by Ben Farthing
The attendant was already yelling into a landline phone.
Riley collapsed onto the floor and buried her face in her hands.
21
Chris’s first clue that something strange had happened overnight was that when he called to get breakfast delivered, they said room service was canceled, and only one cafeteria was open.
Apparently, there’d been a power outage.
Chris wanted to keep a low profile now that Pete would have told the cult he was here. But hunger won out. He went up to Deck Ten, one level below the top deck.
The cafeteria took up the whole bow of the ship on this deck. It smelled of frying bacon and damp air conditioning. The walls were all windows to allow a view of the empty ocean. Stations for food dotted the center of the room. Chris had shown up right during the breakfast rush.
He heard his second clue of the night’s events while standing in line for scrambled eggs.
A leather-tanned man in sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt was standing in front of him, carrying two plates already loaded with melon and pineapple. He chatted with an equally leathery woman next to him. “I don’t know how you went back to sleep after those gunshots.”
“It couldn’t have been gunshots.” The woman popped a green cube of honeydew into her mouth. “Nobody has guns on the ship.”
“I’ve spent enough time at the range to know what I heard.”
Chris cut in. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but you said you heard a gun?”
The man looked annoyed at Chris’s intrusion. “Hell yes, I did.”
His wife rolled her eyes. “He’s overreacting.”
“What deck were you on?” Chris asked.
“Six. Right over the casino.”
“So it was probably the crew working on the machines,” she said through a mouthful of fruit.
“Or someone tried to rob it,” the man suggested.
The line moved forward to the food, and Chris let the old couple return to bickering.
He scarfed down his food at a small table between a support column and a window. Storm clouds still filled the sky behind them, but ahead were blue skies and calm waters.
He finished quickly to lower his chances of being spotted by anyone in Micah’s cult.
Fresh air would help clear his head to decide his next steps. Chris walked upstairs to the top deck.
The Cloud Club was open and had a sign outside offering Bloody Marys, but the pool deck was blocked off with yellow tape. The porter he’d talked to while boarding the ship—Bobby something—stood guard at the door outside.
He held up a hand as Chris approached. “Pool’s closed today.” He wore the same orange polo as the other staff, but his was a size too small to show off how frequently he used the Aria’s workout room.
Guilt bubbled inside Chris. The same as any time he drove by a cop, despite having done nothing wrong. That impulse had grown worse since he’d escaped the overnight skyscraper and became determined to collapse the next building the Deviser sent over. His internet search history was literally that of a terrorist, so his brain irrationally jumped on any law enforcement activity as evidence that the jig was up, so to speak.
And apparently, a twenty-something in an orange polo, standing in front of yellow caution tape, could also trigger those alarms in his brain.
Chris took a deep breath. He and Pete had been up here last night, but Chris hadn’t had his equipment on him. If they knew about the explosives in his suitcase, they wouldn’t be up here.
Chris looked past Bobby to the pool deck, doing his best to look innocent and casual. “Fixing something?”
Nothing looked out of order. Blue chlorinated water lapped at the cement edges of the pool to the rhythm of the ship’s gentle movement. Enough plastic deck loungers to relax an army. Fake plants for some ambiance.
Three people stood close to each other, talking by the pool. Two wore the black shirts of the Aria’s crew. A man built larger than Bobby the porter, whose posture said ex-military. The woman next to him looked equally as dangerous. The man in the tie was short and wide, but his sure-footedness in dealing with the intense crew members put him comfortably in charge.
Bobby answered Chris’s question. “Just some routine maintenance.”
It took Chris a second to remember what he’d asked. He pointed to the security crew. “They don’t look like pool boys.”
“Look, I don’t know what they’re telling everybody yet, so just find somewhere else to relax for a while. I’m sure Captain Silva will update everyone later today.”
Chris’s gut sank again. “Update us on what?”
“It was an accident. That’s all.”
Chris tried to piece everything together. Someone heard gunshots five decks below. That couldn’t have come from up here. “Does this have something to do with the power outage?”
“Probably,” Bobby said. “How else do you drown in five feet of water?”
“Who drowned?” Chris asked, hoping it was random chance and not at all related to his own plans.
“I don’t know, some kid. Give the crew time to fill out the paperwork, and everything will go back to normal.”
Chris walked away without another word. On a ship full of retirees, there were only a few guests young enough to be called “kid” by the young porter. It had to be Pete.
But Pete wasn’t drunk last night. Bobby was right—there was no reason to drown in a shallow swimming pool. Even in the dark.
The last Chris saw Pete, he’d been heading straight for Nathaniel to report on Chris.
If this were an episode of Law & Order, Chris would suspect himself. He had a motive: keep Pete from warning the cult about him.
But Chris had gone to sleep after their conversation.
Had Nathaniel killed the kid? Why would he? Pete may have expressed the doubt that Chris put into his head, but that’d be too extreme. No way the old man would murder someone for asking if their faith in the Deviser was misplaced.
Or had Pete even got down off the top deck? They’d talked around midship. Chris had seen him walk towards the elevators at the stern, but he hadn’t actually seen him get on those elevators.
Maybe something had grabbed him—something from the overnight skyscraper.
That rang true more than any other possibility.
The threats in the skyscraper hadn’t wasted any time coming after Chris and the other explorers. The threats on this ship wouldn’t be any different.
The shipwide intercom system chimed. It was buzzy and muddled here in the stairwell, but Chris could make out the captain’s voice well enough.
“There will be a mandatory meeting for all guests in the Rhapsody Theater on deck seven at noon today. All guests are expected to attend while we discuss important matters.”
The message repeated twice more.
Things were moving faster than Chris had hoped. A drowned kid, a cult that may or may not know Chris was on board, gunshots in the casino. It all had to come from the Deviser. The Aria had a purpose, and it was building momentum.
If he could find a way to evacuate the ship safely, he would. But he needed to put the core of his plan into motion. The Aria needed to sink.
And he couldn’t let Nathaniel and his cult get in his way. He wanted to know what Nathaniel knew and what he was planning. Pete claimed the recently-elevated cult leader had a trinket that led him to “breaches” from the Deviser’s dimension.
Chris wanted that trinket.
It was time to break into his cabin. The mandatory guest meeting would be the perfect time.
22
Riley sat huddled under a blanket in an unused guest cabin on Deck Seven.
Morning sunbeams came in through the sliding glass door that led to the private balcony.
By the time security arrived last night, the monster starfish had disappeared. They tried to bring Riley down to the medical bay on Deck One, but she refused to get any closer to Deck Two. That’s where the starfish had come from. That�
�s where everything was coming from.
She squeezed her knees against her chest.
The room was dusty and humid. Without guests, it had been neglected by the cleaning staff. They’d turned the TV on for her, but nobody had changed the channel away from the cruise line’s ad for the ship she was already on.
The ship’s doctor put her poking and prodding tools back into a leather satchel. She grimaced at Riley. “I hope you feel better.” And then she left.
Riley’s feet were scratched up but not deep. That was her only physical wound.
Mentally, she felt like the ball in a pinball machine. Coming on the Aria’s Pacific crossing was already the biggest risk she’d taken in her life. Quitting her job, maxing out a credit card—all to steal back Dad’s watch from Uncle Nathaniel. And then, on top of that, the insanity of the lower decks and the suspicion that Nathaniel had something to do with this not being the original Aria.
So for the monster in the Deck Three hallway—the same thing that had been clinging to the hull—to crawl out of the floor, then murder those people right in front of her…
Riley wanted to go home. Her fears of being stuck in minimum wage forever seemed silly now. Serving coffee was better than death by giant starfish.
The intercom speaker on the ceiling chimed, and then Captain Silva told everyone there’d be a mandatory meeting at noon.
Riley laughed. She didn’t know which death the meeting would be about. She hoped it would cut the cruise short.
Nathaniel could keep the stupid watch. Riley could go home, back to her coffee shop job, and focus on mindfulness instead of actually improving her situation. No screams from behind locked doors. No mutated starfish crawling out of floors.
A sick feeling in Riley’s gut.
She didn’t want to give up. She only needed a few hours a night to get some kind of job qualification. Selling Dad’s watch would let her quit her delivery gig to give her that time. She had to keep going.
Nope. She didn’t let herself sit with that impulse. She hopped out of bed to admire the view out the glass doors. Open ocean—little whitecaps on the swells.
Giving up sucked. It made you feel like a loser. Like you’d be stuck with the worst parts of yourself and then die never having lived.
But if she got stubborn—if she still went after Dad’s watch, even suspecting that Nathaniel was somehow involved with the dangers of Deck Two—then she might die, whether or not philosophically she considered herself having lived.
People already had lost their lives. The boy her age with Nathaniel. The old lady enjoying herself at the slot machine last night. Her friend who tried to save her.
So Riley did her best to stamp down her impulse to stay determined.
It was time to give up.
A tap at the door, and then Captain Silva entered.
The small man had shaving nicks on his chin and circles under his eyes. He carried a tray of fruit and breakfast meats.
“Ms. Smith, I’m sorry to meet again so soon. I brought you breakfast. I didn’t know whether you’d have an aversion to food and want something light or if you’d be famished and want something greasy. I brought both extremes of the spectrum.” He offered a kind smile.
Riley took the tray. “I’m starving and nauseous. Let’s see what I keep down.”
“Let’s go outside and talk.” He led her outside onto the balcony.
The morning air was cool but still humid. Riley pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders. They sat on plastic chairs.
Riley watched the horizon, letting the gentle swells of the water’s surface calm her thoughts.
“I love the ocean,” Captain Silva said.
“Good career choice, then.” Riley popped a strawberry into her mouth. Juicy and flavorless.
“I have dreams of retiring to a Caribbean port and taking tourists fishing.”
“What’s stopping you?”
He helped himself to a sausage link. “Fear of change. Comfort in my position. This is a coveted career. One I worked hard for. My wife is proud of me. And she would not want to move from Portugal to Jamaica.”
Riley didn’t know anything about marriage or careers. She ate another tasteless strawberry.
Captain Silva cleared his throat. “I have already spoken with Jessica about what she witnessed in the casino last night.”
“The girl working?”
“Yes. Her version of events is very similar to yours. And so I find myself confused.”
“How could it be real, you mean?”
“Rather, what is it you both saw, that made you think you saw some sort of barnacle monster?”
Of course, he didn’t believe them. She couldn’t even blame him. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it.
“I saw the same thing climbing the hull yesterday. Near the bow on Deck Eight. I wasn’t drunk then. So the monster that chased me into the casino last night wasn’t an alcohol-induced hallucination.”
“Clearly not. I walked you to your meeting with Security Chief Bengtsson, and you were mostly sober. And of course, there are two people dead.”
Right. He had to believe something happened. There were corpses.
“Bengtsson suggested maybe you and Jessica are covering up a terrible thing that you have done together.”
Riley set the breakfast tray down onto her lap. “Ridiculous. That’s your chief of security? He thinks a guest and a poker chip counter teamed up to randomly murder an old couple?”
“They were brother and sister.” Captain Silva stood up to lean on the balcony railing. The wind caught a scrap of tissue that had sealed his shaving nick and blew it away. “Bengtsson does not believe you hurt anyone. He suggested it among a list of possibilities. We were coming up with anything that might make sense because your story does not.”
Riley exhaled. She wanted a shower. “No, it doesn’t make sense.”
“There are many tiny bruises on the deceased’s body. That matches your description of a large starfish with many tiny feet. And deep gouges in her abdomen, where her liver was removed. Eaten, I suspect, but the doctor wouldn’t hypothesize about that until we have a real medical examiner brought aboard.”
“What about the other body?”
“We haven’t found it yet. Footage shows it being dragged away.”
“Now you sound like you do believe me.”
“I believe you saw something horrific. I believe two people are dead, killed by a wild animal. The wounds suggest as much. But what is more likely? That a giant starfish came out of the floor and chased you down the hallway leaving nearly zero evidence? Or someone on this ship smuggled some sort of predator aboard?”
“Why’d you say ‘nearly’ zero evidence? Is there security footage?”
“The cameras have been acting up. We have one video from inside the casino. You run through the entrance, and then something chases you. There are some electrical artifacts in the footage when your pursuer passes by. Those artifacts return when the second body is being dragged away.”
An impossible monster that short circuits cameras. Sure, why not? “How would someone smuggle something that big onboard. Nobody’s luggage is that big.”
Captain Silva looked down at the ocean.
“Oh, you’re not talking about a guest.”
“I’m not, no.”
“Last night, you wouldn’t admit that the Aria is different from the advertised pictures. It’s a new ship. It must have just switched over. Maybe this thing was already on board when your crew took over.”
“Bengtsson and I are considering all possibilities.”
“How about the possibility of what the hell is on Deck Two?”
Captain Silva’s lips went tight. “There’s no reason to suspect it came from there.”
“What’s down there? Have you seen what’s going on below it?”
“You’ll have to take my word for it.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Like I hell I do. I saw that damned thin
g crawl through the floor out of Deck Two. Whatever you’re hiding down there, that’s what’s causing all this.”
“I am hiding nothing,” Captain Silva snapped, emphasizing the “I.”
“Then who is?”
“That’s none of your concern. You have dragged me away from the purpose of my visit.”
“Which is?”
“To convey the cruise line’s concern for your wellbeing, both physical and emotional.”
“Well, consider your corporate concern conveyed. I’m not signing any liability release.”
“My off-the-record advice would be that you shouldn’t sign any such thing. You could have a small but comfortable settlement after going through what you did.”
“Is that what you really came to say?”
“No. I would like to hear the details of what you experienced. Not just last night, but down on the lower decks, and outside on Deck Eight, as well.”
“You don’t want Bengtsson here to record everything and accuse me of murder?”
“This is for my own edification. I am unhappy with the… situation regarding Deck Two. I am captain of the Aria, but the cruise line owns the ship.”
“You don’t know what’s on Deck Two,” Riley realized. “You got orders from up top to leave it alone.”
Captain Silva plucked another sausage off the platter. “Please tell me what you’ve experienced thus far.”
Riley told him everything. She worried he’d lock her up for being crazy, but once the words started, they flowed.
Captain Silva stared out at the ocean. “Strange.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I will take what you’ve shared into consideration. To be entirely open with you, your story makes me worry about hallucinogens in our water.”
Riley started to protest.
“Except, of course,” he continued, “for the physical evidence I’ve seen. I will have to think some more.”
That was probably the best she could ask for.
“One more question,” Captain Silva turned around to lean back on the railing. “What is your relationship to our other guests with your same last name?”