She

The piercing wind blew forcefully against her, leaving cold scars on her delicate face. Teeth chattering, she held up one hand to keep her thick woollen hood from falling off her head, and used the other to keep her expensive fur coat in place, protecting herself from the biting cold that was threatening to penetrate through the material. She hated being on ships, travelling over water. Especially at night, she thought to herself. Being the only daughter of a famous railroad tycoon in America, she was on her way home for her long vacation after an exhausting year at Oxford. She was spared no luxury the moment she stepped onboard. The best cabin, only the finest food, exclusive use of the small indoor pool and the like. Despite all the comfort of her life, she still could not see why she had to go back to America instead of having her father join her in England.

    "Too busy, dear," he would say.

    Nevertheless, she sulked as she walked across the deserted deck, wandering about with no destination in mind. How she wished she could fly across that great expanse of water called the Atlantic Ocean instead of having to sit for days on a slow and unattractive hulk of metal that was the H.M.S. Wonder.

    She was startled from her reverie by a scuffling noise directly behind her. She whirled around, only to catch a fleeting glimpse of a man, the silhouette of his face with a pronounced aquiline nose cast onto to the facing wall by the moonlight, darting off into the shadows. Shaking her head ruefully, she wondered if she was just imagining things, and shuffled nervously into a small doorway that led to the lounge. Immediately, the messy pile of recent newspapers strewn over the table caught her eye. Since she could not get to sleep, and did not particularly like the cold outside, she decided to sit down on one of the comfortable leather-backed armchairs and read the news that she had been too busy to catch up on during her school term.

    As she relaxed in the comfortable space of her chair, a wave of tiredness overcame her as she closed her eyes and thought of the long journey from Oxford to Bournemouth, then aboard the H.M.S. Wonder for the long trip home. She sighed deeply and opened her eyes to continue her reading.

    "Bodies of five young girls found in the Avon River, murdered with no apparent motive," she read aloud, "suspect still at large, last seen near Bournemouth." The paper then proceeded to give a brief description of the man.

    "In his late twenties…dark hair…about 2 metres tall…well-defined features…" she read on uninterestedly. She put down the paper after looking at an artist’s impression of the man, and yawned audibly. I ought to be getting some sleep, she thought. Lifting herself off her seat, she cautiously opened the door to the outside and looked around, relieved but somewhat disappointed at being unable to see the figure again, and proceeded to her cabin. What my life lacks most is excitement, she decided as she reached her cabin door. She shook her head to clear her mind of all thoughts before she entered her room. The tiredness must be getting to me, she thought, and chided herself for not allowing herself to rest early. Carefully, she locked the door behind her before lying down on the bed to sleep.

    Morning came bright and sunny, and sunlight flooded in through the single makeshift window of a porthole beside her bed. She groaned and forced herself to get up, reaching towards the window, but was dismayed by the lack of curtains to block out the sunlight. Muttering curses under her breath, she got to her feet and washed herself up. Changing into clean clothes, she stepped outside her cabin and went onto deck for breakfast.

***

    The days flew by uneventfully, and just as she was about to scream from the boring routines of the days aboard the ship, she noticed a passenger that arrested her attention. From what she could make of him, he seemed a charming young man, neat and without a hint of sloppiness coming through his well-pressed garments. When he caught her looking at him one day, he smiled back at her and gave a wave of his hand. Every day since then, she was sneaking glances at him when she knew he was not looking, and she was sure he was doing the same, too.

    Being the shy sort she was, she never dared to approach him and introduce herself, for fear that she might make a fool out of herself. Understandably, she gushed when he made the first move to get to know her.

    "Good day, Miss," he said, offering out his hand, "the name’s John Warwick."

    "Good day to you too," she replied, "I’m Amanda Morton." She similarly stretched out her hand.

    Instead of giving her a warm handshake as she expected him to, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

    "Pleasure to meet you," he said, giving her a flattering smile.

    Her knees almost buckled right there and then. "It was nice meeting you too, umm...John," she said uncertainly. There was something about the way he looked that made something at the back of her mind click, but she just could not place the feeling, being caught up in the moment as she was. She stared blankly into his dreamy eyes, feeling like she could remain there forever.

    John cut the moment short with an offer to take a walk with her around deck to get to know her better. She gladly complied, and was flushed with emotion as he took her arm in his and started to talk about himself.

    He introduced himself as an architect going to America to look for more job opportunities, hoping to be able to lead a comfortable life in the "Land of Dreams". At this, she gave a small laugh and told him that she would try her best to get him a job designing railroad stations for her father, and he appeared to lose his composure for the first time since she had known him.

    "You…your father’s a…a railroad tycoon or something?" he asked.

    "Yes, he is. What’s so strange about that?" she said, not knowing why John seemed unnerved that she was the rich daughter of a railroad tycoon.

    "Oh, nothing…you don’t meet daughters of railroad tycoons everyday, do you?" he laughed, trying to inject humour into the conversation.

    "Well, if you put it that way…" she laughed along with him.

    Their conversation continued, each discovering more about the other every minute. Their relationship consisted of their walks with each other every morning and evening and occasional conversations over lunch or dinner. Even so, she could not find the courage to say the three words that she had been longing to say from the very start, as she was unsure of John’s true feelings for her.

***

    John once again seemed to break the ice when he met up with her one afternoon and told her to meet him at the benches furthest aft after dinner that evening, as he had something important to tell her. Her heart leapt for joy as she realised that that might be the day where it was made known that their feelings for each other were mutual. She refused to think otherwise. I love him, she thought to herself, I really do.

    The sun was just setting as she made her way to her rendezvous point with John, ignoring the incessant rumblings of her stomach. She was too jumpy to eat. Alone, she sat down on the hard wooden bench, stained a shade darker by the slight drizzle awhile ago. The sun was just about to disappear below the horizon as John appeared, face flustered.

    "I’m so sorry, Mandy, I had to prepare myself before coming," he breathlessly spoke. He had obviously been running to keep the appointment.

    "It’s okay, John," she gently assuaged him, "now perhaps you can tell me what is of such importance that you have to speak to me in private, here."

    Catching his breath, he paused for a moment, then kissed her full on her lips. Taken aback, she widened her eyes in surprise, but slowly responded to his actions. John gently pulled back, breaking the kiss.

    "Mandy, I love you," he whispered into her ear.

    "I love you too, John," she replied.

    Then after looking around, he said to her with a wicked smile on his face, "The deck is too crowded, don’t you think?"

    She nodded, and their lips met again, but this time, John had his hands around her waist, gently guiding her towards the lounge door. John’s hands fumbled it open and they half-fell inside, both collapsing on the armchair, with John on top. The door clicked shut behind them, and John was left looking deep into her eyes.

    Without a word, they both got up from the chair, seemingly driven by some unseen force. She backed up a little and accidentally knocked over the newspaper rack, spilling the well-read sheets all over the carpeted floor. Paying no attention to the messy state of the room, she lay down on the newspaper-covered carpet and pulled John slowly down with her. John’s face took on a look of absolute seriousness.

    "Are you sure you want it?" he asked her.

    "Yes, John, give it to me now…" she moaned through ragged breaths, eyes closed with a look of utter bliss on her face.

    John allowed himself a smile as he reached into his pants and drew it out, cold and hard. As much as he had done this many times already, he still felt a sense of regret at not being able to see the look on each girl’s face after the deed was done. Tonight would be different.

    "Hurry up, John, please…" she was pleading to him now, her head tilted to one side. She slowly opened her eyes and came face to face with the drawing of the Avon murderer. Turning her face to meet his, recognition flashed in her eyes.

    Shrugging his shoulders, he plunged it deep into her heart and pulled it out again almost immediately. Her eyes seemed to bug out of their sockets as the blood spurted out unceasingly. Her face was transfixed in shock and horror and would remain that way until she rotted to nothing. She did not even have time to cry out, and John always prided himself in that respect. Satisfied with his work, he wiped the knife on the hem of her dress, then sheathed it again. Turning about, he made sure the coast was clear before he stepped back on deck.

    At least, I’m no pervert, he thought, looking back to the lifeless body of Amanda Morton, lying on the ground in a pose that would have been seductive had she not been dead. I go for girls that are still alive. Laughing madly inside himself, he sauntered off to enjoy the cool night breeze.

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