I forced my thoughts back on questions that had been plaguing me the last seven hours and picked the first one that came to mind. “From what I’ve gathered, you’ve been on this ship since 1972. Right?”
She nodded.
“And every six hours you find yourself back in your bathrobe in the same place you started. Correct?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And you can remember all of the six hours before?”
Again she nodded. “Our minds remember, but our bodies don’t.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “How can your body not remember?”
“I don’t know how it works. But our bodies repeat. I still look exactly how I did when I arrived here in 1972. Same number of gray hairs. Same exact wrinkles. Everything. I’ve talked to people who look twenty and have been here fifty years.”
“Back up a minute. You mean we don’t age?”
She nodded. “That’s right. And if you were hungry when you came through, even if you eat right before the cycle, you’re hungry again.” She laughed. “There’s a guy named Greg who was drunk when he was pulled here. Every six hours he’s drunk again.” She laughed again and I couldn’t help but join her. “He’s hungover four times a day and he’s been here longer than I have.”
That would explain why I had been warm and full again on the boat deck after being so cold moments before while building the raft. And if what she said was true, then it was possible that Alex might still be alive, and looking exactly like he had in 1909.
“So everyone who was ever brought here is still here?”
“Afraid not. Quite a few flip out and kill themselves, or go over the side and drown before they cycle. Death stops the cycle. So far, it has been the only way to escape the Titanic. However, the good side is that if you’re injured, you come back healthy the next cycle.”
I took a long sip of my scotch and let the chills from that news finish doing their tap dance along my spine.
“So how many people like us are there?”
“We call ourselves the Titanic prisoners. Last time someone tried to count, there were over four hundred. There could be more, though. That was a few years back.”
“Where are they?” I fanned my arm at the almost empty lounge.
“Everywhere. In case you didn’t notice, this ship is huge. There are over two thousand original passengers and crew, and not even close to all the rooms are full. In fact, someone did some figuring once and came up with the fact that the first-class section was only half-full and second class was closer to only one-third full. Lots and lots of room. Most of us prisoners stay in the cabins and just sleep or read. Especially at the beginning of the cycle when most of the passengers are out and about. Another hour or so, when the passengers start turning in for the night, more prisoners will be wandering around. Then, when the ship hits the iceberg, we all go back into hiding until the next cycle. Unless, of course, there is a party like there was last cycle.”
I sipped my drink and tried to scramble my thoughts into some sort of form. Impossible task. The more I saw what I had gotten myself into, the less I wanted to know. And the more I wanted to find Susan and figure out a way off this doomed ship.
“You know,” she said. “Hearing that there might be a purpose to all of us being here sort of feels nice. All these years, I’ve been going along hoping that I would get back in time to see my mother alive and thinking this was all some big joke or dream I was going to wake up from and laugh at. But if that woman’s story is true, and we’re the ones to start over for mankind, that adds a reason for living. Know what I mean?”
I nodded. I was starting to. Three days ago I would have laughed at her and called the idea of starting humanity over a wish-fulfillment dream. But after yesterday and the last few hours, I had a much more open mind. But I couldn’t imagine the boredom of being on the same ship for years and years. I didn’t like the thought of having to completely start over every six hours. I’d only been on board eight hours and I knew I couldn’t understand what she felt.
But she looked like she wanted to help. And help was what I needed. “Think you might want to see if we can find Susan, if she’s on board? And maybe this Alex guy while we’re at it?”
“I’d love to.” She smiled at me with a smile I knew would stick in my memory for a long time. All the years since Carla died I’d never found anyone who interested me even in the slightest. Now I’d met someone who just might, and it was on a sinking ship. Figured.
“Then let’s get going,” I said as I downed the rest of my scotch and slid the glass into the center of the linen-covered table. “It’s your turn to pour. Only this time make it a vodka soda with a squeeze. That scotch tastes just a little too good.”
“Ask and you shall receive,” she said, standing and heading for the bar.
I followed along behind her, hoping it was going to be that simple.
CHAPTER TWELVE
First-Class Stateroom E-7
Second Cycle
April 14, 1912
MARJORIE SAID SHE knew exactly where to start looking.
She led me aft to the rear first-class staircase, a staircase almost as ornate and beautiful as the grand staircase. The stone-tile stairs clicked under our heels and the thick oak railing felt smooth under my hand.
We went down two decks, along a carpeted hall lined with wooden doors, and out onto the second-class promenade on C deck. Twice along the way we had to stop to avoid passengers. The fear of getting shocked had me spooked. From the way Marjorie avoided the passengers, I wasn’t the only one. There weren’t many passengers out. The clock over the stairs said it was 11:00 P.M. ship time. Forty minutes until the ship was due to hit the iceberg. I didn’t want to think about what I’d do then.
During one of the quick stops, I asked Marjorie what would happen if one of us ran into a passenger head-on. She said she’d only done it once and didn’t wake up until cycling. She said it hurt enough that she didn’t want it to happen again.
As we stepped outside onto the second-class promenade, the cold hit me like an unexpected punch, knocking the air from me and making it hard to breathe. The wind from the ship’s fast pace swirled around the sheltered deck and cut through my shirt. I had been carrying my jacket and swung it around to put it on.
“Don’t bother,” Marjorie said. She led me to the starboard side and into a foyer with a simple staircase in the center. Even with the door closed behind us, I wanted to put the coat on. I had been too damned cold too many times over the last few days. Instead of getting used to it, I was becoming more sensitive.
I thought Marjorie was going to start down the stairs, but she didn’t. We waited to one side until two men came out a wooden door opposite the stairs, then she held the door for me.
This is the library,” she said, leading me across the large room filled with stacks of books and assorted tables and padded chairs. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
I had to agree. The room was large enough to handle a large city’s entire library, building and all. I could see at least two dozen people and the room looked empty. Yet it had a comfortable feel that made me want to stop and browse. I ran my hand along the spines of some of the fine, leather-bound editions. The only thing missing was that it didn’t smell like an old, comfortable library. This room had the smell of new books and polished wood. A comfortable smell all by itself.
“You’ll end up spending a lot of time in here,” Marjorie said. “Only annoying thing is that if you’re right in the middle of a book when you cycle, you have to go back to the shelf and get it again. Never have to worry about books getting shelved wrong, though.”
“Living here has some wild drawbacks, doesn’t it?”
Marjorie gave me a smile as she continued to lead me across the room. “Yes, it does. The one that bothers me the most is that it’s senseless to write anything down. It won’t be there in six hours. Does wonders for your memory, though.”
“I’ll bet,” I said.
“Craig,” Marjorie said, “I’d like you to meet Kellogg Jones. Otherwise known as Doc.”
Craig stood and reached out his hand to greet me. “Medical doctor?”
“University,” I said, as I shook his hand. His grip felt solid, confident. He stood maybe six foot, had a large beer gut and wore World War II-style navy pants with a pullover sweater. I instantly liked him and had the feeling that he would be someone I’d want on my side, whichever side that may be.
“Craig’s the unofficial prisoner historian,” Marjorie said. “If anybody would know who you’re looking for, he would.”
Craig frowned as he sat back down and pointed at chairs for us to join him. “Looking for someone? I know you’re new on board. Saw you building the raft last night.”
Neither Marjorie nor I moved to accept his offer to sit down. I laughed. “Real new. About nine hours now.”
“Thought so,” Craig said. “You have that look. Marjorie must have filled you in on how things run around here. Most newcomers are yelling and screaming at about nine hours.”
“I’m still giving it some thought.”
Craig and Marjorie both laughed. “So tell me,” Craig said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head, “why are you looking for someone? How could you even know anyone that’s here?”
“A very long story,” I said.
“Very long,” Marjorie joined in. “Too long to go into right now. Do you know of a prisoner by the name of Alex? I vaguely remember the name but can’t place it. He’s been on board a long time. Seems I remember—”
“There’s only one Alex in all the prisoners,” Craig said. “He’s been here since around the turn of the century. He helped me once with some history about Boston. Short, reddish brown hair. That the guy?”
“Seems like it might be,” I said. “I obviously have never met him. You know where we might find him?”
“Sure do,” Craig said, looking up across the table at me and smiling. “But I’m real curious as to why you want to find him.”
“I got a message from an old friend of his.”
“Back real world?” Craig asked.
I nodded.
“For the life of me I can’t figure out how you knew he was here.”
“Just a hunch, more than anything else,” I said. I didn’t really want to spend the next hour or more trying to explain my story over again. “Tell you what, after we find him, I’ll tell you every little detail. Promise.” I gave him my best smile.
“You’re not going anywhere, so I suppose I can wait. Toss in some current real-world news and you got yourself a deal.”
“With pleasure,” I said.
Craig nodded. “Try the first-class reading room. He spends most of his time up there. If he’s not over near the windows there, try E-seven.”
“Thanks,” I said. “One other question. Have there been any other new arrivals the last few days?”
“You mean cycles?” Craig said. “No. Not that I know of. Why?”
“Part of that same big story. If you happen to see a white-haired young woman named Susan, please tell her I’m looking for her?”
Craig nodded, looking very serious. “I sure will. And I’m going to be waiting very impatiently for this story.”
“It’s a whopper,” Marjorie said. “I can promise you that.”
We beat a hasty retreat back through the library. “Reading room is right back up where we were,” Marjorie said.
“I know,” I said. “Saw it the first time around.”
We retraced our path, only this time we didn’t have to stop for passengers. The halls were almost deserted except for an occasional passenger and a few stewards.
We cut back through the first-class lounge. Only a few men were still there. In one corner, a loud group of seven younger-looking couples were laughing and drinking. One of the women waved at Marjorie as we went by and she waved back.
“They party almost every cycle,” she said over her shoulder as she led me toward the bow door of the lounge. “Not much else for us to do.”
I didn’t like the sound of that one bit. I never was one for parties. Carla always had to drag me to the required university functions and I always managed to drag her out early.
The first-class reading room was deserted and felt cold. Ornately carved wooden tables and padded arm chairs were spaced at comfortable distances around the high-ceilinged room. We walked all the way into the middle of the room and stopped. I felt like I had stumbled into a huge, oversized version of someone’s fancy living room that was used only for show. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could be comfortable in here.
“Let’s try E-seven,” I said.
Marjorie glanced over at the old grandfather’s clock against the wall. “We’re going to have a hell of a time getting there.”
“Why?”
“I’ll show you.” She led me back out into the warm, carpeted hallway and we stood looking out the draped window over the starboard side of A deck. After a moment’s wait she pointed toward the bow of the ship.
At first I couldn’t see what she was pointing at. Then slowly, out of the dark, a vague, gray shape started to form on the black water, growing in size and heading at the ship. Or I guess I should say the ship was heading at it. It was the iceberg.
As if the world had shifted into a slow-motion silent movie, the ship plowed through the calm sea toward the gray mountain. Finally, when it seemed a direct collision was imminent, the bow of the huge ship slowly moved to the left. The mountain towered above us as the ship slid by the rough wall of ice. I took an unconscious step away from the window. It felt as if the entire side of the iceberg was going to come crashing down at any moment. Deep inside the ship I could feel a low rumbling. The drapes beside me shook. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the wall of ice was past the ship and receding into the dark.
Except for the constant background hum of the engines, the ship was quiet.
“Going to be passengers everywhere very shortly,” Marjorie said. She took me by the arm. “Let’s get moving. It might take us a little while to find his room.”
I nodded and followed her down the hall toward the grand staircase. My mind felt numb. I had just witnessed the event that had killed over fifteen hundred people. And it had happened so fast, it felt almost like an understatement.
The low, background hum of the engines stopped, leaving the air with a heavy feeling of something missing.
“Heads up,” Marjorie said as we started down the right side of the grand staircase. She went to the right and I went to the left rail to get out of the way of two officers running up.
“We have about fifteen minutes before all hell starts breaking loose in the lower halls. We’ve got to be in some room out of the way before that. Keep an eye out for anyone. They all seem to be in a great hurry and act very erratically.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
She nodded. “I did.”
We made it down to D deck, as far as I had gone the first cycle, before we met anyone else. On D deck we had to move over into the first-class reception area to get out of the way of a dozen passengers. The grand staircase narrowed between D and E decks and we only made it to the landing before we had to retreat in the face of eight passengers all heading upward, laughing as if nothing were wrong.
The next try we only had to dodge one steward.
“This way,” Marjorie said and headed through a door and into a wide hall. Closed wooden doors lined the inside of the hall, with electric lamps in the shapes of lanterns on each wall. Twenty-five-foot-long dead-end corridors led off at regular intervals on the outside. Stewards were busy toward the aft end of the long main corridor, knocking politely on doors, starting to wake the occupants. A few of the doors near us stood ope
n as passengers moved into the hall to see what was wrong.
“Got any ideas?” I asked.
“I think lower numbers are usually nearer the front and to the outside. But that pattern doesn’t hold for all decks.”
“Sounds as good as anything.” The floor was starting to tilt noticeably down toward the stern and starboard side. We headed down the hall. The first door on the left was E-42. The first door in the nearest side passageway was E-19.
In the next side passageway, the closest two doors were numbered E-17 and E-14.
“We’re going the right way,” I said as we stopped to let two stewards move quickly past. “About three more side hallways.”
“Good,” Marjorie said as she watched more passengers file out of the rooms and start for the stairs. “I don’t want to be out here much longer.”
I agreed with her there. But I also didn’t want to be six floors down inside a ship when it sank. Not my idea of giving myself a chance to survive. And I didn’t fully believe I was going to end up out on deck again, safe and sound. I knew it had happened once. But I still didn’t believe it.
“Here,” Marjorie said as she cut down a side passageway and stopped in front of the door labeled E-7.
“Hope someone’s home,” I said as I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a muffled voice said from inside. “It’s open.”
“You ready?” Marjorie whispered.
I wasn’t’ sure that something new wouldn’t send me screaming back down the hall, but I nodded anyway, and she pushed open the door.
The room was gigantic by a 1990 cruise ship’s standards and small by hotel-room standards. A diamond-patterned carpet covered the floor. The walls were half oak paneling and half elaborate wallpaper. A small couch with throw pillows was built into the wall beside the door, and a bed was built into the far wall. Sitting in the room’s only chair, his back against the bow wall and his feet up on the edge of the bed, was the same man I had seen in the photograph of Roosevelt, Idaho. He looked up over the edge of the book he was reading and without even a smile said, “May I help you?”
Laying the Music to Rest Page 13