Sail

Water ran down my body in steaming, soothing sheets. I could’ve stood there for hours if I didn’t have a ham in the oven. It’d been days, or it seemed like it anyway, since my last shower. I smelled like burnt pancakes soaked in a bucket of sweat. The kitchen was so hot now with the combination of cooking, baking, and my metallic ability to sweep the cold from the room, that I could barely stand it anymore. Plus, kneading my scalp under the hot water would hopefully trigger some hair growth.

And hope it grows some moresies.

The crew had stayed in the dining room that morning until well past breakfast. The dining room magnetized its promise of safety to them, and they always seemed beyond hesitant to leave. They must have bought my lie about my goddess repelling the spirits. But when they’d slipped away after lunch, I found a flashlight, took the ice pick, and headed to the iron-eating sink in the basement. Lucky I was right in my assumption of where there was a sink, there might also be a shower.

No doors had opened or closed on the way there, other than by my own hand as I searched for Randolph and anything iron-related, though admittedly I didn’t stray too far from the dining room. The only thing I found were two stripped nails in a pile of wooden planks.

With a reluctant sigh, I fumbled for the off lever in the shower. The first floor lights had been turned on, and I had no trouble finding the light switch in the bathroom. I hadn’t even needed the flashlight, but only an old gossamer curtain separated the view of my very naked, completely female body from someone who might walk in the door. Not like they could because I’d locked it, but still. So I’d showered in the dark, which hid me well and made for a unique showering experience. Plus, this way, I wouldn’t have to see my ugly, nearly bald head in the mirror above the sink.

A cold blast of air rolled goose bumps over my arm as I reached a hand around the curtain, but my fingers met emptiness. Where had my clothes gone? I’d hung them on the hook just outside the shower stall with my flashlight on the floor below. Feozva damn it, where were they?

I snapped the curtain aside. Winter lanced my entire body with painful needles. Shivering, I rushed out of the stall, and just as my toes met a pile of clothing on the floor, the lights snapped on.

I lunged for my clothes, pressed them to my chest, and backed toward the shower stall. But it was too late. Mase stood inside the door, and I could tell by the fall of his mouth and the growing whites of his eyes that he’d seen everything.

The breath whooshed from my lungs as did a surprised sort of groan. I froze, not quite sure what to do next. Make up some lame story about James and the Giant Breasts or pretend everything was perfectly normal? But he could see the truth right in front of him.

And from what little I knew about him, I could already tell he’d grill me with questions and accusations. He’d be forced to tell his captain that I wasn’t who I appeared to be, that I was trouble. They would dig into my real identity, see my fugitive status, and drop me on the nearest planet to turn me in. I’d be sent to the prison planet, and it would all be for nothing because I hadn’t found Ellison. That truth shot through my heart and brought tears to my eyes. I’d never get to her in time. In time for what, I didn’t know, and that frustrated me even more.

Mase swallowed and blinked. His chest heaved. He aimed his gaze at my feet then roamed it up my legs, over my hips, and lingered on the curve of my breasts not covered by the bundle of clothes. Then he flicked those mismatched eyes to mine, and a carnal need flared inside them so bright, it pooled a melting warmth deep inside me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, then he turned and fled.

I blinked after him, stunned and more than a little confused. What did he mean sorry? Sorry he had to tell the captain? Well, me too.

With fingers shaking from cold and fear, I somehow managed to wrap my parts back up and cover myself in baggy clothes from behind the cover of the shower curtain. Then I rushed to the door, thinking I could find him, plead with him not to tell. Before I left, I fiddled with the lock. Busted, like almost every other rusted out thing on this fucking ship.

Back upstairs, I half-expected to hear footsteps behind mine in hot pursuit to demand answers. But all I heard was the grumble of the engine and a staccato tapping mixing through the hum of metal under my feet.

The tapping grew louder when I rounded the corner underneath the now-fixed light in the hallway. Not banging, just tapping, like a hammer in a steady hand. It came from Randolph’s room. Was he fixing something? Why wasn’t he in the kitchen where chefs should be?

When I came to his door, the tapping stopped. I pressed my cheek to the chilled metal and tried the lever that still wouldn’t turn. “Randolph?”

A faint rustling sounded from inside. I slipped my hand past the doorframe to press my ear closer and nicked my wrist on an imperfection where the frame met the wall. I hissed at the pain and the welling blood.

Something crashed into the inside of the door with a boom. I jerked back and tripped over my feet. My head banged against the opposite wall, which zipped stars across the hallway in hyper-drive.

Another slam. The door vibrated in its hinges.

I willed myself to move, to reach into my pocket for another screw even though I already had one in my mouth. Something wasn’t right, and my rattled brain struggled for countless, precious seconds to come up with an explanation. Randolph wasn’t alone in there, and for some reason, even with the iron, whatever it was could sense me. And it wanted out.

Panic stormed through me. A deep tremble shook through my body and rattled out from between my teeth with a moan. Was the iron not working anymore?

I smashed my elbow into the wall to focus on the pain instead of the bone-chilling fright. It worked enough to get another screw into my mouth.

Thud. Thud. Silence.

My muscles had gone rigid, but I had to move. I slinked along the opposite wall, my gaze pinned to Randolph’s door, then leaped into the dining room and slammed the door behind me.

“Randolph!” I shouted.

He should’ve answered me. He should’ve poked his red face out of the kitchen from the double doors with the spatula and some irritated comment.

I tried to tell myself I didn’t care about him, that I would soon be kicked off this ship anyway, so what did it matter? But of course, I cared about everything, whether I wanted to or not.

I jammed a thumb into the button on the telecom in the dining room. “Captain? Captain, I need you in the kitchen.” I’d tell him myself. I’d tell him everything before Mase had a chance to, and then I would somehow make him focus all his attention on finding Randolph before he kicked me out into deep space.

But he didn’t say anything back. The button on the telecom didn’t even glow green. “Fuck!” I wrenched the whole display from the wall and stomped on the Feozva damned thing. Didn’t anything work around here?

My ragged breaths stitched through the quiet. I stared at the door that led to the hallway, knowing I’d have to go back out there to find the captain. Just the idea chased shivers over my back. I rested my hand on the lever anyway and slowly opened it.

“Stop!” a voice shouted from farther down the hallway.

I burst through the door. “Randolph?”

The light at the end swung and blinked. A figure blurred past the intersection behind it toward the elevator. I ran, hugging the wall opposite Randolph’s room, then hauled ass down the hallway.

Just as I skidded around the corner, the elevator door closed. “Wait!” I yelled, but the only answer was the roll of my own voice up and down the hallway. Then it was just me again. Alone.

The lights down both hallways dimmed with a buzzing noise then faded. Each knock of my heart seemed to weaken them even more until only a faint zigzag remained behind the glass above. But the darkness soon swallowed that up, too.

Every gasp for more air died in my throat. If iron was somehow not working at repelling ghosts anymore, they would find me. They’d dragged me from my hiding place in Pop’s closet on more than one occasion; they could surely find me standing out in the open in the dark. With a trembling hand, I dropped another screw onto my tongue. The iron’s bittersweet flavor rolled over my taste buds and washed a fake sense of calm down my throat. I’d depended on it for so long. I didn’t want to give it up even if it didn’t work.

I patted my pockets for the flashlight I’d taken to the showers, but I must’ve left it behind in my rush to get out of there. Raising my arm, I stumbled forward to where I thought the scandium door should be, afraid of what my fingers might brush instead. One more step, and finally I palmed arctic titanium.

I followed the wall, my lungs aching for more than shallow gasps, my eyes straining to see more than night. Silence roared between my ears, and I strained to hear something, anything other than the alarm ringing through my body.

My fingers dipped into a doorframe then bumped over a hinge. The scandium door, then titanium and vanadium and chromium. The next would be manganese. Randolph’s room.

Heart beating into my throat, I skipped past it and dove for the lever of the dining room. Fingernails scratched at metal in my scramble to find it in the dark, lifting every short hair on my body with that horrible scraping sound.

No noise came from the direction of Randolph’s room, but when I finally grabbed hold of the lever, a rush of air sounded from the other direction to my right. Penetrating cold bit into every pore of my skin. Something was in the hallway with me.

I didn’t wait around to find out what. Instead, I tore the door open, and just as I slammed it closed, a voice from outside, a voice that reminded me of crumbling dead leaves, whispered my name. My real name.

Absidy.

I backed away, chomping on the iron to hold back a scream, and knocked into the gurney. It rolled sideways across the floor and smashed into the wall below Esmerelda.

They did that when I was younger, too, before I learned to hide behind my iron veil. They’d whisper my name in triumph, like they had worked so hard to seek me out and that I should be overjoyed to see them lurking in the corners of my bedroom. Like saying my name gave them the right to invade my body. Well, it did not.

Wait. I could see. The lights had come on. No, they’d been on when I’d come in. Did that mean they’d flickered on in the hallway, too? Or had I just imagined that night had bled into the ship? Good Feozva, I must’ve been losing my mind. But I wasn’t crazy enough to stick my head out into the hallway to be sure.

I gripped the side of the gurney until white peaked my knuckles, trying to slow my heartbeat to a quieter boom. Blood had dripped from the cut on my wrist and out the fingerless glove to my thumb. Tears stung my eyes as I cleaned and bandaged it at the kitchen sink, but I refused to let them fall. The ghost, or ghosts, that haunted this ship still hadn’t touched me. They may know my name and could sense me, and they might even know I was a ghost magnet, but the iron still protected me from harm. Its usefulness might be waning, but so far it hadn’t completely. A small victory.

With a deep breath, I shoved away from the sink. The only thing I knew would get my mind off everything that had just happened was to stick my trusty spatula in my hand and find something to cook. One roasted ham, a dozen deviled eggs, a cheesy bacon noodle casserole, several batches of chocolate chip cookies, and one semi-cleared head later, dinner was ready. Terrified cooking was productive cooking.

As soon as the doctor came in and tapped everything that needed tapping, I thrust the ham at the table and pushed him back out the door. “You really need to go check on R—my dad,” I said. “Now.” I twisted my fingers in the towel hanging from the waist of my pants while my feet warred with my head about following him.

When Nesbit entered, Captain Glenn’s voice drifted from the hallway. “That door is not going to open,” he said. “Randolph? Are you in there?”

Nesbit settled himself in his seat and looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

I slid him a distracted glance. “Well what?”

“Well, aren’t you going to serve me?”

“Serve yourself.” I slid the casserole dish across the table, and it clanked loudly against his plate.

“Oh, I do,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Esmerelda. “Regularly.”

Dear Feozva, that was an image I could do without. I cocked my head to the side, listening for the captain or Doctor Daryl to spring free a recovered Randolph, and stared hard at the open door.

Then in walked Mase. His eyes widened when he met my gaze and he stopped. Heat flooded my cheeks at the memory of his lustful memorization from earlier. We both looked far, far away from each other at the same time, then he sat in his chair, shoulders drooped, possibly with the knowledge I’d unintentionally unloaded on him. Had he already told the captain about me? If so, how could I still be on this ship?

Nesbit held a serving spoon out to Mase. “It’s self-service tonight, man.”

Mase took the spoon without comment and heaped his plate high. At least I hadn’t ruined his appetite.

Captain Glenn and the doctor came inside then. “I don’t think he’s in there, James,” the captain said.

Doctor Daryl OCD-proofed the room before settling himself in his seat. “It’s been almost forty-eight hours since anyone last saw him. Do you know if he had any food or water in his quarters?”

“Just…river beans,” I said, because I hadn’t found them in the kitchen or pantry.

Doctor Daryl nodded. “They hold enough water to last him a while, wherever he is.”

“But the ship’s not that big,” Captain Glenn said. “We should have seen him by now, so maybe he is still in his quarters.”

Well, something most definitely lurked inside, even if it wasn’t Randolph.

The captain gave me a reassuring look. “We’ll pry open his door. If he’s not in there, we’ll find him.”

With a hesitant nod, I joined them at the gurney. But as soon as the captain pulled his stool up to his plate, I realized I didn’t want him in here. Not with Mase. I had a feeling Captain Glenn didn’t know about me yet, but Mase might’ve decided to wait until dinner to spill it. After practically tripping in my hurry to stand, I flashed around the table to serve all of them mounds of every dish with hopes to put them in another food coma. Nesbit held out a hand with a what-the-fuck look on his face that I was now in the serving mood.

My lungs locked up when I neared Mase. He had no idea how much power he had over me, both in terms of my future on this ship and my internal workings. He looked everywhere but at me while I stacked his plate high.

“Mason, did you go see the doctor like I asked you to?” Captain Glenn asked.

Mase looked at him over a forkful of ham and waved his unbandaged fingers at him. They looked raw, like the tips of mine where Randolph’s bread had burned them.

“They’ll heal faster without the bandages, but I told him to take it easy with his hands,” Doctor Daryl said.

Nesbit hissed out a laugh. “That means no self-service, Mase.”

“I doubt he’ll listen,” Doctor Daryl continued as if he hadn’t heard Nesbit. “He’s not a model patient.”

“How am I supposed to pilot a ship without my hands?” Mase asked.

“Wait, if you’re in here…” Nesbit started.

Mase pointed his fork at him. “You’ll want to shut the fuck up, Nesbit.”

“Nesbit, that’s enough,” the captain warned. “Isn’t that what autopilot is for? You’ll do what the doctor tells you, Mason.”

“Fine.” Mase took a long draw of his milk, then steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “I discovered something interesting today.”

The bite of cheesy bacon casserole I’d just taken slid down much too fast, and I choked into my napkin. Here it came. This was it. I should just get up right now, grab my few belongings, and start walking toward the nearest airlock. But some crazy ass part of me wanted to know if he was really going to say it.

Captain Glenn raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Underwear in the bathroom.” Mase flicked his fingers apart, a look of confusion pulling down those pouty lips. “Women’s underwear.”

“What color? Were they lacy?” Nesbit smacked the gurney, making the metal bars underneath crash into my knees.

I let out a strange kind of squeak, which drew the attention of Mase. A flash of that same need in his gaze I’d seen earlier quivered my stomach. Heat flooded my cheeks at the memory of his lustful memorization.

“Women’s underwear?” Captain Glenn asked.

“Silver thongs. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t fit a man,” Mase said.

What was he doing? Stalling? Why didn’t he just come out and say that they were mine and that I sucked at being a boy because I wasn’t?

Nesbit gave a hungry kind of groan and slapped the gurney a few more times.

“How did women’s underwear get on this ship?” the captain asked.

“How does anything get on this ship? Someone brought them.” Mase shrugged. “I left them in the bathroom.”

“They’re mine,” Nesbit said, half-rising from his bench. “Nobody touches them but me.”

I ignored that stomach-tossing remark and stared at Mase, waiting for him to finish. Because he couldn’t be finished. Unless he was just trying to tell me I’d forgotten my underwear before Nesbit found them and self-serviced himself with them?

I had no idea what to think about that. I even considered finishing Mase’s line of thought myself, but finding another ship to Ellison while dodging the police would take too much time. The Vicio headed right for her. If I found enough iron, I could be off this ship, alive, in time to find her.

Mase swallowed hard and stood. “I’ll go find a crowbar or something to break down Randolph’s door.”

He was finished. Or at least for now, but what could he be waiting for? Why wouldn’t he continue with what he knew? It made no sense.

“You haven’t finished eating yet. What about dessert?” Captain Glenn said.

“I’m not hungry for dessert,” he muttered, not bothering to push in his chair.

“If I were you, I’d be back in here before seven,” Doctor Daryl said, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

Mase gave a quick salute on his way out, leaving his unfinished story about the bathroom dangling behind him.

“Leave the underwear alone,” Nesbit shouted after him.

I hated to admit it, but I’d been kind of looking forward to hearing what memories chocolate chip cookies inspired in him. Midnight picnics again? Birthday presents? Judging from the licked-clean plate he’d left behind, I wasn’t sure I believed his excuse.

Shortly after the crew gobbled up the cookies—I took one before my hand was nearly gnawed off—the sound of heavy pounding made everyone jump.

Mase poked his head through the door with a sheepish grin that I tried not to let curl my toes. “It’s just me. Sorry.”

“Do you need some help?” Captain Glenn asked.

“I only have one crowbar. I’ll see if I can get Randolph’s door open with it.” He disappeared into the hallway, then leaned back inside a moment later. “But leave this door open. You know…just in case.”

The captain nodded, and I wondered for the hundredth time who or what exactly terrorized this ship enough to spook its hard-edged crew. Something fierce, that was certain. I flicked my tongue over the iron piece squirreled away in my mouth so its zip would help calm my constricted nerves. It was nearly dissolved, and it was number nine for the day. Nine. At this rate, I’d be out by tomorrow.

After several minutes of loud banging that rang through the whole ship, Mase stumbled backward into the open doorway, his body turned in the direction of the broken light that may not be broken anymore. The light from the dining room searched his tense jaw and the rigid way he held the crowbar. It slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor in a deafening clash between metals. His face paled, giving it an almost translucent sheen. Like a ghost.

The smell of sour tobacco rolled into the dining room on a tidal wave. An awful screeching noise sounded from down the hallway, like claws on metal, growing louder. The crew jumped up and backed toward the walls. My muscles clamped up with a full body tremor, and I couldn’t move.

Mase’s chest rose and fell in rough gasps, pluming his breath out in front of him in long wisps. “What are you doing…here?” he asked whatever was coming for him.

Over his head, something spasmed and twitched. But it passed right through his head again and again, and he didn’t even blink. Something transparent. A pair of swaying legs hanging from the ceiling.

Oh, good Feozva, no. I leaped up from the gurney, clutching my neck to fight back a scream, and stepped toward Mase. Someone had hung out there and died, right there over where Mase was standing.

How was I seeing this reenactment when I stood just feet away? I flicked the iron again with the tip of my tongue. Still there. So why wasn’t it working? Unless the ghosts detected me because of the iron.

I threw in another piece as a biting dread pushed goose bumps all over my skin. The rising screeching noise spiked the hairs at the back of my neck.

“Mason,” the captain said sharply, his terrified gaze trained on what swung above his pilot’s head.

The screeching sound became unbearable. Nesbit threw his hands over his ears; I fought the urge to do the same. Whatever was coming at Mase, whatever had locked him in its fearful grip, had frozen him to the floor. It may not be able to hurt him directly like it would hurt me, but it could poltergeist another object like it had the old kitchen table to cause damage. Like it could with the crowbar.

The screeching sound stopped, and as soon as I heard the scrape of metal on metal, I lunged for the door without thinking about anything but Mase. I snatched him by the collar, blocking him with my body, just as the crowbar smashed down on the padded arm of my coat. The crowbar clattered to the floor as I dragged him into the dining room.

When I turned back to slam the door, the hanging ghost no longer twitched from the ceiling. She stood in front of me inches away.

Brown shoes. Green pants. Short, red hair lay plastered to her dark-skinned face and covered her eyes. Her head rested against her right shoulder, the bones of her neck protruding out from behind a thick rope burn.

I reeled back, my flesh scuttling with her nearness and whatever else lurked out there. The smell of sour tobacco choked back my scream. I scrambled with slick hands for a grip on the door. Before I pulled it closed, the woman’s head snapped up with a sharp crack. She pierced me with completely black eyes. Her wrinkled, pale lips opened.

“They’re all dying, Absidy,” she said in a jagged voice that drove icy spikes up my spine. “They’re all dyyyyiinnnngg.”

I slammed the door closed, tears spilling down my cheeks, my breathing labored, and stuck a washer in my mouth. Just go away. Just go away.

“Sorry, Mase,” Doctor Daryl whispered, then he gave an audible gulp. “It’s not seven yet.” Then he held his breath like the rest of us.