Sea Sick: A Horror Novel Part 11

He caught up with her in the corridor. She was hurrying away but hadn't broken in to a run. Perhaps she never realised she'd been spotted.

Jack placed a hand on her shoulder and spun her around to face him."Why have you been hiding from me?"

She shrugged free of his grip. "I haven't been hiding. I've been coming here every night. You just haven't seen me."

"Okay," said Jack, trying to stay calm. "Why have you been coming here instead of coming to see me? I thought we were friends."

Tally laughed. It was a cruel sound. "We are not friends, Jack. We are just two lost souls floating aimlessly in the abyss."

Jack wrinkled his brow and said, "But you were the one that said there was a reason for it all, that there was a way to stop it. We haven't found the pathwalker yet. We can still stop all of this."

"We have not found the pathwalker because he does not want to be found. Whatever is happening on this s.h.i.+p is nothing to do with me. I wasn't chosen like you were, Jack. The only reason I'm even in this mess is because of my heritage. If I was not Romany then I would be as oblivious as everybody else. I wish I was."

"Me too," said Jack honestly, "but that's not how life goes. When it starts raining s.h.i.+t, it's not always up to us whether or not we have an umbrella."

Tally looked at Jack like he was mad, but then she cracked a smile and shook her head, obviously angry at him for getting past her acrimonious s.h.i.+elds.

"See?" said Jack. "It's easier to face all this with company I mean company that still remembers you every day. We shouldn't be alone in this, Tally."

"We'd soon get just as sick of each other as everybody else, Jack. Doesn't matter how much I like you, I don't want to spend the next thousand years with you."

"So you admit you like me then? Here I was thinking you were avoiding me."

Tally rubbed both her eyes with the palms of her hands. "G.o.d, Jack. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I just want it to be over. I want my life back. I have a daughter back home."

Jack felt his jaw tighten. "s.h.i.+t, Tally. You never told me that!"

The tears came quickly and unexpectedly so Jack went forward and held her. He wrapped his arms tight around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. If only there was something he could say...

"I need a drink," said Tally in a voice m.u.f.fled by the closeness of his chest.

"Okay," Jack agreed. "We'll go to the bar."

"No. I can't be around people at the moment. They just remind me of what I've lost. Do you have anything to drink in your cabin?"

Jack nodded. "Hope you like scotch."

Tally wrinkled her nose. "I suppose it will do. Long as it will get me drunk."

"Oh, it'll do that alright."

Jack took Tally to his room.

Half the bottle of Glen Grant was now gone and Jack's vision was bleary. He'd been drinking now, every day, for a couple of weeks, but his tolerance never increased. Every night at midnight the day reset and Jack's const.i.tution reverted back to how it was the day he had first boarded. When you considered the fact that he was still aging, it seemed a little unfair.

Tally seemed as drunk as he was. She was lying on the bed beside Jack and stared, transfixed, at the television set. Toy Story 3 was playing on the modest LCD and a big pink bear was stomping around a playroom like a tyrant while the other toys cowered. Jack wondered if the film would make Tally miss her daughter, so he pressed a b.u.t.ton on the remote and switched the channel to something else: an infomercial about Cannes their ever unreachable destination.

"So are you going to tell me what happened, Tally? Why did you disappear on me?"

Tally rolled onto her side and looked at him. "I...just needed some time alone. Some of the crew go to the Sports Deck for a drink at night so I thought I would join them, try to forget about things for a while. It worked for a few hours the first night and I even started to have fun. It was only staff members up there and none of them were sneezing or coughing. I thought it would be a good place to stay during the attacks. But..."

Jack nodded. He knew the story already. "At 8PM a bunch of children showed up?"

Tally seemed to recall the memory in vivid detail. Wrinkles appeared across her brow. "Yes. A couple of the children were under the weather, so sat on the side-lines with their parents. A lot of adults were also very ill. I knew then that things were going to get bad."

"And you were right," said Jack, remembering the trapped children from his own experience on the Sports Deck.

Tally continued. "When the attacks started, some of the children started leaking...leaking blood from their eyes. A couple members of the staff locked up the healthy children in the football enclosure to keep them safe. Without thinking, I ran in after them. It wasn't as safe as I'd hoped.

"We were trapped in there for hours, Jack, while mutilated children and their torn-apart families tried to get in at us. There was so much blood up against the gla.s.s that, after a while, I couldn't even see anymore. I could just hear the moans and whining of the infected people. The dead people."

"You think the infected are dead when they attack?" Jack had made the similar summation himself long ago ever since meeting Doctor Fortune.

Tally nodded emphatically. "I saw a man with his intestines hanging out. He kept tripping on them as he walked around the deck. There was no way he was alive. The infection kills them and then they get up again and start killing. It is evil, Jack. Whatever it is, and whoever created it, is pure, malevolent evil. Being with all those children, trapped and scared, while other children dead children tried to get at them, it... it broke me. I kept going back, hoping I could do something to stop it, but it happens the same way every time. There's no way to stop it. And now I can't get it out of my head, Jack."

Jack looked at her and could see the damage written across her face. Even if things worked out, some way, in the end, neither of them would ever be the same. A part of their souls, their spirits, had been broken.

"I know," he said to her. "I've changed too. I think it would be impossible not to have. We still need to put a stop to it, though. Someone is responsible and they need to pay."

Tally nodded at him. It seemed as if she was finally back on his side. "You still think it has something to do with what is down in the cargo?"

"No," said Jack. "Donovan showed me everything. He's as clueless about all this as we are. The cargo is full of money and pharmaceuticals normal pharmaceuticals. The money is just a payoff to some dodgy Tunisian official. Plain old corruption."

"How can you be so sure he is telling the truth, Jack? He shot you."

Jack shrugged. "I've spent the last two weeks getting to know the guy. He seems on the level."

"Maybe it's just an act."

Jack frowned. "What are you getting at? What happened after Donovan shot me? He said that you two talked about things, so you know he's like us, right? That he keeps repeating the day like us?"

Tally nodded. "I know. He told me. He was expecting us that second night when he shot you. He planned to get rid of you so that he could be alone with me. Killing you was okay, he said, because it wouldn't be real just like what he was planning on doing to me."

Jack's stomach sloshed. "What do you mean? What are you saying?"

Tally looked Jack in the eyes just as her lids filled with tears. "What do you think?"

Jack lost his breath. He had shared a drink with Donovan, night after night, and the whole time he had been hiding the fact that he had...that he had...

Jack couldn't even say the word. He closed his eyes and shook the thought away before it destroyed him. It hurt too much to think that his mistake, getting shot by Donovan, had cost Tally so dearly. Jack being killed was indeed temporary (except for the bruising the next day), but what Donovan had done to Tally would be with her forever. There was no reset for rape. No wonder she had hid herself away from Jack; she didn't want to be reminded.

Jack held Tally in his arms and they kissed. Neither of them instigated it; it just happened. They kissed until midnight stopped them.

Day 216.

Jack awoke in a rage, but managed to calm himself down as memories of Tally, lying beside him, soothed him. She was gone now, of course, but somehow he still felt the warmth of her body next to his. He hoped that he could find her again today, that she would not resume her avoidance of him. Although, if she does, I don't blame her. I've been spending all of my time with the man that raped her.

The clock read 1403. Jack had wasted a few minutes in a fuzzy daze as he thought about Tally, but now that those thoughts were gone his mind returned to vengeance. Donovan was an immoral beast that needed putting down. Jack had dealt with monsters like him many times before, during his career as a police officer. He should have been able to spot the man's true nature, but instead he'd spent two weeks making merry with him. It made Jack feel sick.

I'm going to make him pay.

Jack got out of bed and decided to forego his usual shower. He got dressed immediately from the clothes in his luggage and also removed the unopened Glen Grant bottle. Then he stormed out of his room towards the elevators.

On his way to the upper decks, Jack could not keep still. He paced the small enclosure of the lift and cursed beneath his breath. He felt unsteady, his body coursing with adrenaline, but he also felt strong and powerful, ready for action. It was even possible to put aside the sickness and anxiety he felt as his heightened senses brought with them feelings of nausea.

The elevator doors opened and Jack leapt through them. He had only meant to step forward, but his anger made his every move erratic with aggressive twists, flinches and twitches. The fury inside of him was like nothing he'd ever felt before. By making Jack trust him, Donovan had made him feel like he had somehow played a part in Tally's torment.

Jack was going to find Donovan and kill him. Then, when the day reset, he was going to kill him again. And then again and again for as long as this whole thing lasted. Donovan would spend the rest of his days suffering by Jack's hand. That was the only way to gain even a modest amount of justice.

But it will still never be enough.

Jack expected Donovan would already be en route to one of the s.h.i.+p's drinking establishments by now. Carlo's Casino seemed to be the man's favourite hangout if the past couple of weeks were anything to go by.

The cosy, green-carpeted games room was on the top deck of the s.h.i.+p: the Eagle Deck. Jack had drunk at the bar there a few times now, with and without Donovan. It was a lively place.

But the casino was empty this early in the day and the few gambling tables were mostly unoccupied as Jack entered. Over by the roulette table, though, was exactly who he was looking for.

Donovan seemed pleased to see Jack and lifted his gla.s.s in the air. "Hey, pardner! How you doing?"

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Jack sprinted across the room and made it over to Donovan before the man even had time to lower his drink. He was completely unprepared for the blow from the Glen Grant bottle, which cracked his skull right above his left eyebrow. The bottle did not break.

As Donovan fell backwards onto the floor, the small gathering of people inside the casino screamed and backed away to the corners of the room. Jack looked down at Donovan, who seemed shocked and confused. He held a hand out in front of him defensively. "What the...what the h.e.l.l, pardner? I thought we were friends. Why would you..."

"You're going to regret the day you ever laid a finger on Tally, you piece of s.h.i.+t."

Before Donovan had a chance to reply, Jack bashed his skull in until the heavy whisky bottle finally broke. He was quickly arrested and spent the remainder of the day in the brig.

Tomorrow, Jack intended to do the same thing all over again.

Day 234.

Jack had taken care of Donovan a dozen times now. Sometimes Jack would fail to find him, while other times he would find the man hiding out in one of the bars or trying to blend into the crowd on the Sun Deck. Whenever Jack spotted Donovan he attacked with a righteous fury that only seemed to grow each time they met. Sometimes Jack would bludgeon Donovan to death like he had with the Glen Grant bottle; sometimes he would use a knife; and the last time he had thrown the man overboard. But no matter how many times he killed Donovan it never made Jack feel any better.

At first Donovan had fought back Jack's murderous advances, but after failing to defend himself even with his concealed handgun the man had resigned himself to being murdered. He became more interested in hiding from Jack than trying to stop him, but Jack had become an unstoppable menace, unwilling to accept any outcome other than Donovan's death.

But he was already beginning to tire of the violence. It had left a ragged dent in his soul and clawed at the sickly wound that had been opened years before. Jack had allowed rage to overcome him once before when Laura had died. It had left him numb inside, broken and weary.

Maybe what he needed more than Donovan's death was some answers. Perhaps Jack needed to understand the pervert's motivations in order to gain closure. He wanted to hear Donovan beg for his life, repent for his sins. Simply killing the guy was not enough anymore.

Jack checked all of the s.h.i.+p's bars and all of the restaurants, but Donovan was nowhere to be found. It was early in the day so most of the pa.s.sengers were outside in the sun, which made it easier to search the Kirkpatrick's interior. But after almost two hours of looking, Jack had come up empty. Wherever Donovan was right now, he wasn't in plain sight.

Where the h.e.l.l would you be hiding? You know I'm coming for you, so where would you feel safest?

The answer came to Jack and seemed obvious once he had it. There was only one place where Donovan had managed to get the better of Jack. One place where he knew the layout enough to have the upper hand...

He's cooped up in the cargo area.

Currently, Jack was standing inside the Beluga, which was the s.h.i.+p's al a carte eatery. It was lavishly decorated with chandeliers and a wall-mounted swordfish. The tables were set with black and white linens and the silver cutlery sparkled. It was the last room that Jack had searched for Donovan, but had simply been another dead end.

Jack headed for the door, but noticed Ivor and his family sitting at one of the tables. Ivor was staring into s.p.a.ce, straight-backed and unmoving in his chair. Vicky was holding Heather in her arms and seemed close to tears. The little girl looked terribly ill.

For reasons unknown to him, Jack was compelled to take a seat at their table. He wanted to give them rea.s.surance, even if any that he did give would only be empty lies. Fate was going to be unkind to this family, but showing them a measure of kindness would not be a bad thing.

"Is she okay?" Jack asked Ivor, nodding towards his little girl.

Ivor broke away from his thoughts and looked down at his shallow-breathing, fitfully-sleeping daughter. "Yes, she's fine. Just a bit under the weather. Who are you?"

Jack smiled at the man and offered his hand in a friendly manner. "My name is Jack Wardsley. I'm a police officer in the UK. I just saw your daughter and wondered if there was anything you needed?"

"I think we need to take her to the doctor," said Vicky. She was so focused on Heather that she didn't even look at Jack.

"She's fine," said Ivor. Then he stared at Jack with a stern look that could have only been developed through a lifetime's service in the armed forces. "What exactly do you want, friend?"

Ivor seemed distrustful of Jack and annoyed by his presence. Jack thought back to the night Ivor and his family had been attacked. Ivor had mentioned something about Vicky turning herself into the police.

Maybe it has something to do with what's going on. I should try to find out.

Jack returned Ivor's stare and made sure not to blink. It was power struggle that military men like Ivor would often use to measure an opponent. "The police know what you're planning," Jack bluffed."Running away to Germany isn't the smartest idea."

Ivor's stern expression immediately diluted to one of fear. His steely demeanour dissolved as he spluttered, "What...how?"

"I just did what I thought was best," Vicky blurted. "The man deserved it!"

Ivor glared at his wife. "Shut up, woman!"

Jack decided it was imperative to keep Vicky talking she was the weak link. If the conversation fell too heavily on Jack then it would become obvious that he didn't really know anything and that his claims were merely bluffs. "Tell me about it, Vicky," he said rea.s.suringly. "Help me understand."

Vicky started sobbing weakly, but was controlled enough to answer him. "G.o.d, you even know my name? The jig really is up, isn't it?"

"I don't know," said Jack. "I'm the only police officer onboard. Tell me what happened and I'll make a decision about what I'm going to do."

"What do you mean?" Ivor asked. "If you're with the police then the only thing you're planning to do is arrest my wife. Well, you'll have to get through me first, my friend."

Jack ignored Ivor's posturing and kept his focus squarely on his wife. "Just tell me the story, Vicky. I'm listening."

"Okay," she said, sighing in a way that suggested she was preparing for an emotional release. "I'm a nurse at the Alexandria Hospital in Redditch. You know it?"

Jack nodded. He knew of it vaguely. Redditch was a moderate-sized town outside of his usual policing area, but he knew the hospital there had a bad reputation and was regularly at threat of closure.

"Well," Vicky continued. "Most of my s.h.i.+fts are on the ICU ward, where I look after people in critical condition. I've been on that ward for a couple years now and I'm one of the most senior nurses on the floor."

"Okay," said Jack. "Go on."

"A few weeks ago they brought in a guy called Nigel Moot."

"Nigel Moot?" Jack knew exactly who she was talking about. Nigel Moot was a prolific serial killer; the UK's first high-profile murderer since Harold s.h.i.+pman. The man had raped and killed over two-dozen women in the UK, and many more throughout Europe via his job as a long-distance lorry driver. The last Jack had heard a week or so before he'd boarded the Spirit of Kirkpatrick Nigel Moot had died in hospital from a severe knife wound to the stomach. His a.s.sailant was unidentified, but it was a.s.sumed that it was an unknown, surviving victim of an attack.