ROSE'S SENSE
Prologue
April 15, 1912
North Atlantic
"Rose, wake up. A boat’s coming."
Jack shook Rose’s hand, willing her to open her eyes.
Rose lay on the board, only half-hearing him.
She was so cold--she had never been so cold. What was he saying? Something
about a boat.
She half-opened her eyes, struggling to turn
her head towards him. Almost too weak to say a word, she whispered,
"A...boat?"
"A rescue boat." Jack had been
ready to give up hope, but the sight of the lifeboat making its way amongst the
sinking victims had returned his optimism.
He tried calling out, but his voice was to
faint to be heard, the boat too far away. He looked back at Rose.
"There’s a whistle over there. I’m going
to get it and try to attract their attention. Do you think you can swim?"
Rose looked at him dully. Her limbs were
almost too frozen to move; her whole world seemed comprised of the cold and the
darkness. Why should she even try?
"I’ll be back in a moment," he told
her, trying to pull his hand away. It was frozen to hers. Quickly, he breathed
on their hands, melting the ice a little, then broke them apart. He swam in the
direction of the dead officer, leaving Rose on the board.
Rose stared up at the sky. A shooting star
flashed overhead. She had heard once that a shooting star was a soul going to
heaven. Whose soul? she wondered vaguely. There must be a thousand souls or
more going to heaven this night.
A whistle sounded across the open sea. The
boat halted, lights shining in their direction. "Come about!" someone
shouted.
A few moments later the rescue boat reached
them. They helped Jack into the boat; then, at his direction, turned toward
Rose.
She tried to move from the board, but was too
weak. The last thing she remembered was being lifted into the boat before the
world went black.