Dr. Keane stared at what was left of William Reed's face. William sat in the corner of the engine room. The mechanical space stood at least three decks high, a tall but watertight compartment. William's body was propped up in the corner next to the main engines—monstrous blocks of steel, pistons pumping like the legs of a raging beast.

William's hand clung loosely to a flare gun, its orange color screaming against the metal floor. His jaw was slack and the skin below his eyes hung like wax. His face was a mess of cauterized flesh and bone. It looked like someone grabbed William by the back of his neck and pressed his face into a flaming grill. You could see the pain in his eyes, wide and untouched despite the burns beneath. If time stretched during the last moments of life, William must have lived through centuries of torment. An endless nightmare you don't wake up from, until you just slip away. Dried blood ran down his neck and stained the collar of his shirt.

"Where did he get the flare gun?" Dr. Keane asked.

"He must have opened one of our emergency kits," Captain Higgins responded.

Captain Higgins stood as a towering figure. Her shoulders were broad beneath her white uniform. Her jaw was sharp, jutting outwards like the propellers of the cruise. Her hair was fastened into a bun. Behind her, security personnel filed in and out of the engine room.

Captain Higgins lowered herself to one knee and removed her hat. She reached for William's shoulder and pulled him forward. His head rolled, like an apple falling from a basket, chin touching his bloodied collar. At the back of his skull was a hole. Blood splattered the wall behind him.

"Is that where the shot exited?" Dr. Keane asked. His jaw muscles clenched at the sight.

"A flare gun isn't powerful enough to do that," Captain Higgins said. "The gun burned his face but the cannister couldn't have exited from there."

Dr. Keane lowered himself and slid on medical gloves. One hand grabbed William by his hair while the other fished the remains of the cannister from his mouth.

"Was William one of the people that pulled the body on board after the crash?" Dr. Keane asked.

"I have others witnessing him there. Thomas Dunn reported William was acting strange after that incident. William told him he was under the weather and hadn't slept since."

"That makes five of them," Dr. Keane said.

"Five of who?"

"I have four others who booked an appointment with me after coming in contact with the body. They all claimed to feel unwell and were fixated on discussing what happened, worried they caught something. William is the fifth."

"What are we dealing with here? Post-traumatic stress disorder? Suicide?"

"Likely," Dr. Keane paused. "But that doesn't explain the entirety of these wounds. William needs to be examined by a coroner."

"Before William offed himself, he was seen pacing just outside the engine room," Captain Higgins said. "Something about the engines drowning out the sound." She paused. "Who were the others?"

"Three crew members and one passenger."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"A passenger? Do you think they're at risk?"

"Panic can be contagious," Dr. Keane said. "Like a parasite. It spreads and spreads until it takes hold of its host."

Dr. Keane looked back toward the hole in William's head. It was dark and hollow. In his profession, seeing a body was not uncommon. But the gruesome nature of this death hit him hard. Dr. Keane's head ached, and his body was shaking. He wasn't made of steel like Captain Higgins. He felt the stress vibrating through his muscles. Dr. Keane reached into his pocket for a pill. It danced across his palm before he dry swallowed it.

Captain Higgins turned towards security. "Do we have any footage of what happened?"

"We do," the man paused, "but William died in a blind spot in the engine room."

"Of course he did." Captain Higgins headed towards the exit before turning around. "Dr. Keane you're welcome to come along if you'd like."

William paced back and forth in the security footage. He was in the hallway outside the engine room. The flare gun was in his hand.

"Turn up the volume," Captain Higgins said.

"There's no sound," security said.

William continued walking back and forth. His mouth stretched and his face shook. He was screaming. William grabbed the gun by the barrel and started hammering the grip into the center of his head.

"What's he trying to do?" Captain Higgins asked.

Blood was streaming from William's forehead and down his face. His eyes shifted across the hallway like a crazed animal.

The footage switched to the engine room.

William stumbled in. The arm with the flare gun waved in the air, the barrel sending passing glances to three workers. They cleared the room and left William to his demise.

"That's when they called for help," Captain Higgins said.

William grabbed a handrail and drove his head into the cold steel. And again. He staggered back and made his way to the corner where his body was found. He disappeared from the footage—everything except for two legs that stretched into the frame from where William sat. A bright light ignited in the corner, pulsing outwards like the flames of a bonfire.

They fast-forwarded through the footage until the flare flickered out. William's legs lay lifeless, unmoved from the time he plopped himself down. Nothing happened after that.

"Well it looks it was the flare gun," Dr. Keane said. "But it doesn't make sense. The canister didn't exit from his head."

"I'm confused too, Dr. Keane. But this can't happen again. I want this cruise in order. There have been two deaths too many. These aren't deaths from old age or cardiac arrest. We're talking exploding heads. Suicide. Panic. I won't have it." Captain Higgins ran her hand across her face. "Can you follow up with the other crew members again and monitor their status?"

"I'll follow up." Dr. Keane said.

"And what was the passenger's name?"

"Tom Miller. He's here with his wife and daughter."

"Why the hell was a passenger involved with bringing a body on board?" Captain Higgins looked at Dr. Keane's hollowing eyes. "That question is not for you. I'll have the guest care team check-in on Tom. We'll get him another appointment with you."

"Captain," the senior security officer interrupted, "these responsibilities are my—"

"This is my ship. I'd like to see to it myself."

Captain Higgins was used to being in charge. She made sure her ship sailed smoothly. That became more difficult when people were killing themselves in the engine room. It seemed she carried herself with surety and conviction, but the emotion in her voice was not confidence. It was fear. Something was wrong. Captain Higgins felt it in her bones. Like a great shadow cast upon the ship. If she didn't get things under control, the shadow would seep into her pores, seize her arms and drive the ship into the bottom of the sea.

"What time is it?" Captain Higgins asked.

"Three o'clock." Dr. Keane's brow furrowed.

"What?" Captain Higgins asked.

"I don't have any service."

"This shit is right out of a movie." Captain Higgins stormed out of the security room.

Before heading to his office, Dr. Keane returned to the engine room where they were preparing the body for the morgue. William lay in an unzipped body bag, like a sick butterfly rotting in its cocoon. He slid his gloves back on and lifted William's arm. His veins were a deep purple against his pale skin, hundreds of lines ready to lift off his flesh and climb the walls like ivy.

Dr. Keane found a lesion along William's shoulder. It looked like someone took a knife and dug into his flesh.

Dr. Keane's face went pale. He reached for his own neck, hand trembling. He felt a lesion that ran down his spine. But he couldn't remember where it came from.