ELUDING DESTINY
Chapter Seventeen
The bitter wind stung Rose's
face, bringing out the blood in her cheeks as she walked quickly along the
deserted boat deck towards the stern. Her heels clacked on the ground, bringing
back memories of a night in the not-so-distant past, when she'd been seized by
a terror so deep it had made her run the length of the ship to escape. The
night when she had been saved.
Her heart rate increased and she
knew her labored breathing had nothing to do with her fast pace. She was
scared. And helpless. And angry. She had to find him--she had to. Losing him
was not an option. He completed her, made her a whole person. She'd spend her
whole life telling him that if only she could find him...
"Where are you, Jack
Dawson?" she murmured. "I could do with a hint, Jack, I really could.
Just a little hint..."
If anyone had told her a week ago
that before this voyage was over she would meet and fall completely, head over
heels in love with a stranger she didn't even know yet, she would have laughed
in their face. Or maybe cried, thinking about the man who was already in her
life. Who had her life.
But Jack had taken her heart.
It had crept up on her, slowly,
that first afternoon. She wasn't quite sure if she could take him seriously.
His light blue eyes always seemed to be twinkling with a joke that wasn't quite
there, a quirky smile lifting the corner of his mouth as he looked at her. He was
an enigma to her. He seemed to enjoy living so much. It both intrigued her and
made her feel cross with him. All right, Jack Dawson. Your life may be a bed
of roses, but mine most certainly is not, as I'm sure you picked up on during
my suicide attempt last night. Stop rubbing my nose in it.
But he'd made it quite clear that
he was more than willing to share his garden of roses with her. He'd set about
trying to cheer her up, make her smile. She'd tried to close him out, but he'd
reached out and caught the door of her soul just before it slammed shut, then
mercilessly shoved his way through, trampling into the unfamiliar territory of
her heart. She'd tried once more to resist, to pull away, yesterday afternoon
in the gymnasium, but even though she may have closed the door again, she
hadn't locked it. She needed him. It was as simple as that.
"Help me, Jack. Please help
me find you. I need you. I love you." She whispered the last, and the wind
blew her promise into the night. She slowed her steps, walking over to the
railing and placing her hands on it as she gazed out over the darkened sea. The
stars hung low in the sky, glittering like jewels. It was so beautiful, out in
the ocean at night. So solitary. Despite the thousand others milling about in
the ship beneath her feet, it was so easy to feel alone.
She wanted to feel his arms going
around her, folding across her stomach, his chin on her shoulder as though it
belonged there. His murmured voice in her ear, telling her he loved her. Her
throat closed up. If Cal had done anything to harm him, she'd kill him--she'd
kill the bastard herself. "Damn you, Cal," she whispered, shutting
her eyes momentarily. "What did you do? Where did you take him? So help
me, God--if you hurt him--"
A man's chuckle reached her ears,
causing her to spin around, eyes flying open as they searched for the origin of
the sound. Then she heard a woman's answering laugh, and a murmur of voices.
Her body relaxed. It wasn't Cal. It was two other people taking advantage of
the star-studded view from the boat deck. Lovers, by the sound of it.
She walked quickly away towards
the stern, leaving them behind, not wanting to intrude. She wondered what time
it was. How long ago had she left her mother? It seemed hours. This night would
not end--could not end--until she found Jack.
And then her steps slowed until
they stopped entirely. Her gaze was drawn to an object lying on the ground,
just outside the door leading into the second class stairwell. She held her
breath, leaning over and picking it up, feeling its weight in her palm,
surprised at how heavy it was. Her breathing was labored again, and she bit down
hard on her lip until she tasted the coppery tang of blood.
The gun in her hand gleamed
cruelly in the overhead light.
*****
It wasn't until he reached his
suite that he realized the gun was missing.
He swore under his breath,
stopping in mid-stride in the lit hallway, his hands feeling for the weapon
that he already knew he wouldn't find.
Where the hell was it? He almost
panicked until he remembered the scuffle on the boat deck. Dawson, worthless
bastard that he was, must have knocked it out of his hand. He'd been too busy
gloating over the prone body lying on the ground below him to notice.
A thousand expletives ran through
his mind. He was tired. He wanted to sleep. To lay in bed and gloat some more
over his actions that evening. But now, now he had to go look for the gun. Most
likely it was still up on the abandoned boat deck, lying right where it must
have landed, near the door to the stairwell. But it was cold, and he was so
tired. And he couldn't send Lovejoy--Lovejoy was otherwise occupied, making sure
Dawson didn't make a sound when he woke up.
"The best laid plans…"
he murmured, scowling darkly in the direction of his suite. He thought about
checking to make sure that Rose and Ruth were tucked safely into bed, but if
they woke up and saw him, they might find it suspicious that he was up so late.
After a moment of indecision, he
gave a heavy sigh and turned, heading back towards the lift. The boy inside
gave him an odd look.
"A-Deck," Cal snapped
before he could say a word.
The boy nodded and closed the
gates.
The lift began to rise.
*****
Rose felt like she was in a bad
dream.
Was she really holding a gun?
She'd never seen one up close before, let alone felt one in the palm of her
hand. She knew that Lovejoy had one; she'd seen it in its holster sometimes
when his suit jacket was pulled away. But she'd never thought twice about it.
Now, she didn't think she could
stand up.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Was this
Lovejoy's gun she was holding? It very well could be. She had no idea. Had it
been fired? Had they killed Jack and then tossed him over the side?
"No!" The syllable was
ripped from her throat. Her voice sounded strangled to her ears. She put a
trembling hand to her heart and watched with detached fascination as the
fingers of her other hand slowly curled around the gun, holding it pointing
away from herself.
She stood up slowly, her knees
feeling weak, and backed away from the door, towards the railing, stumbling
twice. She kept going until her back bumped into the rail of the ship and took
a deep breath, staring at the door.
It was through that door that
Jack always returned to the third class.
"No. No." She was
shaking badly. The bastards. They couldn't have. They couldn't have killed
Jack.
Her gaze was drawn to the gun
again. She lifted it up for closer inspection, checking something. Her fingers
feeling clumsy as they sought an answer from the small object she held in her
hand. She was dreading what she might see, but--
And then she realized that all
the bullets were still there.
The gun hadn't been fired.
Her breath whooshed out of her
and she leaned heavily into the railing, weak with relief just as she'd been
weak with terror only a moment ago.
He's alive, he's alive, he's
alive. It became her
mantra. And slowly she came to wonder how she'd doubted it in the first place,
despite the damning evidence to the contrary. Somehow, she knew that if Jack
were gone--she'd know. Her heart would know.
He was still alive, and she would
find him.
Her fingers tightened their grip
around the gun.
You may think you have won,
Cal, she thought, resolve
hardening her features. But not this time, darling. Not this time. Because I
have an advantage now.
She took a deep breath and
slipped into the shadows. It was time to find Tommy and Fabrizio and end this.