Beautiful Dreamer, Part One

Note: The following, and the other two parts of this story, was originally written for a themed anthology, Sick Cruising, through Notch Publishing House in October 2020. It has been republished with the publisher's permission. The theme for the anthology involves taking a cruise to escape COVID-21, or Red Lungs, a new strand of COVID with mysterious paranormal side-effects. Inspiration for the anthology comes from the Edgar Allan Poe story, The Masque of the Red Death.

Trigger Warning: The following, and the other two parts of this story, involves swearing, illness, death, violence, and bigotry. If you are sensitive to any of these areas, proceed with caution. Violence and bigotry are depicted solely for commentary on the current state of the world and how humanity reacts during a crisis. The author, the original publisher, and Vocal do not condone violence or bigotry in any way, shape, or form.

Day 0

Nelson Estate

Upstate New York

“We are now up to a rate of one death every three minutes here in the Big Apple,” the woman on my smartphone says from behind a surgeon’s mask. Even though she reports from the comfort of a home office, she’s clearly putting on a show for the distressed masses. “That means that COVID-21, better known as Red Lungs, has officially surpassed COVID-19 as the deadliest pandemic in modern American history.”

The image cuts away to drone footage of first Wall Street and then Broadway, one an economic hub and the other a beautiful but misused tourist trap, both now streaked with blood. Then it shifts to Bowling Green, the lush grass spotted with red. A homeless man curls on a bench beneath a patchwork quilt some good Samaritan must have given him; when he hacks, blood pools beneath his lips. Just when I think I can’t take any more and my eyes start to water, the video changes yet again, this time to Times Square—not a soul to be seen and not a single ad played on any of the big screens. All light and vibrancy, drained. Only dread, uncertainty, and the occasional red handprint remain.

The reporter reappears. “Authorities strongly urge everyone to stay in their houses except in the case of absolutely essential—”

I jump out of skin and my phone almost flies from my hand as I feel a tap on my shoulder. When I turn around, I can’t help but sigh a little too loudly when I see it’s Dad’s nurse.

“Shit, Jayden!” I laugh as I take out my earbuds. “A little warning next time.”

“How can he when you’ve somehow managed to suck all your senses into that phone?” Dad jokes from his bed. “Also, language.”

I can’t get myself to look directly at him. The hospital bed sticks out in Dad’s room like a copperhead in a field of dandelions. Thankfully, we leave for Mitch Winters’s cruise tomorrow, and I won’t have to see that bed for…well, until they get this virus under control, and who knows how long that will take.

“It’s nothing worse than what I’ve ever heard from you and Mom.” I smirk when Jayden lets out a deep chuckle.

Dad dismisses my teasing with a wave of his hand. “Ava, turn off that depressing stuff and come help pack.”

I swipe away my video feed and take an armful of Dad’s suits from Jayden, who proceeds to the en suite bathroom to start packing Dad’s medical supplies.

“How’d you know what I was watching?”

“It’s all anyone your age reads, watches, and twits about now.”

I sigh with an exaggerated shake of my head. “Tweets, Dad. People tweet, not twit. You know that. You’re not that old.”

“You’re all twits to me, Millennial.”

“OK, Boomer.”

Dad scoffs. “Excuse me, I’m no Boomer. I’m Gen X and proud of it.”

All three of us laugh as Jayden brings out Dad’s medicine bag and drops it next to the bed. It feels so good to laugh like this with the horror show that the world has become. I force myself to look over at that hospital bed, if only to reward myself with the sight of Dad’s gray eyes twinkling.

His complexion’s still too pale, and he still can’t move too far on his own without his wheelchair and either Jayden or me to help him, but he’s filled out so that he no longer looks like the walking dead. At his worst during the chemo, I thought he would break if I even touched him, like an Andersonville prisoner or one of the poor unfortunate souls from the Nazi concentration camps. Now, he at least won’t scare away small children. In fact, despite his paleness and being stuck in a wheelchair, he’s quite presentable if you just bathe him and put a suit on him. Enough to be seen at Mitch Winters’s parties. At least Winters and Dad’s doctor agree on one thing: the farther from this pandemic Dad can get, the better.

“Just keep him away from the more…hardcore partiers,” Dr. Ruiz warned Jayden and me from behind a mask the last time I saw him. He fingered the small golden cross hanging from his neck as he continued, “I’m not one to judge, but I’ve heard that these kinds of events can get very…exciting. Your father is still in the recovery stages, and there’s no guarantee that he’ll ever be able to handle that level of…excitement again. By all means, let him socialize. It will do wonders for his spirits, so long as he gets regular breaks for rest and takes his medication. Just…don’t let him near the wild ones.” I still start to get a panic attack thinking about the look in his eyes when he said, “Ms. Nelson, it’s imperative that you keep him away.”

I shudder as I zip up his suitcase and roll it next to his medicine bag. Mom’s ghost would probably haunt my ass if I let him near that part of the cruise, too. Too bad I know exactly what he’s going to say when the time comes: when in Rome…

“Hey, Beautiful Dreamer, you still with us?”

I jump as Jayden’s deep voice breaks my reverie. He’s holding a bottled water out to me, which I accept with a grumbled “thanks,” before he hands another to Dad. I hadn’t even noticed Jayden leave the room. Shit, how long was I out this time? No wonder Jayden calls me “Beautiful Dreamer.”

“Thinking about the cruise?” Dad asks.

“You could say that,” I reply, Dr. Ruiz’s words still swimming through my head. “When are we leaving here again?”

“Salvatore will drive us to the private jet at midnight, and we should get to the hotel around four in the morning. Then we’ll be able to get a couple hours’ shut-eye before we have to be at the pier for health checks.”

I nod and stare at his bags, biting hard on my tongue to hold back what I want to say. Mine and Jayden’s bags are already packed in the car. Dad’s could be in there in a matter of minutes. There is no traffic, one of the few perks—I cringe at the selfishness of the thought—of an apocalyptic quarantine. We could leave now, save ourselves the stress. I know he’s more comfortable this way, though. Years of dodging the paparazzi have made these private middle-of-the-night flights his favorite form of transportation, even when they make no sense.

“You know who I heard is performing?” Dad says, his voice the loudest and strongest I’ve heard it since he first got his diagnosis. “Sweet Dew Sweetums, the country legend!”

“Yeah, I heard she’s headlining a concert in the first week.” Jayden pulls up a chair next to me. His knee brushes mine, and while my heart races, I pretend not to notice. “I never took you for a fan, though.”

“Oh yeah, Dad’s a total Sweetie Pie.” I giggle at Dad’s piercing glare.

“Sweet Dew Sweetums is an angel with the voice to prove it,” he declares. “She’s earned the title of artist a lot more than someone like SIrFlare.”

“Hey, don’t be dissin’ on SIrFlare.” Jayden waggles a finger at Dad, and I can’t help but giggle again. “He might not be bellowin’ notes like an opera star, but at least his songs are about somethin’.”

I shake my head. Jayden only starts dropping g’s when he gets really passionate. Time to deescalate the situation.

“Boys, boys,” I say, my hands raised to them, “can’t we just agree that they each have their merits and their flaws? It’s not like we won’t be getting our fill of them both on this cruise, you know.”

Jayden’s face relaxes into a boyish grin, and I feel my cheeks heat up. “I know. I still can’t believe it. Do you think…do you think I’ll be able to meet any of them?”

“Son,” Dad says, his voice as serious as when he’s closing a deal, “stick with us, and you’ll be able to meet all the movers, shakers, and phonies that you desire. More of them than you’ll be able to stand, in fact.”

Jayden laughs at that, and Dad and I join in. My heart feels lighter than it has since the pandemic began…since Dad got sick…since Mom died, even…

Bang!

We all freeze. Was that…no, that couldn’t have been a gun. Must have been one of the staff’s cars backfiring, that’s all.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I flinch and instinctively grab Jayden’s arm. My brain tells my hand to let go. It won’t listen. Instead of moving away, Jayden moves his hand to cover mine.

“Dad,” I whisper as my heart flutters, “what was that?”

“I…don’t…know,” Dad replies slowly, his voice as quiet as mine. He reaches for the landline sitting on the table next to his bed, presses the number one speed dial, and brings the receiver to his ear. After a minute, he whispers in his most professional tone, “Lucca, it’s Gregor Nelson…Yes, what was…Yes, I see…Uh huh. Well, what do they…What do you mean…Why aren’t…Lucca…Lucca! Lucca, are you…Lucca, I can’t…Lucca, are you still…Lucca, I can’t hear you! Are you still there?...Lucca? Are you OK?...Lucca?...Lucca, can you hear me? Are you there?...LUCCA?”

Dad’s eyes are wide as saucers, and he can hardly control his shaking by the time he hangs up the phone.

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

Dad shakes his head and struggles to pull himself out of bed. Jayden rushes to his side and helps him into his wheelchair. “You two need to get my stuff into the car. Ava, tell Salvatore that we’re leaving now.”

I grab Dad’s wheeled suitcase and messenger bag while Jayden gathers Dad’s medicine bag and portable respirator. “But what’s going on?”

“Some people charged the front gate and are now attacking the guards’ stations and staffs’ homes.” Dad has lost so much color that I abandon his suitcase and rush to his side. He waves me off. “Lucca said a couple look like they’re at the beginnings of Red Lungs, but the others have guns. I heard them in the background, they’re…they’re not afraid to use them. We have to go. There’s no time to waste.”

I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. “What about Lucca? The other guards? The staff? And Salvatore’s family—”

I clench my fist as Dad waves his hand dismissively at me. “No time, Ava. There’s no time. They can take care of themselves—”

“Dad, they have guns—”

“So do the guards. And the staff. They know where I’ve hidden them. They’re more than capable.”

I open my mouth to protest again but stop when Jayden grabs my arm. He nods toward the door, and I know I’m outnumbered. Reluctantly, I collect Dad’s suitcase and rush out of the room. I don’t look back at either of them.

* * *

Even with Salvatore’s help, it takes another twenty minutes to get Dad’s stuff packed into the car and him safely down the stairs. By the time we’re pulling out of the mansion’s underground garage and headed for the front gate, the front lawn around the guards’ stations and staffs’ homes has transformed into a battlefield. The freshly cut grass has been stained crimson. Bodies, mostly those of the invaders, litter the ground where Lucca played soccer with me when I was a little kid. Seven of the intruders are dead, as are two of our guards. Still, thirteen are trying to—who knows what they want, but they continue to shoot at the structures hiding our guards and staff as though they are personally responsible for all the woes that the world has thrust upon them. What could they—

“Ava!”

Jayden shoves me to the floor of the car. Less than a second later, we hear three bullets hit the side of the car right where my head would have been. For not the first time in my life, I thank God that Dad gets everything that he can bulletproofed.

“What the Hell?” I screech.

Dad reaches across Jayden to hold my hand and gives it a light squeeze. “People do desperate things when they get left behind, sweetie.”

I squeeze his hand back to acknowledge his statement but do not respond. He releases me. While I’m hesitant, I turn back to the window and look outside as we drive through the damaged gates. I’m not sure what possesses me, but I strain to catch one last glimpse at the carnage behind us. The last face I see belongs to our head guard, Lucca. His teeth gritted in pain from the bullet wound in his shoulder, he struggles to shoot at the trespassers while also speak into his earpiece, probably giving orders to the other guards and keeping the frightened staff calm. He stops for a moment to cough and rub his throat. I remember how he texted me last night complaining of a sore throat, his explanation for why no one is allowed to see him at his station or on-site housing anymore.

Tears fill my eyes as he coughs blood onto the back of his hand.

Day 1

Winters COVID-21 Cruise

ALL POWERFUL, Location Undisclosed

I can’t get on this ship soon enough. Not after yesterday. It’s already all over the news and social media: “Multibillionaire Flees Mansion Amidst Bloody Riot”, “Nelson & Co. Run from Pandemic Victims Seeking Shelter”, and my personal favorite, “Modern Midas Hides Golden Hand from Ailing World”.

I skim the articles for casualties as Dad, Jayden, and I wait in the massive line at the health checks. Only three of the intruders survived. All our staff survived—thank God—but a total of four guards died. A small sob escapes my lips when I see the name I didn’t want to see: Lucca Fabbri.

“Hey, Beautiful Dreamer.” Jayden’s gentle touch as he pushes a stray hair behind my ear sends a tremble to my abdomen. I can’t see the lower half of his face behind his mask, but his dark eyes light up with kindness and concern. “What’s wrong?”

Dad sets his phone in his lap and twists around in his wheelchair. “Is something wrong?”

“Lucca…he didn’t…” I just shake my head. By the dullness that enters their eyes, I know I don’t need to say anything more.

“Oh Lord,” Jayden mutters.

“I…” Dad rests his forehead on his hand. “What a horrible way to go, but I guess…better than some other ways right now…”

When I close my eyes, I can still see the blood on Lucca’s hand. I wonder if Dad knows that he was sick. Did he even tell Dad? I can’t imagine that he would only tell me—

“Mr. Gregor Nelson?” a deep voice shakes me from my thoughts.

I turn to see a well-built man in a black suit standing beside us. The crowd seems to have parted for him like the Red Sea parted for Moses, and with the rod that seems to have been stuck up his butt to give him his attitude, I can’t really blame them.

Dad nods. “Yes, that’s me.”

The man glances at first me and then Jayden. “Ms. Ava Nelson and Mr. Jayden Casseus, I assume?”

Jayden and I nod.

“Would you three please come with me? Mr. Winters wants you through health check as quickly as possible.”

I put a hand on the handle of Dad’s wheelchair, my palm warm where it touches the back of Jayden’s hand. “Why, exactly?”

The man narrows his eyes at me, obviously not used to being questioned, but quickly relaxes his expression. “Given Mr. Nelson’s delicate state and the incident at your estate yesterday with rioters, some of whom had Red Lungs, Mr. Winters wants to be sure as soon as possible that you three are clear of the virus. After all, Mr. Nelson is a close friend.”

I cringe at “close friend.” If I didn’t know how close Dad and Winters have been over the years, I would’ve thought the words were sarcastic. Dad, however, sits a bit straighter.

“Where is Mitch, anyway?” he asks. I resist the urge to smack my forehead at this question.

“He’s waiting for everyone on the ship on his private floor.” As though anticipating Dad’s next question, the man adds, “He isn’t taking any visitors today. Now, if you three will please follow me, we will get you through the health checks as quickly as possible and into your suite.”

As we follow the man to the health check stations, I can feel the burning glares of everyone around us who still need to wait in line. Even among the elite, we’re hated for our privilege.

* * *

Our health checks proceed with few hitches. All our temperatures are nearly perfect, even Dad’s, and we show no other signs of the virus. Since they had been informed ahead of time that Dad is recovering from leukemia, there were very few problems with our health records. They held me up for a moment because I had scarlet fever when I was six, and Jayden was held back even longer and refused to tell Dad and me why, but it quickly became clear that everything in mine and Jayden’s history has no bearing on what’s going on now.

They give us our card keys, and a crew member swiftly escorts us to our suite one floor beneath Winters’s secluded floor. Dad asks again when we might see Winters, but the crew member is tight-lipped. I cringe. I wish that Dad would ask about literally anything else at this point—he could ask if there’s an orgy room and I probably wouldn’t feel as awkward right now. Winters wants his privacy, I’m sure, and I’m in no hurry to disturb him if there is a weird reason for him hiding away today. Dad hasn’t seen him in a couple years, and I know he misses the man. At the back of my mind, though, I know that Mom wouldn’t be ecstatic at the thought of Dad spending any time alone with a friend like that.

Our suite is nothing to turn your nose up at, even for someone of Dad’s wealth. I had thought that, being at sea, we would have to go without some luxuries, but Winters has surely made sure that that won’t be the case. The door opens to a sitting room with a loveseat, two plush recliners, and a coffee table. Behind the sitting room to the left is a kitchenette and a fully stocked bar; to the left front is the entrance to two conjoined bedrooms, and to the right front is the entrance to the other bedroom. The bathroom, with its entrance opposite the kitchenette, has a six-foot-long, two-and-a-half-foot-deep marble tub that I cannot wait to immerse myself in. With a waterfall shower head and granite or marble everything, I know that I won’t be missing our estate—at least, not the things there.

My heart sinks at the thought of Salvatore and the others we left behind, or Lucca and the other guards that died protecting everyone from the rioters…how many of the staff and guards must have Red Lungs by now after that exposure? What about their families? I give my e-mail a quick check, but none of the updates from Salvatore, our Head of Staff, mentions anything about anyone showing symptoms. I hope it stays that way.

“Ava, you take the room by the bathroom,” Dad commands in a firm but cheery voice. “Jayden will take the room next to mine, just in case.”

“Shouldn’t you take the room by the bathroom in case you feel…well, sick or something?” I ask even as I take my luggage to that room.

“I think I can manage.”

“You’re still taking the room with the door,” Jayden says in his own no-nonsense tone. It sends an unfamiliar tremor to my most sensual areas to hear him be so commanding, even if it’s about something like...that.

Dad laughs. I close my door behind me so that I don’t have to hear anything else that causes me to have mixed feelings.

After putting all my clothes away, I unlatch the secret compartment at the bottom of my suitcase and remove the black box inside it. One foot long by one foot wide but less than four inches deep, the box rests heavily in my hands as though it contains my entire life. I set it gently on my bed and unlatch it as well, carefully lifting the lid. Inside lies a blue, green, and gold Mardi Gras eye mask with V-shaped edges and a nose that ends in a short, hooked beak. Topping the mask is a plume of soft teal feathers that fade into green, which then fade into blue; the very edges of each feather have been painted gold. I pick the mask up and turn it over to read the engraving on the right back edge: Circe, to celebrate your first real Mardi Gras in style. Love Always, Gregor.

My smiling lips tremble. I run my fingertips over my mom’s name, and a chill runs through my spine.

“Leave,” Mom’s voice whispers in my ear, “before it’s too late.”

I drop the mask on the bed and whip around, my eyes darting about the room. My heart races. I’m still alone. Shaking my head, I laugh at myself. I’m stressed, that’s all. It has to be. The pandemic, Lucca, this cruise, the possibility of Dad around drugs and alcohol again…I’m just stressed. I don’t need to be, though. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then make myself look at my surroundings. True luxury, even more than what we have back home, if that’s possible. I can step away from the duties of Nelson Corporations, if only for a couple days, and relax, catch up on some sleep. Have some fun. Get to know Jayden a bit. I can’t help but smile at that last part. I turn back to my bed and pick up Mom’s mask again. Hopefully, this good luck charm and the outfits I have planned for it will get his attention.

I run my fingers over the beak, and that chill returns.

“Leave,” Mom’s voice pleas again, more desperate than before.

Day 2

Nelson-Casseus Suite

ALL POWERFUL, Atlantic Ocean

I can’t believe it’s noon when Dad finally wakes me up. It’s some of the best sleep I’ve gotten in years. Sure, I’m sniffling a bit, but it’s just my allergies. Maybe there’s some dust somewhere. Other than that, amazing sleep. I suppose that the past few years with Mom dying, Dad falling ill, having to help out with the company while Dad was undergoing chemo, COVID-19, COVID-21, the whole world going to shit…it’s enough to make even the strongest person want to nap for days. I actually feel like going back to sleep, but Dad wants to mingle and see if Winters’ll come out today. I trust Jayden will stay on him as best as he can, but if anything happens to him and I’m not there to stop it, I’ll never forgive myself.

After I come out of the shower, robe wrapped tightly around me, I walk into the suite’s sitting room to find the most ridiculous site: Dad in an all-white suit with his white feathered bird mask and angelic wings attached to the back of his wheelchair and Jayden in his nurse’s uniform with a classic plague mask. I collapse into the loveseat laughing.

“Oh. My. God,” I gasp between laughs. “Why?”

“Everyone will be in costume, and you brought your mother’s mask, so it seemed appropriate,” Dad says simply.

“Yes, but…Dad, you’re wearing angel wings. How’d you even get those here?”

“They’re collapsible.”

“OK, but…Jayden’s mask…for the love of God, it’s a plague mask! That’s freaking morbid!”

“That’s what I told him,” Jayden grumbles, “but your dad’s very persuasive.”

“So I’ve been told.” I sniffle, and my nose feels runny. What is with that? Could I have a cold? Could someone onboard be sick, like one of the crew—no, no. Probably just allergies or a cold. I’m just being paranoid, and Jayden’s mask isn’t helping. “Dad, we’re running from a literal pandemic. No one wants to see a plague mask, of all things.”

“You give people too much credit sometimes. By the time we get out there, everyone’s going to be so drunk and drugged that all they’re going to see is some cool bird mask.” Dad pauses for a moment. “Well, I suppose some drugged-up moron might freak out over all our masks, but Hell, they’re going to get that way with everyone’s masks. Masks and drugs make for an interesting mix.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to know how you know that.”

“Then hurry up and get dressed or I might get bored enough to start telling stories.”

* * *

I examine myself in the mirror after I finish changing. My dress’s design was inspired by the Ancient Greek upper class—well, the goddesses, my designer claimed, but suspiciously, deities always seem to wear what society’s rich people wear. The first layer is a light blue linen, the second silk with swirls of light blue, green, and gold. The right side has no sleeve, while the left stretches all the way to my wrist and clings to it with an elastic band, giving the sleeve a slight puff; the dress cinches at my waist, accented by a gold band that makes me uncomfortably aware of my larger-than-average stomach roll; while the right side of the dress kisses my ankle, the left contains a slit going halfway up my thigh, just enough to show off my olive skin. Nothing too scandalous, nothing to make my dad cringe, but maybe something to make a nurse turn his head.

I check my black curls one last time, ensure that my sandals are secure, and grab my purse before I trot out of my bedroom.

“So, how do I look?”

Dad is the first to look. He grins broadly and gives me three loud, prominent claps. “Beautiful, sweetheart. Absolutely beautiful!”

Dad’s reaction causes Jayden to look up from the backpack and medicine bag that he was packing. His eyes widen. He freezes. Yet he doesn’t say anything. I wait a minute, and each second that passes is pure agony for me.

“Uh, Jayden?” I say when I can’t stand the silence any longer. “Hello?”

“Son, are you all right?” Dad laughs and tugs on Jayden’s mask. “Earth to Jayden.”

Jayden shakes his head, narrowly missing hitting Dad’s hand with the beak of his mask. “What? Sorry, sorry. Yes, you look…gorgeous, Ava. I just…you’re gorgeous.”

I feel the heat rush to my cheeks, neck, and ears. Pushing my hair behind my ear, I mumble, “Thanks.”

Dad sniffles a little.

“Are you crying, Dad?” I tease.

Dad shakes his head. “No, no. Stupid allergies have been bugging me all day.” He dabs at his nose with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“Same here,” Jayden says as he returns to his fussing over his bags.

“Now that you mention it, me, too.” I sniffle and snort up a bit of snot that I hadn’t noticed dangling near the edge of my nostrils. “I hope it doesn’t mess with my makeup.”

“Well, take this with you.” Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a spare handkerchief. Of course, he has a spare handkerchief.

“And take this. It’s an allergy pill.” Jayden hands me a small white pill and a bottled water.

I follow his advice and then stuff the securely closed bottled water into my purse. Jayden puts on the backpack and then hangs the medicine bag over his shoulder. He dutifully takes his place behind Dad’s wheelchair. Within seconds, the feathers of Dad’s angel wings start poking Jayden in the face, making his face scrunch up as he resists the urge to sneeze.

“You sure you don’t want me to take Dad?” I ask. “You’ve got plenty on your hands.”

“I’m fine. You just handle door duty and be my backup.” Jayden sputters as some feathers get into his mouth. “I might need a break pretty damn quickly.”

I chuckle. I so rarely get to hear Jayden swear, it’s a treat when he does. Unless, that is, he starts doing it a lot…that’s when I know something’s horribly wrong. Apocalyptically.

I rush to the door and hold it open with a grand gesture. “After you two.”

“Onward and upward!” Dad says with a laugh before wiping his nose again.

Jayden chuckles and shakes his head. He wheels Dad out the door, and I watch the pure glee on my dad’s face. It brings a smile to my face. He needs this. We need this. I touch Mom’s mask and silently thank her for bringing us this opportunity. That chill makes me shiver once more.

“Leave,” I hear her whisper. “Leave, before it’s too late.”

Day 3

Concert Venue A

ALL POWERFUL, Atlantic Ocean

I dance with more abandon than I ever have. Dad complained of a sore throat a couple hours ago—claimed that it was from too much cheering or some such nonsense—and said he needed to rest, so Jayden and I took him back to the room. (My throat’s been feeling a little scratchy all day, too, but I’m not about to let Dad or Jayden know. There’s no need for them to worry about me unnecessarily.) We tried to stay with him, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. He insisted that we go out and have some fun, get to know each other outside of having to take care of him, and when we both expressed our concerns of leaving him alone, he put on the same voice he puts on during negotiations and told us that he can take care of himself for a few hours, that he’s not dead or an invalid yet—the look in his eyes, the look of exasperation and offense that we might even view him as such, was all that it took to convince me to go. I don’t know why Jayden agreed, but he did. Not so deep down, I’m glad.

I don’t know who’s playing, but apparently, Jayden loves them. Right now, I think they’re playing some sort of Jamaican/hip-hop mix. I like it, and Jayden really likes twirling me to it. The flowing teal-and-gold skirt of my outfit billows out more and more as the twirls grow faster and faster. For the brief moments when he stops, Jayden’s warm, calloused hand lands on the hole in the fabric meant to tease at the skin of my waist.

“God…Jayden…stop!” I gasp between spins. I laugh when he finally releases me, secretly trying not to puke.

“You just wait until their salsa/pop songs.” He twists his hips back and forth and gives me a wink.

“How many different combos do they have?”

Jayden shrugs. “I lose count. Jamaican/hip-hop, salsa/pop, Hindi/pop, Celtic/rock…”

“Celtic/rock? Now that’s my jam.”

He laughs loudly, throws his arm over my shoulders, and drags me to the bar. We both order red wine. Jayden insists that the bartender keep pouring until the liquid reaches the rim, rather than the traditional half-way mark, and does the same for mine. This boy truly is after my heart.

Jayden leads me to an area against the wall that is relatively secluded, save for a burly man and his entourage to one side of us and a Barbie wannabe and her friends on the other side. We both lean against the wall, sweating and almost panting from our dancing. My tongue is dry, and my throat hurts like Hell. The wine stings as I take a sip, and I start hacking.

“Woah…woah…” Jayden steadies my wine with one hand and pats my back with the other. “Didn’t mean to take your breath away.”

I glare at him as I regain my breath. “Not funny.”

“Agree to disagree.” He sips his own wine and immediately proceeds to start hacking as well. I steady his wine for him. Once he calms down, I smirk and then stick my tongue out him, to which he rolls his eyes. “All right, not funny.”

Jayden seems to think on something for a minute, running his ring finger over the rim of his glass as he watches the festivities around us.

“So, here’s the deal: for tonight only, we’ll be totally honest with each other. Whatever we ask, we answer truthfully. Sound fair?”

I take a sip. “All right.”

He chews on his bottom lip. “Have you always been this rich?”

“Since I was a little girl, at least.”

“Then you’re used to these kinds of parties?”

“Not this big and I’ve never been to any in person, but I know that Dad used to drag Mom to them, yeah.”

“Drag her? I thought that your mom was some sort of New Orleans party girl.”

I pinch my nose a couple times to suppress the sniffles. Damn allergies. “She liked to drink and stuff at Mardi Gras, and I think that she might’ve even gone topless a couple times, but these parties…I don’t know. The way Mom described them, you’d think Satan was hosting them or something.”

He drinks for a while and then scratches the back of his neck as he speaks. “Was she scared for her safety?”

I stare into my glass. Goosebumps prickle my skin. Why does red wine have to look so much like blood? “I don’t know.” My voice shakes. “Dad…he had drug and drinking problems. For a long time. It took Mom and some of his…more straight-laced friends and family to get him back on track.”

“Was Winters one of those friends?”

I narrow my eyes at him then sigh. “I honestly don’t even know if they knew each other back then. This was a long time ago.” I lift my glass to drink more wine but stop. “I was still too little to understand what was going on, but I knew something was going on. I thought that Dad was sick, and in a way, he was. Mom made me promise, on her deathbed, to not let him get like that again. She thought he was going to die. That’s why I’m keeping such a close eye on him. Either he stays by my side or he’s back in the room.”

Jayden purses his lips before pulling them into a small, sweet smile. “Geez, I never knew—”

“How messed up we are?”

“How dedicated and loving you are.”

My nose drips, but this time it’s accompanied by tears. God, this is so gross and embarrassing. I accept the tissue Jayden pulls out of his pocket and wipe my nose before tossing it into a nearby trashcan.

Jayden gently places his hand on the side of my face and wipes some of the tears away with his thumb. My cheek tingles. I look into his eyes and see something moving the gears in that mind of his. He hesitates and then slowly leans forward.

“Kiss her already, you wuss!” shouts the large burly man a couple feet from us. After a laugh, he jeers, “Tongue her!”

Jayden’s hand curls into a fist beside my cheek before dropping to his side. I mentally cuss out the burly man and wish I could hide in a deep, dark hole, suddenly aware of how very public our surroundings are.

“Shut up, you dick!” the Barbie-wannabe from the other side of us shouts.

“Mind your own business!” another woman yells at her.

Low rumbling breaks out, and I curl into myself.

“Hey. HEY!” the lead singer screams into the mic. He clears his throat and rubs it before continuing. “Cool it, or we’re done for the night.”

The arguments quiet down to a murmur until the entire hall is silent, waiting for the singer’s approval.

He nods. “All right. That’s better. Now, let’s party!”

The venue erupts in cheers, though quieter than earlier in the night. My throat is starting to feel a little scratchy again, so I decide to rein it in a bit.

Jayden lets out a long breath. “I haven’t felt this level of tension since I left home.”

I side-eye him. “Home life rough?”

He doesn’t answer for a minute, and when he does, his tone is guarded. “Not in my home, no. My mom, my sister, and I all got along great. Dad died on the job when I was little, he was a fireman.” He clears his throat. Choking back tears, I suppose. “In the other apartments, though…”

The music changes to a Hindi/pop crossover. A few people cough into their elbows, and many rub their throats. It must be those allergies I was noticing yesterday.

Please, God, I pray, let it be allergies.

“Some of our neighbors were racist dicks,” Jayden resumes, and my attention is immediately back on him. I never thought I’d hear him say something so crude, so blunt, so…honest. “When I was about five, one of our white upstairs neighbors called the cops on this brotha who lived next to us for playin’ his music too loud. I don’t know what the guy upstairs told them, but it must’ve been bad. One of the cops was ready to go in, guns blazin’, and Mom sure was ready for it, keepin’ my sister and me hidden with her back in our parents’ room while Dad stood vigil in the livin’ room. They were prepared for the worst, and I guess our other neighbors were, too. Could cut the tension with a knife. That’s what Mom says every time she tells it.” Again, he clears his throat. This time, he rubs it as well. “We lucked out. Brotha lucked out. The second cop was a friend of Dad’s, had been to our place before and met our neighbor. He convinced his partner to cool it, and they got everythin’ calmed down quickly.” Jayden stares into his wine. “Not all of them turned out so peacefully, you know?” He huffs, and I feel like someone has punched me in the sternum. “No, I guess you don’t know, but I suppose you can imagine.”

I sniffle and put my hand firmly on my hip so that I won’t slap him with it instead. “You’ve really never seen a picture of my mom, have you?”

He tilts his head at me and then shakes it. I pull my phone out of my purse, scroll through my pictures, and settle on one of her and my father at a fundraiser auction for a scholarship program she had started. It’s the last picture they took together before Mom’s accident. Her flawless, dark brown skin seems to shine against her form-fitting, strapless crimson dress. For a fleeting moment, I wish that genetics had worked like probability says that they should have and my skin tone had taken more after Mom and her Haitian mother than her Greek father. Then I remember why I’m showing Jayden the picture, and I realize that I resemble Mom enough.

I hand Jayden my phone and watch with slight satisfaction as his eyes widen.

“I never knew,” he mumbles. He looks to the phone, then me, and back again. “I mean, I can obviously see you’re a little darker, but…you know, there aren’t any pics—”

“They make Dad sad, so we took them down. He says we’ll put them back up someday, but…it’s not someday yet.”

Jayden seems about to say something but instead hands me back my phone. I stuff it into my purse as I suppress more sniffles. Goddamn allergies.

I don’t know how long we stand there listening to the music before Jayden talks again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but…it’s not the same. You’re mixed. You’re rich. Your dad is Gregor Nelson, for Pete’s sake.” His voice has deepened almost to a growl. “Your wealth protects you. Your dad’s race and status protect you. You’ll never understand what it’s like to fear for your neighbors’ lives…for your own life…whenever the police come by.”

I can’t meet his eye. “Maybe, but I wonder if you understand what it’s like to switch to homeschooling halfway through your freshman year after some girls beat you up in the bathroom because your mom’s a…well, you can imagine what they said.” I don’t allow him to reply. “Look, just because I’ve never been poor doesn’t mean that I don’t have any clue. My mom grew up dirt poor in New Orleans. She didn’t even celebrate Mardi Gras for years after she hit drinking age because she was always working the bar to help her parents pay the bills. Until she met Dad, that is.” I run my hand over my mask and smile slightly. “She insisted on paying her own way when they first started dating, and it earned her his respect. His love. And the fact that he understood why she wanted to and supported her instead of belittling her…that’s what earned him her respect and love back.”

I turn my head away from him. “It’s why I keep working to make sure that the quality of our employees’ working conditions don’t slip now. I try to convince Dad to just shut everything down and pay people a monthly stipend until this all ends instead, but he won’t listen to me.” Damnit, no crying. No more crying. “He’s a good man, I swear, but he’s just listening to the wrong people again. It’ll ruin him.”

Jayden’s strong yet gentle hand grabs my jaw and turns me back to him. Before I can register what’s happening, his chapped lips press against mine. Warmth spreads through me. I settle my free hand on his hip. He has pushed his mask onto the top of his head; the beak of mine scrapes across the stubble on his cheek. A chill suddenly blows into my ear.

“Leave,” Mom’s voice whispers in my ear. “All three of you must leave.”

I gasp and push away from Jayden. He stares at me with a mixture of confusion and hurt, so I force a smile onto my face and stroke his cheek where my mask scraped him.

“Sorry,” I say. “You surprised me. A very, very good surprise, but still a surprise.”

His expression melts into a smirk. “Two very’s, huh? I like the sound of that.” He lifts his wine glass, and we clink them in a mock toast. “Geez, we’re slow drinkers.”

“All good things in moderation.”

Even with this in mind, I take a long, purposeful drink. Something has been bothering me since the first day of the cruise, and with Mom’s voice returning just now, I can’t shake the feeling that I need to voice the question now, whether I like it or not. I sip some more liquid courage.

“So, why’d they hold you up at the health check station?” I finally ask.

Jayden sighs. “It’s stupid. It’s because I’ve been a nurse through both pandemics.”

I snort, but in a way, I am relieved by his answer. “You’ve been working exclusively for Dad since 2018.”

“Yeah, well, apparently, Winters is a paranoid SOB. I guess me being your dad’s nurse throughout all of it must mean that I’ve been in contact with hospitals the whole time and I’m more likely to be exposed to stuff.” He clears his throat and rubs it before taking a long drink. “You know, I’m used to being discriminated against because of the color of my skin. I’m even…somewhat…used to being teased for being a male nurse. But being singled out for being a nurse period? It was wild with COVID-19, and it’s still wild now.”

We let the music and clamor fill the tension between us. I watch as a fight breaks out at by the stage and security rushes in to break it up. Apparently, some guy pushed some other guy into the pool earlier today over a bad bag of weed or something. Whatever it was, it’s ruined now and everyone’s pissed. Another fight breaks out not five feet away from them as some ass tries to harass a gay couple for no reason and the bigger of the couple fights back with a pretty decent punch—I think he might have broken his nose, based on all the blood gushing out. Good.

“Geez, rich people gone wild,” Jayden mutters.

“Yeah, that guy deserved it, though,” I say as I point to the homophobe.

Jayden nods. “I’ll drink to that.” He chugs the last of his wine. “Refill?”

“You want to leave me alone during the middle of this lovely show?”

“Security’s got it handled, and your shoes alone are lethal weapons.” He winks and grabs my glass, running his fingers along mine and lingering at the tips. “You’ve got this.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Fine, but hurry up.”

I cross my arms and lean against the wall as I wait for him to return. The concert hall suddenly feels too crowded, too hot. I swallow as my throat starts to hurt again. I would kill for some water. I pull out my phone to shoot him a text asking him to grab me one when I feel an overbearing presence standing too close to me.

“Hey,” the burly man from the earlier disruption says as he towers over me. God, his breath reeks of beer. “You bored with Bird Man yet?” He juts his square jaw in Jayden’s direction.

“Please back up.” I take a step away from him.

“Hey, I’m just talking.” He steps forward, and I step back again.

“Sorry, I’m not up for talking. My throat hurts.”

“Mine, too. I’d much prefer to dance.” The burly man starts grinding on me unrhythmically.

I roll my eyes and search for the Barbie-wannabe, hoping maybe she’d at least give me an out by shouting at him again. She’s nowhere to be seen, and Jayden’s still in line at the bar. Damnit. This guy is getting way too close now, and I don’t really know what to do. I keep trying to step away, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. My heart flutters uncontrollably.

The burly man won’t quit grinding on me, and his mixed flock of equally burly thugs and skinny Eminem wannabes laugh it up at my discomfort. To their credit, one of the better-groomed thugs and one of the more modestly dressed wannabes seem as uncomfortable by the display as I am, but they’re still faking laughter for the alpha and not saying a word in my defense. I keep trying to edge away, but he just gets closer. I can’t wait for Jayden anymore. I need to leave and go find him. It can’t be any worse than suffering through this—

The man grabs my waist, right where the gap in the fabric exposes my skin, and pulls me close to him. I don’t like what I feel behind me.

“What are you doing?” I scream, trying to draw as much attention to us as possible. Very few people turn to look, and I don’t know if it’s because they can’t hear me over the music or if they just don’t care. “Let go!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” the man says with a laugh. He chugs his beer and sniffles. This close, I can see his eyes are red-rimmed as well. God, he’s so freaking sweaty. “It’s a party! We’re just trying to have fun.”

“I said let go.” I stomp hard on his bare foot with my stiletto. He releases me with a yelp. “Thank you.”

His friends laugh even harder, and the sympathetic thug and wannabe shoot me apologetic looks. The alpha glares at me from behind his arm as he covers a small cough. When he pulls his arm away, I feel all the color leave my face.

Blood. Blood spots his arm right where he had covered his mouth, and yet I’m the only who seems to notice.

I’m so focused on these drops of crimson that I don’t even realize that he’s charging me until Jayden is standing in front of me, blocking him.

“Can I help you?” Jayden calmly asks.

The burly man studies Jayden for a moment, looks at me, and then returns his attention to Jayden. He pauses for a second, his eyes fixed on me again, and grins. “I’ll look you up.”

I can’t think of a smartass response, of any response. I can’t even breathe. Instead, I grab Jayden’s wrist and drag him straight to the elevator.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

I push my mask onto the top of my head and rub my eyes, trying to get the image of the red drops out of my mind. Red-rimmed eyes. Blood. Coughing. People rubbing their throats. I shove Jayden a little too roughly into the elevator and close it behind us as quickly as possible, punching the button for our floor. I try to think of anything else, even our awkward conversation about our pasts earlier, but Jayden won’t stop staring at me with those deep, dark eyes filled with calm concern.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks. He probably thinks that jerk is the one who has me so bothered.

“Red Lungs is on the ship.”

Jayden’s eyes drop to the floor. “Are you sure?”

“That jerk coughed blood.”

“That could be any—”

“What are the odds, Jayden? He was complaining of a sore throat, he had red-rimmed eyes, and he coughed fucking blood! The only thing I couldn’t tell was if he’s had any prescient dreams.”

His fist curls and uncurls. “Damnit.”

“How could this have happened? Winters took every precaution—”

“COVID-19 got into a lot of places that we thought were safe just because people started acting stupid and careless. Well, what I’ve seen the past couple days, it’s been pretty damn stupid and careless.”

Breathe, Ava. Breathe. “You don’t think that the nurses and captain and other crew have done everything needed to keep it out?”

“Most of them, yeah, but at the same time, people can be reckless…or vengeful.”

My nails dig into my palms. “What-what do you mean?” I already know damn well what he means.

“Your dad’s a rich capitalist—an entrepreneur and Winters’s close friend, to boot. I’m sure you have some ideas. Just look what happened the day we left for this cruise, and according to the tabloids, your dad doesn’t have half the skeletons in his business closet as Winters does. You catch my drift?”

Of course, I do. Sabotage. Somehow, some way, someone could have purposefully brought the Red Lungs virus onto the ship.

Jayden chuckles. “But who are we kidding? That didn’t happen. There are almost five hundred other innocent people on this ship. No one would be that idiotic or that heartless.”

I laugh, too, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to me. “Yeah, of course not. You’d have to be a psychopath. Winters is too paranoid to let anyone like that pass through his screenings and work for him.”

I lean the side of my head against the cool metal wall and close my eyes. The crimson drops on the burly man’s arm plant themselves firmly in my mind’s eye.

Continued in Part Two...