Day Four by Sarah Lotz

them both that those ridiculous photos would be the last piece of evidence of their lives, proof that they were happy, right up to the end.
    She was jerked out of her thoughts by the blare of the PA system: ‘G’day, ladies and gentlemen, Damien your cruise director here. We’d like to thank you for your patience. As you’ve probably gathered, we’re still working on the technical problem, but it should be resolved shortly. The captain has decided that bar service will be resumed as we count down to . . .’
    Damien’s voice was drowned out by an ear-splitting cheer, and the area emptied as there was a stampede for the bar.
    ‘You want something?’ she asked Elise.
    ‘No thanks.’ Elise yawned. ‘Oops. I’m getting sleepy. Last thing I thought I’d be feeling tonight.’
    Helen checked her watch again. Eleven thirty. She was certain there would still be too many people milling around near the Tranquillity deck to take the risk, and in any case, they couldn’t do it until they’d taken the sleeping tablets and given them half an hour or so to kick in. The Zopiclone was still in their stateroom – Elise had forgotten to slip the pill container into her handbag when they’d been instructed to head to the muster station.
    The hairy-backed angel returned to his group, triumphantly carrying three buckets of beer, closely followed by a woman in a flimsy red tunic bearing a tray of shot glasses filled with purple liquid. Hairy Back downed two of the shots, grabbed the woman in red, and started slobbering over her. She giggled, and pressed herself against him. He clamped his mouth onto hers, and ran his hand up under her dress, revealing a flash of sunburned thigh and a blurry tattoo of what looked to be Elmer Fudd.
    ‘Would you ever have dreamt of behaving like that in public?’ Elise tutted.
    Hairy Back’s friends were now cheering him on, and the sight of his thick jabbing tongue was making Helen faintly sick. ‘Let’s go back to the stateroom and decide what to do next.’
    ‘They haven’t said we can go yet,’ Elise said.
    ‘Since when do we need to follow the rules?’
    Elise laughed. ‘Damn right. Let’s go. At least then we can have a drink. And I don’t mind telling you, I could use the bathroom right now.’
    Helen got to her feet, wincing as pain needled down her legs. Poor circulation. She’d suffered it for years (but hopefully not for much longer). She held out a hand to help Elise up.
    ‘Thanks,’ Elise huffed. Her weight was the only issue they tended to skirt, and Helen’s main concern about their plan was the mechanics of it – she wasn’t sure how Elise was going to heave herself over the railings when the time came. ‘Look,’ Elise nudged her. A slender, dark-haired woman was darting through the crowd, heading for the crew members. ‘Isn’t that the woman who was with the psychic earlier? Celine somebody.’
    ‘Celine del Ray.’ A fake name if ever Helen had heard one. They’d seen Celine’s air-brushed photographs all over the ship promoting her ‘Friends Only’ events. And Celine had been rude, damn rude, when they’d encountered her in the passage as they were heading for the dining room.
    Helen attempted to eavesdrop, but the woman’s words were drowned by the hoots of the increasingly drunk people around her. The Filipino crew member she’d approached unclipped his radio and spoke into it. He frowned, tapped it, and then shook his head apologetically. After a heated exchange, the woman threw up her hands and scanned the crowd, her eyes locking on Helen’s.
    ‘Uh-oh,’ Helen murmured to Elise. ‘Looks like she’s heading our way.’
    Sure enough, the woman wove her way through the knots of revellers towards them. She greeted them with a small, tight smile. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I kind of met you earlier. You’re on my boss’s deck.’ A trace of a regional accent – Midlands, perhaps – corrupted with the odd American vowel.
    ‘Oh yes,’