Have you ever felt like you were being watched? Well, I did. On that cruise. I’m pretty sure everybody on that ship felt the same way. Eyes following you wherever you go. Nobody wanted to admit they were being watched, of course, until the third night. When Henry Clark got killed.

Octavio Jordan Jr.

As Octavio walked by, he swore that he thought he saw the eyes on the grumpy fat dude in the painting follow him. He paused and turned at the piece of art. No, it was just his imagination. A painting wasn’t capable of looking at him. Unless there was a camera there, documenting Octavio’s every move. Great. So much for trying to stay calm.

It had been four hours, seventeen minutes and fifteen seconds since Henry Clark was murdered. Everybody on floor 11 were on edge. Octavio was fine letting the guards on the cruise settle everything themselves, but his friend Liberty Gray wasn’t about to let that happen. She said that they were incompetent and stupid and weren’t able to catch a murderer. As if she could.

Octavio wouldn’t have known Henry Clark if they hadn’t set up a memorial for him. That was where he was headed.

The halls of floor 11 were wide, with a burgundy rug running down the middle. There were long panels of light on the ceiling, and Octavio looked at them as he passed. Sunlight reflected off of the ocean below, and he glanced at it through the window.

As Octavio passed a door to a room, he heard voices, the sound of two males talking. He paused.

Most of the conversation was muffled, but Octavio caught slivers of what they were saying:

“We didn’t come for a…” One voice said.

“It doesn’t matter…” Another voice said. “…we should figure it out, whether you like it or not.”

Octavio felt bad about eavesdropping, but he couldn’t help but wonder. What did the two mystery people come for? What do they want to figure out? Octavio had an idea about that last question. The second voice wanted to find out who murdered Henry Clark.

The door opened, and a man walked out. He had short messy black hair, a black sweatshirt, and baggy blue jeans. He had big rectangular glasses with what looked like cheetah print on the frame. He looked at Octavio quizzically, as if trying to see if he had heard the conversation.

As Octavio walked away, he silently took note of the number on the room door. 1107.

Aspen Hunt

Private investigator Aspen Hunt examined the lifeless body of Henry Clark.

“We have estimated the time of death to be about four and a half hours ago.” Said Dr. Oliver Winters.

“So, five-thirty.” Hunt bent down and examined the body. Her thoughts were still foggy. Why was she looking at a dead body on her vacation? “How many people are on this cruise?”

“2,998 people including staff.” Dr. Winters said. “Well, now it’s 2,997.”

Hunt lightly pinched the bridge of her nose. She had a serious migraine. “What resources do we have?”

“Not many.” Winters said. “You are the only investigator here. Unless you believe the rumors.”

Hunt paused. “What rumors?”

Dr. Winters straightened his tie. “Well, some people have been saying that there are some undercover spies on this ship.”

Hunt snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Winters looked embarrassed to have brought the topic up, and now tried to change it. “So, floor 11 has set up a memorial for Henry Clark. Are you going to go?”

Hunt really didn’t want to go. She wanted to let somebody else take care of this problem. “I’ll see if I can make it.” She said.

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Milo Chang

Milo Chang was annoyed. Corey Byrd wanted nothing to do with the murder. Milo could understand why Corey wouldn’t want to catch the unsub (meaning unknown subject). He’s caught so many in his life that he wanted to let somebody else take the glory. Milo understood that. He’s felt that way before. But this was different! The unsub had to be on this ship, possibly even this floor, number 11.

Milo watched as the kid who was standing outside Corey’s door hurry past. He had clearly heard something. It was too late now.

Milo looked out of the window. All he saw was a vast expanse of ocean. This cruise lasted ten days in total. Today was day three. Seven more days until Henry Clark’s murderer was set free unless they stopped him.

Milo had heard from certain sources that Henry Clark was killed with a knife. There were multiple stab wounds. One to the chest was the strike that killed him. Milo knew that all of these meant that this murder was personal. But as far as he knew about Henry Clark (which was a lot), many people had a bone to pick with the guy.

Milo walked down the hall and went to his room. He quickly scanned his living space and made sure that nothing had been changed. He took out his phone and dialed his boss’ number.

“Hey.” Milo said. “Things have complicated here.”

“What happened?” His boss, DeVito, asked through the phone.

“The suspect was murdered.” Milo said.

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Why don’t you and Byrd try and find his unsub.”

“Do we get paid?” Milo asked.

Liberty Gray

I drummed my fingers against the table excitedly. “Wait, so, you actually met the guy who died?”

Octavio Jordan Jr. sighed. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s so cool!”

Me and my friend Octavio were in the dining hall of the cruise ship eating lunch. It had been one day since Henry Clark was murdered. Me and Octavio were on this ship from vacation, and now we were stranded on a boat stuck with a murderer. So exciting, right?

“Well,” I said. “If that’s the case, we should totally figure out who did this!”

Otto (that’s Octavio’s nickname) gave me the death stare. He’s really good at those. “No.” He said. “We totally shouldn’t figure out who did this.”

“But nobody else is taking the initiative!”

Otto glowered at me. He’s also really good at glowering. “Did you see the person who just walked in?”

I turned toward the door. There was a woman talking with somebody. She wore black pants with a long black coat and a white polo shirt underneath. She had long brown hair and eyes the color of obsidian.

“What about her?” I asked, turning back towards Otto.

Otto sighed and took out his sketchbook from his bag by his feet. “It looks like she’s taking initiative.”

I turned and looked again. The woman seemed to be interviewing some people at a table. I gasped.

“What if she’s the killer?!”

Otto rolled his eyes. “You can’t just make assumptions like that.”

“Why can’t I?”

Otto ignored me and brushed his long dirty blonde hair out of his face. His sea green eyes darted around the room. He had two curved lines at the end of one side of his lip, and they darkened when he was thinking about something. That’s what happened then.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Otto said that in a way that meant it was definitely something.

I couldn’t tell what he was looking at, but I tried to look anyway. There were around twenty other people in the room. I saw my dad talking with Otto’s parents on the other side of the room, and the rest of the people I didn’t know.

There were a lot of people on that cruise. Over 1,000 people. There were at least 200 people on floor 11 alone. So, in order to figure out who the killer is, I needed to narrow down my suspect list.

“All right.” I said. “Do you have paper?” I eyed his sketchbook.

“Don’t even think about it.” Otto gave me another one of his death stares.

I quickly snatched up the book and his pencil.

“Hey!”

I ignored him and opened to a new page and wrote: Suspect List

“So,” I said. “Who do you think murdered Clark?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how you do it.”

“Then how do you?” I asked.

“You’re supposed to suspect everyone and then use the process of elimination.” Said a new voice. I looked up.

There were two guys who had apparently snuck up on me and Otto. The guy who had spoken was tall and thin, with short black hair with a black sweatshirt and cheetah print glasses. The second guy looked a lot sturdier, with hair so short he was almost bald, a sharp nose and chocolate colored skin. The second guy crossed his arms.

“Um, hi?” I squeaked.

“Hey.” Said the second guy. He seemed a lot friendlier than I thought he would be. “Can we ask you some questions?” He looked around to make sure nobody was looking, and then took something out of his pocket. An FBI badge.