John Farraway watched silently as Mr. Hockley finished handcuffing the unconscious man to the pipe. Dawson's head had dropped to his chest, his blond hair falling in front of his face. John shifted uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder into the gloom of the storage area. All he saw was his own cloud of breath in the freezing storage hold. He felt trapped and helpless. When he'd gone back inside and found Hockley to tell him that he knew Jack Dawson, he'd somehow been talked into helping find him. Hockley was extremely persuasive and not a little irritating, but at least the weight of the gold watch was now in his jacket pocket. It had been a stroke of luck, to Hockley at least, seeing Jack on the boat deck. He'd been staring out to sea, and when he'd finally decided to come indoors, Hockley had been waiting for him. John had stood in the shadows, watching the assault. It had not taken long. They'd carried the body across the deserted boat deck to the stairs leading down to the forecastle storage area. John had waited out of sight with the unconscious man while Hockley went up to the man guarding the forecastle and told him that he was wanted by the purser. The man had reluctantly gone, figuring he could trust Hockley who was so obviously a well-mannered gentleman, and then they'd carried the body inside. But it had been close to five minutes, and likely the guard would be returning soon. John kept looking up at every sound. It was cold and dark in here, and he felt jumpy. He said, "He'll be back any minute now," and his voice echoed around the cavernous storage hold. "Don't you think I know that?" Hockley snapped. He stepped away from the body and studied Jack. "That should hold him for now." John didn't care what Hockley did anymore. He just wanted to get back to his family. "He isn't going anywhere," he agreed. Hockley was still staring at the unconscious man, a slight smile on his face. "He won't be doing anymore drawings for awhile, that's certain," he said with satisfaction. There was a sudden movement as the gate of the storage compartment they were in creaked open, and John jumped and whirled around, his heart in his throat. "It's about time," Hockley merely said, glancing up. "Where have you been?" "I checked the dining room to make sure the Bukater's were in there," the man said, and John realized it was the man who'd been with Hockley before. "And how was my darling Rose enjoying her dinner?" The other man had a ghost of a smile on his face. "She seemed to be a little distracted." Hockley chuckled. "Good. Let her enjoy her memories of this filth." He nodded toward Jack. "It'll be all she has of him." John felt his disgust for these two high-class crooks grow as each second passed. He moved involuntarily toward the gate. "Is it all right if I go now?" he asked. Hockley's gaze rested on him. "You've been more than helpful, sir," he said. "I'd like to extend my thanks. And yes, you may leave." Farraway didn't hesitate. He simply nodded, turned, and left the shadows of the storage area almost running. He couldn't get out of there fast enough. |
