CONVICTED
Chapter One
I woke up early in the morning,
sunlight beaming in from the outside window. Dust covered the entire window,
but I could still see the sunlight seeping in from the cracks.
I stretched my body in a strange
arch and pulled some socks out of the drawer next to my bed. I slipped them on
my feet and tiptoed across the cold wooden floor to Jack’s room. I gently
pushed open the door.
Jack was hanging off one end of
his bed, one arm on his pillow and the other arm on the drawer next to his bed.
He snored really loudly, and I put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.
I walked into the kitchen and opened a cabinet.
The shack the Jack had won in a
poker game was small, but it was perfect for the two of us. We had a small
icebox, a stove, a cabinet, four plates, some silverware, and two or three pots
and pans. Two bedrooms and a privy, but what more did we need?
I used a match and lit the stove,
setting the pan on it. I pulled out some eggs from the icebox. I cracked three
and started to cook them on the stove, turning them with a spatula. Soon the
eggs were done, and I put them on a plate.
Jack walked out of his bedroom
and stretched with a big yawn. He smiled at me and sat down on the floor next
to me.
"Somebody was busy this
morning," Jack said, kissing my forehead.
"Somebody was busy last
night," I said with a smile.
I popped some eggs into my mouth
and swallowed. I stared out the window again, hardly believing it had only been
a month since the Titanic sank. Every time I thought of it, my heart filled
with dread over the fact that Jack could have been dead.
"You going to do some more
drawing today?" I asked, finishing up the last of my eggs.
"Yes. People in New York
seem to pay better to get their portraits drawn than in Paris. Why? What do you
have planned for today?" he asked.
"I need to get some more
food, and then I’ll go do a few drawings of my own."
Jack put his plate in the sink
and headed back for his bedroom. I cleaned off the dishes with a rag and then
dried them. I hated cooking and cleaning, but for Jack I was willing to do it.
Just as I was going back into my
room to change, Jack came out, jacket on and ready to go.
"Go and do your art, Jack
Dawson," I said.
He laughed and gave me a quick
hug.
"I’ll see you tonight."
"Be careful, Jack."
He smiled and closed the door. I
quickly got dressed and pulled on my jacket and my boots, grabbing my
sketchbook and a few coins. Soon I was out the door, and the cool spring air
didn’t hesitate to greet me.
I pulled my jacket closer to me
and headed for the store. New York was a rather big town, filled with people I
would never expect. The alleys were the number one thing to steer clear of. As
I passed by one on the opposite end of the street, it reminded me of the time I
had first met Jack.
*****
It was a cold day in Maine,
and I was running away down the streets. I don’t know why, actually. I just
felt the urge to run. After about three miles, I stopped and leaned against a
bench post to catch my breath.
I saw an alley, abandoned by
the looks of it. Graffiti was on the walls. It was pretty work, but completely
scandalous.
"Hey, what are you doing
in our alley?" a voice behind me asked, making me jump.
I spun around and faced a
group of people, each of them uglier than the next. Poor bums, by the look of
it.
"I…I was
just…um…I…um…" I stammered, completely frightened.
"Get her!"
I screamed and ran down the
alley. I could hear their feet crunching through dirt as they chased after me.
The alley was full of weird twists and turns, and at one point, a fence blocked
my path. I ran, full speed, at the fence and leaped over it.
The gang couldn’t follow me,
though. That is, until I reached another fence. This one stretched up as tall
as the houses.
"Help! Somebody please
help me!" I screamed as the gang slowly climbed the fence.
No one answered my distress
call, of course.
"Please! Somebody help
me!" I screamed over and over again.
The gang was on the other side
of the fence, and they inched closer to me. Suddenly, there was someone on the
other side of the fence that was blocking my escape. He was leaning at the top,
his arm outstretched towards me.
"Give me your
hands!" the boy commanded.
I didn’t hesitate. The gang
charged towards me and the boy pulled me over the fence. I threw my arms around
him, shaking like mad.
"Oh, thank God. You saved
me. Thank you!" I gasped.
He looked relieved.
"What’s your name,
miss?" the boy asked.
"Marie. Marie Kelp. And
what would be yours?"
"Jack Dawson."
*****
I turned away from the alley and
walked into the store. I bought some more eggs and some other items, and then
began to head back towards home. I reached home and put all the supplies I had
bought away in certain areas where they belonged.
After that, I was back outside
and began looking for people to draw. I went towards the Statue of Liberty and
stared at the torch in her hands. I sat under an umbrella at one of the
restaurants and began to draw the statue.
The first thing I had noticed
when I came to America was the beautiful statue that represented that people
were free here. It was a sense of security, knowing things couldn’t go wrong.
After I had drawn the head, I began to work on the torch in her hand.
I paused for a moment and stared
out at the Atlantic, the cursed freezing sea that almost took my life…and
Jack’s. I had nightmares, always the same, of the escape Jack and I had made on
the Titanic. But in this nightmare, Jack always died. He was hanging onto the
edge of the door, frozen solid. His eyes frozen shut, never to be opened again.
Then he would slowly disappear into the dark water.
And then Cal would appear,
laughing like a crazy man, as if he were pleased that Jack was dead. After
that, I would wake up.
I had gotten so lost in my
memories that I lost track of time. It was getting late, and I had to head back
home. On the way, I saw a police officer, posting something up on a pole.
Once he had finished, he turned
and tipped his hat to me.
"Good afternoon,
Ma’am," he said politely.
"Good afternoon, sir,"
I replied.
The man disappeared down the
street, handing out the papers to people. I walked up to the pole and dropped
the sketchbook in my hand.
It was a wanted poster. This was
what it read.
Wanted! Alive!
It has been reported that
jewelry was stolen from the Bukater house!
These items were stolen last
night and this is the man who committed the crime.
Reward!
After that, it had a picture…of
Jack!