Jack stood at the window and watched Cal and Rose leave. It only took a few seconds for them to walk out of the house and climb into the car, but to Jack it seemed more like a few hours. Every time Cal touched her, he felt a fresh burst of anger. He clenched his fists so tightly he left deep marks in his palms. "You're taking her away," he said, breathing deeply. "You just have to get through this afternoon and then you'll take her so far away from here..."
When he was sure they were gone, he opened the window and quickly climbed to the ground. He sneaked around the house, praying that no one would see him. It wasn't until he rounded the corner at the end of the street that he realized he'd been holding his breath.
"Calm down," he told himself again. "Just stay calm. No one knows you were there. Hell, no one but Rose even knows you're alive." He jammed his hands into his coat pockets and was surprised when his left hand collided with something cold and hard. "What the hell?" His jaw dropped as he opened his hand and saw Rose's engagement ring.
"Why...how..." His mind raced. Did she know it was missing? Had it somehow slipped off her finger? "When did she even put her hand in my pocket?" He went back over their last few minutes together. There was no way he would have noticed her slipping a hand into his pocket. Or even her slipping a ring off and leaving it behind. "She did this on purpose," he said. "She wanted me to find it." The large diamond sparkled in the early afternoon sun. "You woulda gone straight to the bottom."
*****
Rose, meanwhile, was sitting stiffly next to Cal. Her right hand rested on her knee. Her left hand was tucked just under her leg. Don't notice, she chanted to herself. Don't ask about it. Her breath caught in her throat when he looked over at her.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.
She nodded quickly. "I'm fine." She tried to sound convincing. "I'm just excited about this afternoon."
He gave her the smile equivalent of a pat on the head. "You and those finger paintings. What you see in them, I'll never know."
It wasn't his lack of any real interest or taste in art that bothered her; it was the fact that he always acted so damned smug about the subject. As if he would know a Monet from a Van Gogh, she thought angrily. As if he would know any painting by any artist he didn't commission himself. His smugness didn't end there. Within minutes of meeting him, she'd learned that not only was he an expert on art, but on everything else as well—in his own mind, at least. At first, she'd thought he was just trying to impress her, but now, over a year later, she knew that wasn't the case at all. He genuinely believed himself to be an expert on everything. Or if he doesn't, she thought, he sure wants everyone else to think he is.
It didn't make sense. But Rose was beyond caring if there was a real man buried underneath the smooth surface he showed the world, a man with thoughts and feelings more complex than violent lust and anger. She'd spent months believing there was a deeper side to him before finally giving up. There just has to be something more, she'd told herself each time she'd tried to get him to talk to her, to really talk to her. This can't be all there is to him. But she never thought that anymore. Even if there really was more to him, which she doubted, it was buried too deep to ever be found.
As she felt the condescension in his smile she was filled with an almost overwhelming urge to hit him. Just once. That was all she wanted. Just one quick crack across his face. It would only be fair. Hadn't he hit her first? I could do it, too, she thought. Adrenaline surged through her body. I could do it so fast he wouldn't even know what happened. Her hand trembled slightly.
Rose! Jack's voice filled her ears. Don't do it. It won't be worth what he does once the shock wears off. She nodded to herself. Jack was right, even if it was just her mind using his voice to get her to think rationally again.
*****
Jack raced back to the house and flew up the trellis. He hauled himself into Rose's room, ignoring all the warnings his mind was screaming at him. He was more than aware of the risk he was taking by going back—especially with Rose not there, but he had to find out where they had gone. He had to get the ring back on her finger before Cal realized it was missing.
Unless he already has, he thought. His throat tightened. "No," he said firmly. "Don't think like that. She's fine." He looked around the room. "There's gotta be a clue around here somewhere about where she is..."
He shoved down the guilt that rose up in him as he began rifling through the drawers of her vanity table. "I'm not invading her privacy because I don't respect it," he told himself. "I'm not even really looking at anything. I'm just trying to keep her safe." Cal had said something about bad paintings, so that meant they were probably going to some sort of art show. It didn't seem terribly farfetched to assume she might have at least a scrap of paper with information about it. At least, he hoped she did.
The sound of footsteps passing by made him jump back. His hand was on the handle of the bottom drawer on the left-hand side, and when he jumped the drawer jumped with him, spilling its contents all around his feet. "Shit!" he hissed. He dropped to his knees and began scooping everything back into the drawer. "Guess this was a sign," he said dryly. "There isn't a good enough reason to go through her stuff." His shoulders sagged. "I'll apologize to her later, though."
He had almost finished cleaning up the mess when his hand fell on a black, leather-bound book. It was facing up and open to the middle. Neat cursive writing covered the pages he could see. Don't you dare read it! he thought as he slowly picked it up. You're not any better than him if you do. But as he was about to flip it shut his eyes fell on something he hadn't expected to see.
His name.
"She wrote about me?" He read the his name in her handwriting over and over. It was the single greatest piece of art he had ever seen. Before he knew what he was doing, his eyes had traveled to the top of the page and he was reading.
April 13, 1912
I've never felt this way. Never in my whole life have I been so...I don't even know how to describe it. I just feel so free! As though I could leap off the ground and never come back down again, just fly away! Hurtle off into the horizon and never look back.
I could have danced with Jack forever. Being in his arms felt so right. When he held me I felt things I never knew I could feel. I'm still tingling all over where he touched me—
Jack blushed a deep scarlet. He knew he should stop there, but he flipped a few pages and began to read again. This time the entry was dated April fourteenth.
I should have known he'd find out! The words rang in his ears like screams. How could I have been so stupid? Doesn't he always send that lackey, that personification of dullness after me?
"He sent someone after her?" Jack skimmed the rest of the page. Near the bottom, it said, His behavior this morning was inexcusable! I don't care what I did last night. It doesn't give him the right to behave like a petulant child who can't control his emotions.
Of course, I can say that now. He's gone. The evidence of his outburst has been swept away, and only he, Trudy, and myself will ever know about it. I keep telling myself it won't happen again. He's never done anything like this before...at least nothing of this magnitude.
Jack clutched the book so tightly his knuckles were white. "That son of a bitch!" he spat. "No wonder she was so scared." Rose hadn't actually said what Cal had done, but Jack didn't need to know. He didn't care. "He'll never do it again. Rose, I promise he won't." He flipped ahead a few more pages until he came to an entry dated April sixteenth.
Why didn't I go with him? I've been asking myself that since the ship went down. Why didn't I go with Jack? Molly told me not to think like this. She said Jack would want me to be strong, to go on without him, but how can I? How can I just keep living my life like always when I know I sent away the only man I'll ever love and there's nothing I can do to make it right? I love him. I don't care anymore if I'm not supposed to or whatever other absurd thing people might want to say. I love Jack Dawson with all of my being.
"Oh, Rose..." He felt as though his heart was breaking, but the next thing he read made his blood run cold.
One moment, I was alone, and the next, there he was. It all happened so fast there was no way I could have done anything to stop it. He grabbed me before I was even sure he was actually there...
*****
"You're crying about him!" Cal snarled. He dug his fingers into Rose's upper arms. "You're wasting tears on that filth!"
Rose squeezed her eyes shut and let her head flop to the side as he shook her. Just be quiet. If you're quiet he'll give up and go away like last time.
"Look at me when I talk to you!"
Rose opened her eyes. The fury etched in his features sent chills down her spine. How could one person hold so much anger?
Cal grabbed her jaw and roughly pulled her head up. "He's at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of the scum, and you'd do well not to forget that." He released her and took a step back. He eyed her with disgust. "You would be nothing without me!" he hissed. "You'd be the whore of a gutter rat like him!"
"I'd rather be his whore than your wife." Her voice was so soft that for a split second he wasn't sure she'd even spoken, but as her eyes locked on his he knew she had.
Rose could have sworn she saw stars when his hand collided with her face.
Present Day
Jack felt sick. "If Jack were here it wouldn't have happened," he read aloud. "Or if I had been smart enough to go with him when I had the chance. So what if I'd be dead now? I would be with him."
He let the book slide out of his hands. "She'll never ever feel like that again." His voice was hard. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."
"That's all very nice, but perhaps you could explain who you are and why the hell you're here."
Jack jumped to his feet and whirled around to find himself face to face with Mary. Her hands were folded across her chest. Her face was a stony mask.
"Well?" she said, tapping her foot. "I'm waiting. Give me a reason why I shouldn't start screaming."