Midnight Voyage

Sarah looked at the boy, so innocent. He'd handed Alex the stuffed animal to try and make her feel better, only for her to reveal her crime. She turned back to the boy. She didn't know sign language, but she understood the purpose of his visit.

"I don't know," she said. "I used to be in love with someone. We got married. He turned out to be a bad man. And I can't forget him. We had a son together."

She left out the part about Alex for now, trying to put it in terms he would understand, feeling ridiculous for confiding in a kid as it was.

She was still distracted by the fact that Frank Sinatra was cleaning up her vomit. Well, it wasn't actually Frank Sinatra. It couldn't have been. But he had the same blue eyes. Who knew what was real anymore.

"Mr. Sinatra," she said, getting his attention. "I'm sorry, I've always a really big fan." She neglected to mention that Jay had been a big fan too, that they'd often to dance to him in their living room.

Frank stared back at her blankly.



Alex felt numb. Then again, she wasn't sure what kind of reaction she'd expect. She'd leave out the part of her having been in prison for now. But it felt good to have it off her chest, and somewhat comforting to know she wasn't the only killer on the ship.

"Like I said, I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," she said. "I know it sounds ridiculous. But it's true. That night, I didn't see her as a person."

She'd been thinking a lot lately, about the reporter who'd come to interview her, about how Margaret's fiancé had visited her just to threaten her, about Carolyn's visit, and finally, her phone call with her dad, how he'd said her mother would be ashamed of her and how he never wanted to see her again. All of that in a span of a few months. And then the trial, when everyone piled on her and Sasha and Blake about how good the three victims were, and how much each of them still had to give the world.

Margaret had to die. She had to. Otherwise, this all would have been for nothing. And she couldn't let herself entertain that possibility.

Megara could understand that, though perhaps not in the same way. People didn't feel like people at the end of her blade, in the path of her arrow, as the targets of any of the increasingly subtle and inhuman methods she'd been using to kill them for so long. They were names, maybe, faces, numbers, goals, but not people. To her boss, they were in the way of some larger plan she would never know. To her, they weren't much of anything. Her ticket to stay out of the dark rooms beneath the manor, surrounded by thick stone to keep all that happened there safely underground. Unspoken secrets.

This girl before her, though, didn't appear to be motivated like that. Alex, Megara thought she remembered her name correctly, appeared to have done it for something more personal. Such a small body count almost demanded a personal motivation.

Still, Megara didn't press. There were some things she didn't want to know about the killers around her, or, at least things she didn't want to ask about. 'Why' would always be one of those things.



Winter had finished her cookie and was listening with a blank expression. To the others, it might have looked as though she wasn't listening at all. People often told her that she looked to be staring into space when she listened, but then they would chastise the intensity of her gaze when she watched in addition to her listening. How backward that was was often something Winter would ponder, but not now.

Oh, the blood on the hands of those around her, how plentiful it was. A hitman, and assassin, a murderer.

The most fascinating kinds of people were killers. Thieves always had similar stories. They were poor, they were greedy, they were jealous, a few other tales of woe, so boring in their repetitive tellings. Killers were different. Their reasonings were more diverse, their stories more interesting. There wasn't a killer in the world without a story to tell.

Her gaze suddenly fixed on Alex. Staring intently into her eyes, Winter asked in her usual detached tone, "Why did you do it?" The assassin near her went stiff, even though the question wasn't hers to answer. Killers acted strangely sometimes. People acted strangely all the time.

Kirux nodded. He kind of understood that. The only people he really cared about were his sister and Riku, and neither one of them were evil. But he had heard Lea talking like he had been evil, once, and that made it a little easier to understand.

When Sarah started talking to the man, Kirux followed her gaze and looked over at him. He didn't know who Mr. Sinatra was, but the name sounded cool and the man seemed very nice - even if he was giving Sarah a funny look.

His gaze traveled a little more, and he found himself staring at a movie poster. Eyes suddenly widening in excitement, he turned to Sarah. He pointed at it wildly with his finger, his message clear: he thought the group should see it.


Tim never thought he would be surrounded by killers.

Megara he had known about, to some extent. Eddie had revealed it with a few poorly timed comments. But that had been alright when he was standing in the comfort of Wayne Manor; it made everything feel like it was a part of Tim's world and not his.

Andrei had been expected, too. Something about him just made it seem like he was used to fighting, even if his personality suggested otherwise.

Alex should been expected. He should have picked up on the name. He hadn't been in that forensics class for fifteen years - four as Jack, eleven as Tim - but he had a good memory. It was how he knew what to do as Tim Drake; he could always rely on what he remembered reading.

But Tim Drake was never supposed to be in a situation like this, and he was quickly realizing he didn't know how to act as him. All he could think about was how scared he was. He was physically thirteen. He didn't have any of his little gadgets or weapons on him. And Tim Drake had never been the most physically fit Robin.

He took a deep breath.

He needed to calm down. He was Robin. He could handle this. He just had to think of how. None of them had done anything to harm him - he doubted they would. Megara was a friend. Andrei had a change of heart. And as long as Alex kept seeing him like a person, he would be safe.

"Why I don't I sing for all of you and your friends tonight? After the movie?" Frank responded.

Sarah was speechless. "How do you know-?" Before she could finish, he disappeared down the hallway.

What was that all about? She couldn't really be on a boat with Frank Sinatra, much less the Frank Sinatra from her childhood. But maybe, if Andrei and Tim were from 2019 as they said, this could be Frank Sinatra from 1950.

The boy was pointing to the poster.

"You want to see it?"

He nodded.

"It sounds fun. Let's go tell the others."

She stood up and went back to the group. They all stared, and Sarah purposefully avoided Alex's gaze.

"We should go to the movie tonight. At 8." Sarah announced. "And, we'll have a concert from Frank Sinatra after."

Spoiler

I'll reiterate these aren't really the people (like Frank Sinatra, Gordon Ramsay or Richard Beymer) but think of them like clones.

Tim's worries temporarily faded, but a new one quickly took their place: they were going to see the movie. He knew he couldn't avoid it. Doing so would arouse suspicion, and he was sure that Megara was going to drag him along.

But then his eyes widened.

"Frank Sinatra is here?" he asked, looking at Sarah. Frank Sinatra had died before he was old enough to know who he was - he just remembered hearing his grandparents play his music when he went to visit them. Back in his other life. A life where he'd sing Frank Sinatra songs to Lila, growing increasingly more silly the more she laughed at his covers. Frank Sinatra hadn't been either of their favorite singers, but his music had always been special.

Kirux gave an excited nod. Tim couldn't tell if it was because he was excited about everything on this ship, or excited about what Sarah had suggested, but he was beaming from one ear to the other as his gaze swept the room.

It lingered on Alex.

He was a little hesitant in approaching her, but he still went over to her side and nervously pointed at the stuffed turtle before pointing at himself.

Bo had been awaiting Alex's answer before they were interrupted, and his heart stopped.

Frank Sinatra had entered the room. And not just any Frank Sinatra, but Sinatra in his prime. Young Sinatra, the one in all the movies and on all the album covers. Bo, for a moment, completely forgot everything that was going on as he stared at the man.

First it was Gordon Ramsay, and now Sinatra? He didn't know if he could handle this much elation. How did this ship get so many famous people on one ship, all from very different decades? Were they the actual people? His mind began to race. Was this the real Sinatra?

Bo's hands were trembling.

"Mr. Sinatra," he said, his voice struggling to stay steady. "I'm a big fan. But what are you doing here? L-like I mean, like, how are you - why are you working on this ship? Are you trapped here too?"

Or was he brainwashed and confused like that other waiter seemed to be?

Spoiler

SORRY!!! Ya'll can go now!!

Alex wasn't paying attention to what was going on.

She was lost in thought, thinking about how she'd rather be back at Eagle Rock, back with her friends, back with Jay, and not with these strange people. She hadn't answered Winter's question. Why she did it. Why she killed Margaret. That night, she hadn't thought things through. It was the only thing to do.

She'd heard Sarah mention Sinatra, but hadn't processed it until he walked in. It was Frank Sinatra, but young Frank Sinatra, from before she was born. The Frank her mother listened to when she young.

Richard Beymer had served them the cookies, looking exactly he did in 1961.

"So, this kind of embarrassing to admit, but my first crush ever on a boy was Richard Beymer. You know, Tony in West Side Story." She hoped the others still knew West Side Story. "He served us cookies. And he looks exactly as I remembered then. Maybe something's going on? Somehow, whoever put us here, knows these things about us?"

Still, she was distracted thinking about Frank Sinatra singing to her, even if it was off. Even if they didn't know where they were, how they'd gotten there, or when they were.

Kirux looked shocked at Alex's suggestion, but Tim barely took note of his almost childish reaction - even when Kirux's eyes widened and jaw dropped, Tim was still running through what Alex had said.

Whoever had brought them here knew their secrets. It hadn't been worded that way, but all that Tim had to do was glance down at the pajamas that he was wearing for confirmation. There was no way someone could have guessed that he liked them; Tim Drake never wore pajamas like those. But Jack had, and Jack was their secret.

…And Megara's, seeing that James had told her, but there was no reason for her to know what he wore before he became Timothy Jackson Drake.

He ran through the list of villains who could have been responsible for this, but he was pulling up a blank. The closest he could come up with was Scarecrow, but this wasn't supposed to be something to induce fear. It just had the side effect of boosting his paranoia.

"It's not impossible," he slowly said. He was running his hands through his hair now, trying to bite back a nervous laugh. How badly had he messed up the story? Was this punishment for sneaking out?

It took Tim's reaction for Megara to really process the weight of that statement. She wasn't keeping her past a secret, not while she was in other worlds, but that didn't mean she wasn't keeping any secrets. She thought about her name on the door. It wasn't hers. It didn't even belong to any of her aliases.

She adjusted the nightgown she was wearing. Not hers either. She would never allow herself to go to sleep in something like this, it was too risky. Sometimes she wished she could, for comfort reasons, but she never did.

Was she here by mistake? This could all be some cosmic accident. Soon she'd be seeing some childhood crush of whoever she'd been mistaken for, or something like that. There was no way any of this was truly meant for her.

She considered, though, if it was. Why?

This place appeared tailor-made to make them all as comfortable as possible. As happy as possible.

She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking unsettled thoughts.

"Are you sure we're safe here?" she asked the group. No one had said they were safe where they were, but no one seemed to be considering the contrary, either.

Things were starting to click in Bo's mind. The people who were their servers weren't the real people. They couldn't be. There was no way. They were too... polite (namely Gordon Ramsey). Too put-together and docile as servants, despite being duplicates of their real-life counterparts. Maybe they were clones, or something like that, fabricated for the comfort of the passengers. Alex had a point.

If the first server had been someone Alex admired, and Sinatra was someone Sarah admired, and Gordon Ramsay was someone he admired, then it was very likely all of the workers on the ship were made to look like people the passengers would like. Everything was built for their comfort, or to get them to put their guard down. Heck, they were all in pajamas, even.

Bo stood up, briefly glancing at the cookies longingly. He was hungry, but he didn't trust the food here.

"It's at least set up so that we think we are, but I don't think we can say we're safe. I mean, we were brought here against our wills, which I think is by definition, a group kidnapping. So yes and no. So far, it seems like whoever or whatever brought us here doesn't have intentions of harming us, but if they don't, then there's gotta be some other reason we're here, even if the reason is some random accident or whatever. I just -I mean, I just hope this is reversible. Like, that we can figure out how to get back to our homes and all."

"This doesn't make any sense," Tim whispered. His hands were shaking now. He was trying his best to calm them down, but the conversation was only continuing to confirm his worst fear - he had messed up the story so badly that they were in some kind of strange, new arc that the comics had never covered.

"Why-Why would someone bring me here?" he muttered. His voice was growing increasingly louder, but not to the point that his voice was clearly audible to all people present - they would have had to strain their ears to hear them. "What choice did I make? Did it happen when I was fighting?"

Just a little bit of a nervous laugh broke through his voice.

"I need to figure out what I did wrong," he continued. "But I'm not in my house. I don't have my bag. I don't have my notebooks. And why-why would they ever give me my notebooks? That would give me an advantage, and whoever brought me here wouldn't want that. I-I don't even have my bo."


Kirux, meanwhile, was too caught up in his own moral dilemma to notice Tim's distress. If he had noticed it, his stuffed animal would have undoubtedly been lent to him. But Kirux hadn't, so instead he was wondering a very important point.

"They made us cookies," he signed, pouting. "And the cookies tasted good, too! So it has to be safe."

Spoiler

Tim usually swears a lot more when distressed, but I'm going to blame the lack of swearing on Tim being slightly calmed down by the ship.

"Should we explore a bit?" Alex asked. She didn't have any answers for any of this. At least, not now. "I'd love to see the rest of the ship."

She'd never been on a ship before. Obviously, she knew this. But she hadn't considered it until now. Something about this ship had an odd effect on her.

She was wearing those pajamas that she'd wanted when she was younger....

Something about this was very off. But what was the alternative? Prison?

"The movie's not until later," Sarah said. "We have time."

Spoiler

If someone wants to move the group outside, they're sailing through a pathway of massive glaciers. But it's not cold. It's maybe 60ish degrees, and cloudy.

The group finished their food and then started to find their way outside, through a few elegant hallways. There was the soft sound of piano music coming from within, adding to the environment of it all. She thought it was strange that no one else seemed to be on the ship. If they were, they were all still sleeping. But this ship was at least the size of the Titanic, if not larger. There had to be a capacity for a few thousand people. Not seven.

No one spoke, and that was all right. Sarah was lost in thought, thinking about a fight that she'd had with Jay about their son. About Jay didn't spend enough time with him. How that night, he'd come home, apologized profusely and the next day he'd announced he was taking Adam camping.

They found their way outside and were greeted by a massive field of ice. That's when it hit her. "It's just like the Titanic," Sarah said. Then she caught herself, wondering if that was the best thing to be mentioning now, but combined with the grandeur of the ship and the ice field, the words came out of her mouth.

Could it be? No. It was too modern. There were no smokestacks on top. Still, the ship recalled it, from what Sarah remembered reading. As she waited for a response, she inhaled deeply, taking in the salty sea air.

It was warm too, warmer than it had any business being in an ice field. "I wonder where we are," she added.