When Brock switched off his tape recorder, the silence in the room was absolute as everyone tried to absorb the enormity of the story Rose had just told them. It was real and unreal, believable and unbelievable at the same time. One of the greatest disasters in history, which had previously seemed too remote to them in this day and age, had actually happened to people, to the wonderful woman sitting in front of them
Among the stunned expressions of the crew, and the tears still streaming down Lizzy's face, Rose sat serene and composed, despite the harrowing tale she had just told. It felt as if an enormous burden she didn't know she had been carrying had fallen away from her shoulders. In her heart, she knew her time on earth was almost at an end. There was just one thing she needed to do first.
It won't be long now, Jack. We've waited so long.
Everyone on the 'ship' tried to hide their smiles as they watched Jack that day. He was on edge with excitement and trying unsuccessfully to hide it. After eighty-four years, at eleven o'clock that night, he was going to be reunited with Rose, who had kept her promise to him. He had watched with pride, and a bit of sadness, as she had lived her life a hundred times over, as if to make up for the previous, stifling existence she had had before she boarded the ship of dreams. Time usually had no meaning for them but to Jack, it meant everything as he waited for the woman he loved.
Eighty-four years was a long time, but nobody on the ship had aged. Here, class didn't matter, and first, second and third all mixed together cheerfully. If only it had been like that in 1912, things might have turned out differently for some of them. But Jack understood now, that he hadn't been meant to survive the night in the Atlantic and Rose had. In a way, that seemed fair. He had lived every single second of his life absolutely and to the full, right up until the last moment. Rose hadn't had that opportunity before that night. Maybe eighty-four years was finally long enough to cancel out seventeen of rigid upper-class non-existence.
Come to me, Rose. I can't wait any more.
The cold didn't bother her any more. It had been a teasing point from her husband, children and grandchildren that she seemed utterly impervious to the cold. She had always laughed and gone along with it, not seeing the sense in telling them that after a night spent in the north Atlantic, she could never be that cold again.
Slowly, Rose walked across the deck of the ship, directly above where the crew, and Lizzy, were having a drink. Her lovely granddaughter had been hesitant to go at first, but she had shooed her away, wanting her to enjoy herself. She didn't miss how Brock had slipped an arm around her shoulders as they left the room. There was something there, she could see it. She knew her story had changed the man. He hadn't said as much but she could see in his eyes that he had realised what he was looking for was essentially worthless. Briefly, she wondered what he would do now. She chuckled to herself for a minute, hoping for a minute that they would have a happy life together and that she was indirectly the cause of it if they did.
Carefully, she clambered up on the railing of the ship, musing in her head about how different the situation was the last time she was up here. She had been wearing a simple but still luxurious dress; it had been early evening, Jack's careful hands holding her steady and she was experiencing flying, and freedom, for the very first time in her life. Now, it was about ten o'clock at night, she was a hundred and one years old, wearing a nightdress and she was alone. But she knew not for much longer.
In her hand, she carried the original desire of the men below deck, the necklace that had led her to them, and to tell her story. She had kept it in a safe in her room for many years, but had felt that it was the right thing to do, to bring it on this trip. The Heart of the Ocean was still as heavy as she remembered, still as shiny, clearly not damaged by a night in the sea. With a sigh and a smile, she let it go and watched it fall into its namesake, the heart of the ocean. Free at last, she tilted her head up to the sky and smiled.
I'm coming Jack. I'll be there soon.
Jack knew the diamond was now down in the bottom of the sea, along with the bodies of the people surrounding him. He chuckled at the irony of the bodies of third class passengers alongside the ultimate symbol of luxury, a diamond necklace.
The tension and excitement ran all around the grand staircase. Little Cora Cartmell danced across to him. She was still too young to know fully what was happening – she always would be, Jack supposed – but she was sharp enough to pick up on the atmosphere.
'Uncle Jack!' She flung her arms around his legs, not tall enough to reach his waist. He staggered, laughed and lifted her up. 'How's my best girl?'
'Why is everyone so happy? Is somebody nice coming?' she asked, brushing her curly hair off her face.
Jack smiled. 'Somebody very nice is coming. She's coming very soon.'
Cora thought for a minute. 'Is it the nice lady from first class that you were dancing with?' She still remembered the night of the party, when Jack had turned up with a beautiful red-headed girl in a dress of the sort that Cora could only ever dream about. Everyone had eyed her a bit suspiciously but when she began dancing and spinning around with Jack, laughing and clearly having the time of her life, the third class passengers had accepted her as one of their own, without hesitation. She remembered that night because she had never seen Jack so happy, and because he had promised she was still his best girl and that he would dance with her.
That last promise drove another question into her mind. 'Will you still dance with me, like you promised?'
Jack was as fond of Cora as if she was his own child and he ran a hand through her curls. 'Of course I will! I'll always have a dance for my best girl!'
Suddenly the mood in the room changed. The excitement suddenly felt more heightened than ever. Cora wriggled down out of his arms and skipped over to her father, who raised his hat to Jack as if in a salute. Many people had turned to him with smiles on their faces and excitement in their eyes. Most of them had come to this ship with the people they loved, with a few exceptions. Jack was the last one to be reunited with the person he loved more than anyone and they knew how much he had wanted it.
He watched Fabrizio stand with his arm around Helga and smiled as his best friend winked at him, mouthing something in Italian Jack couldn't understand. It was only when Tommy, surprisingly and uncharacteristically dignified, came over to him and said, very quietly, 'Jack, it's time' that he understood and ascended the grand staircase on shaking legs.
I've waited so long. I can't believe we don't need to wait anymore.
In her room, deep down on the Keldysh, Rose was peacefully asleep. She had written a note to Lizzy which explained what she'd done and asking that her ashes be scattered at sea. There was a postscript, which read 'Life is priceless.' It was a lesson she had learned in the most harrowing way possible and kept it to the full for the rest of her life.
Her photographs surrounded her bed. She didn't take them when she travelled because she was a mad old lady seeking home comforts, but to remind herself of the promise she had made to Jack, when she lay on a piece of driftwood, clinging to his hands while he shivered in the ocean.
Her burden had been lifted, she had told her story and the Heart of the Ocean was…..well, dans le coeur de la mer. She could leave now, safe in the knowledge that she had done everything she was meant to, that Jack's words about her death had been fulfilled, and thanking God one last time that she had managed to escape the society life she had dreaded.
Rose felt herself waking up suddenly, as if she had had a very good night's sleep. Stepping out of bed, she felt much lighter and knew that while her body still lay in the bed, her spirit was on its way to wherever it was meant to go.
A corridor lay before her, polished to a gleaming shine and with sunlight streaming through the windows. Am I really back here? she wondered, staring around. Then she saw her hands. They were the hands of her seventeen year old self. Breathing shallowly, she reached up to her hair and could feel it was thick and vibrant once again. There was a delicate ornament in it holding her curls back. Her dress was still white, but instead of her nightdress, it was a delicate combination of silk and lace. In fact, it looked exactly like the wedding gown she had always dreamed of having.
Wedding. Does that mean…..
Jack had turned his back on the door, to try and quell his nerves. He was looking up at the clock which hung above it, feeling the sun from the skylight warming his back.
He had watched her keep her promise to him that she would live life to the absolute full. He had seen her become one of the best actresses of her time and live in a house by the sea in Santa Monica. He had seen her marry James Calvert, and been both relieved and somewhat jealous at the same time. Relieved because she did care for him very much and they had a very happy marriage. She didn't deserve to spend her life alone. Jealous because….well, if she had to marry anybody, he would have preferred it to be him. But since that wasn't possible, he was happy for them, and pretended that he didn't cry that much when she named her first child after him, or that Mr Andrews had come across him, offered him a handkerchief and walked away quietly while fighting back tears of his own.
At the bottom of the steps, he could hear Cora's whispers growing louder and louder. She was talking to the boy next to her who had been her best friend on board. They had been discussing the imminent arrival and were getting carried away in the excitement. Bert half-heartedly tried to quieten his daughter but to no avail. Suddenly, they both fell quiet as the door clicked open.
I've waited eighty-four years. She's here! I can't believe it!
The sight took her breath away as she stepped through the door that led to the grand staircase. A steward, smiling brightly at her, opened the door and bowed his head to her as she went inside. First class passengers usually commanded more respect but nothing like that – what was going on? Rose felt the butterflies in her stomach getting faster as she walked through the door, spotting the musicians on one side, still clutching their instruments, and a mixture of third class passengers on the other. She could see many of Jack's friends – Tommy, Helga, Fabrizio, Bert and Cora Cartmell, who waved to her when she came in. Every one of them was smiling at her as if they were delighted to see her. She was very happy indeed to see them, if a little stunned, both at the passengers and the surroundings. The ship looked as utterly magnificent as the day she boarded. In fact, it could be the day she boarded apart from one thing – class boundaries didn't seem to exist here.
Rose walked up the stairs, past Mr Andrews, who bowed to her as she walked past and her figure was caught by the figure at the top of the stairs. He turned around as she approached and she felt her smile grow as eighty four years of waiting dissolved in one second.
I'm home. I'm with Jack.
White. She was all in white. Like a wedding dress. And she was seventeen again. Jack let his eyes drink in the sight of the only woman he had ever truly loved ascending the grand staircase. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe this was their wedding, right there and then. Such a thing would never have been possible when he was still alive but here, things like that didn't matter at all. He took her hand as she ascended the stairs and pulled her into his embrace, before kissing her, hesitantly at first in front of all those people, and then deciding it didn't matter that much. The room resounded with applause and music as the sun streamed in through the skylight above their heads and lit up the lovers at the top of the stairs.
You're here. You're with me, Rose. At last.
All belongs to James Cameron, apart from Mr Andrews, who being a real person owns himself.