Who Killed Peter Douglas?

"Sail abroad the world's most breathtaking waters onboard- 'The Littorian'. Join us as we celebrate whiffs of freedom and make long lasting memories within a delicate and luxurious space, confined to only tasteful furniture, classy entertainment, renowned food and thrilling activities to please all ages alike! Book now." - Page 11, Advertisements, The Typewriter Times.

The words were cliched and hollowed, yet bright, their red splaying across the dreary boxed page as they shone amidst the ads for 'Hyco's Shoe Polish' and 'Eena's Hairdressing' and 'Globally Wanted For Dubai Qima Heist: Bary Singleton.' And why wouldn't they? After years of the only red being 'Breaking News' banners and blood and viruses, an almost post COVID-19 era where nearly everyone was vaccinated promised if not guaranteed security.

And that's when a plump but ambitious king had, along with his soon to be wife, stamped his passion into a littorina, a sea snail, the logo of their brand new cruise line, fresh like the smell of the hope of a new beginning. A new beginning that people, previously prone to suffering were deeply awaiting. Everybody loved and missed big parties. Maybe that's why hundreds and thousands of them showed up on the day the ship was bound to set sail, in their sparkly dresses and permed and gelled hair and shoes newly polished with 'Hyco's Shoe Polish'. And hundreds and thousands of them danced all at once, their heads bobbing up and down and bodies swaying side to side. Dancing, intoxicated, like they were in a trance.

And in that trance they so gladly left behind the bustling little bay that they pretended to know no longer, the mask of yesterday that seemed so old, now thrown away like a toy you wouldn't want to fiddle with anymore. The waters were daunting but they were exceedingly beautiful as they lapsed against the majestic vessel, and their glimmer shone brightly enough to obscure the unsettling truth that lay within. Hundreds and thousands of passengers, not all blind but all blinded, knew now nothing but the fact that every slosh of the water dragged away with it the dull boredom of the week before. Maybe they were just too happy. Or just too drunk. I cannot tell, and nor certainly can you.

Nor could 23 year old Jean Travelli, who was so drunk that she knew neither head nor tail of herself. She clutched her elegant wine glass in her manicured hand, slick black on long nails that grasped the stem of fine red bubbling wine, sloshing around, a miniature ocean of lies of its own, a dark speck against what the real one stood for. All she knew was that all she had ever wanted was with her, right there and right then. Oh she was young, and she had her life to live, that too with a king. Her business was a success. Her mother had allowed her to dye her hair purple. Charm bracelets. Velvet. Grapes in silver. Fine silk. Embroidered skirts. Trench coats. Rainy streets. Flashy cameras. Red carpets. A gorgeous hostess setting up coasters and dollies. Heels stomping on the inside of carriages. Fake smiles lining thick purple lipstick. Gold earrings dangling from a golden figure under a golden chandelier. The most expensive life was the one she would live.

The only thing she would have to worry about was "It's Jean, no not like in 'Jeans'. " And Clepta. Clepta Waterstones. What a stupid name. And what a stupid way her husband would stare at her. Whatever. Clepta was just an architect, and Jean Travelli was a duchess, soon to be queen. Clepta stood nowhere. Or so she tried to convince herself.

She scooted closer to her robe covered husband under the starlight. She made a joke she had read off somewhere. He laughed as his dozen gold necklaces jingled. They were a perfect postcard picture, and the way the moon illuminated them..it seemed to agree.

If only things had stayed that way. The very very fancy king abroad his very very fancy ship with his purple haired mistress. I wish to tell you things were always the same. You know, if you like, they can have a happy ending. There. The End.

But if you are brave, I can perhaps try and sneak you onboard.. there now. Hush. You see them. Over there. No, no. Over there. You see them? Yeah, that's them.

They are walking now, arm in arm. Incredibly perfect and incredibly happy. And in their fantasies, happy they stay, because even though life does not allow it, we still pray.

But what actually happens in reality is that they are going to the cabin. They are going to go to the cabin. And then they are going to find someone dead on the floor. And then they will see that the someone is the captain. And then they will say, "Who killed Peter Douglas?"