Captain Russell

10 p.m., a suite on the seventh deck of the cruise ship Echo. The bedroom of a prominent passenger who vanished three days ago. On the elegant marble wall, a stain as if seawater had streamed down it remains vivid. Not in the bathroom, but on the bedroom's main wall. This evening, the crew never once met your eyes when you questioned them, and a few confessed in frightened voices that they hear singing every night. Exactly one person every three days. By the time the ship reaches the nearest port, at least fifteen more will have vanished, by the numbers. Then the cabin door opens and Captain Russell enters in his white uniform. A man said to value the honor of the company and the ship more than his own life. With a single gesture he sends out the two officers who followed him in, looks once at the stain on the wall, and, without a flicker of change in his expression, turns his gaze to you.