The bitter wind stung Rose's face, bringing out the blood in her cheeks as she walked quickly along the deserted boat deck, toward the stern. Her heels clacked on the ground, bringing back memories of a night in the not-so-distant past, when she'd been seized by a terror so deep it had made her run the length of the ship to escape. The night when she had been saved.

Her heartrate increased and she knew her labored breathing had nothing to do with her fast pace. She was scared. And helpless. And angry. She had to find him - she had to. Losing him was not an option. He completed her, made her a whole person. She'd spend her whole life telling him that if only she could find him...

"Where are you, Jack Dawson?" she murmured. "I could do with a hint, Jack, I really could. Just a little hint..."

If anyone had told her a week ago that before this voyage was over she would meet and fall completely, head over heels in love with a stranger she didn't even know yet, she would have laughed in their face. Or maybe cried, thinking about the man who was already in her life. Who had her life.

But Jack had taken her heart.

It had crept up on her, slowly, that first afternoon. She wasn't quite sure if she could take him seriously. His light blue eyes always seemed to be twinkling with a joke that wasn't quite there, a quirky smile lifting the corner of his mouth as he looked at her. He was an enigma to her. He seemed to enjoy living so much. It both intrigued her and made her feel cross with him. All right, Jack Dawson. Your life may be a bed of roses, but mine most certainly is not, as I'm sure you picked up on during my suicide attempt last night. Stop rubbing my nose in it.

But he'd made it quite clear that he was more than willing to share his garden of roses with her. He'd set about trying to cheer her up, make her smile. She'd tried to close him out but he'd reached out and caught the door of her soul just before it slammed shut, then mercilessly shoved his way through, trampling into the unfamiliar territory of her heart. She'd tried once more to resist, to pull away, yesterday morning in the gymnasium, but even though she may have closed the door again, she hadn't locked it. She needed him. It was as simple as that.

"Help me, Jack, please help me find you. I need you. I love you." She whispered the last, and the wind blew her promise into the night. She slowed her steps, walking over to the railing and placing her hands on it as she gazed out over the darkened sea. The stars hung low in the sky, glittering like jewels. It was so beautiful, out in the ocean at night. So solitary. Despite the thousand others milling about on the ship beneath her feet, it was so easy to feel alone.

She wanted to feel his arms going around her, folding across her stomach, his chin on her shoulder as though it belonged there. His murmured voice in her ear, telling her he loved her. Her throat closed up. If Cal had done anything to harm him she'd kill him - she'd kill the bastard herself. "Damn you, Cal," she whispered, shutting her eyes momentarily. "What did you do? Where did you take him? So help me God - if you hurt him --"

A man's chuckle reached her ears, caused her to spin around, eyes flying open as they searched for the origin of the sound. Then she heard a woman's answering laugh, and a murmur of voices. Her body relaxed. It wasn't Cal, it was two other people taking advantage of the star-studded view from the boatdeck. Lovers by the sound of it.

She walked quickly away toward the stern, leaving them behind, not wanting to intrude. She wondered what time it was. How long ago had she left her mother? It seemed hours. This night would not end - could not end - until she found Jack.

And then her steps slowed, until they stopped entirely. Her gaze was drawn to an object lying on the ground, just outside the door leading into the second class stairwell. She held her breath, leaning over and picking it up, feeling its weight in her palm. Surprised at how heavy it was. Her breathing was labored again, and she bit down hard on her lip until she tasted the coppery tang of blood.

The gun in her hand gleamed cruelly in the overhead light.

***

It wasn't until he reached his suite that he realized the gun was missing.

He swore under his breath, stopping in mid-stride in the lit hallway, his hands feeling for the weapon that he already knew he wouldn't find.

Where the hell was it? He almost panicked, until he remembered the scuffle on the boat deck. Dawson, worthless bastard that he was, must have knocked it out of his hand. He'd been too busy gloating over the prone body lying on the ground below him to notice.

A thousand expletives ran through his mind. He was tired. He wanted to sleep. To lay in bed and gloat some more over his actions that evening. But now, now he had to go look for the gun. Most likely it was still up on the abandoned boat deck, lying right where it must have landed, near the door to the stairwell. But it was cold, and he was so tired. And he couldn't send Lovejoy - Lovejoy was otherwise occupied, making sure Dawson didn't make a sound when he woke up.

"The best laid plans.." he murmured, scowling darkly in the direction of his suite. He thought about checking to make sure that Rose and Ruth were tucked safely into bed, but if they woke up and saw him they might find it suspicious that he be up so late.

After a moment of indecision, he gave a heavy sigh and turned, heading back toward the lift. The boy inside gave him an odd look.

"A deck," Cal snapped before he could say a word.

The boy nodded, and closed the gates.

The lift began to rise.

***

Rose felt like she was in a bad dream.

Was she really holding a gun? She'd never seen one up close before, let alone feel one in the palm of her hand. She knew that Lovejoy had one; she'd seen it in its holster sometimes when his suit jacket was pulled away. But she'd never thought twice about it.

Now, she didn't think she could stand up.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Was this Lovejoy's gun she was holding? It very well could have been. She had no idea. Had it been fired? Had they killed Jack and then tossed him over the side--

"No!" The syllable was ripped from her throat. Her voice sounded strangled to her ears. She put a trembling hand to her heart, and watched with detached fascination as the fingers of her other hand slowly curled around the gun, holding it pointing away from herself.

She stood up slowly, her knees feeling weak. And backed away from the door, toward the railing. Stumbling twice. She kept going until her back bumped into the rail of the ship, and took a deep breath, staring at the door.

It was through that door that Jack always returned to the third class.

"No. No." She was shaking badly. The bastards. They couldn't have. They couldn't have killed Jack --

Her gaze was drawn to the gun again. She lifted it up for closer inspection, checking something. Her fingers feeling clumsy as they sought an answer from the small object she held in her hand. She was dreading what she might see, but -

And then she realized that all the bullets were still there.

The gun hadn't been fired.

Her breath whooshed out of her, and she leaned heavily into the railing, weak with relief just as she'd been weak with terror only a moment ago.

He's alive, he's alive, he's alive. It became her mantra. And slowly she came to wonder how she'd doubted it in the first place, despite the damning evidence to the contrary. Somehow, she knew that if Jack were gone -- she'd know. Her heart would know.

He was still alive, and she would find him.

Her fingers tightened their grip around the gun.

You may think you have won, Cal, she thought, resolve hardening her features. But not this time, darling. Not this time. Because I have an advantage now.

She took a deep breath, and slipped into the shadows. It was time to find Tommy and Fabrizio, and end this.

Previous | Home | Next