Love in a Murderous Place - Prologue

Hey everyone! Here's something new. It's a dark romantic comedy / slasher novel about two lone survivors of horror movie-esque pasts that meet on a cruise ship just before a supernatural killer is unleashed on the boat. As they struggle to survive, the two women develop feelings for one another. I hope you enjoy! CWs for gore and violence. 

Suggested listening: Carly Rae Jepsen - Boy Problems

It took three minutes for Trenton Lewis to drown.

* * *

The smoke was suffocating. Flames licked the clearing all around her. Still, amidst the terror and desperation, Diana couldn’t help but gloat to herself. She was winning. Before her was the prone form of a man gasping his last. Blood pumping in her veins, hands and arms shaking with exhilaration, Diana’s gaze fell upon the smoking barrel of her revolver; that had been her last bullet. She lowered her arm, and cast her gaze to the javelin embedded in the tree to her left. With an exhalation of reprieve, she took a moment to whisper a silent thanks that he’d missed, and she hadn’t.

Satisfied, she leaned heavily against the tree trunk, taking a moment to catch her breath, and fantasizing about getting to rest, just for a moment. Sadly, there was still work to be done, and the last time she’d tried to sleep, she’d woken to the sounds of a fervid geriatric with a chainsaw on the attack. Grandma Beatrice had seemed like such a dear at first. “You’re so sweet darling, I could just eat you up,” she’d crooned. At the time, Diana hadn’t realized Beatrice was speaking literally.

Groaning in pain, Diana forced her aching, battered body to obey her commands as she righted herself, then patted herself down to make sure she hadn’t picked up any new injuries without noticing somewhere along the way. At least she’d managed to stay in one piece; the same couldn’t be said for some of her assailants. Rummaging around in the satchel she’d lifted off of… someone—was it the uncle? The other uncle? Honestly, she’d barely even had time to meet the family before they started trying to kill her—Diana took stock of her remaining supplies, and came up tragically short. She’d run out of weapons, water, and most of her food.

She really only had one trick left up her sleeve, and the prospect of it not working had her very, very afraid. Still, the fact that she’d made it this far at all had been impressive. At first, it had been a blur of hiding, fear, confusion, clumsy swings of improvised weapons and twisted ankles from trying to run in heels. Then, somewhere along the way, Diana realized she was dealing with a bunch of pampered rich assholes who’d grown soft and complacent from their easy little lives, and the tables turned. Apparently, all those times her parents had shipped her off to Girl Scouts for the summer had actually paid off? Because when she had really applied herself, Diana had actually remembered some of that wilderness survival crap. And now, there was only one left to deal with.

A twig snapped; Diana turned. In the clearing, wreathed in flame and choking on smoke, she saw Desmond, hatchet in hand, hunched forward and panting. “You fucking bitch,” he growled, his voice hoarse and choked. “You think you’re better than us? Than me? Do you really think I’d choose you over my own flesh and blood? Still, I guess it was always meant to end this way, ‘til death do us part, right?” With a feral warcry, he charged, and fell face first into his own family’s punji pit. Her audible sigh of relief was drowned out by the screams. Apparently, Diana realized, she’d been worrying over nothing, and her boyfriend was just as incomptent as the rest of his idiotic family. She took a moment to internally gloat at how well she’d disguised the trap, then, in her best approximation of a casual stroll, Diana limped forward, and peered over the edge into the gruesome scene below. He’d been impaled through the gut, shoulder and hand, leaving him twitching helplessly, with no chance of escape. She was surprised to find the sight didn’t bother her. Perhaps she’d grown desensitized after two days of this.

“You know, Des, last time I checked, we weren’t married. And I guess we can scratch any plans to do so. Say hi to your dad for me, if you see him wherever you’re going. You might not recognize him though, kinda shot him in the face after he tried to eat me.” Casually, Diana stooped down, and grabbed the hatchet which had flown from his hand the moment he fell. She examined it for a moment, felt its weight in her hand, then tossed it straight into Desmond’s back, and waited for the screaming to die down. “By the way,” she said, “if it wasn’t clear already, I’m breaking up with you.” Without another word, Diana turned on her heel and hobbled to a nearby tree, collapsed against it, and winced as she sunk to the ground.

Between labored breaths, Diana fumbled for the body to her left, then searched his pockets and found what she was looking for. Her eyes followed the spliff as she gently rolled it up and back with her thumb and index finger, then, with an exhausted flail, she lit it on a nearby burning shrub. Diana took a long pull, coughed up a storm, clutched at her hastily and shoddily stitched gut, then fell back against the tree as the flames grew ever closer. As though to an old friend, she gently patted the body she’d lifted the spliff from. “By the way, thanks uhh… fuck was your name again? Roland? Clyde? God, why can’t you rich assholes give your kids normal names? Cousin whatever. Your contribution is appreciated. Even if it is ditch weed. God, is this what passes for herb around here? Fucking Connecticut.” Sighing, Diana sank lower still, feeling the exhaustion finally kick in as the adrenaline wore off. With one last long pull, Diana fell over completely, then rolled onto her back and watched the stars as the forest burned around her.

She was going to die here, she realized. Strangely, she wasn't afraid. Perhaps she was too exhausted for fear. Diana’s whole body was starting to shut down from shock, injury, and lack of sleep. Lazily, her eyes drifted to the distant, burning silhouette of Cushing Manor. At least she’d taken every last one of those old money bastards with her. With her last breath, Diana breathed three words, “goddamn rich people,” then slipped into unconsciousness.

Daylight woke her. Somehow, Diana had survived.

* * *

Pulsing synths and grooving guitars blasted in Ashley's ears as she stalked the dim halls, dragging her tonfa baton along the wall, thumping it in time with the beat. Out of the corner of her eye, Ashley glimpsed a shadowy silhouette retreat into a doorway behind her right. Grinning, she picked up the pace, taking long, energetic strides, then with a hop-skip, she thrust herself forward, twirling the baton mid-air, catching it, then swinging the blunt point of it’s side-bar in an uppercut right to the chin of her looming assailant. With a scream, Ashley’s possessed former friend flew backward. It landed in a crab-walk position, then scuttled backward up the wall to a safer vantage point.

Grinning, Ashley ran her tongue across her teeth, then gazed up at her opponent. “Didn’t like that, hmm? Not laughing? Not as fun as taking my fucking arm? Or how about when you kicked me in the balls? Listen, that was a fucking hatecrime, you transphobic ghost bitch.” Ashley had more to say, but she was interrupted by a furious shriek as her assailant threw itself toward her. Smirking, Ashley stepped aside, and the creature crashed through the old cottage’s rotting wooden floorboards. Humming along to the peppy vocals of music, she plucked a liquor bottle from her satchel, took a long swig, plugged it with an already doused cloth, and lit it on a nearby candle. Flipping her grip to the bottle’s neck, Ashley made ready to throw.

In the basement’s dim lamplight, she saw the monster’s face twist and contort from pale, rotting, rage into something appearing more human. Torn out hair regrew, the color returned to its cheeks, the grime and rot receded from its teeth, its grey, glassy bloodshot eyes turned blue and focused. “Ashley,” it pleaded. “It’s me! Bethany, you did it. The evil is defeated! I’m me again.” Rolling her eyes Ashley brandished the molotov over her head as the monster scrambled away, pleading. “No! No please, it’s me, I swear, don’t you remember the lakehouse last summer? We had so much fun.”

Scoffing, Ashley rolled her eyes. “You dumb asshole, you forgot to fix the fact that your head is still turned a full hundred and eighty degrees.” Without another word, Ashley threw the lit bottle into the basement, and watched the monster go up in flames. Turning, she let the demonic screams caterwauling over upbeat pop music play her out. Another one down, one more to go, then all Ashley had to do was destroy that stupid fucking book. Honestly, who in their right mind would willingly read something called the Necronomicon? Unless it was that one horror collection she’d seen in the fiction section at the library. Actually, wasn’t the author of those stories like, really racist? Regardless, why would any—without warning, Ashley found herself on the receiving end of a flying body-slam. She hit the ground with an unpleasant thud, and slid a good eight feet along the floor.

When she came to a stop, the first thing Ashley noticed was that her music had stopped. Her mouth twisted in irritation as she shook the hair out of her eyes, reached up to grasp her headphones, and—”You fucking asshole! These were like two hundred dollars and you broke them. You gonna pay for these?” she shouted as she rolled over onto her hands—hand—and knees. “Of course you won’t, you always made me pay for shit.” Pushing herself up onto one knee, Ashley narrowed her eyes, shooting daggers across the room, at the snarling, cackling thing that had once been her boyfriend. Honestly, at this point it might have been an improvement. “You even made me pay for fucking gas to get here, Bradley. Forty two dollars! And for what? So you and your friends could summon a bunch of demons or whatever? And not even the cool hot kind. You could have at least told me you were planning to do this occult shit, but noooo.”

All at once, her demon-possessed boyfriend charged as she leapt to her feet, and unveiled her ultimate weapon. Casting aside her cloak, Ashley thrust her severed arm upward, perfectly impaling the creature by the throat on the an eight inch long mining drill she'd attached to her stump, while simultaneously shoving the bit of metal pipe she'd affixed above the drill right in its face. Laughing madly, she flicked the drill’s switch and watched her creation pin the creature to the wall. As though on cue, she saw little hints of humanity returning to her former boyfriend’s face. With a roll of her eyes, Ashley drove the base of her baton's grip straight into its nose. “Don’t even fucking try it. Even if he was still in there, which, hell, maybe he is, I don’t want to talk to that asshole. So, any last words, shitstain?”

Blood dribbled out of its mouth as it choked around the drill lodged in its throat. “You will watch your tongue, mortal. I am a prince of hell.” The demon chewed, swallowed and spat back up each and every word, forcing its broken body to speak.

Laughter rumbled deep in Ashley’s belly, escaping into a long, gleefully maniacal guffaw as she threw her head back in pure defiance of the thing before her. A clatter rang out through the room as she dropped her baton, fished a lighter in her pocket, brought it to the base of the sling keeping her weaponized arm-substitute in place, and lit a fuse. “Well, then,” Ashley gloated. “If you’re Prince, maybe I’ll see you down there. Cause after tonight? I must be Queen.” The fuse reached its end. A spark lit inside that repurposed section of piping. Packed tight into its base was all manner of gunpowder, buckshot, scrap metal, and broken glass. The explosion was deafening, and its force may have knocked her shoulder right out of the socket, but as blood and bits of bone and brain matter rained down all around her, she didn’t feel any pain; instead, Ashley could only grin.

* * *

The Horizon Sapphire is the largest Splendor-Class cruise ship in the entirety of Opal Cruise Lines’ fleet, boasting enough cabins for 5,278 guests. After tragedy struck on board in the summer of two thousand eleven—leading to ruinous and honestly frivolous lawsuits for the whole of Opal Cruise Lines—it was taken out of commission. But over the past three years, it has been given a complete makeover. To go with its sparkling new name, The Horizon Sapphire has undergone refurbishments and renovations to each and every deck, entertainment area, and cabin. It now boasts hospitality to put any of its contemporaries to shame. With The Horizon Sapphire’s maiden voyage only weeks away, cabins are filling up faster than shareholders could have ever dreamed. The ship is now poised to become the name in luxury singles cruises for countless lonely, upper middle-class white people ages 22-35 who have more money than taste.