CONVICTED
Chapter Ten
"Miss? Miss? Please
respond." A man’s voice was echoing in my ears.
My head felt heavy and I couldn’t
move my leg, for it seemed to be confined in something.
"Wh-where’s Jack?" I
asked, opening my eyes a crack.
"Who’s Jack?" the voice
replied.
I opened my eyes a bit more and
was staring at a man with a mustache. I was on a solid floor was a bunch of
other people.
"I gotta find Jack," I
mumbled, starting to get up, only to fall because of my broken leg that was in
a cast.
"Miss, please sit down, and
I’ll find this person for you," he said, pushing down gently on my
shoulders and forcing me to sit.
I gave the man a brief
description of Jack and he went among the people, searching for the man I had
described to him. A stewardess came by and offered me a bowl of soup, but I
refused. She left the bowl by my feet and turned to tend to the others.
A few moments later, the man came
back, his face expressionless but his eyes filled with sorrow and grief.
"Miss, I found the man
you’re looking for. He’s right next to the fireplace, but he doesn’t look good.
His body doesn’t seem to want to warm up."
Without waiting for his help, I
got up using the wall’s support and made my way over to the fireplace. I nearly
lost my balance when I saw him, skin as blue as the sea and shivers running up
and down his spine.
I scooted over to him, took off
the blankets from my back, and heated them up near the fire. Once they were
hot, I took the others off Jack and put the warm ones on. While I waited for
the process to repeat, I kept him close to me, to share my warmth.
When he started to
hyperventilate, I called for someone.
"Stand back, Miss. We’ll
take it from here," another man said, and took Jack away.
I watched as they disappeared
through the doorway. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be drilling a hole in my back.
Mustering up courage, I made my way out of the room and followed the men.
They went into a room and shut
the door. I sat down on the cold floor and waited, wondering, waiting. Minutes
passed by, or was it hours? I don’t recall. However long it was, it seemed to
take an eternity for the men to come out.
"Well, how is he?" I
demanded, getting up using the wall.
One of the men turned and pulled
off his cap. He ran his hand through his dark hair and didn’t look me directly
in the eye.
"Well…Miss…we think he
might…die," he answered truthfully.
Tears welled up in my eyes and I
burst into the room. It must have been an empty stateroom, for Jack was lying
on a couch. I sat down on the opposite couch and stared at him.
"Oh, Jack…this is my
fault…all mine. I never should have gotten us tickets on another ship."
I dropped my head in my hands and
tears plopped from my eyes and onto the hardwood floor, making a small puddle.
A puddle of pain and sorrow.
My sides heaved in and out and I
couldn’t hold back the pain I was feeling.
"Come Josephine in my
flying machine, going up she goes, up she goes," I sang to myself.
I got up off the couch and sat on
the one with Jack. I kissed the top of his cold forehead and took his hands.
"I promised you I would
never let go, and I won’t, Jack. I won’t."
I was on the couch for a long
time, never releasing Jack’s hands. Occasionally, he would cough or
hyperventilate, but that was all. I thought it would be like the Titanic, and
he would wake up soon, but he never did.
"Miss? Maybe you should
leave him be…" a man said from the doorway a few hours later.
"No," I said firmly.
He didn’t ask any follow-up
questions.
I continued to talk to Jack,
encouraging him to hang in there and be strong, although I wasn’t sure he could
hear me.
After those few hours, my eyes
were burning, but I never once took my eyes away from him.
"Miss? We’ve docked in
Maine. Come now, and we’ll get this lad to a hospital," a stewardess said
from the doorway.
With that, a few men came aboard
and put Jack on a stretcher. I followed them out and climbed into the back of
the ambulance. It steered away from the docks and to a nearby hospital. I wanted
to go in the hospital room with them, but was denied access. Instead, some man
took me into a separate room and I was placed in a hospital bed.
A normal cast was put on my leg
and I had fluids pumped in through my arm. Every day I would have my sheets changed,
which was okay because there would be small puddles of wet tears staining the
sheets.
Every time the doctor came in to
check on me, I would ask, "How’s Jack?"
And the doctor would reply,
"You’re getting better every time I see you." And that would end the
conversation.
I wasn’t allowed to see Jack or
know anything about what was going on with him. Finally, one night, I sneaked
out of the room, crept down the hallway, and into Jack’s room.
To my relief, his skin was no
longer ocean blue and no longer untouchable. But at least I knew one thing…
Jack Dawson was going to live.