The overhead chandeliers caused the silverware to gleam, and Rose glanced down at the table, momentarily distracted from her thoughts. She had been gazing off into the distance, her mind filled with images of Jack, of the distant places he had traveled, of the future she wanted with him. Conversations rose and fell past her ears like the droning of an insect. Now, though, as the silverware glinted and a fork clattered loudly to the table nearby, her daydreams fell away and the real world crashed in. Beside her, Madeleine Astor's voice was suddenly distinct as she said, " . . . well, of course, the museum opening is only two weeks away, so I told them I couldn't possibly get all the fliers out in time. So the Women's Auxiliary in New York is going to help out . . ." On Rose's left, Colonel Astor was buttering a roll, waving the butter knife around in the air as he emphasized a point. Across from him, Ismay was nodding emphatically in agreement. And next to Ismay, across from Rose, sat Ruth. Ruth seemed as distracted as Rose, her gaze distant and unfocused, somewhere over Rose's shoulder. Her plate of beef bourgignon sat untouched before her. Suddenly, Rose's eye was caught by something else, a movement at the far end of the dining hall. Her head jerked around, and she was shaken by the sight of a man lurking near the entrance. She recognized the powerful build and dark grey suit instantly. What was he doing there without Cal? Cal had not been at supper that evening and nobody could find him. And yet there stood Lovejoy in the doorway. What was his purpose for being there? Rose did not like the fact that he was standing in the corner, watching them. Watching her. Had Cal instructed him to do that? Was he hoping Jack would show up? What could he do? What was he capable of? But Rose already knew. Cal was capable of anything he set his mind to do. *** Jack smiled to himself as he moved along the boat deck. Lamps glowed dimly, illuminating his path as he walked aft toward the second class stairway and the route back to the third class world. His mind was filled with Rose. Her smile, her hair, her scent, her eyes, her voice, her dress...her without the dress...he smiled a little to himself. Thinking like that wouldn't do right now. He needed to be clearheaded, able to think straight and move fast. He was in danger, but blissfully ignorant of the fact. Up ahead he glimpsed the door leading to the stairwell, and quickened his pace against the biting wind. In his mind, Rose smiled playfully at him and leaned toward him, intent on meeting his lips with hers. He smiled in response and reached out, gripping the cold metal of the door handle, pushing against the door and stepping over the threshold - "Ooof." The force struck him from behind, knocking the wind out of him and slamming him forward against the door. His head smacked against the surface and pain splintered through his skull. His hands involuntarily grabbed his head, holding it, and he bent at the waist, stumbling backward, back into the cold night air, back onto the deserted deck. As he turned to face his attacker, he was dealt another severe blow to the head, knocking him down. A pair of shining black shoes pausing beside him was the last thing he remembered before mercifully passing out. Cal stood over the crumpled body of Jack Dawson and, for the first time in nearly a week, smiled a genuine smile. He nudged the limp hand with the tip of his shoe and then, satisfied that the boy was unconscious and would be so for quite some time, moved on to the next phase of his plan. |
