Offshore (36 page)

On his
forehead, the round markings from the sickbay floor had been
embossed in flesh, making him look like he’d been sleeping on a
double six domino.

He
probed the loose tooth with his bitten tongue. It rocked slightly
in its socket, but it didn’t hurt and it wasn’t bleeding. It could
probably be saved. Thank God for small mercies. He had always been
proud of his good teeth.

“
Holy crap, Capthstan! Wha’ a fucki’g meth.”

His
right hand, his writing hand, the one Brewer had stamped on, was
also a mess, although Eddie didn’t think anything was
broken.

Two
fingers had purple tips and split nails, and the little finger
jutted out at an unnatural angle from its neighbour, dislocated at
the second joint.

He tried
to make a fist. It went about halfway.

Not
totally trashed then. He could still use it if he didn’t need much
grip. But that little finger was going to need some encouraging
back into place.

He
grasped it firmly at the joint and pulled, gently and slowly until
he reached the point when he thought the pain couldn’t get any
worse.

For a second it did, until the joint slid back into place
with a gentle
pop
,
and it was less. Eddie wiped sweat from his eyes. Not so bad after
all.

“
Now, leth thee what else there is,” he said, unzipping his
overalls and lifting his T shirt to see a mass of bruises and
welts. He leaned to his left, testing his flexibility. It seemed
okay.

And then
to his right. Definitely not okay. A bolt of agony shot from his
ribs to his spine and back again, making him wince and arch his
back as if electrocuted, a reflex action which made the suffering
ten times worse, cramping his stomach.

He
barely managed to get the lid off the toilet bowl before he vomited
again. No blood mercifully, only bright yellow-green bile. He’d
already left his partially digested last meal on the sickbay
floor.

When the
cramping and retching ceased, he rinsed the acid taste from his
mouth with clean water, gargled to get the blood out of his throat,
and spat it all out. As it drained away down the plughole, he
slumped down onto the toilet seat to wait for the pain to step down
to a dull ache.

Cameron
reached Sickbay first and yelled out for his superior.

“
Boss! Where are you? BOSS! You here?”

Eddie,
from his resting place on the toilet seat, unlocked the washroom
door, opened it a fraction and called through it. “Here
Cam!”

Cameron
rushed into the office, closely followed by a newly arrived Shaw.
“Oh sorry, boss. You weren’t...?”

“
No. Just sitting.” Eddie hauled himself to his feet and
stepped out into the office, into the full light.

“
Je-sus!” exclaimed Shaw when he saw Eddie’s battered
features.

“
No, our friend Brewer,” said Eddie, his words made slurred
and lispy by his fat lip and bitten tongue. “He’s surprisingly
strong for a pen pusher.”

“
What happened?”

“
He thought he was being clever. He doubled back here after
we’d searched, because he assumed we’d keep on looking and not
bother going over old ground.”

“
So why did you come back?”

“
Because he thought wrong.”

“
Where is he now?”

Eddie
dabbed at his bleeding lip with the toilet paper. “I have no idea,
but wherever it is, he still has Miss Ellis with him. You were
right about the ether. He used it to … to quieten her
down–”

He
swayed on his feet, overcome by a wave of vertigo. Being battered
about the head had knocked him dizzy. Being sick and suddenly being
upright again wasn’t helping.

Cameron
and Shaw each caught an elbow and helped him into a chair. Eddie
waved them away. “I’m okay.” He paused and frowned. “It will be so
sweet. I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he murmured.

“
What?”

“
It’s what Brewer said to Lyd...Miss Ellis?”

“
Doesn’t sound much like he intends to hurt her,” said Shaw.
“Sounds more like he’s going to... to make love to her.”

Eddie
cut him off with a glance as he got shakily to his feet. “He’s not
going to do anything to her, Matt. You have my solemn promise on
that, and so does she. Whatever it takes, we get her back …
unharmed.” Resolute brown eyes flicked between Cameron and Shaw.
“What happens to him, I don’t care. Do whatever you have to. Go get
the bastard!”

A
unified, “Yes boss,” and the two men left to begin their search,
leaving Eddie alone in the medical room to make a hunt of his
own.

His
ribs, face and back hurt like the devil – hell everything hurt. If
he was going to function at all, to be any use to anyone, to Lydia,
he needed analgesia, and plenty of it. The powerful stuff would be
secure in the controlled drugs locker, the key to which he did not
have.

He
looked around for something to batter the door open with, finding
only the angle poise lamp Euterich had used to try and brain him.
He struck at the door several times. Not so much as a
dent.

Eddie
raised the lamp to give the door one more clout when a thought came
to him. Lydia would have her keys on her at all times ... in her
pocket. But she’d been all but naked when Brewer took her. Where
were her overalls? Tossed on the floor under the table.

He
rummaged through the pockets and came up with her key ring. Eureka!
More than a dozen keys of all shapes and sizes, including one with
a tiny red cross painted onto it.

It took
a while to manipulate the key in the lock with his throbbing
uncooperative right hand, but eventually the cupboard stood open,
its glowing red eye glaring at him, its entire contents spread out
on the work-top, with him rifling through the various boxes and
bottles.

He
picked up a black plastic pen-shaped article and read the label -
morphine sulphate IM injection. Just the stuff.

He
skimmed the instructions: remove red safety cap, press yellow end
against outer thigh, depress the black plunger.

Simple.
Injection by colour. He was a man. He could do that. Without
bothering with the niceties of sterilising the injection site, he
removed the red stopper, pressed the yellow end of the device
against his leg and applied pressure to the black plunger with his
thumb.

With a barely audible
psst
, the incorporated gas capsule fired the needle
through the fabric of his overall and a full inch into his leg,
sending the measure of clear liquid on its way directly into his
thigh muscle.

It stung
like a whole hive of bees and he rubbed the injection site
vigourously as he swore away the pain.

He then
had a worrying thought. He had been so desperate for relief he
hadn’t even checked the dosage. What if he’d given himself an
overdose? It was too late now. He’d know soon enough.

Eddie
tossed the used device into the sharps box, and with a cold
numbness spreading from his leg set off to find Lydia.

Chapter 43

She must
have fainted. Why else would she be upside down with her panty
covered arse in the air, legs gripped painfully behind the knees,
stomach draped over a broad shoulder, and her arms and taped
together hands flopping like a rag doll’s against navy cotton
overall, and not know how she got there?

From her
upturned position she could see black rig mats passing beneath
boots. Black rubber - safe. Yellow - caution. A flash of red -
danger, and then the steel disc welded over the mouse hole like a
bulls-eye in a target. Yellow again, then back to black.

The
harsh cold. The wet. She was outside, slung over someone’s shoulder
like a sack of potatoes, and being carried across the drill
deck.

Where
was she going … and whose back was this? Not Duncan Cameron’s. He
would never treat her so roughly. Neither would Shaw. It couldn’t
be Eddie’s either, because Eddie was dead, his skull smashed in
with the lamp base before being kicked to death by … Lawrence
Brewer.

“
Mmmmnnfffnffffff,”
she squealed behind
her silver gag, beating her hands against her abductor’s back. His
foot slipped on a patch of icy water and he momentarily wavered in
his step.

They
then stopped moving and she heard metallic fumbling and wet
creaking, followed by being plunged into a dank
darkness.

She
found herself slipping, falling, and grabbed at the fabric of the
overalls, but it was a guided drop onto a pile of what felt like
unrefined fabric, rough against her skin.

He
pulled the door closed and crouched before her, the yellow deck
light outside seeping through the window behind him and creating a
halo in his hair, leaving his face a dark blank oval, apart from
his eyes; impossibly bright in this dim light, their retinas
reflected back circles of the palest green … like an
animal’s.

What was
he waiting for?

To
Lydia’s unsophisticated eyes, Brewer appeared as nothing more than
a shadow in the dark, but he could see her as plain as in daylight.
Wide eyed over her gag, nostrils flaring, shivering with cold, yet
still so beautiful.

Oh no,
there would be no decapitation of this beloved creature, no
scattering of viscera, no succulent dining on sweet tender
flesh.

He could
never bring himself to make so much as a nick in that beautiful
body, let alone open her up and devour her. Such disfigurement
would be nothing less than sacrilege. Euterich had to have her with
him, a solid, living, breathing being, to see her, touch her, love
her, for as long as they both shall live.

You may now kiss the bride.

“
I’m going to remove the tape now, okay?” he said, and took
her silent stare to be assent.

The
instant he ripped off her silver gag she opened her mouth wide to
scream, only to find a meaty hand tasting of sweat and ether
clamped over it.

“
Don’t waste your breath,” he said. “No one will hear you
out here.”

He was
right. They wouldn’t. She should save her energy. She nodded. He
removed his hand before she could sink her teeth into
it.

“
Let me go,” she said, fighting to keep the shiver from her
voice.

“
No.”

She bit
down on her lip to stop it, and her chin, from trembling. “You
killed Eddie. You didn’t have to do that.”

“
Yes I did,” Brewer said. “He got in the
way. He would have spoiled everything. I didn’t really have a
choice. It’s for the best. I’m sorry if you’re upset. I’ll give him
credit; he died bravely, fighting for you. You should be proud of
him. Such gallantry is rare nowadays. Do you know what Robert
Heinlein said?
‎Almost everything about a human creature is
ridiculous, except its ability to suffer bravely and die gallantly
for whatever it loves and believes in. It’s so
true
, and
Eddie Capstan was a fine example. Such a shame.”

“
What do you want with me?” she whimpered, head swivelling,
huge eyes searching for an escape route.

He
stroked icy fingers down her cheek, wiping away a stray tear.
“You’re going to give me a whole new lease of life,” he
said.

“
Wha … what do you mean?”

“
My future lies in you.”

She
shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

His
hands went behind her head, released her ponytail and spread her
hair across her neck and shoulders. “You will. Once you accept it’s
a fait accompli.”

Another
tear, another caress of the stone cold fingers. “You don’t have to
do this,” she said. “I can help you.”

“
To do what?”

“
Whatever you want.”

Euterich
barked a laugh. “My dearest Lydia, I have everything I need right
here. You!”

She
twisted her face into a plastic smile of pure amicability, so tight
and false her mouth twitched at the corners.
“Lawrence...”

Euterich
stretched Brewer’s mouth into a wide grin, white teeth visible in
the black gash. “And I’m not Lawrence … at least not the one you
think you know.”

Lydia’s
beatific smile slipped slightly, a small double furrow of frown
appearing between her eyes as she tried to work it out. Multiple
personality disorder? It had to be. He’d had some kind of psychotic
episode and it had brought forward another, darker persona. “Can I
speak to Lawrence - to Doctor Brewer?” she said in the carefully
measured tones of a medical professional. “Can you let Lawrence
come forward to speak to me?”

“
I’m afraid the good doctor is not
available right now, only his thoughts and memories in an outward
projection. Please leave a message after the tone and if he ever
gets the chance I’m sure he’ll get back to you, but I wouldn’t hold
your breath.
Beeeeeeeep
!”