The Explorer's Apprentice

58:Her Criminal

I do not own anyone but Marley.

Rose Dewitt Bukater

“So, all this talk of an iceberg. Do you see anything?”

“Well I don’t see anything now, do you?”

Dozens of curious passengers have accumulated on deck, all hoping to get a taste of some of the action. Children kick around loose blocks of ice, laughing and teasing like it’s a normal game of soccer. Adults lean over the side of the ship, hoping to catch a glimpse of the already famous berg that has long disappeared into darkness. Babies wail, toodlers whine, and teenagers drift about, moaning how they’d rather be sleeping.

It’s like a normal, jolly afternoon. Minus the curious gazes, the exciting stories bubbling about the ship from those who actually saw the crash, and the tall-tales from those who hadn't.

But hidden amongst these thrilling stories are tales of something much less cheerful, spoken by voices that ring with panic and fear. Rose recognizes them instantly.

“—rooms are flooded eight feet above—“

“—much worse than expected, all buckled in—“

“Have you seen the damage in the mail-hold?”

“It’s already underwater.”

A group of official-looking men skid by Jack and Rose quickly, keeping their voices hushed. Amongst the men, Rose is able to make out a kind, familiar face—with gentle eyes and adorably large ears. Mr. Andrews.

Jack stares ahead at the group as they pass hurriedly, his brows raised with astonishment. “This is…bad.” Even though Rose knows he means it, he says it like it’s nothing—like someone’s only just spilled a glass of milk. She likes this, though. His calm, cool presence keeps her grounded, even as several thoughts seem to be zooming through her head a mile a minute.

Reason number ten: because you make me feel safe.

“Yes…” she says softly, struggling to form words when her mind is so far away. A tall blue house with a tropical garden out front, tall, castle-like doorways, and many, many windows.

“We…” so many gears in her brain are working to comprehend what her new thoughts mean, that there just doesn’t seem to be any room left for speaking. And when she does speak, what comes out is completely unplanned. It’s the very first thing that comes to mind and she says it before her brain can stop her. “We should tell Mother and Cal.”

She can’t get her camera out fast enough, nearly spilling out half the contents of her blue hand-bag in the process. But she doesn’t care, and she won’t care about anything—not until she can find the perfect room, the room uncle Brock had promised, to set up her art supplies and sketch the garden, the windows, the sea, to her heart’s content.   

Jack nods, and Rose finds herself squeezing his hand and hers, taking comfort in his touch despite all that’s happening to her interior.

Click. Click. Two more for the mermaid statue in the middle of the azalea bushes.

 

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She and Jack zoom down the hallways, never ceasing. Their legs seem to be moving as quickly as Rose’s thoughts, their footsteps echoing off the tall, white walls.