Written by Doug Kuhlman
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.

Jack was running, feverishly. He hoped that he was running away, but he knew what he was running towards. The ground sped by in a blur as he rounded the last corner and saw his house engulfed in flames. He ran towards the inferno, only to be held back by the choking smoke and his choking fear. His parents were in the house, but he couldn't make himself go in to get them.

The same nameless man then appeared. He carried Jack's mother in his arms and laid her gently on the ground. The look he gave Jack was almost entirely sympathetic, but Jack always felt reproach in those eyes. Why hadn't Jack been there? Why wasn't he helping?

He held his mother in his arms. For years, he'd touched her and seen her in his dreams, her body blackened almost beyond recognition, her once-long hair now just blackened ash against her head. But her voice was steady, as it always was in his mind. "Jack, are you there?"

"Yes, Mother. It's me. I'm here." Why didn't she ever know him?

"Jack, you must promise me something." He could see how hard it was for her to draw breath. She was struggling to communicate this message to him, her only child. He could see the agony inherent in each breath, but she persevered.

"Anything, Mother. What do you want?"

"Promise me that you will do the things your father always wanted to do. Live your life, Jack. Make each moment count."

"I promise."

"Make it count."

"I promise, Mom, I'll make it count."

She smiled at him then and died in his arms. At least she'd smiled. He hated it when she died unhappily. From long experience with this dream, he knew that her feelings when she died gave an indication as to his satisfaction with himself. Her smile let him know that he was pleased with himself. But Jack also heard the undertones of the other promises he had made that day--promises made only to an open sky--promises to never leave someone to die again--promises that had warped into never loving again--promises screamed and whispered--promises to affect his entire life.

At least, in this dream, he couldn't smell the charred flesh. The sickly sweet smell of his mother and father's flesh was always the worst part of the dream. But tonight, tonight he smelled something different; the aroma was sweet perfume.

In the instant he recognized what it was, he was dancing with Rose. He was holding her close, just as he had a few hours before. In his sleep, Jack smiled. He so seldom had pleasant dreams.

As the music slowed, more of the surroundings came into focus. Everybody looked like one of his drawings, with slightly over-large hands, and black against a flat surface. But it was obvious that they were at a wedding, his wedding to Rose. She was radiantly happy, as was he, but he felt something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on what, though.

As he concentrated, the scene skipped ahead a few months. He was dressed in a conservative suit, sitting across the breakfast table from Rose. She already had her corset on, as he demanded. He heard himself lecturing her on how important appearances were. He heard himself say, "Rose, you have to act properly! If there's any chance of my getting ahead in the world, you need to support me!"

The flash of confusion and anger on her face was sickening. Jack's form slowly started to morph to Cal's form. "You are my wife and you will obey me."

In his small bunk, Jack shifted uncomfortably.

He was watching Cal and Rose eat breakfast. They'd hired him as a family artist, at Rose's insistence. His commissioned drawings were always carefully planned to show Rose smiling with her two children on her lap. In those painstakingly choreographed images, Cal was the perfect, supportive father and husband, with a loving look on his face.

But Jack didn't just draw what he was paid to draw. He saw the whole life, and, as he had so often done before, he etched what he viewed. Many of those scenes were horrible, Rose with eyes swollen red from sobbing, the children being slapped for using the wrong utensil, Cal fornicating with other women, money and jewels taking the place of hope and freedom.

He decided to try again to take her away from this. He found her alone, as he had done occasionally before. "Walk with me?"

As they started strolling, the scene changed again. They were young once more, on board Titanic, sauntering unworriedly along the boat deck. Rose was staring at him, and he was looking back into her eyes, entranced by what he saw.

He realized he was seeing hunger and the wild look of a wounded animal. His stomach growled. They had been married for a few years, but Jack had been injured and could no longer do his job. He had been quickly fired and now Rose knew. He knew she wouldn't work; she still thought of herself as a lady. She had tried being a seamstress but had quit after only a few stitches. He didn't know what they were going to do. As he watched, she wasted away before his eyes.

Jack squirmed again, trying to get comfortable, inadvertently redirecting his dreams.

The squeak of Fabrizio's squirming in the bunk above him translated into the sounds of Titanic arriving at the dock in New York. He had failed in all of his attempts to reach Rose for the remainder of the voyage. Now, he was pushing through the crowds of departing passengers, straining for the speed necessary to get to Rose. He was just starting to break free of the teeming mass of people when he caught a glimpse of her getting into a car, followed closely by Cal and her mother. He put on a burst of speed, the kind only possible in a dream, but the car kept dwindling further away, without actually moving. She was gone.

Jack had wandered New York and then Philadelphia for days trying to find Rose. He had almost made it through a window to her wedding to Cal, but he'd been spotted and nearly captured. He desperately needed to know that she was going to be OK. Just today, he'd heard a rumor about the location of her new house. It was miles from town and he'd been walking for hours, but he needed to get there. He was just starting down the private entrance to the estate when a car zoomed past, impossibly fast. In a trance-like clarity, he saw Rose's face through the window, but he knew she couldn't have seen him. He sat down and started to cry.

He was crying about the newspaper article he held in his hands. He read the obituary again, hoping beyond reason that he'd misread it the first time. "Rose Hockley found dead in the Delaware River. Apparently, someone tied a rock to her finger and drowned her. She is survived by...." The article continued but Jack couldn't read it. He knew which finger Rose had intentionally tied to the rock. He could hear the echo of his voice. "You'd have gone straight to the bottom." He knew Rose's death would haunt him to the end of his days, even as his parents' had.

But then, she was alive again and standing on a high ledge. He was creeping along the ledge toward her, trying to talk her out of it. "You don't want to do this." For her, things had gotten even worse than on the Titanic, but he hoped a rational voice would help her again. "Give me your hand." Unfortunately, just as their hands firmly grasped each other, Jack's foot slipped off the narrow projection. In slow motion, Jack felt himself pull on whatever was available to try to save himself. He tried to stop himself, but it was too late. Rose tumbled from the ledge to the ground below. Her scream sounded like, "Jack, NOOOOO!" In the few seconds of his dive after her, he thought of his promise and how he'd failed.

"NOOOOO!" Jack shouted as he sat bolt upright in bed. He was panting and drenched in sweat, despite the relative coolness of the air. His blankets were twisted into knots on either side of him.

Fabrizio's head appeared over the side of the bunk, startling him again momentarily. His friend spoke consolingly. "Bad dreams again? You really should tell me what they are. Maybe I help."

Jack shook his head in the blackness, knowing Fabrizio couldn't see it. "No. They're not your worries. You worry about Helga. I can take care of myself." They'd exchanged very similar words several times in the past. Jack wondered if Fabrizio would ever start sleeping through Jack's nightmares. Jack often did, but tonight's were a special breed.

In the stillness, as Jack forced his breathing into rhythmic calmness, he tried to focus on the positives, hoping that he could change the course of his dreams or even eliminate them entirely. He wanted to enjoy the rest of the night, just as he had enjoyed the evening. "Oh, the evening with Rose. Her sweet laughter. That smile that he could feel like a punch to the lungs. Those deep, expressive eyes. Her soft hands." His contemplation of her lulled him back to sleep.

Considering his thoughts, it was no surprise that his sleep was immediately filled with dreams of Rose. At first, all he could see was her perfect features, outlined by the sky behind. As his vision grew, he saw the ocean behind her and felt the waves running across his ankles like tiny feet.

They were in the surf of the Pacific Ocean, walking along through the foam. They talked idly of the weather or other such nonsense, but Jack's main attention was on their hands, which were intractably locked together, like the covers of a book. He heard her laughter and saw the joy in her face. He felt joy like he'd never felt before. His whole world was wrapped up in this woman and he had to let her know.

He faced her and pulled her to a stop. "Rose, I love you." In that instant, Armageddon struck at the foundation of his being. Rose's reaction scarred the features of his life.

Rose started laughing so hard her entire body was quivering. She looked at him and said between bursts of mirth, "Oh, Jack...how droll. I would never..." Something in his face must have spoken to the gravity of his feelings then, because she suddenly stopped laughing and turned away from him, walking quickly back the direction they had come.

He turned and ran after her, calling, "It was a joke! I was only kidding." The words tore at him, but he had to try to get Rose back. He'd meant the earlier sentiment completely, but he was more than willing to live a lie if it meant being able to spend more time with Rose.

He sped after her. She was walking but somehow easily outdistanced him. As he ran, Jack cursed himself. "You are such a fool! Why did you have to ruin a good thing with such a stupid comment? STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!" He continued to curse himself. He vowed not to make that mistake again.

With the vow came a renewal of the walk on the beach. He was with Rose again, but they were no longer holding hands. They were talking again, but somehow it was subdued, as if some vital element had been removed. In his dream, Jack knew that somehow it was his fault, but he couldn't recollect where he had made his mistake.

They slowly drew near to a pair of horses, standing calmly, as though placed there just for them. Jack turned to Rose and started coaching her through the paces of riding a horse "like a real man." He longed to touch her, to help her to get into the right position, but the inexplicable distance held him away.

"Just swing one leg over the top. Don't worry, you're not wearing a fancy dress, so nobody can see anything...just bring your left leg forward over the front of the horse...that's it." Rose was slowly adjusting to the new style. "Now, put your foot into the stirrup here. And your other foot. Don't sit so stiffly...relax and lean forward a little." Finally, he had her positioned close to correctly.

He swung onto his horse with practiced ease and they were off--galloping through the spray. Somehow, the speed of the horses or the delighted laughter from Rose erased the chasm between them. Jack was watching her closely, catching the sudden increase in her smile when she glanced at him.

They reigned the horses to a walk, so they could talk again. Jack, with his heart pounding an aria in his chest, said to her the three words of doom. "I love you."

Instantly, the earlier dream rushed into Jack's dreaming consciousness. He thought, "Oh no! What have I done? Don't let it end!"

Mercifully, it didn't. Rose turned to him and smiled. "Oh, Jack. How I've longed to hear you say those words. I love you, too. I was just scared to say it."

The dance that they hoped would continue all night was ending again. When the music stopped, Jack asked Rose, "Do you have to go?"

She answered with a shake of her head and a quiet, "No."

They started dancing again. They danced slower and closer together, slower and closer. Jack tilted his head slightly in an invitation. Rose accepted and their mouths met, sending Jack's nervous system into system overload.

In his sleep, Jack smiled. His dreaming now at an end, he felt the oblivion of deep sleep overtake him, with its delightfully full embrace.

The End.

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