by K. T. Tomb
Stephan picked up the ruse that Darya had begun. When he spoke, he cast his eyes downward, playing the part.
“I am at my lady’s service. That is the honor I carry.”
“And just how far does that service extend to your lady?” Katinka said, her sky blue eyes peering intently at Stephan.
An awkward silence hung in the room at her sudden boldness. Darya tried not to react, but felt her ire rising nonetheless.
“Oh, please forgive my sister,” Vlad said, glancing at Darya. “She can be quite bold at times. Though one does wonder...” He took a glance at Darya as he said these last words.
“Dear me,” Katinka said, suddenly placing her small hand to her forehead. “The wine seems to have gone to my head. Would you care to accompany me for a turn about the deck for some air?”
She continued to look at Stephan while she spoke. He and Darya exchanged a glance, both worried that their facade remain intact.
“Perhaps we all should,” Vlad added. “It is a lovely evening after all. My lady,” he stood and extended an arm to Darya. The moment for scrutiny and offense had passed, so Darya smiled as she stood to accept Vlad’s offered arm.
***
June 17, 2014
Latitude 41° 43’ 57” North, longitude 49° 56’ 49” West
The DSV Diamond bobbed in the water surrounded by endless horizon; Harper, Lisa and Captain Martin waited by the diving platform for Franco and Nick to emerge from the deep. Harper had been able to keep comm link contact with both of them during the ascension and knew they were minutes from the surface. The water seemed to be tossing the ship up and down as the waves had increased. A stiff wind blew, but the sky remained calm and blue.
“Did they say they found the diamonds?” Lisa asked.
“I don’t know,” Harper answered. “They mentioned the chest, the woman’s chest that she had carried on board. The diamonds must be in it.”
“Here they come.” Lisa stepped forward and the two men broke the surface of the water.
Her attention immediately went to Nick as Franco guided him to the ladder alongside the boat. He had been coherent during the ascension, but everyone knew he needed an evaluation after the experience on the ship.
“Be careful,” Lisa said. “When you take off your apparatus, you will have to expel the oxygenated gel. Your body will naturally reject it when you start breathing air again.”
Franco nodded in understanding.
“Might as well get it over with,” he said. Franco then pulled the face plate forward, allowing the liquid around his head to drain out. He began to cough violently, his body wracking. He collapsed to his knees, as the tremors passed through him. He vomited the clear liquid onto the deck of the ship, heaving and coughing until at last, he pulled in a deep breath undisturbed.
“Let’s get you both to sick bay for evaluations,” Lisa said. “Nick, I want you stabilized before you take off your helmet. As you can see, it has the potential to be traumatic.”
Lisa lifted Nick with his arm around her shoulders, and Franco steadied himself on the deck railing. Franco held up a hand and spoke in a raspy voice.
“I’m fine. I just need to catch my breath. Take care of Nick.”
Harper had been pacing around the others rubbing his hands together.
“Did you find them?” he said. “The diamonds, did you find the diamonds?”
“I don’t know!” Franco snapped, still crouched on the ship’s deck. He stood and removed his helmet fully. The chest brought from the Titanic had been placed in a small carrying device attached to the dive suit during the ascension. Franco lifted it forward and placed it on the deck. Lisa began to lead Nick toward the galley area where they disappeared toward sick bay.
Captain Martin stepped forward.
“It’s my ship,” he said. “I should be the one to break the lock.”
He had brought the bolt cutter from below and everyone else stood back while Martin wrestled with the lock for a moment. With a large snap, the lock came loose and Franco reached forward to open the ornate lid. Everyone on deck held their breath as the contents of the box came into view. They immediately saw that water damage had been minimal due to the seal on the lid. The first thing they saw was a small locket resting on top of a pile of books. One seemed to be a diary of some sort, a travel log or journal. Franco carefully lifted the books out. Underneath he found a small photograph showing two young women; one with unruly dark curly hair standing next to another much younger girl with dark straight hair. His eyes did not flicker, and he did not take in a breath. But Franco very much noticed the strong resemblance between the image of the woman in the picture and the imagined vision that he had seen on the Titanic. How could that be? he wondered. Perhaps he had seen a photograph of the woman without realizing, when he had met with Leo Matvei to accept the job. He lifted the pictures out and laid them on top of the books. The box now sat empty.
“The diamonds are not there.” Harper said what they were all thinking. “Dammit! We need those diamonds.”
“Calm down, Harper,” Franco said. “Let’s take a look at what’s is here. There may be something of worth yet.”
“Without the diamonds, there’s no payout!” Harper said, his voice rising with agitation.
“You think I don’t know that?” Franco spat. “I had to get Nick back to the surface. We still have to prep for another dive. Just relax. This isn’t over yet. Let’s look at this first.”
Franco picked up the locket and opened it, showing a picture of the same woman from the photograph next to the face of a handsome blond young man; Darya and Stephan locked together with eternal smiles, never touching. Next he picked up the journal, opening the first page.
Дорогая Маша,
Когда вы читаете эти слова вам будут не хватает меня на довольно некотороевремя. Могу заверить вас, что я хорошо. Я хотел, чтобы сохранить запись о то, чтослучилось со мной, поскольку я видел вас последний. Как вы знаете, я былаобручена с Igor Давидович против мои пожелания я любил и до сих пор люблю,Степан.
“It’s gibberish,” Franco muttered.
“It’s Russian,” Captain Martin interjected. “And I’d venture to say that if you could read it, that book there might lead you to the diamonds.”
Harper began to pace again.
“How the hell are we going to read it! Who here speaks Russian? I sure as hell don’t!”
Franco put the book down and looked up at Harper.
“Nick speaks Russian.”
The captain and Harper both stopped and looked at Franco.
“He’s in no shape...” Captain Martin began.
Harper latched on to the idea.
“If he could read it, figure out what it says... See if it tells us anything that could lead us to the diamonds. There’s still a chance....”
Franco stood, carrying the journal in his hand.
“I’ll talk to him. But I’m not sure if he’ll do it. I don’t know exactly what happened down there, but I saw what it did to him.”
Harper rubbed his hands together once more.
“Talk to him. See what he says.”
Franco nodded and left the other men, walking down the steps to the galley and then on to the sick bay. He arrived to find Nick lying in a robe on the small cot, Lisa taking his blood pressure.
“Nick, I need to show you some things. Are you up for it?” Franco said.
Nick nodded, but his face had taken a pale cast and small dark circles had begun to form under his eyes. Franco carried the locket and journal over, setting both on the blanket in front of Nick.
“We found these inside the chest. Do you think you can translate some of this? I know it’s a lot, but right now it’s all we’ve got to go on.”
Nick picked up the l
ocket and examined the pictures. His hands begin to shake and he dropped the small necklace back onto the blue hospital blanket which covered his legs.
Lisa spoke sternly to Franco. “Look, he needs to calm down after whatever it was that happened down there.”
Franco looked at his friend.
“What’s wrong, Nick? What is it?”
Nick pointed with a trembling finger toward the face of the man in the locket.
“That man,” he said in nearly a whisper. “That man is the one I saw. I saw him being murdered by the other man on board the Titanic.”
“I don’t understand,” Franco said.
Nick pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.
“There’re ghosts on that ship.”
“Ghosts, Nick?” Franco asked, trying to reach his friend once more. “Let’s be reasonable...”
“I know what I saw!” Nick said in a sudden fury. “You saw something down there, too! I could see it in your eyes. Admit it!”
Franco did not want to think that what he had seen was anything more than a trick of the light. Clearly he was the level headed one between the two of them.
“Can you translate this?” he asked, placing his hand on the journal. Nick turned his head away from Franco and did not answer him.
Lisa stood up, adjusting the blood pressure cuff.
“Look, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. He needs to rest and unless you are going to submit to an evaluation, too, then I need to clear the area.”
Franco stood up to go, but he placed the journal on the small table next to Nick’s bed. He gave Lisa a quick nod, and then left to return to his cabin. After pulling the wet suit off of himself, Franco took a quick cold rinse in the shower. He tried to ignore the growing feeling of unease that clung to him from the dive. He had seen something down there; that much had become apparent. But Nick using the word ‘ghosts’ seemed a bit far-fetched. Perhaps he would call Leo in the morning and see how he wanted to proceed. Franco brushed the water over the stubble on his shaved head, thinking over the conversation he’d had with Mr. Matvei when he accepted the job. The old man had seemed rather sentimental about the diamonds, and Leo Matvei was rich enough that he could have hired them to find a missing sock from the Titanic if he had wanted to. The diamonds were not the payout to the old man, Franco mused. What he wanted was to reclaim an old family heirloom. He had told Franco that he could not find a legitimate commercial diving team to take the case, so he’d had no choice but to go to the black market.
Hiring Franco had been his first step. The captain and ship’s medic he had worked with before. Neither of them liked the idea of doing an illegal dive, but work was work. Captain Martin had accepted the job based on Leo Matvei’s wealth and reputation. Franco turned off the water and reached for his towel on the hook outside the stall. For a moment, as he stood naked in the shower, covered in water, reaching blindly out of the enclosure, he imagined another hand reaching from an unseen place, curling blackened, bloated fingers around his wrist and pulling him under the ocean. Unable to breathe or scream, he stumbled briefly. Another instant and he found his towel; the scratchy feel of the nubbed cotton brought him back to the present. No monster would be dragging him down to his death, at least not today. He decided to check on Nick again in the morning. What he really needed after the day’s events was a solid night of sleep. He put on his robe and sat down on the edge of his cot and tossed the towel into the laundry basket. The memory of the vision from below seemed so far away and distant at that moment. Franco felt silly for even considering the idea that he had seen anything other than a trick of shadows. He settled in and drifted off to sleep.
A high keening sound woke him moments later. The sky outside the round port window had darkened to a pitch black and Franco could see that a storm was brewing on the horizon. He stood to find the source of the sound. Taking a step forward, he realized that his room had changed. An oriental rug and an opulent settee just as he had seen below in the wreckage, met his vision. A small writing desk was placed against the far wall. Somehow, impossibly, he found himself standing in an exact replica of the room he had seen on the Titanic. A woman sat with her back to him at the writing table; the same woman from the photo, Darya Nikita. He realized it was she who had emitted the sound. She rocked back and forth, crying in high unnatural wails. The sound she made sent shivers along Franco’s spine. He took a step toward her. Her hand was holding one of the pens over a piece of stationery, scribbling furiously.
“Miss,” he said in a small voice, taking a few steps toward her.
She did not turn or acknowledge him, but increased her frantic marking on the stationery. He could see that she was not writing words, just swirling the pen in an angry, frenzied motion. He could not see her face, just the surface of her hands. He could not quite determine, but there was something wrong with her skin. She looked pale, nearly too pale. He walked toward her; the crying sound beginning to blend with the sound of the wind outside. He was close enough to reach out and touch her, but still something seemed wrong, very wrong. She picked up the paper she had been scribbling on and with angry, violent motions, she ripped the paper in half. She picked up the pen and started scribbling on the next blank page. She held the pen like a knife, with her hand clasped around the body of the instrument, slashing at the page before her. Her angry movements were like that of a child in the throes of a tantrum. Page after page, she continued this frantic motion. Slashing at the page with the pen until it became covered with scribbled lines, then tearing the page to shreds with wild frenzy.
Franco reached out to touch her shoulder.
She turned to face him and Franco screamed, stumbling backwards. Her face looked pale and bloated. Where her eyes should have been, he saw open sockets, black and empty. Algae covered her hair almost like a tangled shawl mingling with the strands of her black hair. Her mouth hung open at an unnatural angle as if her jaw had been broken. Still letting out that terrible scream, her face resembled a gargoyle. He could see her hands now clasped toward him, nails black against bloated fingers. Underneath the sleeves of her dressing gown, large dark marks showed on her wrists and forearms. He realized these marks were blood, black and decayed. Open gash marks extended from her wrists nearly to her elbows on both arms, yet she reached for him with impossible, grasping fingers. Franco stumbled backwards onto his cot. The ghost woman stood and took a step toward him. Her bare feet left wet footprints in the carpet, fringed with specks of debris and algae. She took another step. The movement of her body looked unsure and unnatural, like her bones had settled and the frame of her skin no longer hung in quite the right way. The train of her dressing gown dragged along the floor as she stepped forward, making a sound not unlike stone scraping against stone. Franco stumbled, finding himself tangled in the sheets of his cot. He twisted frantically, but every movement made him more tangled. He could see her drawing closer to him, pale fingers reaching for him. Her fingertips were inches from his flailing feet. The lights flickered, and the room plunged into total darkness. He could no longer see her, but he knew she was still there, stalking toward him, clammy hands reaching for him. Then he felt a cold wet hand close around his bare ankle.
He screamed.
Waking in his cot, Franco found himself in his own room, struggling against his tangled bedclothes, the calm night sky dark outside his port window. He caught his breath, looking around the room as he came back to himself. He realized he was alone. The woman had been a dream. A vivid frightening dream, but a dream nonetheless.
Franco got out of bed, unable to sleep at least for the moment, and stepped out into the hallway. There was a light on in the mess area of the ship, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him. A cup of coffee sounded wonderful to him at that particular moment; anything to distance himself psychologically from the vision of his dream. He brushed his hands across his head and walked into the mess area. He saw Nick hunched over a set of notebooks, writing furiously on
one page. Darya’s journal lay open on one side of him and Nick had one hand tracing along one of the pages.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Franco said gently, not wishing to disturb him.
“Nah,” Nick said, his eyes not leaving the pages before him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had seen down there. I know I saw Stephan’s murder, and I wanted to try and find some answers. Have a seat. You might find this interesting.”
Franco walked over and poured himself a cup of black coffee and pulled up a chair across from Nick.
“What have you got?”
Nick turned the notebook toward Franco.
“It’s letters. Darya was writing letters to her sister. Perhaps she intended to send them once she reached America. This is a record of nearly everything that happened to her on the Titanic.”
Franco picked up the notebook and looked at what Nick had written, translated from the Russian diary.
April 10, 1912
Dearest Masha,
By the time you receive these letters, you will have been missing me for quite some time. I can assure you that I am quite well, despite missing you dreadfully. I think about you every moment of every day. As you know, I had been betrothed to Igor Davidovich, the man that works for our father. But alas, I have a confession to make to you. I never loved Igor. I have run away aboard the Titanic, traveling to America to marry Stephan Ivanovich. We kept you shielded from it, but our parents and I fought bitterly over my devotion to Stephan. No matter what I did, I could not make them see that he was the man of my heart.
We boarded the Titanic just this morning and are even now sailing across the Atlantic Ocean toward America. This is such a grand adventure and I just know that this decision is the beginning of a new start for me.
It saddens me to think of you as well as Mother and Father. There are times when I am overcome by a feeling that I may never see any of you again. This is the sacrifice I had to make to be with Stephan, and to escape my fate of marrying that vile man, Mr. Davidovich. I have faith that once we reach America, I will be in constant contact and that I will see you again.