Rose lay quietly under the blanket. She wasn't shivering, she distantly noticed. Either she had warmed a little or she was still numb. She was too tired to care. Her eyelids dropped together, and she was almost asleep when the image came again. She saw herself breaking her own hand away from Jack's and letting him slip beneath the waves. She hurriedly opened her eyes. "I can't think about this now," she told herself. Eventually she would have to face the memories, but if she thought of them now she thought she would lose all semblance of sanity. In spite of this, the memories kept coming. "Why didn't I do something to stop it?" she mused. "Why didn't I make him go find something else to float on? Or let him try again? Or give him my life belt? Or go in that lifeboat when he told me to? Why did we go tell Mother and Cal about the iceberg in the first place?" Rose swallowed, and tentatively thought, "If I had never changed my mind, Jack would still be alive today..."
Suddenly, she became aware of a man sitting beside her, looking rather concerned. He was probably 5 years older than Rose, and rather handsome. Rose hurriedly regained her composure, and smiled a weak smile at him. He announced, "I am Howard Calvert. I was just a little worried about you; you look like you've murdered your best friend." Rose nearly choked at that, but she felt so helpless that she couldn't stop herself from telling her story. Howard regarded her quietly for a few moments after she finished her story before speaking. "Miss Dewitt-Bukater," he began, but she cut him off. "You can call me Rose." "Rose," he continued, "Did it ever occur to you that possibly you're being a little too hard on yourself? That Jack might have died anyway, in worse circumstances? Or that he might have lived and wish he had died?" Rose had no idea what the man was talking about. Obviously he had lost his senses.
Howard smiled an understanding smile and said, "Would you like to see what would have happened?" Rose looked at him suspiciously and replied, "Of course I would." He answered, "Are you certain?" No sooner was the word "yes" out of Rose's mouth than she found herself dressed in silks, at a dinner party. Cal was there, frozen with a champagne glass halfway to his mouth. Everyone else was similarly frozen. She gasped when she recognized nearly every important person in society there. Notable absences included John Jacob Astor and Benjamin Guggenheim.
An echoing voice spoke. If only I had never let Jack know I loved him... Rose looked around for the speaker, and, finding no one, decided that she must be imagining things. Your wish has been granted; this is what would have happened. You may ask 3 questions, spend 3 hours here, and decide whether you would choose this instead of what did happen. If you choose this, history will be changed.
Rose looked around dubiously once more for the speaker, and still
saw no one. Be that as it may, she decided to ask 3 questions anyway.
"Where are you?"
I am not any *where*... I am everywhere and nowhere. Right now
I am here. Rose giggled nervously. This was so strange.
"How old am I?"
You are 27 years old.
"Where are John Jacob Astor and Benjamin Guggenheim?"
They went down with the Titanic as gentlemen. Rose
gulped. She had thought those men indestructable.
The frozen people resumed their actions. Cal raised his glass to take a sip of the champagne. She knew, with a dim awareness, that he was her husband now.
"Sweetpea," he said, in his annoyed tone, "What took you so long to get here? We have a special treat tonight." Rose looked around at the extravagant dining room. There was a fountain spraying water dyed turquoise and perfumed with lilac. Three swans swam gracefully in it. Another fountain actually sprayed liquid gold. It was hot, but no one seemed to notice.
Rose smiled apologetically. She had learned over the ten years of their marriage that defending herself did no good. She nearly winced at remembering the first time she had contested Cal in pubic. He had not been gentle with her in private. "I'm sorry, darling," she said submissively.
He looked her over and smiled. "Well I suppose it was worth the wait."
She blushed appropriately at his compliment, and walked to sit beside him.
She had gotten there for dessert. Dessert lasted nearly two hours. After
it was over, Cal looked at her and said, "I've brought a special guest to
entertain us tonight."
"Really?" she asked politely. "Who would that be?"
"A street artist, supposedly the best. I thought it might amuse
you to have your portrait made by a street artist."
Rose sighed. It really would *not* amuse her. She had sat for
so many portraits it was insane. Cal took her sigh for a sigh of
relief, and leaned a little closer. "I thought you might let him
do a nude likeness of you." She nearly coughed on the champagne she
was delicately sipping. This was rather unlike Cal, but he *was*
her husband, and she knew he would be upset if she did not obey. "Of
course, darling, if that's what you want," she replied smoothly.
"He'll be waiting upstairs, if you would like to go get ready now."
Rose went up, took a bath, and put on a silk robe. She could not believe Cal was doing this to her. Likely, it was punishment for being late to dinner. She stepped out of the bathroom into the room where the artist was waiting for her. Her jaw dropped.
Sitting calmly in a chair with a portfolio of drawings, two or three sharpened pencils, and several blank sheets of paper, was Jack Dawson. He was staring at her as well. She recovered first, if recovering was what you would call what she did. Her pulse raced, and her heart screamed out for her to throw herself in this man's arms. Her face betrayed none of that, though. She eyed him levelly and calmly said, "My husband wishes you to draw me nude." He stared harder. He was obviously trying to be calm about this, but failing. Inwardly, she cursed Cal for doing this. He had to know that it was Jack.
"The last thing I need is another portrait of me looking like a porcelain doll," she said, as she let the robe drop to the floor. Jack swallowed noisily, but after that, he managed to regain his composure. "As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want." She tossed a gold coin at him.
He stared at the coin for a moment before replying, "Right... over on the bed.. the uhh, couch."
Rose had a strange feeling of deja vu... but she smiled anyway, and arranged herself on the couch.
"Eyes to me, keep them on me.. ."
That, at least would not be a problem for her. Jack was every bit as handsome as she remembered him; only more mature. His blonde hair was shorter now, but wisps of it still fell over his forehead. His blue eyes were unchanged. His face... he looked decided uncomfortable with this. She had to do something to ease the tension. "I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste," she said playfully. He chuckled.
Suddenly, he stopped sketching, looked her straight in the eyes, and asked gently, "How are you, Rose?" The intensity in his voice took her breath, but she answered, "I'm fine. Really..." He stood and walked closer to her. "That fire that I love about you is still there..." His hand brushed her cheek, and she couldn't force herself to brush it away. He leaned closer, and then his lips were on hers. For a moment she remembered Jack rescuing her from suicide, when he said, "You can't breathe, you can't think...At least not about anything but the pain." This was like that, only there wasn't any pain, but the breathing and thinking were like... All conscious thought stopped mid-sentence, and she and Jack were alone with each other. "Put your hands on me, Jack," she breathed.
It seemed like hours later that they were lying close together on the couch; in reality it must have been only minutes. He heaved a sigh and got up, smiling boyishly. "I reckon I ought to get back to that drawing..." She giggled. As soon as he was seated, a shot rang out. Rose rushed to Jack's side, hardly noticing the blood that gushed onto her hands as she tried to hold him. "I love you Jack.." she sobbed. "You have to go on.." he gasped, and then he was still. Rose turned slowly to see Cal staring at her in disbelief. "A whore to a gutter rat..." his astonished whisper whipped her to a fury. "I'd rather be his whore than your wife!" she screamed. He was across the room in two strides. He grabbed her wrists ...
Everything was frozen again. Rose shook herself. Cal's grip was still tight on her wrists, and she
had to use almost as much force to break them away as she had had to use on Jack's hand.
Three hours have passed. Do you choose this path over the one you chose before? Rose shuddered
and shook her head. Jack was still dead, at any rate, and being shot in cold blood murder was certainly
worse than freezing to death.
The scene before her switched abruptly to that of the Carpathia. Rose was dressed as she had been in the lifeboat. Steerage passengers were everywhere around her, but she saw no sign of Jack or anyone who looked familiar.
An echoing voice spoke. If only I had forced him to find his own piece of wreckage... Your wish has been granted; this is what would have happened. You may spend 3 hours here and decide whether you would choose this instead of what did happen. If you choose this, history will be changed.
A tap came on her shoulder. She whirled, hoping it would be Jack... "Look at you, you must be freezing!" Her face fell. The last man in the world she wanted to see : Caledon Hockley. She glared at him furiously. "Don't touch me," she breathed acidly. "Whatever was between us is over now."
Cal stepped back, taken by surprise at her hostility. "Really, sweetpea, I hadn't expected you to be so out of sorts."
Rose eyed him coolly, and sweetly asked, "Have you seen my fiance?"
Cal looked puzzled for a moment, and then asked, "Your fiance?"
"Yes, my fiance. I believe you know him? I'm sure you must remember. You had him arrested and chained to a water pipe?"
"YOUR FIANCE?"
Rose blinked innocently up at him. "Yes, darling, my fiance. Oh, and I thought you might have misplaced these...?" she produced both the Heart of the Ocean from her pocket and the engagement ring on her finger and threw them both at him. She turned her back on him and stalked away.
Where was Jack? The last time she had seen him had been when he led her to that large piece of wood. She had sent him with her lifebelt to find his own, so that he wouldn't freeze to death. And at least if he didn't find something, he would have the lifebelt for added warmth. She had shivered on the wood, half-frozen, until one of the lifeboats had all but run over her. There had been no sign of Jack since then. She looked for hours. A thin mist of rain began to fall. A man with a notepad of names approached her. "Can I take your name, please, love?"
"Dawson... Rose Dawson," she replied firmly. "I am looking for my husband, Jack Dawson?"
The man scanned the list of names before replying, "He's not listed here..."
Rose took a deep breath and thanked him. For all she knew, he could have changed his name as well, to keep away from Cal. He couldn't be dead. She would not allow the possibility. If he were dead, there was nothing for her to live for. She steeled herself to spend the rest of her life searching for Jack.
Everything froze again. Three hours have passed. Do you choose this path over the one you chose before? Rose closed her eyes to concentrate. Jack could still be alive. She might find him. But then again, he might be dead. Rose did not think she could spend the rest of her life in indecision. At least in her life now, she knew for sure he was dead, and she could eventually move on. "No," she replied firmly, and the scene before her switched yet again. The tang of the ocean filled her breath, and sea breezes ruffled her hair. She was dressed simply. Something was missing... She looked down and realized three of her fingers were gone. Three children stood frozen over a sand castle. Beside her was Jack, sketch pad and all.
An echoing voice spoke. If only I had made him try again...Your wish has been granted; this is what would have happened. You may spend 3 hours here and decide whether you would choose this instead of what did happen. If you choose this, history will be changed.
Jack was gazing seriously at the children, trying
to put their vibrancy down in pencil. His drawings
really were exquisite. She sighed happily and leaned
back. Jack paused in his drawing and quickly looked
over at her. "Are you all right?" he asked concernedly.
She laughed and said, "Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"
He looked pointedly at her missing fingers and replied, "I don't
know that I would be after having 3 fingers removed because
of frostbite. Especially after it was because I trusted a
gutter rat to take care of me." Bitterness dripped from his voice.
"Jack, it wasn't your fault. Don't be ridiculous. There was nothing
you could have done to stop it. And even if you could have, are you
certain you would want to?" Those words seemed familiar somehow...
Jack looked at her as if she had lost her senses. "I would rather
have died that night than have you lose even one finger, let
alone three."
Her breath caught, and she looked at him sadly. "Do you really
mean that?"
He returned her gaze, and slowly nodded.
"Kiss me one more time, then, Jack," she replied. His lips
closed on hers, and she never wanted the moment to end. "I'll
never let go," she sobbed quietly, as she stood to leave.
It hadn't been three hours, but everything froze. Three hours
have not come to an end, but if you walk away from him, you will
have abandoned this future. Rose looked at Jack silently for a
moment. He was alive, and possibly he would get over this bitterness.
If he did not leave her first, to protect her from himself. She couldn't
bear to see him crushed like this. She turned and walked deliberately
away...
Her eyes opened slowly. She was lying in a puddle of water. Rose lay quietly under the blanket. She wasn't shivering, she distantly noticed. Either she had warmed a little or she was still numb. She had chosen. Things must remain as they were. She looked around to thank Howard Calvert for his help, but he was nowhere to be seen. She closed her eyes again, and the memories returned. Howard and the futures had all been a dream, and now she must face reality. Now she *could* face reality. Images of the nightmarish demise of the Ship of Dreams flickered through her mind, and she let herself grieve.
Several days later, as the Carpathia neared New York's harbor, a thin mist of rain began to fall. A man with a notepad approached her. "Can I take your name, please, love?" She gave him a start of recognition--it was the man from her dream. She did not change her response. "Dawson. Rose Dawson." A thought occured to her suddenly, and she let her hand fall into the coat pocket she was wearing. It was there--the Heart of the Ocean. She stared at it in surprise, and quickly shoved it back into her coat pocket. It might come in handy someday. And anyway, it would remind her that she had to look ahead instead of back.