Henry was quick to remove himself from the current situation. He stepped out onto the bridge, hoping for the cool night air to replenish his thought process. Henry had put up with his fair share of crazies in his life but none of them were blood-spilling madmen. As far as he could recall, there was no protocol on that when he first joined the White Star Line. Despite the gruesome information James had given him, which was still not quite sufficient enough to fully understand, there was still a question that loomed over his head: If there was really someone down in cargo how did they get down there in the first place? Even an ordinary crew member would need to receive clearance from an officer. The only plausible thing that came to mind was a stowaway.
"I think that's as much information as we're gonna get out of him." Henry spun around to see William and Charles standing behind him, both looking perplexed. "I can't even begin to figure who would be so inclined to commit such savage acts or even why." Charles said. "But I don't think he's lying." Henry had no reason to question whether James was telling the truth or not. Sure, James was a bit of a character, this much was true, but he was definitely not one to lie about something like that. "I'm more interested in who did it." Henry said. "It's restricted access down there, not just anyone can go into cargo."
"Well, we don't exactly have anything concrete to go on." William responded. "All James said was there was a man in a mask."
"That's our only lead." Charles added.
Henry sighed as he massaged his temples in frustration. "Alright, so what do you propose we do?"
Charles and William looked at each other, hoping the other had a solution. However, they were both completely stumped. "I'm not sure." William finally said. "But whatever the solution, we need to ensure the passengers remain unaware of what's going on. We don't need to generate any panic in the middle of the ocean."
"And how do you propose we keep this under wraps?" Henry asked, seemingly annoyed. "Who knows how many passengers might have seen James panicking through the halls on his way back here."
"It's the middle of the night, Henry. They're more than likely asleep."
Before Henry could reply, a steward came rushing towards the three men. Without offering them a chance to ask what the issue was, the young lad said "There's several passengers down in steerage who are seem rather irate. Perhaps one of you should go down there and sort this out." The three men looked back and forth at each other. "I'll be down there in a moment." Charles finally said. "How bad of a commotion is it?"
"Just talk. Rather livid talk but they all saw one of the officers come crashing through not long ago with blood on him and nearly slipped in his own throw-up."
So much for keeping the situation under wraps. "Very well. I'll be on my way in just a minute. In the meantime, do what you can to keep passengers calm."
"Yes, sir." The steward walked off as Lightoller turned to face William. "Irony is a cruel mistress." He whispered.
"I think you're thinking of fate." William corrected.
"Fate too."
Meanwhile, back in the officer's lounge, James had frenzied himself into a state of exhaustion. Almost as if he were intoxicated, he eventually found himself passing out on the couch. All throughout, Harold stayed close to the young officer. While the details of what James had witnessed still remained unclear to him, as well as the other officers, the blood stains on James' collar and neck certainly didn't tell any lies. He stared at the red blotches, generating pictures in his head of whatever graphic event James had witnessed. Even more uneasy was the thought that there was a deranged lunatic on board who was going about slicing people to bits.
William quietly slipped into the room. "Is he okay?" He whispered. "Well, he's out like a light." Harold responded.
"Did he by chance say anything to you?"
"No. He just laid down and eventually nodded off. Where's Charles and Henry?"
"Henry's just outside. Charles went down to third class."
"What for?"
William pulled a white cloth from the pocket of his greatcoat and wiped the accumulating sweat from his brow. "Apparently, James generated a bit of a crowd down there."
"What? How so?"
"I don't know the full details but a steward did say that people were commenting on the blood on his shirt."
Harold let out a huff of frustration. With even the officers not having a full-on grasp of the situation at hand, the last thing they needed was for any of this to reach the passengers. "What do we do?" He asked. William wiped his brow again. "Mr. Lightoller is on his way down to third class as we speak to contain the hullabaloo."
"Let's hope his attempts are successful."
Down in steerage, Charles was greeted a moderately small group of people, dressed in their night clothes, who were in the midst of a ruckus. Although some spoke in languages unfamiliar to him, it didn't take an interpreter for him to know what they were talking about. Despite not having all the requisite details that would have helped him out, Charles wanted to approach the situation with as much propriety and care as possible. "Excuse me, everyone!" He called out, catching their attention. "Quiet down, please! Now, what's all this commotion about?"
A small middle-aged lady in a dark green nightgown with blonde hair peaking out under her nightcap stepped forward. "I heard what sounded like someone in distress," She began in a thick Irish accent. "And I opened the door to see what it was and I found one of your officers cowering on the floor." An elderly Swedish man threw in his two cents. "I heard a loud thud just right outside my door and as soon as I opened it I was greeted with the smell of vomit!" Charles immediately took notice of the small puddle of throw-up that someone had clearly already stepped in. "And then I saw blood!" A large Italian man chimed. At the very mention of blood, this seemed to raise the fuss once more. Knowing this would only incite speculation, Charles needed to figure a way to nip the situation in the bud even if it meant telling a lie.
"Alright, alright, quiet down!" He yelled. The hallways fell silent once again. "Now, listen. I can assure you the situation rests tightly with myself and the rest of the officers on board. Near as we can tell, Mr. Moody simply got lost aboard ship which resulted in a panic attack."
"What about the blood then?" Asked the little Irish woman.
"Mr. Moody may have suffered an injury when he fell. We will have a nurse look into it. For now, please return to your cabins. You can be confident that there is nothing wrong on board and that all is quite well. As second officer in charge aboard this magnificent vessel, I give you my word on that."
The passengers slowly turned to go back into their cabins with skeptical expressions drawn out on their faces. Charles wasn't entirely sure they bought his words as even he could admit that was hardly a convincing lie but he had to think of something off the top of his head right there on the spot. Regardless, he needed clarity on the situation himself. If lies were to turn into truth, it would be better for him to know what all was going on.
As a steward returned to the scene with a mop and bucket to clean up the remnants of James' last meal, Charles began to recall James telling him that the incident in question occurred in cargo. Thirsty for more information, Charles decided to venture to cargo to get a better idea of what James was losing his marbles over.
Charles was not easy to intimidate or otherwise frighten. Reluctant he could be but that was often when his judgement was challenged. Very little truly scared him and he was considered to be very bold when making decisions that others would soon rather not have to make. However, even as he ambled seemingly confident down into the belly of the ship, he couldn't shake this uneasy feeling that seemed to inch up his spine little by little which only seemed to intensify once he reached the cargo doors. Just as he reached out to open them, he kicked something. Looking down, he caught sight of something silvery in the feeble light. He picked it up and immediately recognized it as a flashlight. It was dinged up some but was still in good working condition at which point Charles took notice of the red footsteps that scurried in the opposite direction, becoming more and more faint with each step. He stopped to give himself a chance to rethink his decision to carry on by himself. Truly, it would have been wise to have another officer with him. Still, he figured he had already made it down here. May as well get a move on.
Without a second more of hesitation, he quickly pulled open the door and stepped into cargo, quietly shutting the door behind him. He took a moment to observe the space around him. It was dead silent. Not so easy for an assailant to hide his footsteps but the poor lighting definitely made it easy for one to conceal themselves in any shadows. With that, Charles found himself relying on his sense of hearing as his initial defense. Flicking on the flashlight, he shined its bright but small light over each area he felt someone could be waiting. In all directions, the coast was clear. Each step, light. Each breath, silent. If some lunatic was waiting down here, Charles didn't want to give away his position. As if for comedic measure, those attempts were thwarted by Charles slipping and falling hard on his backside, followed by a loud grunt as he hit the concrete floor, the flashlight falling from his grip. "Ow!" He groaned as a tried to push himself back up.
"I think that accelerated the aging process." He muttered. As he regained his sense of his surroundings, he noticed the back of his pants felt wet, as though he slipped in a puddle of water. He reached around for the flashlight, that had seemingly rolled off into the depths of oblivion never to be seen again. "Oh, damn." He whispered. As he felt around for it, he heard what sounded like a box falling over. It sounded far enough away but he couldn't begin to guess which direction it was coming from. He became a little more frantic as he searched about. Finally, he felt his hand clutch something. Gripping onto it, he felt his middle finger touch what felt like a switch. Flicking the flashlight on he quickly examined the floor around him and quickly clasped his hand over his mouth. He had definitely landed in a puddle but it wasn't a puddle of water. The red liquid he was now sitting in sent a tsunami of shivers up his spine. Charles felt his own blood run cold, his heart racing at the speed of light and his hands quiver in horror as he shined the light onto the source of blood pool.
There, in the small, shivering spotlight, were the remains of Boxhall's obliterated skull. Charles wanted to scream but his voice was reduced to nothing short of a rasp. Paralysis had him by the chin. He could feel his soul and body separate. If fear were a person, it would be frigid, cruel and sadistic. That's what it felt like to Charles. Like fears cold hands gripped him in its merciless clutches, laughing maniacally at him.
In him, the only sense that seemed to remain was his hearing. The sounds of approaching footfalls seemed to ignite a surge of adrenaline that seemed to call his spirit to rejoin with his body. Pushing himself back using his hands and feet, he frantically shined his light around the area, waiting to see whoever it was who was coming towards him. That was the problem though. He was unable to figure which direction they were coming from. Feeling around his jacket and pants, he realized he was without a pistol. If it came to it, he would have to fight with his bare hands. Scrambling quickly to his feet he prepared himself for a physical altercation, clinching one of his fists and clutching the flashlight tightly in his hand, preparing to use it with blunt force.
Suddenly, the foot falls stopped. The silence thickened back up once more. At this point, fear, which was once a stranger to him, held him tightly in its grips. Charles slowly took a few steps back, cautiously shining the light around the room as he backed away toward the door. A few more steps back, he felt himself back into something. Afraid to turn around, he used his free hand to explore the object he was pressed again, unable to make out what it could be… until he felt movement.
Quickly spinning around and aiming his light directly ahead of him, he was met with the ghastly sight of a person hiding behind a gas mask in tattered overalls. Thinking fast, he jumped back, narrowly missing the pick axe he wasn't even made aware of until just then. "AHH!" He yelled as he lost his balance and landed back on his rear end. The unidentified masked man raised up his axe and swung downward with Charles just dodging it as he quickly rolled over. Managing to climb back up to his feet, he dodged another swing at him. Then another. And another. On the fourth swing, he ducked, allowing the axe to lodge itself into a large crate. With the opportunity at his advantage as his assailant attempted to free his weapon, Charles quickly dashed by, throwing over some boxes in the process in hopes of buying himself a few extra seconds.
As he slammed his entire body into the door, a new fear dug its nails into him. The door was jammed. "NOOOO! DAMN IT! FUCK!" Charles cried out in frustration as he turned the handle and continuously slammed his body against the door. "C'mon, damn you!" He cursed. With one strong thrash, Charles was able to force the door open, landing onto his hands and knees in the process. Using the heels of his feet, he swung the door closed only for the axe to come swinging in, blocking it from closing all the way. With both feet on the door, Charles used what strength he was able to muster up to push against the door. For a moment, he thought the battle was lost. His muscles were getting tired and he didn't know how much longer he could fight it for. Placing his hands against the wall behind him, he used all of his bodily strength to press against the door. Then a thought struck him. He would have to be quick about it as speed was the difference between life and death at this point.
He momentarily relieved pressure from the door, allowing this brute to push it open even further. Just as he was able to stick his head through, Charles swiftly kicked the door inward, allowing the corner of it to smash this maniac in the face, briefly disabling him and causing him to drop his weapon. With the opportunity before him, Charles quickly jumped up and slammed the door shut, locking away this crazed man inside cargo as he ran back to the bridge.
Though feeling slightly victorious for a moment, the realization of what was truly at hand quickly flooded his mind. Charles had no idea how he was going to break this to the other officers. Even worse - how would he break this to the passengers?
*Author's note: Wow. That was an agonizing wait for which I apologize for. I ended up falling into a pit of writer's block and despite my best efforts I was only able to do maybe one or two paragraphs(if that)at a time. Believe me, I tried my hardest to get the momentum flowing but it really was a battle. Hopefully, that will explain the long wait for this chapter. Once again, I apologize.*
