Haunted Destiny

  Suddenly, Jimmy was in front of her, handsome in his uniform, beckoning to her. She realized she had to move; the Archangel was coming around the false wall where she’d taken refuge.

  Private Frank Marlowe was behind her. He slammed a wall with all his ethereal strength.

  And made a noise.

  The killer turned, moving backward.

  Alexi ran again, ran for her life.

  Heading down the stairs to the St. Charles Deck, she was stunned to crash into Simon Green.

  For a moment she was paralyzed, riddled by confusion. What the hell was Simon doing out here? He should’ve been back in his cabin...

  “Simon,” she began. “Why are you—”

  Could he be with the killer? Could the two of them be working in tandem? No, the murders had been committed by one man. That was what Jude had said.

  “Simon,” she repeated.

  The killer had been behind her in the gallery. She’d known the voice.

  But there was no way he could’ve gotten ahead of her, so Simon really was trying to save her.

  She could hear the footsteps coming now...coming closer.

  Simon frowned. “He’s here, right? The guy who killed the woman in Mexico? Oh, my God, it’s the Archangel! I don’t know where the hell everyone else is, but I’ll protect you!” Simon vowed.

  “Simon, why are you here? What made you come here?” she demanded, still wary.

  Simon caught her arms, shaking his head in confusion. “Alexi! You were screaming. I’ve been trying to find you. Oh, my God, what’s going on? There’s a guy on the ground in our hallway...a security officer. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to help you—”

  No, he couldn’t help her.

  “Run!” she told him. “Simon, I’m begging you, run. Please!”

  “Alexi, I may be a chorus guy, but I’m not a coward! We can take him. I’ll—”

  “No, please run! We have to run! We can’t beat him. Simon, damn it, he has one big-ass knife. Come on. Simon, listen to me, it’s going to take more than two of us to overpower him. You have to believe me!” They’d been talking, talking too loudly. The killer knew exactly where they were. And she knew exactly where he was, from the telltale sound of his footsteps. He was still above them in the Picture Gallery, but he was making his way to the stairs. She understood, far too late to save herself, that she’d known the Archangel for some time. She hadn’t suspected him, but she—like the other victims he’d targeted—had turned him down.

  “Simon, follow me! We have to get to security, to someone who can stop him!” she said, trying to drag him with her.

  He shook her off. “Alexi, whoever the hell this bastard is, I will stop him!”

  “No!” She pulled fiercely on his arm. “Simon, let’s go!”

  He looked at her solemnly. “Chorus, Alexi—not coward.”

  “It has nothing to do with courage!” she cried.

  But Simon slipped from her grasp and headed back up the stairs.

  “No, no!” she breathed.

  He didn’t heed her warning; she heard him confront the killer.

  And then she heard his scream as he came tumbling down the stairs, thrown by the killer who was pursuing her again.

  She’d looked frantically around the St. Charles Deck. She prayed that Simon wouldn’t be killed—that the Archangel wouldn’t stop and make sure he was dead.

  She paused briefly to listen.

  Judging by his footsteps, the Archangel didn’t check to see if Simon was dead; he was hurrying after her, stalking her with single-minded intensity.

  “Alexi... Alexi... I’ll find you. You’re beginning to get on my nerves now, you know. Kind of like that stupid Flora Winters. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. Oh, she suspected me, suspected that I had the medallions. Even figured out how I got them. They’ll find out, of course, who bought them for me. I knew about them before. My grandmother had purchased a set for my grandfather before the war. It was during their honeymoon in Italy, you know. She wanted him to be safe, no matter what the service asked of him. She was a good woman. She stayed home. She looked after his children. She cleaned his house. She cooked. She knew what it was to be a wife.”

  Alexi realized she was making her way to the piano bar.

  Why? Where would I hide there?

  “Alexi, I have to finish this task tonight. Damn it, Alexi! I still have to go back and track down Clara. There’s one more medallion that must find its place—after I’ve finished with you.”

  * * *

  Jude reached the Promenade Deck, which was eerily silent.

  He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs. Scream at the Archangel, tell him he was a dead man.

  But he forced himself to silence. If he called out, he’d warn the killer—who might have Alexi. Jude had to reach them. He had to reach them before...

  He didn’t dare think. Refused to imagine what the Archangel might do to the woman he loved.

  As quietly as he could, he moved along the Promenade. Past locked shops, cafés with the grating closed, elegant facades and an Irish pub.

  He neared the end of the row and arrived at the Picture Gallery. The walls of photos seemed to provide a never-ending array of hiding places. He started to go from row to row, moving as silently as possible, Glock drawn and ready.

  But he found no one.

  Then, he heard moans coming from the stairway.

  Jude rushed to the stairs and then tore down them.

  He discovered Simon Green stretched out awkwardly on the bottom step. When he bent down, Simon opened his eyes—and they widened with horror as he saw Jude and the Glock in his hand.

  “No, no...”

  “Simon, I’m not going to hurt you! Are you bleeding? Are you...”

  He couldn’t ask the man if he was dying.

  Simon answered his unspoken question. “No...not dying. Jude, quick, go... That way...down to the St. Charles Deck.” Simon gasped, his face constricted with pain.

  Jude nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

  He should’ve stayed with Simon; at the very least, he should have pulled out the walkie-talkie and called for help. But Simon grabbed his arm and whispered, “No time! No time, go. Me—it’s just my leg. Broken. He’s got a knife... It’s Hank! Hank Osprey. He hardly even saw me. I was just...just something in his way.”

  How long could Alexi run?

  Jude nodded again. He stood and started down the length of the St. Charles. Then he stopped.

  There were so many places on this deck where they might have gone. He hesitated for a few seconds, praying. He couldn’t make a mistake.

  Alexi might be out of time.

  “Someone!” he whispered. “Please...help.”

  And then he saw a soldier. The man materialized slowly, but he seemed anxious. Jude had never seen him before. He hadn’t met him at the infirmary.

  This soldier hadn’t fought in World War II.

  But he was urging Jude onward.

  It was Zachary Wainwright. Alexi’s fiancé. Jude was sure of it.

  And followed him.

  * * *

  Alexi knew that Hank was directly behind her. If he caught up with her, no matter how hard she struggled, she was going to die. He was wielding a knife.

  At the entrance to the Algiers Saloon, she paused for a split second.

  Then she ran over to the piano bench and sat down. She began to play, hoping that if a security officer was anywhere nearby, he’d hear.

  And he’d come to her rescue...

  Someone would come.

  Blake and Minnie appeared, Minnie on her right side, Blake on her left.

  “You must keep him talking,” Minnie
said.

  “Yes...talk, play—and keep the piano between you and him, Alexi,” Blake told her. “This is his favorite place. He’s always loved being here. Maybe he became rich and famous as a computer genius but always wanted to be a singer? Make him talk to you. Even beg him to explain.”

  She played a Chopin piece.

  And stared at Hank Osprey across the piano.

  He seemed disconcerted, she thought. He’d expected to find her cowering and cringing behind a wall somewhere.

  “Want to sing, Hank?” she asked. “Perhaps you could sing me a song about all this. Why the hell would someone with your money and success decide to kill people? Kill women? If nothing else, you could’ve bought the kind of woman you wanted. Someone who’d stay home, who’d cook, clean and have a dozen children for you?”

  “Alexi, you can’t buy love.” He sighed. “Surely, you know that.”

  “No, Hank, sometimes, love is something that just comes along. And sometimes, just by living, you earn love,” she said. “You earn it with your actions, with laughter, with kindness.”

  “Oh, Alexi!” He rested one hand on the opposite side of the piano. “I never had a chance to earn it. I tried to earn your love. You gave me that line about honoring the memory of your fiancé! Oh, he was a soldier, killed in action. Boo hoo. But that was a lie. You didn’t care about him. You needed this, your career. You wanted to be a musician when you should’ve been home, mourning his loss. If he even existed. Women are great at making up boyfriends and lovers when they’re trying to give a man the cold shoulder. And their supposedly great love for those men is a lie, too.”

  “Zachary existed, and my love for him was real, nothing I made up, Hank, which should be easy enough for a computer genius to find out. He existed and I loved him with all my heart. I still do.”

  “Okay, so yeah, I knew he existed. You got me there. But what about your great love for him? You still love him? That’s why you’re sleeping with the bastard you just met on this cruise? Oh, Alexi. Really? Did the man even take you to dinner? No, you’re a whore, like the rest of them. No real respect for the men doing everything they can to please and support a woman!”

  Alexi pretended to give his remarks serious thought. She considered mentioning Ginny, and then wondered if that would just set him off, make things worse.

  “Zach’s been dead longer now, Hank. You asked me out too soon,” she said at last.

  “Oh, yeah? If I’d asked you out now, would you have gone with me? No, you’d have slept with that cruise line guy, anyway. You’d see nothing but quick gratification—and someone who wouldn’t stop you from doing this. Ah, yes! Entertaining, playing, singing. Bringing in your talented and beautiful friends, loving your precious work—more than you could ever love a man. Lying to me now isn’t going to help, Alexi. I know you.”

  “Hank, some of us have to work. It’s an expensive world for those of us who aren’t computer geniuses.”

  “You women look at me and think ‘gawky nerd.’ A guy to use, to take money from.”

  “I never took money from you, Hank!”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that. You wouldn’t even let me buy you a drink! But you used me all the same. You used me, teased me, in this room. Oh, Alexi, you’re another one of those terrible women, and that’s so sad. You’re lovely. And you play the piano so beautifully... I even thought about finding someone else to be my musician, but it had to be you. No other woman was truly worthy of St. Cecilia’s medallion. St. Cecilia, patron of musicians. The medallions needed—no, demanded!—sacrifices. Women who loved working more than they’d ever love a man. Ah, Alexi. You’re implying you might have dated me, loved me, if the timing was different. You’re such a desperate liar. I might have earned love? No, you wouldn’t have bothered to know me. And Clara! Oh, she’s something else. No dead serviceman for her, huh, real or not? Or is she like you, hiding behind the wall of mourning? Let’s see, what did you tell me once?” He spoke in a falsetto. “‘Oh, Hank. I can’t... I still can’t see anyone. Zach is still there, so close, in my heart.’”

  “Zach was real. And I was in love with him in ways you’ll never understand,” she said.

  “Right. You were in love with muscles and a tan, Alexi. And now you’re going to tell me you’re in love with Jude McCoy?”

  “I might be,” she said quietly.

  “You disgust me! You’re not in love. You’re in lust.”

  “And what about you, Hank? Were you ever in love? Or just in lust?”

  “I’m saving you, Alexi. From a life like this. And I’ll save Clara, too. She’ll be forever remembered, forever young. Forever a bitch—but a dead one.”

  “You’ll never get to Clara,” she told him. “You seem to believe you’re so smart. That you’re invincible. But I can promise you won’t have a chance with Clara. They’ll know it’s you. They know now. You were clever. Of course, you are a computer genius. You killed and you plotted the disposal of the bodies and you kept moving on and... Really, who would suspect a man like you? Plus, you’ve been on this ship so many times. How did you do it? Befriend someone and figure out how to steal a master key? Everyone on this ship knew you—and trusted you. But it’s over now. They’ll trace how you bought the medallions. By now they’ll have a mountain of evidence against you. Because guess what? You really weren’t that smart. What a waste!”

  He ignored her scornful comments about him. “The master key. Yeah, piece of cake. Even the captain sucks up to a guy like me! I’ve been on the bridge, in his cabin, at his desk. Where he kept his copy of the master. So easy to slip into a pocket.”

  “And Mexico? The explosion?”

  “Women who worship work and the almighty dollar come in every nationality, and everyone’s for sale. You carefully pay a dozen different people for a dozen different services—and voilà! Explosion. But no one can trace you because you’ve paid different people who have nothing to do with one another. And you create chaos by causing an explosion.” He smirked. “I am very good.”

  “They’ll know it’s you.”

  “How? They’ll never trace the medallions. Like I said, my grandmother bought them for my grandfather. That original set disappeared years ago...” He frowned. “But I bought another set from old Sam Winters. I paid an employee, now sadly gone, to be my go-between.” His frown had turned into a grin. “And every single one of them went to the right woman. There are just two left. Yours—and Clara’s.”

  “You perverted the meaning of those medallions,” Alexi said. “You dishonored those saints.”

  “No! They wanted me to do it!”

  She shook her head. “What a waste!” she murmured again.

  “Waste? What waste are you talking about?”

  “Of yourself!” she said softly. He seemed to be growing disjointed and irrational in his speech. “You will die or rot in prison.”

  She had to keep him talking. Help would come.

  “You’re wrong. I’ll walk away. They don’t know it’s me. They’ll never know.”

  “Hank! People aren’t blind. You’ve been seen. When they...when they find me, they’ll catch you red-handed.” She flinched at the term and then swallowed a gasp when she saw his fingers tightening on the hilt of a knife. It was more of a cleaver, she thought, looking more closely at the weapon he carried. He must’ve stolen it from one of the kitchens. Just as easily as he’d visited the captain, he could’ve had access to any of the kitchens. Everyone loved Hank. He was a frequent and popular passenger on Celtic American ships.

  “He’s getting agitated,” Blake murmured.

  “Play that Billy Joel guy,” Minnie suggested. “Throw him off!”

  “He’s not going to sing now, Minnie,” Alexi said.

  “Who are you talking to?” Hank demanded as he looked around.

  “I’m talking to Mi
nnie,” she replied. “I can’t believe you don’t know Minnie—or any of the other ghosts on the Destiny,” she said. “Since you’re so familiar with the ship.”

  “Ghosts! Bull,” Hank spat, his fingers moving and the knife twitching in his hand.

  Blake stood, staring at Hank.

  The murderer.

  “Minnie sings beautifully,” Alexi said.

  “She’s dead. She was a whore, too, who wanted to sing instead of caring for a husband and children?” Hank asked, his lips curling in a wry smile. “Too bad she’s dead. Or I could’ve killed her, too.”

  Blake was shaking with ghostly fury. “Minnie is gone, as am I, and we are together. But this is beyond madness and I’ll not watch a covetous ass like you kill again. If you touch Alexi, I’ll...somehow, sir, I will see you dead!” he announced.

  Needless to say, there was no response from Hank.

  “Blake, it doesn’t work like that,” Alexi said. “He can’t hear you. Or see you.”

  “Stop that! There’s no one here,” Hank insisted.

  “Blake is here, with Minnie,” Alexi said. “He wants to kill you. Believe me, he’s here,” she told Hank. She kept playing, and her fingers moved smoothly on the keys as she switched into a Billy Joel number. “Blake and Minnie!” she said. “You know the history of this ship, Hank. It’s filled with ghosts.”

  It was; that much was true.

  And another ghost had just arrived. Byron Grant.

  “Hank, I see someone else coming, someone you met—briefly. Very briefly. He never sailed on this ship alive. You dumped his body in an alley. You killed the love of his life before slicing him to shreds. His name is Byron Grant, and he’s joining us now.”

  Byron Grant was there. He walked over to Hank, slamming a fist into his jaw.

  Hank jumped as if he’d felt something.

  “Stop it, stop it now!” Hank roared. “You’re going to die, Alexi. You can join your precious ghosts here on the Destiny. Ghosts! Alexi, you’re a liar.”

  “I’m not a liar, and you know it. You may not see the dead or speak to them the way I can, Hank, but you feel them. I know you can feel them. Byron just slugged you. I saw you jump when it happened. The ghosts are all here—and they really hate you.”