The sickness, p.8
The Sickness, page 8
You might be thinking: why go to all this trouble? And I understand what you mean. I do not usually “keep” my victims, but every once in a while I come upon someone truly worthy. Like Anna, and now Jenna.
I realize it will not be easy to morph Jenna into Anna. But nothing good in life ever comes easy. Not even Anna became Anna overnight. I molded her into the perfect woman, same as I will Jenna.
The captain keeps blathering over the loudspeaker, but he stops mentioning the food rationing that has become necessary. He seems determined to keep things as normal as possible, though his words do nothing to calm anyone down.
I savor every second, plotting how I'll keep Jenna under my control and imagining how she'll look in the end. Nothing will stop me.
The passengers are growing increasingly anxious and desperate. On top of wondering how long they'll be stuck on this ship, they now have to worry about what will happen when we reach our destination. I also find myself wondering what will happen when we can finally disembark. Will I be able to keep Jenna a secret until then, or will someone discover her whereabouts? I'm not sure, but I am determined to see my plan through.
Days slip past, and the rationing continues, eating away at the passengers' sanity. Some cling to hope while others crack under the pressure. All the while, I keep watch over Jenna, slowly breaking her down, transforming her into everything I know she can be.
24
Roger
Last night we docked to refuel, but no one was allowed to enter or exit the ship. There is said to be a measles outbreak in the country, though whether that was true or just an excuse to keep us onboard remains to be seen.
Anyone who tried to disembark was notified they would be immediately arrested, and I guess no one was brave enough to volunteer for prison in a third world country—especially not one with a measles outbreak. Not even me. We were all ordered to remain in our cabins as the ship was refueled and supplies were loaded. Most of us listened.
But that changes once we leave port. Once we’ve moved further out to sea, Blake and I step out of my cabin and make our way onto the cruise ship's main deck. It is nearly empty, as most of the passengers have retired for the night, but the upper deck is still alive with activity. The sound of shouting from above is growing louder and more chaotic as the crew attempts to contain the chaos emerging from above.
Blake looks at me with wide eyes. “What's going on?”
I shake my head. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't sound good."
"Should we go back to the cabin?" he asks, glancing around nervously.
"No," I say. "We should stay and find out what's happening."
I step forward, craning my neck to look at the upper deck. “It doesn’t look good.”
“You think pirates boarded while we were in port? I’ve heard stories… We need to arm ourselves somehow.”
“We can hardly get food—how do you think we’re going to get a gun?”
Blake looks at me and shakes his head. “The internet, how else?”
“We don’t have the internet anymore—and even if we did—what are they going to do, drop it by drone?”
“Why not?”
Suddenly, a figure emerges from the shadows. Blake gasps and steps back, but I recognize her immediately.
"Molly!" I exclaim. "What in the hell is going on?"
She smiles, but her expression is distant. "Roger?” she says. "What are you two doing here?"
Blake hesitates before answering. "We're trying to figure out what's going on."
Molly nods gravely. "It's been crazy." Her eyes scan the area and then she leans forward and whispers, "Something strange is happening on the ship. I think someone is trying to seize control."
“Who?” I take a step toward her. “I mean, how do you know?”
Molly stares at me with a serious expression. “I don’t know for sure, but I think they’re attempting a coup.”
Blake and I exchange worried glances. "What should we do?" Blake asks quietly.
Molly shakes her head. "I don't know—but, if I were you, I wouldn’t trust anyone."
Blake stares at her. "What do you mean?"
I run my hand across my jaw and look at Molly. “Where are we headed?”
She sighs. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know or you won’t say?” Blake asks.
“Isaac is very selective about the information he shares and with whom he shares it. I can't tell you everything, because I don’t know everything. Just be careful.”
A loud announcement blares over the speakers as if on cue.
“Attention passengers, due to a recent incident, strict curfews will now be enforced. We are headed back to Miami. Please report to deck five at your respective times to receive your meals and return directly to your cabins until further notice.”
Molly looks us straight in the eyes. "You should stay away from deck five," she warns gravely. "It could be dangerous."
"What should we do then?" Blake says, his voice barely audible above the din of the repeating announcement.
Molly mulls it over for a few moments before responding, “Stay away from Isaac and his followers,” she says. "And keep your eyes open. Whatever it is they’re up to, you don't want to be caught in the middle of it."
"This is his plan?" I demand, pivoting toward Molly, and Blake seems to stiffen.
He gives both of us a tentative look before inquiring, "What plan?"
Molly and I reply in a robotic unison, "Nothing."
There's a certain look of understanding on Blake's face, though it's overshadowed by doubt.
Molly motions for us to follow. "We'd better duck into the restroom so we can talk privately," she whispers.
We creep down the hallway, looking out for any of Isaac's followers. Once inside, Molly checks the stalls before speaking again.
"Remember," she says. "No matter what you hear, don't trust anyone. Isaac’s men are up to something, and you don't want to be involved."
"You're his wife," Blake says, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you telling us this?"
Molly's face hardens. “Because no one else is going to," she snaps. "And just because I'm married to him doesn't mean I agree with everything he does."
“Is he really killing people?” Blake asks. “All the deaths— is it the virus or is it him?”
Molly sighs and looks away. “I can’t speak to that.”
“What was the point of dragging us in here, then?” Blake asks with an eye roll. “If you can’t tell us anything—”
“Listen—I have to go. Isaac’s waiting for me. But if I were you, I’d stay out of sight—stay in your cabins. I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s really all I can tell you.”
I nod, and with that, Molly disappears into the darkness of the corridor.
The next morning, Abby and I wake to news of another death onboard the ship. It seems the cult has taken control, and they are now enforcing their own rules. Rations are being strictly enforced, and curfews are being imposed. Rumor has it the cult killed our former captain and installed their own guy. This way there will be no issues with the authorities. They haven’t even been alerted. Along with the freezers, cell service and Wi-Fi remain inoperable as well.
The inability to communicate with the outside world forces passengers to face the seriousness of the situation, and panic spreads.
Later that night, as we are getting ready for bed, there is a loud knock on the cabin door. Abby and I freeze, as if we know something is coming.
The door swings open, and there stand two of Isaac's henchman, with the cult leader himself between them. "We know what you're up to," Isaac growls. "You're conspiring against us. We know, and we won't stand for it. You will be punished."
Abby and I remain silent, terror freezing us in place. Isaac continues, "You will be taken to the brig, where you will be held until further notice. I suggest you keep your mouth shut and cooperate if you wish to avoid further repercussions."
The two cult members grab me and drag me out of the cabin. I am taken to the brig, a steel room which is located on one of the bottom decks of the vessel, near the security office. When they lock me in a room where I am forced to wait, I see no sign of security. Have they killed them all? Am I next? I don’t know what is going to happen to me, but I know one thing: My daughter needs me, and I have to get out of here. I have to escape.
25
Passenger 327
It is my darkest hour; Jenna's behavior leaves a lot to be desired, and also I have been tracking my target through the labyrinthine corridors of the ship. For hours, I have been lurking in the shadows, patiently stalking my prey. I have become a master of disguise, a ghost among the living, undetected and undeterred in my mission.
Finally, my patience pays off.
I stand in the darkness, watching as my victim exits the elevator and makes her way down the corridor. I hiss menacingly as she passes; a warning and a promise of what is coming. She quickens her pace, her eyes darting from side to side as she tries in vain to spot her pursuer.
But it is too late.
I emerge from the darkness and force the woman into her cabin. She shrieks in terror as I advance, my hands like iron claws, tightly gripping her shoulders. I push her inside and close the door behind us.
She begs for mercy, but I have none to offer. I wrap my hands around her neck, strangling her until she is still.
When the deed is done, I take a moment to catch my breath and survey the scene. There is a chair tipped over beside the bed, a pair of slippers on the floor. The woman has been preparing for the night, thinking only of her own comfort.
Now, she is dead.
I make my way back out of the cabin and through the long corridors of the ship. I retrieve a wheelchair from outside a room, push it back to the cabin, and after a few moments of difficulty, I manage to maneuver her body into it.
I wheel her through the ship, her corpse slumped in the chair, a grotesque parody of the living. Along the way, I pretend she has merely passed out. I offer polite smiles and mutter good evenings to the other passengers. They give me knowing looks. Alcohol is the one thing that is still flowing freely on this ship.
Finally, I reach my cabin. I open the door and see Jenna lying on the bed. She stirs, blinking awake to the sight of the dead woman being wheeled in.
I give her a menacing look, a warning not to try to speak through her gag. Then I gesture to the corpse and say, “Your job is to bathe her, dress her, and make her presentable. Do it quickly, and do it well.”
I fetch a washcloth from the bathroom, then Jenna's brushes and makeup case. She stares at me in horror but remains silent. I untie her gag and instruct her on how to gently wash the woman's face. A smirk crosses my lips as Jenna tries to smooth away all traces of terror from the woman's features.
She trembles as she wipes away moisture and blood, then applies makeup to her cheeks and eyes.
I retrieve one of Jenna's dresses from her luggage. "That's my favorite one," Jenna protests.
"Anna always loved helping the needy," I reply, amused. "You'll learn."
I help a reluctant Jenna as she dresses the corpse. When she is finished, the woman lies in the bed, her features peaceful in death. She looks almost serene, like a sleeping angel.
I stand and give a satisfied nod.
Then I tug her lifeless body closer to Jenna's side of the bed, retie Jenna's restraints, and together we whisper a prayer for the woman's soul before I cover her with a sheet to her chin.
"I'll find a proper resting place for her," I say to Jenna, "when you learn to behave."
She closes her eyes and tears stream down her cheeks. "Oh, Anna, darling," I say. "Don't cry. Fate can be fickle; this could just as easily have been your destiny."
26
Abby
I stand on the deck of the ship, my wind-tousled hair blowing in the salty sea breeze. I scan the horizon, my gaze cutting through the endless blue expanse of the ocean. I left the safety of my cabin only moments ago, granted this half hour of outside privileges by the Sons and Daughters of Infinity, the elusive new leaders of this vessel.
It has been two days since they dragged Dad away from our cabin. I haven't seen him since, not even a glimpse. Anxiety crawls up my throat, tightening around my windpipe, and I push it away. Dad would say to focus on the present moment. Although I fear the worst, I know he’s right. Dwelling on what might be happening to him will only cloud my judgment.
I make my way back to the cabin, my steps heavy with dread. I pause at the door, hesitating before I open it. Our room feels cold and empty without Dad here. There is no laughter bubbling up from the room anymore, no card games or jokes or stories to keep me distracted. A few items still lay where he left them when they dragged him away. I know nothing can be changed by staying outside, but perhaps I can stay here in the hall for just a few more minutes.
"Any luck?"
I turn at the sound of the voice. It's Blake. He is tall and handsome, with dark brown eyes and a ready smile. He has become a trusted friend over the last few days, and I am grateful for his kindness.
"No," I say. "I was just...praying.”
Blake gives me a sympathetic smile. "I know. I'm sure he's okay. They have to be treating him well."
My hands shake. I clasp them behind my back so that Blake won't see. My fingers twine with each other, nervous and impatient and scared, like they have a mind of their own.
“I hope you're right.”
Blake nods. He reaches out and touches my arm gently. "Hey, you want to come with me to deck five? I heard they're handing out fresh bread."
I shake my head. "No, thanks. I should get back."
"Okay. Well, if you need anything, just let me know."
I offer a sad smile. “Thanks, Blake.”
“Just hang tight, okay?”
"What other choice do I have?"
He nods, and then he is gone. I watch him disappear down the hallway until he is just a speck in the distance.
I open the door to my cabin and step inside. Molly is standing there. She wears a pained expression on her face, her eyes wide with worry.
I don't mean to freak out, but the sight of her leaves me with zero chill. I fear the worst. Why else would she have come? "Is he okay? Did they let him go?"
She shakes her head. "Not yet."
My eyes narrow. "How'd you get in here?"
"It doesn't matter," she says impatiently. "I wanted to check on you."
Her words are rushed, frantic, as if she has been waiting for hours for me to return.
"I also want to let you know he's okay," she says quickly. "They're just questioning him. It's taking a little longer than expected." She pauses for a moment before adding, "I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, and I’m sorry."
I know what she means—she is sorry for getting Roger into this mess—but her apology is pointless. I am seething with rage. She had no right to drag him into this bloody game, and yet I can't find the words to convey my anger. I can only feel a dull ache in my chest as the world seems to crumble around me.
The other issue—I don't want to burn any bridges. I realize Molly might be the only person who can help him.
"Do you need anything?" she asks tentatively, as if expecting me to yell at her or push away her offer of help.
"No," I say bitterly. "Not from you."
Molly nods before turning to leave the room. As she walks away, I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness wash over me, like an ocean wave crashing onto shore—all of our hopes and dreams swallowed up in its wake.
27
Roger
The cult marches me through the bowels of the cruise ship, the cold steel of the handcuffs biting into my wrists. Every step feels like a lurch toward my fate, and I can feel their eyes boring into me like laser beams. There are no words spoken, no questions asked. My captors are resolute in their mission, and their grip is so tight and merciless that I can barely lift my arms.
I stumble, and they yank me forward, a chill running through me as I realize what's happening. There's only oppressive darkness and silence—except for the relentless beat of my heart. I'm a prisoner of fanatics, with no clue about my future. Every step takes me closer to the unknown, dread filling my veins at what might be waiting for me at the end.
The corridor is narrow and dark, flashing red emergency lights flickering and buzzing above me. There's a muted roar of the sea and a shrill creaking of the ship's hull, and a low hum of electricity. The cult members march me along until we reach a heavy steel door with a small window set in it. One of them produces a key, unlocking it before throwing it open.
"Welcome to your new residence," he sneers, pushing me inside the small cell. I stagger in, feeling my stomach plummet as I hear the door slam shut behind me with a loud clang.
The room is nothing more than a tiny box of metal walls, barely bigger than my body. It reeks of urine and sweat. There is no furniture, no windows; just one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling that casts an eerie light across my prison cell. A thick blanket lies crumpled in one corner, giving off an unbearable musty smell that makes my stomach turn over in revulsion.
I sink to my knees on the cold floor out of sheer exhaustion, my wrists still tightly bound behind my back. I feel powerless against these people; this cult has effectively taken away all control I have over my life and holds me captive in their world, where I am nothing more than a pawn in their game.
A muffled voice from outside interrupts my thoughts, calling out orders in cryptic words that make little sense to me, but it is clear from the tone that they mean business. They want something from me—something they think I have—but what? All I can do now is wait until they reveal their next move...
