Never Run (May Moore Suspense Thriller 1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

May clambered down the stairs into the houseboat. Her heart was accelerating, and she was breathing fast. She was careful to tread on the side of the wooden steps, to avoid the blood spatters which led down into the boat's gloomy depths.

The boat smelled of salt and grime and something else. A sharp, familiar smell.

Below deck, it was quiet. The lower level was dark. The only light was the muted afternoon glow filtering in through a tiny porthole.

May stood at the bottom of the stairway. She was in a narrow corridor, and from here, she could hear the water lapping against the side of the boat. Listening carefully, she waited to see if there were any other sounds. She was nervous about walking into a trap.

Then she drew in a sharp breath. She thought she heard a muffled moan from behind the closed door ahead of her.

"Who’s there?" she asked, her voice quivering. "Is someone there?"

May gripped the gun with both hands. She knew that she was in a potentially dangerous situation. She wondered if she should retrace her steps and call for backup. That would be difficult, though, since she didn't have permission from her boss to be here.

But then, she heard another moan, and she knew that if there was someone hurt here, she'd better act fast.

May tried the door, adrenaline surging as she pulled the handle down.

It was unlocked. She flung it open and stepped quickly inside, her gun at the ready.

She found herself in a small bedroom, with a narrow bed in the corner. The blood spatters, dark and vivid on the gray floor, led up to the bed. With a jolt, she realized there was someone in the bed. Someone who wasn’t moving.

May's eyes narrowed as she tried to adjust to the dim light.

The smell was stronger here, a sharp reek, and just as she saw a broken bottle on the floor, her nose identified what it was.

White spirits. Vodka, she guessed.

She inched closer to the bed, her hands shaking.

Now, she could hear regular, harsh breathing. It was a man lying on the bed. Fully clothed, in boots and a jacket. He had a rough, graying beard. As she watched, he moaned again.

The bed sheets were stained with blood. Looking more closely, May saw that the blood seemed to come from a large, deep cut on the man's hand.

She was starting to piece together what must have happened.

He'd been drinking. Most likely, he'd been drunk already when he had slipped and fallen upstairs, broken the bottle, and cut himself seriously.

And then he had staggered down here, still holding the remains of the bottle, and passed out on the bed. Drunk though he was, he was obviously starting to feel pain from this deep wound.

May stared at him in concern. He was at risk, lying alone with blood still oozing from the gash. She needed to get him medical care.

"Sir! Can you hear me?" Even though she spoke loudly, there was still no response.

Putting her gun away, May slowly bent down and touched his shoulder.

Immediately, the man writhed in fear. He cried out. He opened his eyes, saw the blood on his hand, and yelled in panic.

He stared at May, clearly thinking in his bemused and drunken state, that she was attacking him.

May recoiled in shock as he bunched his uninjured fist and swung it at her. She leaped out of the way, her shoes crunching on glass. She was in a dangerous situation down here. She was alone, and he was in a highly aggressive state.

"It's alright, sir," she said quickly, jumping back out of reach. She flattened herself against the wall of the small cabin, fighting for calmness, hoping that he'd get a better grasp on reality before he actually did attack her.

The man's eyes were wide, and he was breathing heavily. His face was a mask of panic.

He swung at May again. This time, she was able to leap out of range, but only just. She was now trapped in the corner. He staggered to his feet, standing between her and the door, and May knew that the only thing that could calm down the situation now was if she was able to get through to him with her voice.

"Sir? Sir? Can you hear me? I am here to help you. You’re hurt. I noticed blood on the deck of your boat and came down here to investigate."

Slowly, gradually, the man's eyes focused on her face. May could see a deep panic in his eyes, but as she watched, it was replaced by confusion and then, finally, by understanding.

“What – what happened?” he half-slurred.

"You've cut your hand. We need to get it stitched up," May told him. "We need to get you some medical attention. I'm going to wrap it in -" She looked around the small, dirty room. "I'm going to wrap it carefully in this shirt," she said, picking up a discarded T-shirt from the edge of the bed.

Avoiding the broken glass, May stepped back to him and folded the shirt around his hand. She was still worried that he'd lash out, but he seemed to be calming down. Wincing, he gripped the end of the shirt with his other hand.

He might be calmer, but he was still argumentative. "I don't want the doctor to help me," he said, and his voice was slurred. He sounded like a drunkard, she thought.

"You can't do anything but let the doctor fix it. It needs to be stitched, so it doesn't get infected. Otherwise, you might lose your hand."

For a moment, the man only stared at her. He was breathing heavily, but May could see that his eyes were finally starting to clear from the hazy aggression.

Then, he shook his head, looked down at the blood, and nodded. "Yeah," he croaked. "Yeah, I think I need a doctor."

"Come with me," May said calmly.

She grabbed his elbow and supported him as he lurched to the door.

He managed to regain his balance enough to follow May up the stairs. Carefully, she helped him across the deck and onto the speedboat.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

"My name's Mike Neville," he answered.

"Do you work, Mike?" Even though he was drunk and now injured, May still wanted to know about his movements in the past few days. There was no harm in properly confirming an alibi, or the lack of one, she thought.

"Yeah. I do work. I'm employed at the hardware store, here in Caspian. I work six days a week there, seven to three. But today was my day off and I - I had a friend visiting last night and the drinking got out of hand."

May nodded. She believed him. The evidence confirmed this version. And there was no sign on the boat of any of the girls. Even so, she’d ask Owen to call the hardware store and confirm he’d been at work, as soon as she dropped him off at the hospital.

"You might want to be careful about that," she said, deciding that she was satisfied with his alibi. "Especially when you’re on your own, out on the water. It was lucky I came by, because otherwise, without attention, that cut might have been more difficult to treat."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right. I need to be careful."

Now, Mike sounded embarrassed.