Cal tasted the cold steel of the pistol in his mouth. His finger trembled on the trigger. Was he really going to do it? Take the coward's way out? Who said that's what this is? Does it make me a coward that I've accepted my life is over, basically if not actually? All I'm doing is making official what I already know. But could he actually do it? Up until that morning, he'd loved his life. It wasn't perfect, but it was damned close. In his mind, anyway, and his opinion was really the only one that mattered, wasn't it? He had a beautiful, docile wife. Two sons, both of whom were shaping up to be everything he'd expected them to be. He was the envy of every man he knew and even some he didn't. Women loved him. It seemed they never tired of throwing themselves, eyes wide and breasts heaving, at his feet and into his bed. Yes, it was a good life. It was the life he'd always planned for himself. He knew there were those who would disagree, those who would call it empty, meaningless, superficial, but he didn't care. He was happy.
That is, he was happy until that morning.
It didn't seem possible. How could everything his family had been building for over a century just not exist anymore? How could the businesses he'd dedicated the majority of his adult life to preserving and expanding just be gone? He felt as if some vengeful spirit had appeared before him, snapped its misty fingers, and turned everything—all of his money, his properties, his fine clothes, everything—to ashes.
He briefly considered taking the pistol out of his mouth. He had money stashed all over the house. There was sure to be enough to keep him for awhile, and he could use some of it to rebuild—No. That will never work. Aren't you better than these childish delusions? Do you know who you sound like? There was nothing else to be done. He'd had a good life—A Goddamned good life—and now it was time for him to be a man.
Cal closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.
He didn't feel anything. But it was supposed to be instant, so there wouldn't have been anything to feel. At least, he didn't think there would be. Wait. Am I still thinking? How can I still be thinking? The afterlife was something he had never given much thought to, preferring to focus his attentions on the life he was living on earth, but at that moment, he wished he'd thought a little more about it. His stomach twisted painfully as he realized he had no idea what was going to happen next. The pistol had vanished. That much he did know. He took a deep breath, not allowing himself to question the fact that his lungs still seemed to require air, and opened his eyes.
"What the hell?" He couldn't believe his eyes. "It isn't possible." He was standing at the bottom of the Grand Staircase. On the Titanic. "What is this, some kind of cosmic joke?"
"If it is, I sure hope someone's laughin’, ‘cause I'm sure not." The voice had come from behind him. Cal spun around, ready to confront whoever it was. He could only sputter incoherently, too stunned to form words.
"Yes, it's me," Jack said slowly, sounding as if he were talking to a very young child.
His tone snapped Cal out of his daze. "I can see that!" he shot back. "It's not as though you've changed at all." But that wasn't right. Jack had changed. The differences were subtle and imperceptible at first. His hair was longer. He was wearing clothes Cal had never seen him in. His chest and arms appeared to have filled out. But he still stared at him with that annoying, impudent, I can see right through you gaze. How could he have changed? He's been dead for seventeen years. The dead don't change.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm dead. Let loose whatever other cheap shots you've got now, because I'm not listening to them for the rest of eternity. And in case you didn't realize," he added, "you're dead, too."
"And in hell, obviously."
Jack's eyes widened in mock surprise. "You've been imagining me in hell all these years? Why, I would've never guessed—"
"You're an even bigger fool than I thought you were if you believe I've thought about you at all."
"I thought you were the better liar?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that you didn't do a very good job of lying just now. I didn't believe you for a second."
Cal was furious. The gutter rat was dead and still taunting him. "I don't care—"
"In fact, I know you've thought about me," Jack continued. "You thought about me right before you died." How does he know that? Cal wondered. Seeing the look in his eyes, Jack added, "I'm dead. That kind of gives me an edge when it comes to knowing what's goin’ on in the world."
"And you choose to use this so-called edge to spy on me?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Jack scoffed. "I don't waste my time on you. They asked me to watch you tonight."
"They?" It was really becoming too much. All he'd wanted to do was quietly put an end to his life. Had he known this was what was in store for him, he would have given that rebuilding plan a bit more thought.
"The Powers That Be," Jack explained. "The name kind of says it all."
Cal sighed heavily. "I don't have time for this, Dawson. I've had a very stressful day, and all I want—"
"Is to get to the afterlife?" He didn't give Cal a chance to reply before adding, "Where did you think you were?"
"I'm not—this can't be—"
Jack nodded. "Bet your bullet-eating ass it is."
"How do you know—"
Now it was Jack's turn to sigh. "I told you they asked me to watch you. I know everything you did, everything you thought up until the moment you died."
Cal looked disgusted. "Why would they have you watch me?"
Jack shrugged. "They didn't say, but I have a feeling there was some belief I might do somethin’ to try and talk you out of it."
"Why didn't you?" Cal asked, insulted. He couldn't stand the sight of Jack, but that didn't mean he would have passed up a chance for a little well-deserved sympathy.
"Yeah, I thought about it, but then I realized I didn't actually care what happened to you."
"Quite a change from the pansy moralist you used to be."
Jack shrugged. "If by moralist you mean decent human being, I'll admit that it was kind of an unusual move for me, but no one's good all the time."
An awkward silence fell between them. Jack rocked back and forth on his heels and stared at Cal. He's deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable, the bastard. Cal swallowed his annoyance and forced his face to remain expressionless. There were more important matters to deal with. Like figuring out why he was there. Was Jack telling the truth when he mentioned eternity? Was he really going to be stuck on that damned ship—and with him, of all people—for eternity?
"Yes, you are. But we aren't alone here, if that helps any," Jack said suddenly. Cal gaped at him.
"How do you know—"
"What you're thinking? I've been dead a few years now. I've picked up a few tricks."
"You have?"
Jack laughed. "Hell, no! But you're so easy to read I might as well be able to see inside your head."
"I am not easy to read! Especially not by—"
"You just keep sayin’ the same things over and over, don't you? Doesn't it get boring?"
"What?"
"Boring. You. Are. Your life. Was," Jack said mechanically.
"Who are you to judge my life? You could have never appreciated the splendor of my life!" Cal sneered. "You were hardly more than a child when you died," he added nastily.
The corners of Jack's mouth turned up slightly. "If thirty-year-olds are children, then I guess you're right."
Cal had to stop his jaw from dropping. "You couldn't have been that old when—"
"When I died? Sure I could have." He regarded Cal with amusement. "What makes you so sure you know when I died? Or is it just wishful thinking?"
Cal opened his mouth to retort, but closed it without saying anything. Why was he so sure Jack had died in the sinking? How could he not have? You barely made it out alive yourself. What were the chances of scum like him surviving?
Jack chuckled quietly to himself. "You really do think you're a master of the universe, don't you? If you think it, it must be true, huh?"
"Master of the universe?" Cal repeatedly lamely.
Jack looked at his hands. "The explanation would be lost on you." His eyes darkened. Cal got the feeling he'd forgotten he was there. Jack blinked a few times and the darkness vanished. "Well, I'll be off now," he said briskly. He stepped past Cal and started up the stairs.
"Wait!" Cal called after him.
Jack stopped and turned. "What?"
Cal stared up at him, fear in his dark eyes. "You're just—you're just going to leave me?"
"They asked me to watch you and explain to you where you were when you got here. They never said nothin’ about holdin’ your hand for the rest of eternity." His expression was solemn. "You wanted to die. Well, this is death. Unlike you, I most definitely did not want to die. And unlike you, I have somewhere I need to be right now."
*****
Jack peered into the small, dark room—the first on a hallway that held four. Inside slept his oldest child. Tara was sixteen. She looked more and more like Rose every day, but she had his eyes. Will slept in the room across the hall. He was fourteen. He had his father's hair and his mother's eyes. They had both inherited his sunny disposition and Rose's lust for adventure. Neither of them had inherited his artistic talents. Rose had been disappointed when they hadn't—she wanted his gift to go on and on, she'd said—but he hadn't been. They each had their own unique gifts. He lingered a moment and smiled in at each of them before moving on to the next room.
At nine, Jack was the only one of them who couldn't remember his father. He'd never even seen him in person. Never heard his voice. Yet he was the one who was most like him. His dirty blond hair already hung in his face. Will ordered him to get a haircut every other day, but he didn't care. He would peer up at him, bright blue eyes twinkling, and shrug. Rose would have never let him cut his hair, even if he'd wanted to. Her wish for Jack's gift to be passed on to one of their children had been granted in him. Not only did he posses Jack's talent and passion for art, but he had his ability to see.
Finally, Jack came to the last door. As he moved closer, he could hear her whimpering quietly in her sleep. Her head was rolling from side to side. "Shh," he whispered, laying down beside her. He pressed his cheek to hers. "It's okay." He slid an arm under her and pulled her close. "Don't be scared. It's just a dream. I still won't let anything hurt you." Rose's eyes fluttered. Her lips curled up in a small smile as whatever unseen terror that had been plaguing her disappeared.
Jack didn't know if she could hear him. Sometimes she seemed to. There were times when he came to her when she was awake when he could have sworn she looked right at him when he spoke. He was pretty sure she could sense him, though. Somehow, she knew he was there. Even if she couldn't actually hear or see him, she could feel him. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. She shifted slightly in his arms. He held her tighter.
"This is where you had to be?" Cal asked loudly.
Jack clenched his jaw. "Get out."
"I'm not doing anything wrong, am I?" He hadn't intended to follow Jack, but curiosity about what he could possibly need to be doing that was so important and annoyance had forced him to. When he'd reached the top of the stairs, he'd realized he had no idea which way Jack had gone. But it turned out there really were tricks that came with being dead.
"I'm warning you," Jack said, his voice low and menacing. "Get the hell out." Just as he was about to reply, Rose's nightmare started back up again. "See what you've done?" Jack hissed over his shoulder, eyes blazing. When he turned back to Rose, they were soft, no trace of his hate-filled stare remaining. "Hey, what'd I tell you earlier?" he asked, gently stroking her face. "You don't have anything to be afraid of. Not ever. I won't let there be anything."
Cal shook his head, not sure if he was shocked or disgusted by the obvious amount of love in Jack's voice and movements. "I'm leaving because I can't stand to watch this. Not because you told me to," he said.
"I don't give a damn why you're going. Just go!"
*****
Jack leaned against the railing. There was a gorgeous sunrise in front of him, but he didn't notice it. No matter how hard he'd tried, he hadn't been able to get Rose to sleep peacefully again after Cal left. As short as his intrusion had been, it had still been enough to unsettle her for the rest of the night. "Bastard." What right did he have to follow me? What right does he have expecting me to feel bad for him? So he shot himself. So what? His life didn't have to end. He let it end. He had a choice. "I never had a choice."
"Neither did I."
Jack's head snapped up. Cal was standing next to him, as if summoned by his thoughts. "What makes you think I was talking about you?"
"Who else would it be?" he said impatiently.
"So what if I was? It's true."
"Maybe I did have a choice, in the technical sense. Maybe I had a choice about a lot of things. But tell me, Dawson, what else was I supposed to be?"
"What?"
"You argue that I should have been different. But what else would you have had me be? What else could I be? We all have our roles to play, and mine was most definitely not the brave knight who comes rushing in to save the fair lady. But that didn't make me enjoy my own role any less. Why should I have? It's not like I could have been anything else."
"You really believe that? You really believe you couldn't have changed even the least little bit?"
"Could you have? Be honest now, Sir Moral. Could you have changed? Become more like me?" Jack stared at him, unable to form words. "I didn't think so," Cal continued. "Maybe I wasn't the best person, but I sure as hell wasn't the worst. I did the best I could with what I had. What more do you want?"
Jack turned his eyes back to the ocean. "What I want I'll never have. Not anymore."
"Did you at least enjoy your time together?" There was a trace of mocking in his voice.
Jack didn't know why, but he found it comforting. "We did." He smiled to himself. "And we lived more in those ten years than most people do in their whole lives."
"You don't like me. And I most certainly do not like you. But you needed me." Jack raised an eyebrow. "You did," Cal insisted. "The knight has to save the lady from something, doesn't he?"
Jack's expression was unreadable, but then he threw his head back and laughed. "You must have had a lot of free time to come up with all of that."
"I was a rich bastard, but that doesn't mean I was stupid."
"I always thought it did."
They looked at each other for a moment, neither sure what to do next. Finally, Cal shrugged awkwardly and walked away. Jack watched him go. He'd always understood his own place in the puzzle. He'd hated Cal so much. "But I never realized...without him...she wouldn't have ever needed me..." He still hated him, and he wasn't giving him credit for his relationship with Rose—he may have driven her to want to throw herself off the back of a ship, but he hadn't had a hand in what came next. That had been something else entirely. Something much stronger.
The End.