Chapter 24: Disappearance
A week had passed since Cal's apparent suicide, and after hours of crying guiltily into Jack's arms, life went back to how it was before the incident. They pushed aside reading any article about Cal's death, Rose feeling too shamefaced to know how his family had reacted to the tragedy.
Though the days were getting short, Rose was holding up. Jack and Josephine had been doing their best to make the last of her days count, pushing aside the horrible accident that had happened in their home. But since neither cared much of Cal, they kept their minds on Rose. And to know that someone you cared so much for was dying made everything seem so delicate, so fragile...
So thought Josephine as she settled in a park bench and burst into expected tears.
For the past few days, she had felt like she was walking on a tightrope. She couldn't do anything but move forward, and if she tried to move left or right, she'd fall. She just couldn't accept the fact that her mother, her guardian and best friend for the past sixteen years of her short life, was dying from something as cruel and viscous as cancer. And not only that, but mental insanity as the cherry on top and a suicide witnessed as the whipped cream.
Josephine cried out all her tears until there were no more, and soon she was only making sniffling noises. She no longer saw the world as a place she could be free and do whatever she wanted and make each and every day count. She now saw it as a fateful planet where things died and disappeared and never came back, no matter how much they were missed or mourned for.
What was it her mother always told her when she was little? When Josephine was young, she had picked tiny bugs or kittens off the streets. She'd keep them as pets, and when they died, her fragile, tiny little heart would break and she'd cry in her mother's lap. "Now, now, Josie," she had said. "Dry up all those tears. Everything happens for a reason. Do you think Mittens-" Josephine's first pet kitten "-would want you to cry over and pity him?"
Josephine had shook her head and squeaked, "No, Mama, he wouldn't." Then Rose had smiled, took out a soiled handkerchief, and dabbed away her tears. "Always move forward, Josie, always. Never let go of those good memories, but don't hang on to them, either. Never let go but always move forward."
The memories were sweet in Josephine's mouth. They made her tongue tingle and her heart swell. Her darling mother, who, even through her insanity, had a big heart, though it had been broken and mended and left with a scar. That scar had been reopened recently with the run-in with Cal, but hopefully, Josephine thought, Rose would put that aside and die in peace.
A hand was felt on Josephine's shoulder and she jumped. Noticing who it was, she snapped, "What do you two want?" She turned back around and crossed her arms at her chest, not looking either in the eye.
"We came to say we're sorry, Josephine. More than anything, we're sorry," Galen said while taking a seat next to her.
"Yeah, Josie, we heard about your mother and came to give our sympathies," John spoke while taking her hand.
She pulled it forcefully away. "I don't need your compassion. Don't you see I need to handle this by myself?"
They shrugged their shoulders, gave their last few words, patted her back, and left.
Never before had Josephine felt so alone.
...
Rose felt strangely weak today. It was a feeling that deprived her from her previous elated mood after Cal disappeared for good from her life. Now her face was full of worry, yet she was calm. She knew that dying young was always a tragedy, but for her she was ready to die any day knowing that she had made a difference in more than one person's life.
She drummed her fingertips on the bedside table, contemplating, thinking of a plan. She loathed, absolutely loathed, seeing the pity on people's faces or the fact that her family was seeing her suffer. The doctor had come in every day to re-bandage her wound, and she could see the deep compassion in his eyes. He must do this stuff every day, she thought as the needle went in and out of her skin. Why is my ordeal so bad? Because I'm insane, as well?
Jack couldn't take a day off work again, so he had to leave, but promised her while giving her a kiss on the lips that he would be back early, and as soon as possible. He couldn't miss a minute of Rose's time.
Strewn across the walls were drawings the whole Dawson family drew, scripts pinned to the wallpaper. Rose had taken the time to look through her scrapbook thoroughly, thinking it would be her last. Then she had set it aside, put an expensive diamond necklace inside it, picked up a pen and some paper, and began to write.
She wrote until her hand ached. It was a letter addressed to her daughter, her precious Josephine Emma Dawson, named after her and Jack's favorite song and also her grandmother, who had loved her very much during her childhood. Folding it and sticking it into the scrapbook, she began to proofread the other letter she wrote, one addressed to her darling Jack.
Jack. He had saved her in so many ways. He had taken her under his wing when she thought she had nobody. He had taught her to live in more ways than one. She knew that today may be her last, and she needed him to understand that she loved him. She loved him ever since she first set eyes on him, like he with her. She still loved him even though she knew he would never come back, and she didn't think of it as a scandal to have his daughter. Instead, she thought of it as a gift, a way of remembering her Jack and how much their love still burned, though one will be gone. She remembered how when she first held Josephine in her arms, she had burst into tears and kept repeating these words: "Oh, Jack, she looks so much like you... So much like you..."
Then he did come back. He had lived that awful night, and their beautiful daughter had brought them back together. Now here Rose was, dying in her bed, no longer afraid. She knew Jack loved her, and she didn't need him to say so. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he held her, even in the way he looked at her when she refused his affection those many months ago. He got the giddy case of love at first sight, and it had stayed with him. Infested his heart to the point that he couldn't be cured, that he would always and only love her. For as long as he lived, it had to be her, even if she denied him and never loved him back. But in the end, she did love him, and their fairy tale was supposed to be happily ever after...
It never happened, their happily ever after. Their promises and dreams, they never transpired. Rose never got off the ship with him, he never took her to the Santa Monica Pier. In fact, both thought the other was dead for so long. The only promise they kept to each other was to never let go, and that was enough for Rose. She didn't need kept promises or existed dreams for her to know that he loved her.
Rose was in silent tears by the time she was done reading the letter. She set it down on the table next to the scrapbook and fell into deep reverie.
She wondered what would've happened if they did leave the ship together; if the Titanic didn't sink, and they had gotten away. If they officially got married, and she didn't just take his name. If they had more than one child, what would they look like? Would they be bold and adventurous like Jack, or stubborn and passionate like their mother? Would the past seventeen years be different if Jack was by her side to raise their daughter? How different would Josephine be?
She thought and thought and thought. She assumed and wondered and asked herself, "What if...?" until she found her eyelids drooping and her mind falling into a deep slumber.
...
Josephine felt guilty for dismissing Galen and John when they were just trying to comfort her in a time of need, so she set out to look for them in the park, praying that they were still around. Some people gave her questioning looks when they saw her tear-stained cheeks, but her eyes were too busy looking for the familiar pairs of brown and blue eyes.
She saw them talking in the distance with worried expressions. "G-Galen!" she choked out and started running towards them, holding her skirts up so she wouldn't trip. "John!"
They looked up at her with relief in their eyes. She threw her arms around both of them. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry!"
...
Jack was getting impatient and angry. He was only supposed to work the first two shifts, but two turned into four, and then six... It was getting late, and he only saw Rose this morning! She could be dead right now! he thought, swearing to himself. I need to see her, and soon.
Clenching his teeth and squeezing his hand into tight fists to control his anger, he continued to listen to a woman's question about Monet, his thoughts thinking of his darling Rose, and how he had stared at that Monet painting with the lily pads for hours on end, wondering why she had to leave him alone on this earth.
Then she had come back, alive but unwell, and he had promised to himself that he'd never let her out of his sight again. Thus that made Josephine his daughter, and that had surprised and shocked him, though that possibility was never out of reach. En route, he asked her to marry him, and then a few weeks later he discovered that Rose was mentally and physically ill and dying, and that the lives they planned together under a starry sky that one night was for nothing: They will never be achieved.
It wasn't for nothing! he forced himself to think. Anything he ever did or told Rose was not pointless. It had meaning, undeniable meaning, that their love was pure and real. Jack agreed with that till no end. He loved Rose, and always had. He never wanted to love another woman, no one except Rose.
That day, he made another poetic promise to himself: I will stay with her until it's all over, and she'll be just a memory in our midst, her body the living proof that she was real and always will be, but just in a different place: our hearts.
...
Rose woke to a setting sun. Dark clouds filled the sky in the horizon, and she knew a storm was coming. Jack had never come back like he promised her he would. She was upset, but not angry; no, definitely not angry. He had tried to come home early, but it must've been impossible for him since he missed a whole week of work to comfort her after Cal. Sighing, Rose rolled over on her back and moved her body up against the pillow.
Her throat was burning, her leg a painful annoyance on her body. A cold sweat had formed on her forehead, and her brain was throbbing. Her breath came out ragged and irregular, her heart missed a beat every once and a while. Her hands shook as she pulled the engagement ring off her finger, a cry escaping her lips as the pain boiled up in her dying body. It would start with her leg, yes... Then it would numb and infest and she'll be gone.
She set her beautiful, simple sapphire ring on the table, on top of Jack's letter. Getting up from the bed, no matter how much her injury hurt, she balanced herself by putting her hand on the wall. Taking a step forward, she gasped.
Before Rose knew it, her stitches had torn and she collapsed on the floor. Her leg was dead to her now. It was a swollen, disgusting, black lump that tore at the limb with hunger. She could see bone protruding near the top of the tie, and knew that the cancer did a very good job of eating her up.
Rising up again, she began to limb. She tried to prevent the blood from spilling on the floor and causing concern. On her way out, she grabbed the bandages from the cupboard and began to wrap. She wrapped until her thigh was three times thicker than usual, and that's when she opened the door and tottered out of the apartment.
...
Jack had gotten home near late sun down. The furious, burning ball in the sky was now sinking into the horizon, a small slit in the distance. The sky was getting dark; rain clouds swallowed up all light. It's going to be a gloomy night, Jack thought. Like a sign.
"Rose, I'm home!" he called from the kitchen. The apartment was silent. No noise at all, not even someone breathing, pierced the still air. "Rose?" He looked down at his feet and saw the drops of blood leading from the guestroom, sickening his stomach.
Quick as a whip, Jack was in the bedroom and repetitively swearing under his breath when he saw no one was there. He tore the room apart in his dilemma, not noticing the letter on the bedside table until tears were freshly pricking at his eyes. Grabbing it swiftly, he read it, word by word, with his heart, not his eyes. When he was done, he was soundlessly crying. A glint of light bounced off something, and he looked down. What he saw strangled his heart.
It was the engagement ring he gave to Rose. She left it behind. But why? Why would she do something so stupid and ridiculous? Why didn't she want to be by her family's side for her last moments?
Stuffing the ring in his pocket along with the letter, he ran out of the house and to the park.
...
Josephine was laughing, but tears still tarnished her cheeks. John and Galen were escorting her home for the night, since the clouds were getting dark and stormy. They weren't even out of the park when Jack appeared, panting and waving a piece of paper in the air.
"Josie," he huffed, as though words hurt him. "Oh, Josephine..."
She ran into his waiting arms and worriedly asked, "What's wrong, Papa? What is it?"
He pulled away, his eyes full of tears and his brow furrowed in anxiety. "Your mother," he explained. "She's disappeared."