Page 10 of Ship Happens
I feel bad for the guy. I truly do. But I’m on a mission here, and this man’s relationship woes aren’t very high on my list of priorities. He’s creating a distraction, and the last thing I need is something that takes my eyes off the prize.
“Listen...Ice Pig, I’d love to help you, but I’m the last person you should come to for relationship advice. I would rather step inside a church and risk bursting into flames than watch a romantic chick flick. I would sooner skinny dip in a lake of sulfuric acid than go on a blind date. Frankie and romance are like oil and water.”
Ice Pig’s shoulders seem to droop as his gas mask bobs up and down. “Okay, well...thanks anyway, Frankie. I’m really sorry I bothered you.”
As he slinks away, guilt grips my lungs and squeezes. I feel like shit for running him off, but I wasn’t lying when I said I fucking hate romance. Yeah, maybe that’s because I’m jealous of the people who get to experience it, but I have an amazing career. My bed may be empty, but my heart is filled.
Mostly.
I turn in my seat and look toward the open doorway. A few silver suits mill about in the hallway, and a few more hover near the bar. We haven’t been instructed to take off our masks, so I can only assume they’re patiently waiting for the go-ahead.
The room darkens further, and the muffled voices drop to whispers as a spotlight illuminates the dark stage. Four people are led onto the stage by a person in a suit like mine, but it’s all black instead of silver. The four people wear similar but different-colored suits as well. One is pink, one is red, and one is yellow. The fourth suit looks like an oil slick, with an array of colors gleaming on the metallic material. All of their ankles have been cuffed, and they’re held together via a daisy chain that’s also bolted to the floor.
The tall man in the black suit removes his gas mask, revealing his face. It’s Jim Madigan.
“Sinners, please keep your masks in place for the time being,” he says as he strolls to the front of the small stage. His voice booms through overhead speakers, so he must be wearing a mic. “We’ll eat and drink and be merry very soon, but first, I wanted to provide a little pre-dinner entertainment and a hint at our secret game.”
Spit gathers under my tongue, and a wave of unease moves over me. It’s a collective feeling, shared by others in the room, and it charges the air.
Something isn’t right.
I’ve never been to one of these retreats, and we don’t have any intel on what occurs, but this isn’t how things are usually done. I feel this more than I know it, but either way, I trust it. My anxiety blossoms for a very different reason, but I’m not the only one who feels it.
“By now, most of you know of the scavenger hunt I’ve arranged among the Normies,” he continues, “but did you know there are other scavenger hunts to be had?”
He steps up to the first person in the line—a tall figure in a red suit. Jim lowers the red hood, then removes the gas mask to reveal a terrified man. Dried blood gathers around threads that hold his lips together. They’ve stitched his mouth shut.
I should be horrified. Disgusted. Completely aghast.
But I’m not.
I’m intrigued, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the fear in that man’s gaze. He knows his time on this earth is very limited, as is evidenced by the puddle of piss forming at his feet.
“Here we have a sad little man who thought it would be fun to slip drugs into a woman’s drink before assaulting and strangling her.” Jim smiles at the man. “You were due to get out of jail in a few months, weren’t you?”
Tears stream from the man’s eyes as he nods.
“Do you feel you’ve served enough time? You’ve only been in prison for what, twelve years?”
The man’s eyes clench shut. He doesn’t know how to answer. Not honestly, anyway. I’m certain he feels he’s served enough time, but he doesn’t know what answer is expected of him here.
“Kill him!” someone shouts, and a few other muffled voices offer the same sympathies.
“All in good time,” Jim says to the crowd. He strolls to the next in line and pulls away the pink hood before looking out at us again. “How do we feel about child predators?”
The room fills with boos, and I join them. We can agree that these people are disgusting at the very least. It’s too bad we can’t agree on how to handle them.
Jim pulls off the mask and reveals an older woman with a short black bob. “She owned a daycare and thought it would be a good idea to line her pockets with the pain of her small charges. Millions of sick individuals tuned in for the abuse perpetrated at her hands. Should she die as well?”
The room fills with a loud cheer, and the woman collapses on stage. Jim steps to the side so that he doesn’t slow her descent, and her head cracks against the stage floor.
“Whoopsie!” Jim says with a laugh. “I guess she’s not used to being the one in the spotlight.” He steps over her prone body and stops beside the yellow suit.
I’m seeing a trend here. Everyone on the stage was chosen for a particularly heinous crime. Sexual assault. Child predation. But what could yellow mean? Or iridescent? Surely they don’t take down fellow murderers. What sense would that make?
Jim peels back the yellow hood and strips off the gas mask to reveal another woman. Blood coats her chin, and her lips are in tatters. Thin strips of skin dangle where she’s ripped out the stitching.
“I’m not like those criminals!” the woman screeches. “Tax fraud! And I scammed some people, but that’s it. I never hurt women or children.”
