The sultry sound of the voluptuous Italian singer drifted over the ballroom. Her voice alone was enough to cause a man hand over his wallet, but accompanied with a string quartet, it was like paradise. The dapper elite swayed together, clinking their expensive glasses of chardonnay together as they toasted their wealth. The men spoke of JFK's presidency while the women gossiped over what a tragedy Marilyn Monroe's death.
Lodged deep within the cabin suites sat Tate Langdon. The last of his white powder stash was working its way into his system. He twitched as he frantically assembled the guns he smuggled onto the ship.
That was the good thing about Italian cruises- they were too preoccupied keeping their heads up each other's asses to have solid security.
He was going to show them. He was going to show them all. Especially his mother.
Thinking of her made Tate want to gag. She'd brought him along on the cruise as she chased some wealthy man's wallet. She'd always told Tate he had so much potential to be the perfect child, unlike his siblings, he had flawless looks. He was going to be the perfect businessman. He was going to make some girl very happy with all of his money. He was the only thing she had done right in her life. Her constant fluff of praise made him sick.
His mother was such a gold-digging whore.
A few months before his mother started chasing the wealthy, she had locked a poor, family man into a dangerous affair. Tate knew his mother wasn't happy with the relationship, but she loved the power she had over the man. With that power, she had the man do one thing she never could bring herself to do- kill Tate's siblings.
And you know what? He did it. He killed them. He suffocated Beau and Addie, and made it look like an accident. Sure, there was an investigation, but the hype died down shortly. Right after the suspicion left, his rotten mother left the poor bastard and started chasing a new man- a wealthier man. And that's how they ended up in Italy boarding a massive liner.
Tate didn't care to hide the guns as he left the cabin. He wanted everyone to see.
He knocked down every door in every hall, his gun spraying death at the innocent children put to bed by their parents. It was easy enough, and they didn't put up too much of a fight. The music above masked the sound.
His gun was aimed at anyone that crossed his path. Staff members, elegantly dressed women with swirling hair, teenagers slipping away to consummate a fling. He killed them all.
The ballroom was going to be harder to take down. Though he was high and delirious, Tate crafted a plan. He snuck into a storage room and grabbed some chains and locks. Dragging them out, he tightly secured all of the doors but one. To get out, they'd have to get past him. And that wasn't going to happen.
Calmly, he strode into the luxurious room, draped in vibrant reds and plastered in gorgeous woods. He made eye contact with the busty woman on stage. Her voice was soothing. He smiled as he thought of how wonderful it would be if she kept singing as he opened fire.
Tate sought out his mother. No one seemed to notice the haul of weaponry he carried. They either thought they were fake, or they were too wrapped up in their own lives to notice him passing by.
He found his mother at the center of the ballroom. Her body was tightly wrapped in a sparkling gown that trailed on the floor. She looked happy as she danced with the captain of the ship.
Two for one special.
His mother noticed him, but before she could say anything, Tate cocked his gun and raised it. He sent a bullet straight through her forehead, execution style. Quickly, he shot a round at the ship's captain.
There was a stunned moment of silence as the room processed what had just happened. Tate, however, didn't waste any time. He continued his massacre. The screams clouded his head, mixing in with the sound of the gun. People pounded on the doors, trying to escape. Tate picked them out, one by one, until the screaming finally stopped.
The once white marbled floor was painted red and cluttered with bodies. It was almost funny how elegant everything still looked, though it was covered in a layer of thick crimson.
His drug induced murderous rampage continued. Tate dunked in and out of rooms, seeking out anybody he had missed in his first wave. And when he was sure he had eradicated all the yuppie scum on the ship- Tate walked out onto the deck.
He held a single gun with a single bullet. He looked out over the dark ocean as he raised the gun to his head.
Then he pulled the trigger.