Dreamboat Ch. 08

Fade's eyes moved constantly as he took in the geography of the narrow passageway. There was a pile of garbage bags alongside a dumpster before the lane finished at a brick wall, in which a clearly padlocked door was the only egress. He let his right hand hang down, ready to spring the knife he kept in a hidden holster up his sleeve.

There was only one real hiding place, and that was behind the dumpster which, for a homeless man with a need to relieve himself, was the logical destination. He muttered away to himself as he moved, carefully maintaining his hide-in-open-sight disguise, which was close enough to his reality to be completely believable.

His heart began to race as he neared the dumpster. This wouldn't be his first murder, not by a long way and, although he didn't enjoy killing, he did like to do a good, professional job. His fingers tapped the trigger of the knife holster – one press and it would be in his hand. He passed the dumpster, to find nothing there apart from an empty food can and a few pieces of paper.

He knew then that he had made a very bad mistake, and tensed to turn around and...

The pain, when it came, was crippling. The thin blade – more like an ice-pick than a stiletto – slipped into his right kidney and shocked his whole body into immobility. Another jab, this time into the left kidney, and his eyes were streaming at the incredible agony that flowed through him. He had never imagined that such pain was even possible without passing out.

He felt hands patting at him, emptying his pockets of the odds and ends that were stored there; lifting his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and then pressing his thumb to it to unlock it; finding the knife holster and removing it. Then he was being pushed forward towards the dumpster, his legs working on instinct rather than design. The lid was lifted and he saw, without conscious thought, that it had been emptied recently. Then one more pain as the knife came again, this time upwards, up under his ribs and neatly sliding into the left ventricle of his heart. His panicked mind wondered how the target thought he would get away with murder, in full daylight, with people walking nearby.

He was still aware as he was tipped into the dumpster and full garbage bags were dumped onto his spasming body. The lid was lowered, but by that time he could see no more anyway, and he faded into the ironic darkness.

Serge Hordiyenko looked around casually, noting the minimal blood spill and kicked a garbage bag over the little that had dripped to the ground. Kidney strikes were, in his opinion, the perfect target for wet work – subtle and unobtrusive and drawing very little attention from potential witnesses, but resulting in little or no resistance from the victim, very little noise, and minimal bleeding. Of course, they were not the easiest targets to find at first stab, but he had had plenty of experience.

And he had the man's phone, which held the possibility of revealing why he was being watched and who the hell wanted him assassinated.

All in all, a good day's work. He was so bored with hitting the silent old lady that he had given up on it, and this had come as a nice distraction.

*****

Wren carried the three plates to the little dropdown table, placed one each in front of Sasha and Honey and retired to the bed to sit next to Reid while she ate, pleased at the heartfelt thanks and the sounds of pleasure coming from the other two as they ate the steak and onions, with creamed corn and mashed potatoes.

"God, it's so good!" enthused Sasha, happily cutting another piece of steak and adding mash to the fork. "You are best cook."

"You are indeed," agreed Honey. "I have no idea how you managed to put this together so well in that tiny little kitchen, but this is truly wonderful."

"I think that going without eating for a few days might have influenced your opinion," said Wren, her smile revealing her pleasure at the praise. All that time she had spent with Rosa was finally paying off.

The three of them had talked for a long time after Reid had got the shot of morphine, which put him out for the count for several hours. Honey had monitored him carefully and regularly, making sure his pulse, blood pressure and temperature were all within normal range, as the other two had told their stories and she had related hers.

Sasha was fascinated especially by Wren's tales of Reid on the streets, but tried to play down her interest. She was horrified at what Honey had gone through, feeling that in comparison, her past was not nearly as bad as she had thought.

"Ark for walking wounded," she said, rolling the 'r' in the first word and making it sound exotic to the other two.

"What?" asked Honey.

"This boat is ark for walking wounded," Sasha repeated, finishing her meal. "Is what Wren said. Is true."

"Hey, it is true," said Wren when Honey looked at her. "Everyone on this boat is damaged in some way or another. We all have bad history."

Honey had to agree, noticing for the first time how exhausted the other two looked. Both had dark rings under their eyes, and their faces looked drawn and pinched with tiredness.

"Why don't you two get some sleep," she offered. "I'll look after him."

Wren looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"Okay, I may have made a bad mistake with Lachlan," offered Honey. "But think about it. I can't operate this boat. From what Sasha says, only he can make it go. So what am I going to do, try and steal it and then remain stuck here forever, wherever the hell here is?

"Wren, I'm a doctor... well, almost. I am never going to harm my patient. I don't work that way – it's just not in me – even if it wasn't for the fact that you two would drown me in an instant if I did. So why not rest for a while? I slept through the night, so I'll sit here with him and make sure he's fine. He needs to take more penicillin in a couple of hours, and if he gets restless from pain, I'll give him another shot of morphine - there are a few more syrettes in the medical drawer."

She paused as if not sure how to pose the question. "So why do you actually have those?"

Wren shrugged. "I told you everything I know about the boat and how strangely it operates. There seems to be little hidden compartments everywhere, with unexpected, and even inappropriate things in them. I found those needles and thread when we first got on board, and the rest of the stuff later. It took us a couple of days to work out that the bed is also a dining table. We didn't even know how to get to the engine room or second cabin until Sasha snuck onboard.

"All I know is that someone or something other than us is in command of this boat. From what Lachlan's explained to me, he doesn't set the course and once it's there, he can't seem to steer it off that line. He thinks it's a computer onboard running a test of a self-driving boat, like one of those cars that drive themselves that they're testing around the world.

"But he also says that if that's the case, then there should be a whole lot more cameras on the decks and bridge to work out when and how to avoid any danger. So that idea may be wrong. But whoever is in charge, they ordered supplies to be just about waiting at the dock in the last harbour we were at, including fresh, perishable stuff. So they have to be expecting someone on board. And we're it. But we got aboard by accident – as did you and Sasha."

"Da," cut in the Russian girl. "I see opportunity and take it. Simple."

"But what I don't understand is why whoever is running this thing brought you out here. It's just a spot on the map – just open sea in the Carribbean. So what I mean is, what's here?" asked Honey.

Wren thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "You, I suppose."

"But how would anyone know to find a boat drifting around after three days at sea?" said Honey.

The three of them thought about that in silence. Sasha collected their plates and stacked them in the dishwasher. Suddenly, she straightened up.

"Satellite?" she suggested.

Wren and Honey looked at each other.

"I suppose it could see a boat, but..." Honey trailed off.

"But why you?" finished Wren.

"Maybe... no, forget it!" said Honey.

"What?"

"It's silly, I thought for a moment that it might be because I was fighting with the PKK. But that can't be it. It's seen as a terrorist organisation, and I think anyone who could watch with a satellite would be happier to see me die at sea than see me rescued."

Wren put her fingers to her temples. "We need Reid for this. He's good at coming up with possible solutions. And my brain is so tired, it feels like sawdust is leaking out of my ears."

Honey stood up and took her hand. "Wren, go and sleep. You too, Sasha. I'll look after things here."

Sasha nodded after a moment and handed her a mobile phone.

"If Reid is problem, or if alarm rings, you call us. Both very important. Only number on phone is to Wren."

"This works all the way out here?"

"Wren and I test it while you sleep. When I check fuel tanks, I phone Wren to report. No problem. You call us."

Honey took it and sat cross-legged on the bed next to Reid, checking his forehead with the back of a hand.

"Also, it has the time on it so you'll know when to give him his pills and things," Wren finished.

"Thank you. Now go! You both look like you're going to drop right there."

The two women headed for the rear deck.

"Oh, Sasha?"

"Hmm?"

"What was wrong with the fuel tanks?"

"They are full."

"Well, that's a relief. That's good," Honey breathed a sigh of relief. Some good news.

"After five hours going fifty knots," Sasha continued. "Tanks are full."

Honey looked puzzled.

"Is that right?" she asked. "Should they be like that?"

"No! It is impossible!" said the girl and trailed off after Wren, leaving Honey with a head full of questions.

In the forward cabin, the two women looked at the bed, knowing it was going to be a squeeze getting both of them comfortable in it.

Wren sighed. "I guess we'll have to spoon."

"Ok," said Sasha, and then yawned so hugely she heard a creak from her jawbone. She turned to see the blond stripping off her jeans.

"You should get undressed, Sasha." She gave the Russian girl a smile. "You've been working in the engine room, and it shows. If you get oil on the sheets, we'll never get them clean."

The shorter girl pulled the waist of her tee shirt, tenting it out, and saw little dots of oil spattered across it. There were also a couple of stains that must have come from her dousing the hot probe in the cold antiseptic.

"You are right," was all she could say.

She had never undressed before a stranger before, and blushed hotly as she drew the tee shirt off to reveal her large breasts supported in her equally large white bra. Deciding to simply ignore her embarrassment, she shucked off the trousers, leaving her in little pink panties.

"Oh," Wren remarked, already in bed and watching her new roommate undress. "I love the panties. I never would have put you down as pretty in pink though, you always seem so..."

"Like man," Sasha said mournfully. "I know. I am strong and work on engines, and people see me as man ... man with big tits. But I am not man."

"Oh sweetie," Wren said quickly, realising she had hurt the girls feelings. "I didn't mean it that way. I meant that you are so tough and so strong, I would have expected sexy black rather than pink."

Sasha climbed into bed, and let Wren push her onto her side so that the blond could spoon up behind her.

"You think Captain see me as man?" she asked quietly.

"Not a chance!" Wren stated. "You are lovely and perfect just as you are, and I know he will treat you as a lady."

She paused and then giggled. "Except when he's in bed with you. And then I'll bet he'll treat you as anything but a lady. But he will be gentle with you, I know."

Sasha blushed again at the words, but couldn't help feeling her pussy moisten at the thought of Lachlan in bed with her. She was both scared and delighted at what her imagination conjured up.

Wren switched the light off, put her arm around the brunette and rested her hand on the naked belly, feeling the strength of the muscles beneath the minimal layer of fat. 'Just right' she thought and closed her eyes.

Sleep came quickly to both of them, neither of them waking even when Honey tiptoed in to check on them and tripped the automatic light, cursing under her breath until she managed to spot the wall switch and turn it off again. After watching the two of them for a while in the soft glow of the hall light as they breathed almost in unison, she tiptoed away and made her way back up to the main cabin to resume her lone watch over the sleeping man.

As she settled back onto the bed, Honey saw Reid's eyes flutter open. He stared at her for a long moment. She tried a smile in return.

"You're not a teacher," he mumbled.

"No, I'm a doctor," she replied softly.

"Doctor's shouldn't kick people out of bed." He was muttering now, and she had to strain to hear his words.

"No, they shouldn't," she said, and despite herself, found that she was stroking the hair out of his eyes. "And I apologise wholeheartedly for doing that."

"S'okay then." He tried to turn before she could prevent it, and cried out.

Hurriedly she fetched another syrette, giving him the morphine that put him back to sleep almost immediately.

Wishing she had something to read, she checked and mentally catalogued everything that was in what they all now thought of as 'the medical drawer'. Then she wandered around the cabin for a while, looking in cupboards and drawers and discovered that what she had been told was true. Even in the few storage compartments she found, she had discovered a few things that seemed out of place on a boat – starting with the machete that the girls had told her about. She shuddered at the thought, and decided to check that wound.

Tucking the sheet around his chest, she lifted his leg and saw the twin scars that Wren had described and tried to imagine the sheer pain of what he had done to disarm his opponent. She had seen his other scars as well and knew that he had felt some very serious pain before, so the fact that he done that deliberately was almost mind- boggling.

Gently she stroked two fingers over the scars, noting the neatness of the healing which, in her estimation, would probably fade completely within a year or two, the stitching was so neat and precise.

Again she stroked the scar, and as she was admiring the work and thinking that Wren would probably make an excellent theatre nurse or even a surgeon, she saw the movement alongside her.

The sheet was rapidly being forced up into a tent over his groin.

It wasn't the first time that a man had gained an erection while she was ministering to him, and knew that it was purely an autonomic reaction to her touching his thigh near to his groin. However, she was a little impressed by the size.

She scolded herself severely. For the last months she had been raped and whored out repeatedly, and any thought of a man's genitals was absolutely repugnant to her. If she never saw a penis ever again, she would feel blessed.

So why this? And why now?

She caught her hand as it went to lift the sheet, and found herself almost sweating at the realisation of how she was responding. She stopped, the sheet still clutched in her fingers.

This would be a betrayal of both herself as a woman, and as a doctor.

But would one glimpse really make any difference?

Before she could get the rogue thought under control, she had done the deed and was now faced with his erection in all its rampant glory. She tried to jam her medical brain into gear and simply admire the healthy way it pulsed to the beat of his heart, the deep hue and shape of the head and the engorged veins along the shaft. She shook her head urgently in denial. But her body was responding helplessly. She was becoming wet.

She dragged the sheet back down to cover him and began to weep very quietly, rocking back and forth as she hugged her arms across her chest.

*****

Several hours later, Sasha awoke. Something had happened to wake her up, but what?

She checked the phone tucked under her pillow to see if Honey had called for help, but discovered there were no missed calls or messages. The boat alarm wasn't sounding, and she knew the black-haired woman didn't know how to turn it off anyway. So it wasn't that. Her bladder was comfortable, and she wasn't hungry or thirsty, so what had awoken her?

At that moment she realised that her nipples were as hard as nails and that she was wet between her thighs. A moment later she discovered why, as a small, soft hand swept over her left breast. It paused to tweak at her nipple through the bra, and then moved on to the other mound.

"I know you're awake," whispered Wren. "I heard your breathing change."

"No, I am not awake," she whispered back.

Wren giggled. "Well parts of you are."

To demonstrate she tweaked a nipple once again. Her fingers trailed up over the upper reaches of Sasha's breasts and then slipped under the left cup to fondle the hard peak, skin-to-skin.

"Yep, definitely awake," Wren breathed, and leaned forward to plant a series of soft, warm kisses on the back of the brunette's neck. Sasha felt the hair on her arms all stand up at once as a thrill rushed down her spine to tickle her lower belly.

"But Wren," she protested, a blush starting that rapidly moved down her body. She felt both hot and cold, on fire and freezing at the same time. "I am not lesbiyanka... not lesbian!"

"Neither am I, sweetie. But you're as tense as a cat with a mouse doing cartwheels in front of it. You need to relax, or you're going to have a meltdown. I thought you could do with some comforting."

Sasha was very surprised to find tears running down her face, and felt Wren put both arms around her to hug her close. She put her hands over those of the blond and pressed them to her, needing the closeness.

"I am worrying about Mama and Serge. I worry Captain will blame me for him being shot. I worry that I cannot find how to make engines fire. I worry that Honey is not what she says."

"Hey, hey. You can't take all that on you. By doing as your Mama told you, you did what she thought was best. Neither of you knew he would turn out to be a maniac killer, with a sideline in torture. And he being there with the two of you is not on you. If he's like you say, then he targeted your mother as soon as your father died, and simply preyed on her vulnerability. We don't forget him, but I don't think we need to worry about him out here in the middle of the ocean.

"Oddly, I feel we can trust Honey to do as she says. She is definitely a doctor of some sort, and although plenty of doctors are complete assholes, I don't get any feeling like that about her. She had plenty of opportunity to harm Lachlan while she was taking that bullet out. In fact she could have done more harm just by telling us there was nothing she could do for him and leaving him to die. I think she's fine, otherwise she'd be over the side.

"Lachlan is a more complex situation. But although we've only been on this boat for a week or so, I've known him for almost two years. He's one of the good guys – the really good ones. He won't blame you for anything to do with him being wounded, I can promise you that. When he was stabbed in the leg, it was because I led some really bad guys right to him, and despite that stupid act, he never showed me anything but real caring.

"As for the engines, I think we just need Lachlan for that – and more. We need him. Both of us need him. And if what I suspect is actually true, then it would seem that the three of us need him."