Elysia
Daniel Yetman November 16, 2010
Weighing over 50,000 gross tons The Marélia cuts through the ocean’s surf at a slow but steady pace. As the sun sets and the moon rises passengers move from their internal dwellings to the outer rails of the vessel. The large cruise ship floats hundreds of miles from the nearest point of land—it’s truly alone in a vast world.
With no light pollution in the area, constellations roam freely through the sky. The majority of the passengers recognize Ursa Major and Ursa Minor but only a few of the more experienced star gazers recognize the advanced star patterns.
Not every passenger is drawn to the ships outer decks, on the third floor a handful of passengers finish their dinner in the dining room.
“Chicken again?” An older gentleman asks his wife, not expecting a response.
“Don’t worry, only one more day and we’ll be home again. I guess they’re starting to run out of meals.”
“The chicken is dry, it’s always dry.”
“Then put some gravy on it, honey.”
Unsettled the man drowns his chicken breast in the dark sauce.
“Better?” His wife asks.
“No.” He responds.
The man, named Martin, looks around the near empty dining hall; only eight other passengers remain besides him and his wife. The room is large and can probably sit close to 300 people when full; right now it’s so empty every voice carries fluently around the room and no conversation is completely private.
Slightly to the left of the man there is a young couple laughing and eating supper. They act like they are newlyweds although the two aren’t married. They both have dirty blonde hair and are quite similar in appearance. The man has short hair and glasses while the woman’s hair tumbles just past her shoulders. At quick glance the two seem to be in love, but of course appearances only tell half the story. They laugh at each other’s jokes and the woman places her hand on the man’s forearm when she smiles.
Martin gaze is drawn away from the couple and he stares at the staircase behind him. It is the centerpiece piece of the room and cascades down from the fourth floor. The staircase is split in the middle and there’s a large wooden door with golden handles; it leads to the third floor bedrooms. The carpet on the stairs, like the carpet in the entire dining room is red and most of the trim is decorated gold.
There are fifty tables in total, each one is round and sits six people. The room in its entirety is round as well, with a stage at the front and kitchen doors to the left. There was a band playing earlier this evening but they have long stopped. The mostly white kitchen is empty too; all of the cooks have gone home except for one who sits by the stage with a half empty plate of today’s main course. He stares intently at a small black and white photo that he holds between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. It’s a picture of the girl he loved more than 25 years ago. He wears a large white hat and all white clothing. There’s a yellow stain on his chest and burn marks on his sleeves. He is an average height and slightly above average in weight. Every time he exhales his curly mustache blows upwards. He looks like a man who has led a sad life—one of constant chasing, perhaps chasing the girl in the photo.
Directly behind him at the next table over a young single girl resides. She doesn’t even pick at the half eaten chicken breast on her plate but instead stares off into the distant wall. Her mascara is smudged and a pile of stained tissues are thrown callously on the table next to her plate. She holds a purple phone in her hand and seems to be waiting for a message of vital importance. She grasps the phone as if it is her entire life.
Martin’s gaze lingers on her; he must admit she is pretty. Long black hair cascades over her shoulders, curled slightly at the end and starting to fall in front of her eyes. She’s wearing a red dress that’s cut short; if he was twenty years younger (and not married) he would definitely consider talking to her. Around her eyes mascara runs and it is clear that she has recently been crying.
His eyes stay fixed on her for too long and Martin’s wife notices to diversion of attention. Martin looks back at her and stares into her eyes. They’re stale. His love for her has long dissipating and her looks have faded. She views him in much the same way: boring, pretentious, and a couple years past his expiration date. The look she gives him some nights is one that says she wants him dead. In all honesty he wants her dead too.
He breaks her icy stare and scans the room again, close to the young couple is an old man eating alone. He has a grey beard that almost reaches the table and short hair less than a centimeter thick. Surprisingly for a man his age he only has a slight bald spot near the back. His hands are rugged and scared; they tell seven decades worth of stories. He has a red pen in his hand and seems to be writing on his napkin.
There’s another older gentleman sitting by the next table over, Martin recognizes him as the Ship Captain that was introduced before the transatlantic cruise began. Right now he’s out of uniform and off duty, even so, he still has an air of authority about him. He’s a solid man, roughly six feet tall and close to 250lb’s. He has a short white beard that’s well groomed and short hair to match. His eyes are piercing and stern, although, for his tough exterior he seems like a kind man, caring and direct. He is one to help the poor and lend a helping hand when needed. He truly is a gentleman.
The last two people in the room are currently dancing next to the front stage, another young couple in their twenties. The man wears a black sports jacket and the woman wears a long blue dress with matching earrings. Yesterday Martin saw the same couple on the balcony of the fourth floor, they were arguing quite loudly, he missed what it was about but he thought it was about the woman flirting with several of the crew members; he may be mistaken though.
Martin eyes return back to his own table, to his wife then at the plate of food in front of him. He sighs and picks up his fork, intending on finishing the rest of the chicken. The dry, overcooked chicken is the last thing he ever sees because, without warning, the lights go out and a sharp scream pierces the once calm air as one of the women shrieks in surprise.
“Martin, are you there?” His wife asks him but he doesn’t respond.
On the other side of the room chairs and tables sound like they are flipping over as chaos ensues.
Voices blend together and reality becomes twisted; time no longer remains constant—it fast-forward’s and rewinds; speeds up and slows down. The last thing Martin hears is a pair of foot steps behind him and heavy breathing.
“Who’s there?” He asks but nobody answers.
Instantaneously everything goes quiet and Martin’s life come to a premature end. His breathing becomes heavy then stops. His heart rate skyrockets and then freezes. He dies without dignity, his face pressed into to half eaten plate of food.
***
The lights return on several minutes later and Martin’s wife is the first to scream—she passes out in her chair and the man who was eating dinner with his wife at the next table over, Dallas, tries to catch her before her head hits the table. He misses and a large gap opens up on her forehead as her face cracks the wood. Dallas’ wife, Marie, is the next to scream.
Face down in a pool of blood Martin lies back in his chair with his mouth open. There’s a large, open wound in his chest where he has clearly been stabbed. The crimson liquid drips from his shirt to the floor, creating a puddle beneath him. All eight onlookers share the same look of surprise and terror Martin’s wife did before she passed out.
Dallas is the first person to examine the body, although his act is redundant. He places the woman who fainted back in her chair and checks Martin for a pulse by placing his right hand against the dead man’s neck.
“Nothing…” He says out loud.
“Dallas…” His wife, Marie, says while gripping his arm tightly.
“We need to call somebody, do something… anything!” The pretty girl with smudged mascara says.
“We’re not going anywhere.” The ship Captain says loudly.
“What do you mean?” The girl asks.
“There’s a man dead in front of us and we have no idea who killed him… Now if we leave then we are all going to be assumed to be guilty and are all going to be under inspection. One of us murdered this man and we need to find out who did this.”
The cook speaks next, he turns facing the Captain. “Why would any of us kill this man, I’m sure nobody here has even met this guy before let alone want him dead. It makes no sense.”
“Well, look at his chest. It’s clear that he has been stabbed.” Dallas says while pointing at the corpse.
The girl in the red dress wipes away the mascara that keeps running down her with a black stained tissue; she begins to hyperventilate. The older man with the long grey beard who was eating alone puts his hand on her shoulder and tries to comfort her.
“How do you know it was one of us?” Says the gentleman who was dancing with his wife before the lights went out.
“What’s your name?” Asks the captain.
“Ben, Ben Clarke and this is my wife Katelyn.” He points to the woman whose hand is being crushed beneath his. .
“Are you retarded Ben?” The room goes silent.
“There are two ways out, up the stairs to the fourth floor and straight to the third floor rooms. In either case we would have heard the chimes above the doors ring. I didn’t hear them, did any of you?” Everybody shakes their heads.
“It was an inside job…” Katelyn says, her voice trailing off.
“The killer is among us, one of the eight of us—and we know that he was stabbed, meaning there must be a knife somewhere.” Dallas muses.
“There are knives in the kitchen, and guess which one of us is the only one with access to the kitchen?” Ben says staring straight at the cook.
“The Captain was right, you are retarded. I hope you die next. Any of us could have had time to sneak into the kitchen when the lights went out. Besides where would I be hiding it? I have don’t have any pockets.” He pats down his white outfit to prove himself.”
While Ben and the cook are bickering Dallas and his wife step away from the melee of people and walk towards the light switch on the far wall.
“You didn’t kill him did you?” Dallas asks his wife.
“No, did you?”
“Nope.”
“Good, who do you think did?”
“It could have been anyone of the six of them; I guess it’s even possible that it was his wife even though she passed out.”
The two stop talking when they reach the light; it’s flicked upwards.
“Hmmm…” Dallas trails off.
“What is it?”
“When the lights came back on I noticed Ben standing next to the light switch, he was the one who turned the light back on.”
“So?”
“Well if the light is on now and Ben flicked this switch upwards then is must have been facing downwards before—”
“Meaning that Ben new the lights were physically turned off and that it wasn’t an electrical issue?”
“Yes it’s possible.”
“Could it have been Ben then?”
Dallas looks over his right shoulder and studies Ben. He doesn’t seem like the type of man who is well liked. He’s loud, obnoxious and is the first person to try to place blame. Even now he still questions the cook.
“Go ask him.” Marie asks.
“Yes, I’ll go ask him if he’s the killer.” Dallas laughs and staggers back towards the group.
“Ben, how did you know where the light switch was?”
“What?”
“How did you know where it was?”
“I just felt around for one…”
“How did you know somebody turned them off and that it wasn’t a technical issue?”
“I didn’t, I assumed …”
“Well how—wait somebody is missing?” Dallas scans the room.
“Yes several people are missing. My wife and that other girl, the one wearing all that eye shadow or whatever went to the bathroom and the captain went to make sure everybody else stays off the third floor for the time being.” Says Ben
“One of them could be the killer.” Dallas states coldly.
“So could you.” Ben adds cynically.
“Good point.”
***
“How are you feeling now?” Ben’s wife asks the young girl.
“Much better, thanks.” She responds
“That’s good; I’m Stefanie by the way.”
“Oh, I’m Katelyn.” She says smiling.”
The two girls walk down the third floor hallway searching for the bathroom. The carpet in the hall is a crimson-burgundy color and there is a strange aroma floating through the air, it smells like vanilla mixed with cinnamon. On either side of the hall, about ten meters apart, there are room doors with the number 3050 to 3150, even numbers on the right side and odd numbers on the left side.
“There has to be a bathroom here somewhere.” Stefanie says.
“Yeah, maybe we should just break into one of the rooms. Both girls laugh.
Eventually they come across a bathroom door about half way down the hall. The door squeaks as they enter the room.
“Who do you think did it?” Asks Katelyn.
“I don’t know, I can’t picture anybody doing it, everyone seems sensible enough.
“I think it’s that old guy, the cook.”
“Why do you think it was him?”
“I just get a bad feeling from him; he’s creepy.”
“Ah, he doesn’t seem that bad… maybe it was suicide.”
“Maybe, I don’t see how that’s possible though.”
“Ugh I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Says Stefanie.
“Okay let’s change the subject. Where are you headed?” Asks Katelyn.
While brushing hair out of her eyes and looking in the mirror Stephanie pulls a pamphlet out of her pocket and hands it to Katelyn.
“Dominican Republic eh?”
“Yes, Ben and I are heading there. We’re staying there for two weeks before flying back to New York.”
“Oh right on, sounds like it should be fun.”
“What about you?”
“I’m heading to Orlando.”
“I see, why Orlando?”
“Err… It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’m not in any rush.” Katelyn says with a smile.
“Well I know I may sound a little crazy, maybe more than a little crazy but that city owes me a lot. I was born in Gainesville and moved to Orlando when I was six years old. I loved that city; it was the only place I could ever come home. I met my first love there when I was 15—”
“What was his name?” Katelyn interjects.
“Brian, Brian Taylor. He was 16 at the time; looking back I guess we were just kids. I didn’t even know what love was but now, looking back, I know I truly did love him. He understood me, and listened. When he kissed me I knew he cared, passion radiated through his whole body.”
“Wow…”
“Unfortunately shortly after, my family and I moved to Scottsdale, it’s not so far but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. We spoke on the phone for the first few months but the frequency of our calls diminished until we lost contact. A month ago he sent me a message asking me if I would come and see him, at first I was hesitant but eventually I agreed. I went to Orlando and it was like we never missed a step, our lust was rekindled.”
“That’s so romantic.” Katelyn laughs sincerely.
“We decided to go on a cruise together, from New York, back to Orlando where I would move in with him. We were supposed to meet at JFK but he never showed up. I waited for three hours after the time we were supposed to meet. Stefanie’s voice turns bitter.
“Eventually he messaged me; he said he didn’t think that the trip was such a good idea and he said he found peace in his life without me.”
“And you came on the trip anyway?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do once you get there?”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“What?” Katelyn laughs nervously.
“I’m joking.” Responds Stefanie. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do to be perfectly honest.”
“Wow, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“It’s okay, but anyways I think I’m heading back to the dining room, I’ll talk to you later.”
Stephanie leaves the bathroom and closes the door behind her. Katelyn stays and moves towards the mirror; she starts to fix her hair and wash her face. She thinks about Stefanie and how sincere her story seemed. Even when she said she was going to kill Brian she seemed sincere…
A figure appears behind her as she has her head bowed into the basin. When she looks up, into the mirror, she locks eyes with the assailant behind her.
“It’s you isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
It’s the last word she ever hears before her a life quickly ends on behalf of an already blood stained knife. She manages to scream before her death but by the time anybody comes to her aid the killer has already escaped.
***
“I’m scared.” Marie says without any emotion in her voice.
Dallas hugs her close, patting her on the back. He kisses her behind her left ear, a gesture that has become comforting over the years.
“Don’t worry; it will all be over soon enough.” He says.
“I hope so.” She puts her head between her knees and closes her eyes. The couple sits on the main staircase that leads to the fourth floor. They are isolated enough to be considered alone but if they walked three steps downwards they would be able to see the rest of the entourage. They sit in silence for nearly fifteen minutes before Dallas hears the scream.
He breaks into a run as soon as he hears it but by the time he, and the others, get to the bathroom Katelyn is already dead on the floor.
Dallas is the first to see the body but the captain and cook quickly catch up to him. The three men stare in awe at the lifeless face. Her face is white but oddly enough she looks calm.
“Who is it?” Ben walks into the room looking more curious than afraid.
Dallas freezes, as do the other two men. None of them have the heart to tell Ben that his beloved has passed away.
Finally, after what feels like a century but in reality is no more than a couple of seconds, Ben pushes through the crowd and drops to his knees. He stares into her eyes and chants her name repeatedly. Sobbing, he puts his ear on her chest and attempts to bring her back to life. The man who, moments before had seemed pompous and arrogant to Dallas is now a broken shell of a man, quickly losing all sense of dignity.
The captain puts his hand on Ben’s shoulder but Ben vomits on the ground. The captain quickly withdraws his hand. Ben wipes his lips clean and kisses Marie on the lips, a lingering kiss that’s probably more passionate than any when she was alive. Nobody can look away from the pitiful man and the wench beneath him. When he finally returns to his feet he searches scans the room for Stefanie. When he finds her he grabs her by the throat and pushes her against the wall.
“You did this!” Ben yells at her hysterically.
“No… no.” She cries, barely able to get the words out of her mouth (partially because of her own emotion and partially because of the hand gripping her neck.
It takes all the strength of the cook and captain to rip Ben off of her. He spits profanities at her as they attempt to pull his hands tight behind him. Stefanie cries.
Ben isn’t alone in his suspicions; all eyes are on her as she stares back into the crowd. She swallows hard and explains her story. She tells them everything, starting from when she went to the bathroom with Katelyn. She tells her entire story of heartbreak, how she trying to start a new life and forget the man she has been in love with half her life. She vividly paints a picture of the last time she had seen Katelyn alive.
***
The sincerity of Stefanie’s story is enough to convince nearly everybody that she didn’t kill Katelyn. The group of survivors separate and take time to clear their heads. Stefanie sits in the dining room away from everybody else.
“Hey how are you doing?” She looks up, surprised to hear anybody.
“Not great, two people have been killed and who knows whose next.” She looks the old man in the eyes.
“I know, but we’ll get through this. I’m Robert by the way.” He reaches his hand out in a handshake gesture but she doesn’t respond to it.
“I bet it’s you; you seem awful quiet.”
“I’m quiet because I don’t know anybody here. So you story… Is it true?”
“What story?”
“The one about you and that other guy… Brian.”
“Yes it’s true, why?”
“I know what it’s like to have a broken heart.”
“Do you?”
Robert reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture of his late wife. She has short black hair and a kind face. She wears a red floral dress and is sitting underneath a large oak tree during a dwindling summer.
Stefanie reaches over and takes the picture. She examines it for several seconds, studying every detail of her face.
“She’s beautiful.” She hands the photo back.
“She was beautiful.”
“What happened?”
“Cancer, you know how it is. I guess you could say it’s the most dangerous killer of all.” He smiles and she smiles back.
Stefanie and Robert talk for nearly an hour uninterrupted. They talk about small things, simple everyday routines but their conversation quickly becomes more existential.
Their conversation is inevitably ended with a scream, it’s a distant scream, barely audible but the sound of terror has become routine. In her heightened sense of awareness, Stefanie looks in every direction. She’s not overly surprised to see Ben falling past the window. He hits the water hard. The most disturbing part is he’s dead before he breaks the surface. Only visible to Stefanie, the only one watching him fall, blood sprays from the back of his head. He instantly sinks below the surface but the screams of passengers on the upper deck become progressively louder. The screams turn into chatter as the mass of people try to figure out what just happened.
By the time Robert turns in his seat to look out the window Ben is long out of sight. The only hint that he just died comes from the single tear rolling down Stefanie’s right cheek. The captain and cook run into the room panting.
“A passenger just jumped off the starboard bow” The captain yells.
“Ben…” Stefanie says meekly.
“What’s that?” The captain asks.
“It was Ben.” Dallas and his wife walk into the room just as she utters Ben’s name.
“So I guess he’s not the killer…” Dallas says.
“But what if he was?” The cook asks.
“What if it was like a murder-suicide type of deal and after killing that guy and his wife he killed himself?”
“There’s no way to know…” The captain drifts off in thought.
“Well we’ll know when somebody else is killed.” The cook responds bitterly.
Another piercing screams breaks the air.
“She’s gone!” Yells Marie.
Dallas grabs his wife’s shoulders to calm her. “Who’s gone?”
“The woman, the woman whose husband was murdered, she was sitting at the table unconscious… and now she’s gone.”
“Did anybody see her leave?” Asks the captain.
Nobody responds, instead they look around the room expecting somebody else to speak up.
“This is madness!” Exclaims the cook. The six survivors stare each other down nobody twitching a muscle, fearing the appending blame will be placed on them.
***
Dallas’s eyes dance back and forth across the room. He sits with his palms face down on one of the dining room tables, his wife sitting next from him. Across the table the captain and cook sit with their hands on the table as well. Stefanie sits between the cook and Dallas and Robert sits between Marie and the Captain.
Dallas is unsure which of the five other passengers is the killer but by process of elimination he can narrow it down. He is positive that it isn’t his wife; she hasn’t left his side since the trip has begun. That leaves four possibilities, and of course, the fifth extraneous possibly that somehow it was the wife of the initial murder victim.
The captain seems like an unlikely culprit, what would his motive possibly be? This is his ship; he would have no reason to kill anybody. The cook seems to be in the same situation, being a crew member he couldn’t possibly have a legitimate motivation. That leaves two people, Stefanie and Robert. Robert seems like a respectable man but perhaps underneath his soft exterior rests a ruthless killer. As far as Dallas knows he is travelling alone, he could easily be a hitman for a secret society. But there’s also a good chance he’s just an old man travelling alone.
The final, and seemingly most logical, culprit is Stefanie. She’s travelling alone and her story about searching for love could easily be made up—it sounded made up anyway. Maybe her story was true and her failed attempts at love have led her to this. She was with Katelyn when she was killed…
Dallas’ eyes linger on her; he examines her every move. Her hands fidget frantically underneath the table and she appears to be biting her bottom lip.
“I’ll be right back.” Stefanie says unexpectedly.
“Where are you going?” Asks Dallas.
“I need to stretch my legs, this is all too stressful.” She looks as if she is about to cry. Before Dallas tells her that she shouldn’t leave the cook speaks and she slips away.
“Is anybody hungry? There’s food in the kitchen, I think I’ll go grab some.”
“Yes, now that you mention it I am kind of hungry. Says Robert.
“Is there any chicken left?”
“I think so; I’ll bring back anything that’s left.” The cook leaves the table and walks hastily towards the kitchen.”
With the cook and Stefanie gone the four remainders stare into the middle of the table. The only noise is Dallas’ foot tapping against the wooden floor, a side effect of his restless leg syndrome.
“I think I’m going to walk around too.” He abruptly stands up, almost knocking over his chair in the process.
He walks towards the front of the dining room and leans against the stage where earlier this evening a pianist, violinist and harpist were setting the mood with soft classical music—Canon in D still floats through the hall.
Stefanie stands leaning against a window frame staring out into black water. Dallas watches as the cook walks past her pushing a metallic cart with leftovers. The cook stops and puts his hand on Stefanie’s shoulder and she turns around quickly, clearly on edge. He says something to her but from where he is Dallas can’t read his lips.
***
Stefanie gently wipes her nose against the back of her hand and stares out into the blackness. She wants to be anywhere but here, life as little as two hours ago was normal and she was on her way to Orlando to start a new life. Now she doesn’t even feel like living the life she has.
“Hey, you doing okay?” A hand lands on her shoulder and she instinctively turns around to be met with the cook.
“Oh yes, I’m fine.” She lies.
“Oh I don’t think I caught your name, I’m Stefanie.”
“Mark, Mark Layman.” He responds.
“Scary ain’t it?” He asks.
“Yes I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I know it’s hard, watching three people get murdered, whether you knew them or not.”
“Yes it really—” She stops mid-sentence. “Wait, three people?”
“Yes three, that older gentleman, Katelyn and Ben.”
“How did you know Ben was murdered? Everyone else is saying he jumped.”
“Well… I mean, he was murdered wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but I was the only person at the window who saw him falling. I never told anyone that he was already dead before he drowned.”
Mark doesn’t say anything.
Stefanie’s eyes grow wide. The man before her seemed social moments before but now he seems terrifying. His eyes are like coal and he portrays no emotion. He now seems to loam above her even though he’s about the same height she is.
“It was you wasn’t it?”
He takes a step towards her and her mind goes blank—time moves in slow motion. She screams the only thing she can think of.
“MURDER!”
Dallas who’s only about twenty meters away is the first to arrive; he sees Mark and instantly knows what is happening.
Mark is quick for a man of his size though, and by the time Dallas arrives Mark sucker punches him and runs down the hall and out of sight.
***
“What… What happened?” Dallas says as he regains consciousness.
“He’s hiding somewhere.”
“Who’s hiding?”
“The cook, Mark.”
Dallas’ memory starts to return until he can remember getting knocked out by Mark.
“It was him?” Yes answers Marie.
“That son of a bitch.”
“He ran off after you lost consciousness, right down the hall, past the stairs. We don’t know where he is now but he couldn’t have gone far. That was about ten minutes ago he left. The captain sealed off all the doors heading to the other floors after the first murder so he’s probably still on the third floor.”
Stefanie walks over to the far side of the room where there is a photograph lying on the floor. She brings it back and holds it in front of Marie’s face. It’s a picture of the woman who fainted and then disappeared after her husband’s death.
“I know where they both are.”
***
“Here it is—room 3013, the woman’s room.” Dallas says stopping outside of the room.
“Do you hear anything?” The captain asks putting his ear to the door.
“Yes I can hear his voice.”
“Do you have a master key if the door is locked?” Dallas asks the captain.
“Yes right here.” He pulls out a blue card key.
Dallas faces his wife and stares at her intensely. “We’re going to break the door down if it’s locked, you and Stefanie stay here until it’s safe.” He turns to Stefanie.
“Alright?”
Stefanie and Marie nod their heads and take a step away from the doorframe and stand next to Robert. The captain jiggles the door’s handle and to everybody’s surprise the door swings open.
“Look!” Dallas shouts and points towards the bed. The woman that had gone missing is sitting in bed, still unconscious, propped up with three floral pillows. Mark is sitting on a stool at the foot of her bed.
He barely bothers to turn his head, he knows he can’t escape. Behind him there is a window two inches thick hanging over the Atlantic Ocean. The ship’s captain and Dallas block the only doorway.
“You killed three people for this?” Dallas asks with a snarl.
“I only meant to kill one.”
“But you killed three.”
“I had to kill them; they were going to tell everyone what they saw.”
“And what exactly did they see?”
“I only ever wanted to kill that wretched man who couldn’t even appreciate his own wife.”
“The woman from the picture?”
“Yes.”
“So do you want to explain what has been going on?” Asks Robert.
“Before the lights got turned back on I was already supposed to be gone and so was Elysia. We were in love once you know, 25 years ago. Yeah sure, I was a younger man but she was a little younger too. Things ended unexpectedly and the years tore us apart. Do you know what it’s like trying to hold on to the memory of your first love for 25 years? I didn’t know if she was living in Canada or Spain; married or engaged; dead or alive. Then last night I saw her walking to her room and it was like no time had passed. I didn’t even know she was on this cruise but we hadn’t missed a step. We talked until morning; she told me that she was married but that her husband didn’t treat her right. I knew we belonged together. I never meant to kill him, but that’s what happened—”
“What do you mean you never meant to kill him? You stuck a knife through his chest.” Asks Robert cynically.
“Anyways, Ben turned the lights on prematurely and my plan was ruined. Sometime in the chaos I dropped the photo of her I was carrying and Katelyn picked it up. I wasn’t sure if she had even looked at it or if she just picked it up but I still had to be safe. It’s funny how after each person I—er—made away with, it became more routine, I thought less about it. By the time I met Ben on the deck I felt inhuman, like I was playing some twisted video game. He started yelling hysterically that I was a killer. The poor guy didn’t even know who was standing in front of him, he was so disillusioned. I couldn’t take any chances though…”
“You killed them for no reason!” Stefanie’s voice squeaks as she yells.
“We’re a lot alike Stefanie, we’re both on quests for love but I guess I found my princess.”
“Do you think she’s still going to like you even after you killed three people?”
“Well I guess we’ll find out momentarily.”
Mark shakes Elysia softly and calls her name. After several seconds she wakes up and blinks furiously.
“Where am I?”
“You’re on a cruise ship heading to Orlando.” Mark states.
She stares at him blankly. “Who are you?
He smiles at her waiting for her to recognize him but after a lifetime of seconds his smile dissipates.
“What do you mean? I’m Mark…”
“Mark who? Why am I on a ship? What’s going on?”
The room goes perfectly silent for nearly a minute before Stefanie’s laugh booms.
“I guess she hit her head harder on that table then you though, didn’t she Mark?”
In desperation he grabs Elysia’s face and turns her towards him. “Elysia please, tell me you remember who I am.”
She looks deep into his eyes and studies his every facial feature.
“I’m sorry you just don’t look familiar.”
Mark’s world is crushed; in his head he replays the moment she fainted and hit her head on the dining room table. He studies the room again, completely disillusioned.
The glass window that moments ago seemed impenetrable soon lies in shambles on the floor and a cold breeze blows through the room. Nobody speaks at first; they all just stare into the blackness that resonates from the open window. This time Elysia breaks the silence.
“Seriously, who was that guy?”
DannYetman
http://yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com/
All rights belong to the original author, as defined under the Canadian Copyright Law.
http://yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com/
All rights belong to the original author, as defined under the Canadian Copyright Law.
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