Fall 1915
"Anything?" Jack tried to keep the hope out of his voice.
His friend Will shook his head. "Nothing."
Jack sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He'd gotten his hopes up again for nothing.
Will tried to let him have his moment, but after a few minutes passed and he didn't move, he couldn't resist touching his shoulder. "You gonna be okay?"
Jack lifted his head. "Yeah...I didn't expect you to find anything anyway," he lied.
Will didn't believe him, but they didn't have the kind of friendship that would allow him to say so. "Well, if you need something..." he said, getting up to leave.
Jack nodded. "I know."
He watched Will walk away, but made no move to leave himself. He slumped down on the bench, unaware of the stares he was receiving from people passing by.
For three years, he had dedicated every waking moment to finding her. Since he'd seen that name on the survivor list—Rose Dawson—he'd known she was out there. Somewhere. He'd stayed in New York because that had seemed like where she'd most likely be. The Carpathia had brought them all to the same place, after all. He'd saved every penny he could and put it toward finding her. He'd used up every favor he'd ever been owed and then some.
And three years later, there was still no sign of her.
She hadn't married Cal. He was sure of that. He'd checked the papers every day for weeks. If it had happened, there would have been something about it. He still checked them from time to time. The previous summer he'd spotted the announcement about Cal and the woman he did end up marrying.
What he just couldn't figure out was where she could have gone. Where would she have gone? She hadn't gone back to her mother. He'd only left New York once since April of 1912, and that was to attend the funeral Ruth held for her. She'd told him he could actually come inside as long as he didn't speak to anyone.
He might have sat there all day if not for the sudden screams that ripped across the relative silence of the park. He stood up and tried to figure out what direction the screams were coming from. Finally, he saw two cops struggling with someone—a woman, from the sound of it.
You're not part of this, he told himself. Yet he hurried over anyway.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Just trying to get her to move along," one of the cops answered.
Her face was obscured by limp, dirty hair that might have once been curly. Jack's stomach twisted in the particularly excruciating way that only a red-haired woman could cause. "What's she done?" he asked. It seemed he was going to become involved, whether he liked it or not.
"She's babbling to herself," the other cop said, dodging the woman's fist. "She's crazy," the other added as he tried to get control of her arms.
"Just stop touching me!" she wailed. She twisted her body in an attempt to slide out of their grasp.
"Hey, why don't you leave her alone? Let me try." Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing himself say.
The cops stared at him, their struggle momentarily forgotten. "Oh, why not. We don't get paid enough for this," the first one said.
"Go ahead," the other one said. They dropped the woman to the ground and hurried away.
She curled up in a ball and pressed her face into the grass. Jack bent down, careful not to touch her. "Hey," he said gently. "Are you okay?"
She raised her head slightly. "What?"
"You look like you could use some help," he said. "Can I do anything?"
She pushed her hair aside. Even covered in scratches and grime, her face was the same.
Jack felt as though gravity was no longer holding him to the earth. "Rose?" he whispered hoarsely.
"You're not real," she said sadly, shaking her head.
"What do you mean? Of course I'm real! I—I'm right here—"
"No," she interrupted. "You're not. I know you're not. You never are. You say you are and then..."
"What?"
"You go away again." Tears sprang into her eyes. "You always go away again." He reached out to touch her face. She flinched before his hand even got close. "Don't," she said.
"Don't touch you?" She nodded. "Why not?"
"Just...just don't..."
"Okay."
Eventually, he coaxed her to her feet. Without thinking, he reached for her hand. She stared at it, almost as if she didn't understand. She hesitated and then lightly touched his palm with her fingertips. He waited to see what she would do next. She studied his face for what seemed like an eternity before she slipped her hand into his. He was amazed by how tiny it seemed. He was afraid if he held it too tightly it might shatter.
They didn't speak as he led her to his apartment. He felt her eyes on him and looked over. She turned away when their eyes met.
"Well…uh..." He wasn't sure what to say. They were standing just inside the door of his apartment. Rose was looking around tentatively. She hadn't let go of his hand, which he felt was a good sign. Her eyes stopped wandering and landed on him when he began to speak again.
"Do you...would you like a bath?" He watched her face for signs that what he'd said was as bad as he thought it was. None came. Her eyes actually brightened a bit.
"Oh...oh, yes," she said.
"Okay...um…wait here and I'll take care of it."
Alone save for the sound of running water, Jack finally allowed himself to begin processing what was going on. He'd found her. She was standing five feet from where he was standing. It didn't seem real.
Real—what she said I'm not. He shook his head as if that would shake out the thoughts. She's not okay. "She is," he said aloud. She really isn't. "She will be." You don't know that. You don't know how she ended up like this. "She's my Rose. That's all I need to know."