ESCAPE
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Mr. Dawson?" The watchman spoke
into the intercom.
"Yes?"
"There’s someone here to see you. Says
her name is Rose DeWitt Bukater."
Rose heard the shocked silence on the other
end. The watchman looked up at her, concerned. "Mr. Dawson, are you
there?"
"I…uh…yes, I’m here. Send her in
immediately!"
The watchman shrugged his shoulders and
pointed the way.
*****
What had happened to Jack during those long,
hard years? Why hadn’t he worked himself to the bone searching for Rose? How
did he go from having ten bucks in his pocket to a California beach dream
house?
The answer to the second question is that he
had. The first second that he had regained consciousness at a small
hospital in New York, she had been his first thought. And since that moment, he
hadn’t stopped looking. He had never confirmed that she had really been alive,
and he had been running out of places to search. In the first year, the
newspapers had been his biggest lead, but after three lies that had led him to
unnerving corners of the country, he had refused to pay attention to anything a
newspaper said from then on. Instead, he had gone to the places he had
suspected she would be, to no avail. Finally, he had bought this house as a
last resort. They had talked about coming here together, and maybe, if she was
alive and well, this was where Rose would look for him.
To answer the third question--Jack had been
at the worst point of his life in April of that fateful year. All of his
belongings were gone, all of his friends and family were gone, his health had
been considerably shaky, and his heart had been shattered into a million pieces
that pained and ached him mercilessly. He had scraped together a little money
and set to his drawings, as they were the only things that could even start to
console him. And the drawings that sprang from his fingers could have made the
devil himself weep! A beautiful heroine, a queen unfit for mortal eyes, was
graced in each of his drawings. Yet she was so sad, and he managed to string
along horrific scenes in the background that pulled a person into their dark
void. The first art collector to see them--sold for one dollar on the
streets--instantly offered him a multi-million dollar sum for his drawings. And
still their popularity had gone on, bringing in more and more wealth, until he
had built himself an empire that could never make him as happy as just one more
glance from his beloved Rose.
*****
Joy filled him when her name was said over
that intercom. And not for a second did his mind believe anything
otherwise--considering the fact that business ethics were at an all-time low,
it might have been safer for him to have been at least a bit suspicious. He was
filled with inconceivable joy as he watched her approach. The adrenaline
pounded through him as he opened the door. And on seeing her, the gods
themselves would have been envious of his happiness!
There was no hello, or any other greeting for
that matter. Jack took Rose into his arms, and it was heaven to have her so
close; her hair scented with flowers, and then her beautiful golden voice
whispering into his ear.
"I’m home. Jack, I’m home."