Sea Sick: A Horror Novel

Jack nodded. He knew of it vaguely. Redditch was a moderate-sized town outside of his usual policing area, but he knew the hospital there had a bad reputation and was regularly at threat of closure.

“Well,” Vicky continued. “Most of my shifts are on the ICU ward, where I look after people in critical condition. I’ve been on that ward for a couple years now and I’m one of the most senior nurses on the floor.”

“Okay,” said Jack. “Go on.”

“A few weeks ago they brought in a guy called Nigel Moot.”

“Nigel Moot?” Jack knew exactly who she was talking about. Nigel Moot was a prolific serial killer; the UK’s first high-profile murderer since Harold Shipman. The man had raped and killed over two-dozen woman in the UK, and many more throughout Europe via his job as a long-distance lorry driver. The last Jack had heard – a week or so before he’d boarded the Spirit of Kirkpatrick – Nigel Moot had died in hospital from a severe knife wound to the stomach. His assailant was unidentified, but it was assumed that it was an unknown, surviving victim of an attack.

Vicky told him what he already knew. “Nigel Moot was a suspected serial killer, but the police had never been able to pin anything firm enough to arrest him. That was until he came in with a stab wound. The police found a photograph of a recent victim in his pocket, and when they searched his truck they found a secret compartment full of grisly trophies – women’s fingers and other horrible mementoes.”

“None of that information was released to the public,” said Jack. “How did you find all that out?”


“From the police officer that was posted outside Nigel’s room,” Vicky explained. “He knew he wasn’t supposed to tell me anything, but I promised to keep it to myself. Anyway, once I learned what that man had done, I felt sick to my stomach. I was disgusted that my time was being used to keep a monster like that alive. All of the woman he had killed, all the lives he had destroyed, and here he was lying comfortably in a hospital bed being pumped full of life saving drugs.”

“You killed him.” Jack stated, knowing he was right by the look on her face.

Vicky nodded and tears began to stream down her clammy cheeks.

“The beast deserved it,” said Ivor. “In all my days in the army, I never once had the chance to put a stop to someone as evil as Nigel Moot.”

“I gave him an overdose of morphine,” Vicky admitted. “I wasn’t thinking at the time. It was like I was on autopilot, or something, and I couldn’t think about anything else except ending his wretched life. It was stupid, I know. The morphine is tightly regulated and I was the only person on shift. It was obvious what I’d done. But I don’t regret it. That monster was going to pull through, to live out the rest of his days in some plush prison for celebrity inmates. Just look at that Charles Manson guy in America – he’s as happy as Larry. I couldn’t allow that.”

Jack nodded. He looked at Ivor and could see past the man’s blustery exterior at the emotions beyond. He adored his wife and would truly do anything to protect her and his daughter. This was a good family; a loving and supportive unit. Jack wished their futures held better fortune.

Jack sighed. “I understand what you did, Vicky, and why you did it. To be honest I would probably have done the same thing. Perhaps most people would, if only they were brave enough.”

Ivor grunted. “But regretfully you’re still going to have to arrest her, right? You coppers are all the same.”

“No,” said Jack, deciding he would tell them another kind lie. “When the boat docks, I’ll allow you to leave. I’ll say that you evaded me. Although, can I give you some advice?”

Ivor and Vicky both nodded.

“Give yourselves in. The public will understand why you did what you did and the papers will make you a hero. I’d be surprised if you spent more than a couple years in prison, and when you get out the magazine deals alone will set you up for life. It’ll be better than spending your life on the run. You’ll have nothing to worry about, I promise. People will understand.”