Davies caught him by the arms, forcing him to stop. ‘Hold on Guv’! Hold on. You have no idea what this fella looks like, who he is or where he’s holding her. I think we need to — ’
‘It’s Isaac Simmons, Marc. It’s him. Ok? I don’t know how, but it’s him. I killed his brother. And he saw me do it. And now he wants revenge.’
‘What?’
‘Come on.’ Prior said.
‘You killed Jacob Simmons?’ he asked, in disbelief.
Prior nodded and, leaving the radios behind, Christine and Davies followed him out of the medical bay. As they turned onto the corridor the entire ship seemed to judder forward.
This was instantly followed by a loud whirring noise, a hiss and then more juddering.
Both Christine and Davies were clinging to the wall, having thrown their weight against it in an effort to remain upright, while Prior lowered his centre of gravity, bending at the knee, his arms spread, not unlike a surfer atop a boisterous wave.
He scanned the darkness eagerly with his torch.
Then, as though a great switch had simply been flicked back to the on position, the overhead lighting panels began to blink and flicker in a steady progression along the length of the corridor. After an epileptic moment of electrical confusion the panels turned to solid blocks of light, which then became an unfaltering string of bright lights coursing a route through the ship as though they had never been out at all.
Davies blinked and shielded his eyes as they adjusted to the new level of brightness.
In the distant portions of the ship they could hear spontaneous cheers as the power returned; light and sound combusting all around them.
Switching off and pocketing his torch, Prior continued along the corridor, Davies and Christine following close behind. When they reached the set of stairs near the security office Christine caught hold of Prior’s arm.
He turned and waited as she tried to catch her breath.
‘Jon, I’m going to go back to Kelly’s room.’ she said, entirely out of the blue, ‘There’s a few things I want to check.’
‘Like what?’ he asked, a harsh edge to his voice that even he had not expected.
‘Like whether Simmons has been back there, for one.’ she answered, not liking his suddenly cold tone. She could understand that he was worried about Shona. Worried for Shona. She was too. But she was also concerned for Kelly and felt suddenly annoyed at the fact that she seemed to be having to justify these feelings to the green-eyed Security Chief she thought she had come to know so well. ‘Kelly’s missing too.’ she said, ‘And Shona made no mention of her in that message. She might not even know that Kelly is missing. I can’t say for sure, but the one thing I do know is that we should be searching for her too.’
Prior swallowed hard, he seemed momentarily lost for words, but eventually nodded. ‘Of course. You’re right. I suppose it does make sense to go back there and check. After all, he felt secure enough in that environment to stand there and paint his boastful collection of confessions for however long it took him the last time. And he did leave Kelly behind once before. I mean, he beat her, but he let her live.’
‘But it’s more than that.’ she said, ‘I think he might even view her room as — I don’t know — some sort of sacred ground. A shrine. Or something like that. He did all that work there and left it, almost like a dedication. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s obsessed with Kelly.’
Prior nodded, slowly, fearing the awful sight that may already be waiting to greet the psychologist in Kelly’s suite. But seeming to read his thoughts yet again, Christine reached out, taking his hand for a moment. ‘We know that Shona is alive.’ she said, an incredible strength and sadness behind her eyes, ‘You need to concentrate on that. And find her.’
‘You never know, Kelly might even be able to lead us to Shona.’ Davies offered, raising his eyebrows hopefully. Though, Prior remained unconvinced.
‘I’m not happy about you going on your own.’ he said, turning back to Christine.
‘I’ll be fine. The lights are back on; the power seems steady.’ she said, slipping her hand into the pocket of her chocolate, linen pants. She pulled out her Motorola flip phone, flicking it open with her thumb and holding in the button that powered it up. After waiting only several moments, she turned the face of the phone to Prior, ‘Look, I even have three bars of signal, which means everything must be back online. Doesn’t it?’
‘I suppose.’ Prior said, taking his own sturdy-looking and purely functional, no-frills Nokia from his right knee pocket.
Davies watched his commander follow Christine’s lead in switching on the ancient-looking mobile and regarding it for several moments. Then Prior gave Christine his number and she in turn rang his brick of a phone, confirming that communication between not only the phones and their networks, but also between the ship and the outside world had once more been established.
Prior flushed a little and smiled, storing the number.
Davies felt that he had just been witness to some private moment that he should never have known. He felt the sudden awkwardness of the situation like it had burst into the air from some strange, emotional room diffuser.
The scent of teenage days.
And — as odd as it seemed — watching the pair, he couldn’t help but be reminded of himself only a few years earlier; awkwardly fumbling to exchange numbers with cute girls and guys alike. He radiated confidence these days — even if he didn’t always feel it — and managed to stifle a grin as he noticed that Christine’s cheeks were also burning their own small, self-conscious blaze.
‘Well . . . just, make sure you . . . stay in touch and . . .’ Prior’s voice seemed to dissipate along the corridor as he took out his master cardkey, handing it to Christine.
She smiled sweetly at him. ‘Don’t worry about me.’ she said, ‘Go. Find that bastard. And save Shona.’
That said, she turned and made her way down the corridor as fast as she could without breaking into a three-legged, hobbled run. Prior watched her all the way to the end.
Davies watched his chief.
‘Fucking Kelly bastard Livingstone.’ Prior exhaled, shaking his head.
Davies raised a curious eyebrow, convinced that he must have misheard. That his tired and perplexed senses were now in fact working against him to confuse and distract him even further. However amusing it might have sounded!
‘D’you not like Kelly then, Guv’?’
Prior shrugged and expelled another short, sharp breath as he unlocked the security office. ‘I really don’t know that I feel anything for that woman other than an overwhelming amount of irritation.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’ Davies said, following him into the room.
‘It is, yes. And it’s not like me. Well, you know me.’ he said, as he switched on the lights and several of the computers before taking a seat. Davies nodded and sat opposite him, ‘But, I don’t know. She . . . gets my back up, you know? She did from the moment she came on board and . . . I don’t know. It’s just one of those things I suppose. It’s not very fair of me to think that way, is it? I mean, she could be in real danger.’
‘She could be dead.’
‘She could be dead.’ Prior echoed, ‘I really don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘Guv’, may I offer my opinion?’ Davies said as Prior entered a series of passwords into the computers. ‘I think you see her as a threat.’
‘What?’
‘I think you feel threatened by her and that’s why . . . well, that’s why you don’t like her. You can’t help it. Like you said, she just instantly got your back up. Look, you know I wouldn’t normally bring anything like this up — especially with everything that’s happened recently — but, I can see there’s something — you know — between you and Christine — ’
‘There is nothing going on between me and Dr Kane.’
‘I didn’t say there was anything going on. But there’s definitely something the
re. It’s actually quite difficult not to pick up on it. D’you know what I mean? And, I don’t want to over-step here, or anything, but I also know that she’s kind of unresolved on some feelings that she’s harbouring for Kelly. So I get that you — ’
‘Wait,’ Prior said, raising his hand, ‘did she tell you about that?’
‘No. I picked up on some things . . . and she kind of spoke to Shona about it earlier . . . who then told me when we were in the medical bay.’
Prior couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You’re such a pair of old gossips, you two.’
Davies shrugged, grinning. ‘But, you see, I understand why you feel odd and threatened. Kelly’s this random, out-of-the-blue, larger than life personality that’s moved right on in with the two women you’re closest to. You want to protect Shona — of course you do — and you also want the time to figure out exactly what it is you want with Christine. Exactly what it is that you feel for her. But, either way, Kelly’s not allowing you to have that time. And it’s not her fault. But you feel it like it’s a direct attack.’
Prior sat considering Davies’ words for a long time.
Eventually, he raised an eyebrow and smiled. ‘Well, you’re just full of surprises today, aren’t you?’ he said, standing and reaching into an overhead cupboard. He pulled down a medium sized first-aid kit and glanced at Davies, who instantly tensed. ‘Come on then, Yoda, I think we should patch you up a bit before you pass out. Then, we need to find out all we can about Isaac Leigh Simmons, find out where he’s holding my sister and go get her back.’
‘It’s nice to hear you say that, Guv’.’
‘What?’
‘Sister.’
‘It’s nice to say it.’ Prior said, twisting Davies’ chair around so as to tend to his injured head more easily.
‘She tries really hard to prove herself to you, you know.’
‘I know.’ Prior said, ‘She doesn’t have to do that.’
‘But she wants to.’
Silence.
‘I try too, you know.’
‘I know, mate.’ Davies said, ‘I know you do.’
22:15
Sunday 15th May, 2011
Sliding the cardkey through the reader, Christine pushed open the door to Kelly’s suite.
She immediately found a series of light switches near to the door and flicked them all to the ‘on’ position, bathing the room in a not-too-bright blanket of artificial light. She drew in a sudden breath, seeing the room properly for the first time since finding Kelly on the floor on that awful Saturday night.
Even then the room had been in darkness.
And it had been the dead of night when Prior had summoned her to view those horrific paintings.
Seeing the remains now, she could only begin to imagine what Kelly must have suffered in here and felt suddenly quite thankful that the artist appeared to remember nothing of what had happened. Though that in itself was another worry.
There was blood and paint on the bed sheets; and on several items of clothing — Kelly’s clothes — that had been discarded next to the bed. A torn shirt. A pair of pants.
What the hell had happened here? And why hadn’t any of this been collected as evidence?
Christine felt herself flush with anger. The suite looked as though it had been hired out by some teenage rock band for the purpose of housing a post-gig party that had gotten terribly out of hand.
The floor was littered with the empty bottles of various alcoholic miniatures; the fumes of which had had at least twenty-four hours to really fill the room with that poignant and sickening stench of stale drink. Punching through the stink of ‘old pub’ was the bitter odour of day-old tobacco and the heavy laced, sickly sweet scent of marijuana. So, between the dirty, bloody laundry, the weed, and the alcohol, the general aroma that was now filling the air of Kelly’s once-pristine and luxury suite was one that could only be described as . . . vagrant.
Eau de Homeless.
Carefully, Christine navigated her way towards the French doors that led out onto the balcony, trying not to let her mind wander as her eyes fell on the bloodied bed once more. Trying desperately to keep her imagination from merging the tortured fates of both Fiona Jenkins and Stacey Atkins with that of Kelly.
‘Oh Kelly.’ she whispered, unlocking the doors and hurling them open.
As she turned back into the room she noted the empty-shelled remains of at least four different types of painkiller blister packs strewn about the tattered suite.
‘Is that why you don’t remember anything?’ she said aloud, to no one, but herself, ‘Did he drug you?’
Still scanning the room, Christine noticed an A4-sized sketchbook sat on the long desk-dresser. She took several steps towards it, reaching her hand out to take a hold of the book.
She paused. Something had moved.
The door.
The door moved and she realised, with an ice cold shudder, that she hadn’t actually shut it behind her!
How could she have been so stupid!
Instinctively she snatched up the hard-backed sketchbook, holding it close to her chest.
Somehow, she managed to release her grip on her walking stick — which fell to the ground with an oddly slowed-down and surreal clatter — and spin around in an uncharacteristically fluid motion, throwing all her power and all her weight into the sketch book; raising her arms high, before bringing the hard face of the pad crashing down against the head of the creeping assailant.
Eyes closed, she felt the book connect with bone and hoped that she had caught his nose.
In the next moment she heard crashing and smashing as an unbalanced body slammed into the desk, knocking Kelly’s neatly ordered perfumes all over.
She heard an annoyed growl of pain and opened her eyes, raising the book once more. Ready to strike.
She paused; unable to believe her eyes. Unable to accept that what they were telling her was — in fact — the truth.
‘Agh! Christine! What the fuck?’
Resting against the dark, desk-dresser — gripping a red cheek and rubbing a thick ear, like a chastised child — stood one very confused, battered, bruised and now freshly beaten Kelly Livingstone.
22:15
Sunday 15th May, 2011
Shona stirred. She was now aware of a cold, hard surface pressing against her cheek. Her arms were twisted and her shoulder ached from lying on it.
She was no longer attached to the chair.
The bastard must have knocked her out following her ominous broadcast. She couldn’t even be certain that Prior had heard the message. That anyone had heard it. But she knew one thing for sure. She had definitely been moved.
She had been dragged from the chair in the cupboard to a new, much larger space, where she had then been thrown down onto the floor like some unwanted Christmas toy.
Though she was no longer attached to the chair, her hands and feet remained tied together behind her.
And as well as the gag, she had now also been blindfolded.
She had never felt more vulnerable in her life.
22:34
Sunday 15th May, 2011
Christine had apologised profusely since attacking Kelly with her own sketchbook.
What the hell had the sassy psychologist been doing in her room anyway?
Not that Kelly wasn’t glad to see her.
Despite the immense, throbbing pain she was now experiencing in her face!
‘I am so, so sorry.’ she had said again, handing over a cold, damp towel before taking a seat next to her on the edge of the dishevelled and bedraggled-looking bed.
Kelly pressed the towel against her cheek as she looked around, taking in the state of the place. She wasn’t in any kind of mood to even begin thinking about tidying through all this mess and was becoming increasingly more agitated by its presence the longer she sat there. The suite looked like it had housed one hell of a party while she had been away. And — bizarrely — the thought that she had missed out on somethi
ng that had taken place in her own suite pissed her off even more!
She tasted blood and felt herself swoon for a moment.
Christine’s arm jutted out instantly to steady her.
‘It’s ok. Honestly, I’m fine. Now.’
‘Oh my god, I really didn’t mean to hurt you, Kelly. I thought you were — ’
‘What are you doing here, Christine?’ Kelly bit, cutting her off. As she spoke the pain in her face and her head peaked, flooding her voice with an agitation and annoyance that was not directed at Christine. Still, it sounded cold, almost to the point of cruel.
And she really hadn’t meant it to.
The tone of question had resonated as little more than a barking interrogation and she instantly regretted her decision to interrupt the strong, yet fragile conundrum of a woman sat before her.
This intriguing and insightful woman with years of practical experience in exploring the human mind, yet whose gentle, understanding eyes hid a great sadness; this enigma with her very formal style of dress and her wicked sense of humour. Her tightly pulled-back and controlled soft brown hair that exploded into a fountain of incredible curls; rigid, proper, understated control bursting into something creative and wild!
She truly was a wonder of natural juxtaposition and, silently, Kelly berated herself for the thoughtless outburst, knowing that she wouldn’t have found Christine Kane wandering around her room and pawing through her possessions if she didn’t feel that she had a very good reason to be doing so.
She lowered her eyes even as the warm psychologist turned away from her, gazing out towards the balcony.
When she spoke again, her voice was much quieter and quivered slightly in the relative silence. ‘I was worried about you. In fact, I’ve spent most of this horrendous trip worrying about you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kelly said, placing her hand on Christine’s good knee. ‘I didn’t mean to snap like that. I’m just . . . I’m in pain.’
Christine’s eyes followed the movement of Kelly’s hand. Before she could stop it, a rogue tear from the relieved, but still, emotional faction building behind her eyes, rolled suddenly over her cheek and went splashing down onto Kelly’s soft flesh as she tried to reassure her.
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