shot.
God, I’m attractive! She thought sardonically.
As if hearing her thoughts, Shona stroked the side of her face gently. She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak. Instead she smiled and turned to pick up Kelly’s jeans, holding them for her to step into.
‘So, tell me
about Mr Pro Rugby Dude. Was it serious?
Shona laughed, ‘Does it look like it was serious?’
Kelly smiled, wincing slightly as they worked together to pull the jeans up and over her slender, but battered thighs. Slipping the brass button through the button-hole, Shona drew up the zip of the dark, stonewash denim; the tips of her fingers lingering at the soft pink flesh of Kelly’s tight abdomen.
‘This all seems a bit back to front, doesn’t it?’
‘All good things . . .’ Shona whispered; her lips only millimetres from her own. Her dark-chocolate gaze beguiling and bewitching Kelly as she became very aware that her mind was now racing towards exploring the possibilities of those soft and nimble fingers as they continued to caress her navel in delicate little circles.
‘Thank you.’ she mustered with another small cough. ‘Thanks for taking care of me.’
‘The pleasure’s all mine.’ Shona said, before turning away from her and bending to pick up the dark blue shirt.
Kelly cocked her head, then instantly rebuked herself as the beautifully crafted dancer turned back to face her, slipping the shirt over her arms and buttoning up the front.
I doubt that. she thought, smiling into Shona’s warm eyes. I doubt that very much!
08:45
Sunday 15th May, 2011
So far, Prior’s morning had been the total antithesis of his normally organised and ordered routine.
He had hardly slept following the revelations in Kelly Livingstone’s suite, not to mention the fact that the woman herself was now missing thanks to the incompetence of the two officers he had made the mistake of posting outside her door.
There were so many questions he wanted answered. And most of them involving the elusive Miss Livingstone and the query of whether she could actually commit to the acts alluded to in the twisted images that littered her work. So, right at the top of his list of was the necessity to locate and question her.
And fast.
He had been correct in his suppositions that come day-break the ship would be awash with rumour and panic. The most terrifying part of this, however, was that a majority of the rumours flying around bore more than a marked resemblance to both his and Christine’s own deductions of the events that had occurred since the previous afternoon. This could only aid to inspire further panic and confusion and potentially hinder their chances of apprehending the culprit. Or culprits.
At first he hadn’t really bought Christine’s idea of there being two killers working together, but the more he thought about it the more — he reluctantly supposed — it made sense. Still, he wasn’t entirely convinced and reserved the right to stick to his guns until absolutely persuaded otherwise.
He had met with Captain Andrews just before eight and updated him on everything that had happened so far, only just managing to hold his tongue when Andrews mentioned the technical error that had occurred during his transmission to the crew the night before.
‘I heard.’ he said, clamping his mouth shut and sucking his teeth as Andrew’s continued to debrief him on the bizarre intricacies of this unusual situation.
The only positive thing he had managed to take away from his meeting with Andrews was a magazine called Artist Profile that had recently featured an article on Kelly Livingstone and her work. The head-shot colour photo on the first page of the article was exactly what he had hoped for and should have been more than enough to give his team a clear idea of who they were looking for.
After leaving Andrews, he had made his way down to the stuffy, little staff canteen on E deck. He had spent some time that morning transforming the place into a base of operations for the growing number of medical staff, security and the many other varied and now otherwise-unoccupied members of the crew he had gained as a make-shift investigative team.
He had managed to snatch two fully-charged laptops and had also acquired some presentation boards from the far more luxurious conference lounges dotted about the ship. He would have liked simply to move the operation into one of these rooms, but had been back-heeled — unsurprisingly — by Captain Andrews.
Apparently all the conference rooms and theatres on the ship were now being used in various ways to maintain order by providing family entertainment, distributing food and drink and generally distracting the populace from the chaos of the unexplained.
So his new team got the E deck staff canteen along with the cabbage and dish-water smell that haunted the place no matter how many times it was cleaned down.
‘Right,’ he said, striding through the crowd who slowly hushed to silence. Standing before the now-cluttered presentation boards — or evidence boards as they had become — Prior waited patiently, looking around the room at the sea of faces, many of whom seemed excited to be involved in something they could only equate to the fabled and glamorous televisual world of CSI.
Inwardly, he cursed the programme. And not for the first time.
‘You’ve all been brought up to speed on why you’re here.’ he said, pausing to allow for the nodding heads to confirm this, ‘I know that many of you have little-to-no experience in this field, but you’re here. And as long as you apply a bit of common sense and do exactly as I instruct then I am confident that we can stop this dangerous individual before they take another life.’
‘I heard a rumour there was more than one killer.’ said a broad-shouldered man near the back of the cramped room. Prior recognised him as Alfie Dean, the ship’s Chief LX and Technical Director of the Dionysus Theatre.
‘We can’t be sure. But, with the scale and the pace of everything that’s happened it’s certainly a possibility.’ Prior paused for a moment as people began to murmur. He saw a figure move slowly in his periphery; entering the room. He turned his head to see that it was Dr Kane. Christine.
Slinging a small brief smile her way, he nodded his head for her to join him. ‘This is Dr Christine Kane.’ he said, extending his arm as she continued to make her way gradually through the crowd. ‘She’s a Criminal Psychologist and has — ’
‘Hey, I know her!’ piped a skinny, overly-scouse Scouser in front of Prior, ‘She’s that one what got her sister killed ‘cause she didn’t do her job right.’
Feeling a spike of anger pinching the base of his skull, Prior sucked in a breath. All around the man people began to whisper and nod, spurring him to continue. ‘Yeah, some fella — shoulda been sent down, like — got time in a nut ‘ouse before getting out for good behaviour. All because of her!’ Pointing his finger like the Witch-Finder General at Christine, the lanky Scouser — that Prior now remembered to be Dave Graham — grinned, enjoying the glory of the crowd’s attention.
‘Dr Kane has worked successfully with police departments nationwide to provide the workable profiles of countless violent criminals, including those of a number of murderers and rapists.’ Prior said, squaring up to Graham, ‘Her profiling skills and intuition have led to the apprehension of some of the most dangerous and deadly killers this country has seen in recent years. Many that otherwise would have gone undetected for . . . who knows how long?’
Prior shot a look around the room before finding Graham’s pointed face and small, too-close eyes once more, ‘In short,’ he continued, ‘she’s saved the lives of an innumerable amount of people and deserves your attention and respect. Right now we have very little to go on. We’re self contained here. Cut-off from the world with a killer on the loose and little-to-no chance of identifying them using the limited CS equipment we have on board. So my advice is that you listen to everything Dr Kane has to say. And that you bear that information in mind as you proceed in this investigation.’
Prior held Graham’s rat-like stare until the latter faltered, taking a step backwards and bowing his head. Letting out a slow and steady breath, Prior returned his attention to Christine, placing his hand on her small shoulder for only the briefest of moments as she cleared her throat to speak.
‘Thank you Mr Prior,’ she said, seeming to draw strength from the formal u
se of his surname.
She straightened and began to address the crowd of mismatched investigators, quickly filling them in on the details surrounding the deaths in engineering and the individual murders of Stacey Atkins, Gary Blakely and Dr Cunningham. As she continued, she pointed out some of the photographs now pinned to the evidence board, ignoring the noises of horror and disgust along with the tittering of those who didn’t know quite how they should react.
‘There are some definite similarities between these murders,’ she said confidently, ‘and Dr Matthews has suggested that Dr Cunningham was the first to die, while the state of rigor mortis and lividity in the other victims points to Stacey being the most recent casualty. Gary Blakely was most likely killed around the same time as the other members of the engineering crew, but his body showed evidence of torture by various means and methods over the course of about an hour or so.’
‘What happened to the Atkins girl?’ asked a fair-haired woman, ‘I was trying to comfort her sister, but I didn’t really know what to say. She was in bits. I mean totally devastated.’
Christine nodded slowly, taking in the woman’s genuine concern. ‘She was unfortunate enough to glimpse the state in which the killer had left her sister. It’s the kind of thing you never quite get over.’ Christine said, her gaze locking onto Dave Graham, who at least had the decency to lower his eyes in shame. ‘But, listen there are a few things I want to make clear,’ she continued, shaking off the momentary resentment she felt, ‘I strongly believe that all the murders, including those of the engineers — who are absolutely being treated as homicide victims — are connected. Whether this is someone flying solo or several people working together there are certain aspects within each of the crime scenes that lend themselves towards a distinctive signature and also therefore a certain pattern and mode of behaviour.
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