Day Four by Sarah Lotz Page A

Elise said. ‘The psychic.’
    ‘She’s actually a medium.’
    ‘Is there a difference?’
    ‘Of course,’ Helen chimed in. ‘Mediums talk to the dead, psychics see into the future.’
    The woman gave Helen another tight smile. ‘Yeah.’ She blew a strand of hair off her forehead. Helen could see every muscle on her forearms – she was far too thin, borderline anorexic, and she crackled with nervous energy. ‘Listen . . . I know Celine was rude to you earlier and I apologise. She can get like that sometimes. Only . . . she’s been taken ill.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear that, honey,’ Elise said.
    ‘I was wondering . . . look, I need to go and find the doctor and make him come and see her. They sent a nurse, but he only stayed for five minutes and I’m still worried. Would you mind sitting with her while I go and get him?’
    ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Helen asked.
    ‘I’m not sure. She’s not herself, been saying some really weird things. I’ve been waiting for over three hours now. If she’s had a stroke or something like that, I don’t want to leave her alone.’
    ‘I could go fetch the doctor for you,’ Helen said.
    ‘It might be best coming from me. I won’t be long, I promise.’
    Helen caught Elise’s eye. ‘We’re not doing anything else, are we?’
    ‘Not right now,’ Elise replied.
    The woman’s face relaxed, the lines in her forehead smoothing out. ‘I really appreciate this. I’m Maddie, by the way.’
    ‘I’m Helen, and this is Elise.’
    They followed Maddie across the deck, down the ramp to the Verandah level and through the grubby glass doors that led to the stairwell and elevator station. ‘You sure you want to do this, Helen?’ Elise murmured, already out of breath.
    Helen linked her arm through Elise’s. ‘Perhaps we can ask Celine to tell us what our future holds.’
    Elise giggled, and Maddie, who was striding ahead, turned to look at them.
    ‘Don’t mind us, hon,’ Elise said.
    Maddie hurried along the VIP corridor, unlocked a stateroom a couple of doors down from their cabin, and ushered them inside it. It reeked like a brewery, but apart from that, the suite itself was a carbon copy of theirs – right down to the turquoise colour scheme and the generic angel-themed watercolours. Celine was sitting in her wheelchair next to the television, her head back; her mouth slightly open. But Helen didn’t miss that her hooded eyes followed their progress into the room.
    Maddie touched her boss’s hand. ‘Celine. This is Helen, and this is Elise. They’re going to stay with you while I go get the doctor, okay?’
    Celine grunted. To Helen, Celine looked less like a psychic and more like an elderly beautician. A tower of bleached hair, blood-red talons, and skin that told of decades of facelifts and chemical peels.
    ‘Do you know where to go?’ Elise asked Maddie.
    ‘Yeah. I’ve got the deck plan. I really appreciate this.’ With a last grateful look, Maddie ran for the door. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
    Elise sat on the bed and mouthed, ‘Now what?’
    Helen approached Celine’s wheelchair. ‘Hello, Celine. How are you feeling?’
    Celine’s gaze slid away from her, and she moved her mouth as if she was chewing on something.
    ‘You think she could have had a stroke?’ Helen asked Elise.
    Elise shrugged, and mimed pouring a bottle into a glass and drinking.
    Helen took Celine’s wrist and felt her pulse, which was strong and steady. Close up, she could see the thick make-up coated over the fine lines on Celine’s cheeks, the folds of floury flesh under her chin, the hands and neck betraying the true age as they always did. A snatch of a poem she’d always loathed popped into her head: Oh fat white woman whom nobody loves . . .
    Celine lifted her head, licked her lips, and stared right at her.
    ‘Celine? Can you hear me?’
    Helen was certain she caught a flash of something in the woman’s watery blue eyes.
    ‘You think it’s okay