SAM
‘Lucy?’ he said, unable to disguise the irritation in his voice. ‘What’s going on?’
He’d been enjoying a last few moments of solitude on the sofa back up in the sky lounge: a much-needed beat of silence after the chaos of the squall earlier, and his unsettling conversation with Eleni.
He was content biding his time alone – waiting for the minutes to tick by until Rory’s hour was up and he could return and force what he wanted out of him.
If only he had put a spy-cam in Nick and Eleni’s cabin. He’d not even considered planting something in Rory’s room, let alone anyone else’s. But if he’d actually done it, then he’d have known what was really going on. And that could have been useful for him too.
‘They’re nowhere to be found!’ Lucy interrupted, flailing her arms around desperately. ‘I’ve looked everywhere. I think they must all be trying to fix the power failure in the engine room. We’re running out of time …’
The crew – and Mark – nowhere to be found?
That was weird – shoddy from the captain, right after a squall.
But the urgent plea in Lucy’s voice was stirring him.
She clearly needed him – badly. This was a role he could step up to.
Wasn’t this who he’d always tried to be – wanted to be, if only his own selfish desires hadn’t taken over?
A protector of women; a hero; a saviour.
Sam knew he’d never be able to take on a guy as built as Nick by himself – but with Lucy and maybe even Eleni to help, and if they could manage to find Mark or one of the deckhands on the way, well, they stood a fighting chance.
‘All right – I’m coming,’ he said. He got up from the sofa and followed Lucy’s quick steps down the first staircase, then down again. She was right: it was like a ghost ship. There was no one to be seen.
As they descended, he caught a flash of colour somewhere close to Lucy’s wrist – as if her hands had taken on a weird blue tinge. He shrugged it off – the strange effect of the emergency lighting was playing tricks with his mind, probably.
Just as they reached the passageway below deck and approached Rory and Talia’s room, Lucy crouched to the ground for a moment near the doorway.
It was an odd movement – as though she was reaching for something – but then she quickly stood again and pressed her ear to the door of the room.
She was listening – and Sam did the same.
He heard nothing; the cabin was silent.
‘Look, I think we can open the door ourselves – the locks are deactivated with the power out,’ whispered Lucy.
As Sam turned the handle and began to ease the door open, Lucy thrust something into his other hand, something smooth and sharp. Sam ran his fingers all the way along it: a smooth, metallic surface, cool to the touch. This was a metal sculpture of some kind, with a sharp, pointed tip.
A weapon.
‘Hang on – what’s this – and where did it come from? Why do I need a—’
‘Just take it, Sam – please. It’s all I can find, and we don’t know what he’s capable of … I don’t want you getting hurt. Now, go – Talia might be running out of time. We need you.’
At those words, as well as the frantic tone in Lucy’s voice, Sam felt his chest expand.
They needed him. Wasn’t this proof of exactly what he’d been saying and doing all along?
He was stronger than these women – than any woman.
He was the one with the power now. And if he helped Eleni, no doubt he’d be able to use it later to his advantage in some way.
Clutching the metal sculpture in one hand, he pushed open the door to the cabin and stepped inside.
The room was almost completely in darkness; the curtains were closed and only a thin sliver of eerie red light from the passageway’s emergency panels helped him make out the shape of the bed, the wardrobe, the door to the bathroom …
But there was no Nick. No Talia. There was no attack going on …
He turned back to the doorway, where Lucy stood, cowering slightly.
‘They’re not here,’ Sam said. ‘There’s no one in the cabin.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘The bathroom … Look, can’t you see that?’
Sam peered through the doorway. Lucy was right, there was someone there: he could see the curve of shoulders and chest, the limbs splayed, head rolled to one side …
He took a deep breath. Heart pounding, he crept closer, the metal sculpture still clutched in his hand in case someone – Nick – jumped out at him in the dark.
He reached the bathroom door, stepped inside and knelt to the ground. Then he stretched out a slow, trembling hand; let out a whimper as his fingers touched the figure in front of him and came away wet and sticky …
This wasn’t Talia.
It was Nick. And he was … ‘What the fuck?’
The bathroom door slammed shut behind him; he turned towards it, yelled: ‘Lucy – open up – I can’t see properly—’
There was no reply.
Breathing heavily, Sam flailed as he tried to stand up. In his panic, he slipped on the wet, sticky marble and fell back down, dropping the sculpture to the floor.
Then with hideously uncanny timing, the lights came back on. Sam’s vision was flooded with a sight more horrifying than anything he could have imagined.
Nick, stabbed and lying in a deep pool of blood, his eyes rolled back in his head. Dead.
Now Sam was alone here, in the master stateroom’s en-suite bathroom, next to a sharp object and a bleeding dead body.
And then, before he’d even had time to think what to do, the door burst open.