Christine had picked up the pace ever so slightly now that the pain was slowly subsiding. She was also beginning to feel more at ease with the ornate cane that Janet had pre-emptively bought for her.
Almost as though she had known that Christine would one day need it.
Though, that — she thought, swallowing hard — was nonsense of course. It was simply coincidence. Janet had bought it for Christine because it was a thing of beauty, because it had been so carefully crafted and was totally unique.
They had been antique bargain-hunting in Camden. Just for fun.
Christine smiled as the fond memories of the day — the sights and the scents — spilled across the canvas of her mind, blurring her vision.
They had each had a budget of a hundred and fifty pounds to spend on any ‘treasure’ they wished to buy for the other.
Christine had found a dusty old, gramophone in desperate need of some TLC.
It had had the original lily horn still attached; sky-blue with a polished brass edge and a medley of hand-painted pink and white cabbage roses splashed across the inside of the beautiful, open mouth.
It didn’t work when she had bought it, but Janet had always loved to tinker and had soon restored it to its former glory.
It was now sat in Christine’s garage in Harrogate, collecting dust once more.
And she was here, hobbling around this damned cruise-liner, aided by the stick that Janet had deemed beautiful enough to spend almost a hundred and twenty pounds on.
Christine smiled sadly, thinking how strange it was the way things had a way of working themselves out.
‘Sorry,’ she said, reeling back from the powerful memories along with the sudden and uncomfortable thoughts of an ever-expanding destiny beyond all human control, ‘What is this scalpel?’
‘Not what.’ Prior replied, ‘Who. A guy named Vincent Keating. He earned himself the nickname for his handiness and almost surgical precision with a knife. Or any tool really.’
‘So he tortured people?’
‘Yeah. He worked with the Simmons’ — ’
Prior’s two-way radio bleeped loudly, cutting him off mid-sentence. He stopped and Christine watched as he unclipped the handset from his belt.
It bleeped again.
He held down the call button and spoke with renewed authority into the receiver, ‘Is someone trying to reach me?’
The reply was garbled and crackled with static. They could only just identify the caller’s voice as belonging to Marc Davies from the brief snippets they managed to catch, along with a distinct ‘-vies’ during the mangled transmission.
‘Marc?’ said Prior, ‘The signal’s really bad down here. I don’t know if you can hear me any clearer than I can hear you.’
Again, the reply was more static than words, but they listened.
‘I . . . searching . . . file . . . Mike . . . Guv’ you need — ’
Bleep. Silence.
‘Repeat the last.’ said Prior
Static. Bleep. Silence.
‘Davies.’ he said, as a bead of sweat trailed his forehead. He hadn’t even noticed the creeping heat down here in the bowels of the ship until the moment he was wiping his now sopping face, ‘Repeat.’
‘Jones . . . for . . . Blakely’s cous — ’
Bleep.
They waited.
‘Copina.’ said Davies anxiously. Then more static. Bleep.
Silence.
He was gone.
Prior turned swiftly on his heel as Christine struggled to follow his lead. ‘What was that about?’ she said.
‘I don’t know. But it didn’t sound good.’
They were on the move once more and, though it was certainly with more urgency this time, it seemed that Prior was still accounting for Christine’s difficulties, holding back a little even now.
She was grateful and yet she couldn’t help but feel that she was more of a hindrance than a help at that moment. She tucked her head down and threw all her energy into picking up the pace.
‘I think the sooner we speak to Shona, the sooner we can find Mike Jones and get to the bottom of this.’
‘Why? What’s so important? What does she know?’ Christine asked, breathlessly.
‘Shona and Mike were together for a while. They had an awkward split and Shona wouldn’t talk to me about it. She wouldn’t say anything about him after that. Good or bad.’
Why would she talk to you about her relationship with another man?
Christine was taunted by the thought, but didn’t dare voice it for fear of the answer. She was beginning feel like a bit of a third wheel when it came down to this Shona girl.
A third wheel left in the garage.
The unused spare on this ship that liked to share.
She supposed that that made Shona the bike and found herself smiling as she allowed the idea to saturate her brain. She did, after all, get the impression that when it came to matters concerning Shona everyone seemed to have enjoyed a ride!
12:35
Sunday 15th May, 2011
Shona’s naked body was a true wonder to behold and Kelly found herself drinking in her beauty inch by inch as they lay entwined atop the now-somewhat dishevelled bed.
Her eyes followed every contour of her new lover’s body; from the beautifully balletic stretch of her arching foot, over her calves and all of her curves to the delicately soft and sweetly curled mounds that were her perfect breasts.
It seemed that Shona had been blessed in every conceivable way.
There was not a blemish on her skin, nor any kind of mark to suggest anything other than complete perfection. She was a smooth-skinned nymph, shaped and cast by the ancient Gods. She was desire and pleasure and action without words.
Without the need for words.
She was Eros; hand-crafted and confident in a glorious feminine form.
Kelly ran her fingers through the soft mane of Shona’s thick and silken hair, noticing — though not for the first time — how every inch of this woman seemed to appeal to her senses and her appetite. Almost as though she had been designed and created for a specific purpose; to lure and to please.
Kelly was in no doubt that Shona took as much pleasure in her actions as she granted to her lovers and noted with a grin that she herself had drawn no complaints — though, plenty of moans — from the mocha beauty during time together that morning.
She pulled Shona towards her, kissing her with a renewed hunger; wanting her all over again. To taste her. To feel her.
To be inside her once again.
As if brought to life by Kelly’s touch, Shona sprung into action once more, clawing impatiently at her freckled shoulders and guiding her hands.
Within moments Kelly felt Shona’s body sigh against her as they fell into a natural rhythm of desire and reward. She felt Shona’s lips form a smile as they pressed against her own. Felt the dancer’s slender hands creeping over her hip and down to her thigh.
Kelly winced and pulled back; breaking from the chain of kisses that poured from Shona’s sweet lips. Her leg was throbbing suddenly as she twisted in her arms.
‘What’s wrong?’ the dancer asked, breathless with delight.
Kelly shook her head, unable to organise her thoughts for a moment. She had felt a bolt of white hot pain tearing through her muscle.
She had felt it earlier as well, but had been too otherwise engaged to care.
Shona shifted her weight, a strange look of fear and confusion casting a twisted shadow over her perfect face. Kelly continued to watch her until it became clear that her eyes were now locked onto the source her bewilderment and, following the line of her lover’s gaze, she saw for herself.
‘Shit.’ she said, seeing Shona’s hand covered in blood. ‘What’s happened? Are you ok?’
‘Kelly, it’s your blood.’
‘What?’
She twisted her body, sitting to gain a better view.
Shona was right.
The blood that now co
ated the dancer’s hand had also managed to soak through a small patch of the quilt on which they lay.
And its source; Kelly’s injured thigh.
With the stitches cleanly burst, the wound had proceeded to spill an unnerving amount of blood into the recently grey and white, rose-patterned cover.
Kelly gasped.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Shona. But, had she not seen the wound — gaping and pumping the way it was — with her own eyes, she doubted she would even have realised that anything was wrong at all.
At least until she passed-out from severe loss of blood.
‘Shit!’ said Shona, leaping suddenly from the bed and grabbing the towel Kelly had used to dry herself earlier. ‘Put this on it. Press it tight.’
She thrust the towel into Kelly’s hand.
‘No, it’ll wreck it.’ Kelly said, obeying Shona none-the-less.
‘Don’t worry about the bloody towel!’ she cried as she stumbled into the bathroom, running the hot water and washing her hands before returning to the living-slash-bedroom space. She stepped back into the tasty denim shorts that she had discarded earlier while pulling on a previously floored white vest-top in an impressive and almost singular motion.
You’ve done this before. thought Kelly.
‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I didn’t notice!’ Kelly said, honestly.
Shona had plucked Kelly’s shirt from the handle of the bathroom door and was now holding it open. Gingerly, she slipped one arm, then the other into the dark sleeves, noticing the rounded movement under Shona’s dangerously thin vest-top.
Kelly struggled to tear her gaze from Shona’s perfect breasts as they scuffed against the material; her dark nipples becoming suddenly very stiff and all the more appealing. She shook her head, trying to focus.
‘How can you not notice yourself bleeding to death?’
‘I was distracted.’ Kelly said, pulling Shona to sit on the bed before her. The dancer was now holding a dark pair of jeans that Kelly recognised as her own. ‘I want you — no — I need you to calm down. I’ll be fine. We’ll go back up to the bastard medical place and tell them I’ve burst my stitches. They’ll have a good laugh and sort me out. But, I’m going to need your help, so you need to calm down.’
Shona nodded, appearing not unlike a fawn in a wood. All doe-eyed with concern.
Kelly touched Shona’s face and drew her into a soft kiss that seemed to melt on her lips. She smiled and released her. ‘Though, I don’t think I’ll get those on without a struggle.’ she said, ‘Have you got a loose pair of shorts or something?’
‘I see, borrowing my clothes already are you?’ Shona said, something of her cocky, old self returning, or at least trying to mask the quiver in her voice, ‘My, you do move quickly!’
‘What’s the point in hanging around, eh?’
Kelly became suddenly aware of a light-headed dizziness and a slight blurring of her vision as she struggled to button her shirt. A moment later, Shona handed her a pair of torn-off grey shorts that had once been joggers.
‘They’re my warm-up pants.’ she said, almost apologising.
‘They’re perfect.’ Kelly said, pulling on the shorts. Then, her left arm around Shona, her right hand still compressing the towel against her thigh, Kelly struggled to her feet.
At that moment there was a knock at the door.
No, there was a pounding on the door. The kind of impatient thumping that demands an immediate answer.
Kelly looked to Shona, who answered her unspoken question with a small shrug and called out, ‘Who is it?’
Another round of blows rained down upon the wooden door and, for a moment, Kelly thought the thing might simply cave under the pressure. But it held.
‘Stay here.’ Shona said, releasing Kelly.
Fuck that! Kelly thought, hobbling forward behind her.
Shona reached out, throwing the safety chain on before unlocking the silver mechanism and turning the handle. ‘What the fuck?’ she said, opening the door just a crack. ‘What the hell do you want?’
Leaving his small, newly acquired team behind in the security office, Marc Davies tore through the corridor dodging passengers and crew as best he could whilst travelling at an almost dizzying speed.
Unable to confirm whether Prior had managed to receive and decode his garbled transmission, Davies had been unable to sit still any longer. This was too important.
He knew where Prior and Christine were heading. Knew Shona’s quarters well.
If they had had as much trouble in understanding him over the radio as he had them, he doubted that they had clinched the true gravity of the situation.
He bounded down the stairs three at a time.
Not far now. Just two more levels.
He stopped. Doubled over, panting.
He sucked in a lungful of humid air and pushed on.
Kelly crept forward even as she watched Shona recoil from the door, which at that very moment burst open; the links of the chain seeming to bend then split like a series of paperclips under the brute force that shouldered its way into the room.
Standing in front of the doorway — blocking their escape — was a man of similar height and age to Shona. He had light brown hair that looked as though it had been styled at some point that morning, but had since been blasted by the wind and sea air to create something quiffed and lifted and manic. This only served to add to his crazed demeanour as he stood before them, huffing and puffing like a bull in the Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas.
His eyes burned with hatred and desire as he stared at Shona. Then Kelly. Before settling on Shona once more.
In his left hand — which had been momentarily obscured from her view — Kelly could now see the bejewelled handle of a knife or dagger; its exposed blade about three inches in length.
Her head already spinning from the blood she had lost, she struggled to steady herself and stifled a yelp as she finally managed to wrap the towel around her thigh and tie a small knot. It hurt like a bitch, but she didn’t want to draw any further, unnecessary attention to herself.
Under different circumstances, Kelly would have laughed out loud, realising that she was now reacting as the kids in Jurassic Park had done in the hugely memorable T-Rex sequence. She could almost hear the voice of Sam Neil — the fictitious Dr Grant — telling her not to move; He can’t see you if you don’t move.
‘Mike?’ Shona struggled; the sound of clear and absolute terror ringing through the singular syllable. ‘What are you doing here?’
Mike.
Sextus Tarquinius.
From the show Kelly had struggled to sit through on the first night of their voyage. It all seemed so long ago now. So far away.
Mike closed the door without turning his back on them, flicking it shut with a single shove of his powerful arm. ‘That wasn’t a very warm welcome.’ he said, his voice like sandpaper.
Shona shook her head. Struggling to muster a reply.
‘You knew it was me, right?’ he continued. His speech slow and weighted.
He was in no hurry.
‘I . . . I didn’t realise at first — ’
‘But, when you did,’ he said, cutting her off as he idled the knife around with small rotations of his wrist, ‘you didn’t seem that pleased to see me. Maybe, it’s because you were already busy . . . entertaining.’ He sneered at Kelly, though his eyes never left Shona, ‘but, that’s no excuse for the way you spoke to me just now. Or for what you did to me. For what you do to me, you prick-teasing, little whore!’
Mike took a step towards Shona, who backed off a pace as Kelly struggled to make her way across the room, shouting as she went.
‘Oi! Who the hell do you think you are?’
Mike turned to her; a strange, amused look draped across his reddened face.
‘Kelly, don’t.’ Shona begged.
But she continued to move towards him.
‘Who the hell am I?’ Mike said, cocking hi
s head, ‘Who the hell are you! I’ll tell you. Nothing more than Little Miss Latest Thing in a very long line of conquests to that bed. That’s who you are! Another notch on the bedpost for that slag, there. Nothing special.’
‘Shut your stupid fuckin’ mouth!’ she said, knowing it wasn’t the strongest of replies and feeling slightly like a child in a playground.
But still, she had managed to distract him long enough to place herself between him and Shona. She either really liked this woman or the adrenaline had simply kicked in and was now working overtime!
‘Well, aren’t you the knight in shining armour.’ He laughed cruelly, brandishing the knife before him. ‘You don’t look too well to me.’ he said, his eyes moving over Kelly’s body then to the bloodstained bed and back again, ‘You look like you need a doctor.’
‘She does, Mike.’ Shona cried.
Kelly felt her take a step towards the pair of them, felt an intense heat at her back. Instantly she threw out her arms; making more of an obstacle of herself. Intent on keeping Mike as far away from Shona as she possibly could.
‘You!’ he spat, ‘You shut the fuck up! You fuckin’, little whore!’
‘Hey, dick-face!’ again, Kelly knew it wasn’t the greatest of comebacks, but it caught his attention, ‘I told you to watch your stupid fuckin’ mouth. Now, tell me what the problem is.’
It seemed to have worked.
For the moment at least.
Mike look intrigued and smiled as he stepped closer to Kelly who instinctively pushed Shona back, holding her at arm’s length.
‘You want to know what the problem is?’ he asked, his sickly sweet, vodka-laced breath warm on her face.
She refused to turn away, despite wanting to wretch.
Instead she nodded, slowly.
‘Why not, eh? You don’t look like you’ll be conscious for too much longer, anyway. Sure, let’s kill some . . . time. Tell us a story, Jackanory!’ He grinned an awful, evil, twisted grin and Kelly could have sworn she felt Shona shudder.
Splintered Page 29