Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the incredible movie Titanic. Everything here, this story line, it's characters and anything else, except the actual ship, belongs to the fantastic James Cameron. I am merely turning it into a story, rather than a screenplay.
A/N: Okay, so I was watching my most favorite movie in the whole world (Titanic) and I decided that it would be super cool if it were an book, rather than a movie. I mean how awesome would that be to sit down and read Titanic? It would be soooo cool!! So I thought, why don't I write it? There are tons of books that are based on movies, right? So, here is how I would write Titanic if I were ever granted permission to do so. Please enjoy!! And at the end, hit that little review button at the bottom of the page!! Pretty please, I'll even throw in a cherry, right on top!!!!
CHAPTER ONE
THE GHOST SHIP
It was the Ship of Dreams. The largest moving object man had ever built. Everyone said it was the fastest and most luxurious ship known to man, and even better it was "unsinkable". It was said that God, Himself could not sink that ship. But somehow, he managed to do just that.
Sheer blackness was all forty-eight year old Brock Lovett could see from the small porthole of Mir One. He stared out into the darkness of the North Atlantic as the miniscule submersible sank lower and lower into the eerie water. Starring out of the window, Brock could see his reflection in the nine inch sheet of glass that kept the water from submerging them all. His dark brown hair was streaked with flecks of grey and his tanned skin wrinkled slightly around his eyes. He wore his navy blue Nomex suit unzipped slightly, to show a piece of gold fastened around his neck. The gold coin had been recovered from another shipwreck, although that one had been in the Caribbean rather than in the icy waters of the North Atlantic. Brock Lovett was a treasure hunter, as a matter of fact he was one of the most publicized treasure hunter in the 90's. Most people thought of him as fast-talking, treasure vacuum cleaner. He claimed to be an Adventurer- Historian, but most knew that he was nothing more than a grave robber. He would do anything to get his hand on treasurers from the past. And right now, his sight was set on finding The Heart of The Ocean, which was said to have gone down with the magnificent Titanic.
To Brock's left sat the sub's pilot, Anatoly Mikailavich. He sat surrounded by hundreds of controls, that kept the Mir One moving smoothly through the ocean. Mikailavich hunched over his controls, singing softly to himself in Russian, trying to ignore the excited treasure hunter and his Titanic expert, Lewis Bodine.
Lewis Bodine sat in the remaining space, in the seven foot sub. He was a rather large, bearded man. Bodine leaned against the cold medal wall, sound asleep. Every so often, a loud snore would escape him, but for the most part he kept relatively quiet.
As time past, the submersible stayed in a steady freefall to the ocean floor. Then with a sudden jerk, the submersible hit the murky bottom. Bodine woke with one last snort. "We're here," Anatoly growled in a heavy Russian accent. Within five minutes the submersible and it's twin skimmed over the seafloor to the sound of sidescan sonar and the thrum of big thrusters.
Bodine carefully watched the sidescan sonar display, where the outline of a huge pointed object was visible. Anatoly lay prone, driving the sub, his faced pressed to the center port. "Come left a little," Bodine instructed. "She's right in front of us, eighteen meters. Fifteen. Thirteen. You should see it."
"I don't see it. Do you see it? THERE!" shouted Anatoly.
Out of the darkness, like a ghostly apparition, the bow of the ship appeared. It's knife-edge prow seemed to blow the bottom sediment like ocean waves. It towered above the seafloor, standing there, just as it did eighty four years earlier.
Mir One inched its way closer and closer toward the ship, or what was left of her. The sub slowly went up and over the bow railing of Titanic. The railing miraculously was still looked just as it did all those years ago, except for an overgrowth of some sort of underwater plant, draping it like mutated moss.
Inside Mir One, Brock Lovett pulled out a small video camcorder. Brock turned the camera so that the lens faced him, while he looked out the porthole. "It still gets me every time," he said dramatically, glancing toward the camera. "It's just your guilt because of stealing from the dead," Anatoly said in a matter-of-fact manner from his station at the controls. "Thanks, Anatoly," Brock said sarcastically. "Work with me here," he said, turning his attention back to the porthole. He resumed his serious gaze out the front port, with the camera aimed at himself, at arms length. He restarted his dramatic beginning to his documentary. "It still gets me every time. To see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here, where she landed at two thirty in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her long fall from the world above." Anatoly rolled his eyes and muttered something incoherent in Russian. "You're so full of shit, Boss," Bodine chuckled, not taking his eyes off the sonar. Brock just smiled and pointed the camera out of the port.
Mir One passed over the seemingly endless forecastle deck, with its massive anchor chains still laid out in two neat rows, its bronze windlass caps gleaming. Next to the great ship, Mir One and Two looked like nothing more than little white bugs.
"Dive nine. Here we are again on the deck of Titanic. Two and a half miles down. The pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush us like a freight train going over and ant if our hull fails. These windows are nine inches thick and if they go, it's sayonara in two microseconds," Brock said to make his video more dramatic.
With a light bump, Mir One landed gracefully on the roof of the deck house, near the ruins of the Officer's Quarters, where Mir Two landed just seconds later. "Right. Let's go to work," Lovett ordered. Bodine slipped on a pair of 3-D electronic goggles, and grabbed the joystick controls of ROV. Outside the sub, the ROV, a small orange and black robot lifted from its cradle and flew forward. Written on the rear of the robot, was SNOOP DOG. "Walking the dog," Bodine said seriously.
Snoop Dog drove itself away from the sub, paying out its umbilical cord behind it like a robot yo-yo. It's twin stereo video cameras swiveled like insect eyes. The ROV descended through an open shaft that was once the beautiful First Class Grand Staircase. It continued to go down several decks, then moved laterally into the First Class Reception Room.
Bodine watched what was happening through Snoop Dog Vision in his 3D goggles. It moved through the cavernous interior like some strange fish. The remains of the ornate hand carved woodwork, which gave the ship its elegance moved through the floodlights, the lines blurred by slow dissolution and descending rusticle formations. Stalactites of rust hung down so that it looked like a natural grotto and then the scene would shift and the lines of a ghostly undersea mansion could be seen again. Snoop Dog maneuvered it's way past a grand piano in amazingly good condition, considering the circumstances. The keys had all managed to remain in place, gleaming black and white in the lights from the little robot. Further still, into the ship, a chandelier still hung from the ceiling by it's wire, it too glittered brightly as Snoop's lights advanced on it. The lights played across the floor, revealing a champagne bottle, and some china with the White Star Line emblem on it them. A woman's high-top shoe sat under a layer of sand and dirt and not far from that an eerie white porcelain doll head. It's hair gone, swept away by the ocean currents. It's eyes still intact, starring blankly as though longing to be at the surface once more.
The little white robot, crept along, entering a corridor, so well preserved, there was still a wooden door hanging on its rusted hinges. An ornate piece of molding, a wall sconce, hinting at the grandeur of the past. The ROV turned and went through a black doorway, on the wall beside the door, was a brass room number, B-52. Before them stood the sitting room of one of the grand Promenade Suites, one of the most luxurious staterooms on the ship.
"I'm in the sitting room. Heading for bedroom B-54," reported Bodine. Lovett stood, crouching to stand behind Bodine. "Stay off the floor. Don't stir it up like you did yesterday," he ordered. "I'm tryin' boss." Bodine replied exasperated.
Glinting in the lights were the brass fixtures of the near-perfectly preserved fireplace. An albino Galathea crab crawled over it. Nearby lay the remains of a divan and writing desk. The robot crossed the ruins of the once elegant room toward another door. It squeezed through the doorframe, scraping rust and wood chunks loose on both sides. It moved out of a cloud of rust and kept going.
"I'm crossing the bedroom." The remains of a pillared canopy bed, broken chairs and a dresser occupy the once grand room. Through the collapsed wall of the bathroom, the porcelain toilet and bathtub look almost new, gleaming in the dark.
"Okay, I want to see what's under the wardrobe door," Lovett stated, his eyes glued on the black and white screen. Using his joy stick, Bodine carefully maneuvered through the debris, moving objects aside. "Easy Lewis. Take it slow," Lovett warned. With nervous hands, Bodine grips a wardrobe door, lying at an angle in a corner, and pulls it with Snoop's metal gripper. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Bodine's face. Reluctantly the door moved, stirring up a cloud of dust. The three of them, wait silently for the silt to clear.
"Oooo Daddy-oh, are you seein' what I'm seen'?" Bodine asked excitedly. Lovett watched the monitor, with a look of pure joy across his face, like a child on Christmas morning. "Oh baby, baby, baby! It's payday boys!" Bodine exclaimed. Lovett didn't hear a single word Bodine had said. He stared at the screen in awe. There nestled in the debris, lay a small sea green safe. Over the years under water it had rusted slightly around the edges, but that didn't phase Lovett at all. He was looking at the safe that had once belonged to Caledon Hockley, the last known person to own The Heart of the Ocean.
A/N: Okay so there's the first chapter. I looked up the actual screenplay and read that and that's where the Russian guy Anatoly came from. So if you see any characters that aren't in the movie, they're in the actual screenplay, they're not mine either. Well, thanks for reading and like I said earlier, if you review I'll give you a nice red cherry!! Yum!!
-Lily Rose-