15. Davy Jones' Locker
Rose was not afraid anymore. As the warm wave brought her steadily nearer to Davy Jones' Locker she felt a deep calmness, and a slight curiosity. During the past three days she had finally come to terms with her destiny and accepted that her time was up.
She travelled surrounded by water, but like that time with Otohime she had no trouble breathing. On either side of her she felt the comforting presence of the sea goddess and her daughter, the latter still holding her hand in a secure clasp, and escorting them were the two dolphins from before. The only sound came from their ever-smiling maws, a series of cheerful whistles and clicks.
After an indeterminable amount of time, they arrived outside a white wooden wall with a panelled door that Rose recognized very well. On an oval number plate she read 'B-56', and underneath it a smaller sign had the words 'First Class'.
"This was my cabin. On the boat…" She reached out to touch the plate. "How could that be?"
"The Locker looks different for everybody," Calypso explained. "This is the route you must take, with the ghosts you must meet."
"Ghosts?" Rose's eyes popped open.
"Figuratively speaking. The Locker is a place to settle one's old life and let go of it. Some stay only a short time, some never leave. It all depends on the choices they make and the sacrifices they accept."
"Accept?"
"Yes. That's what this is about. Acceptance – and forgiveness."
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to understand, just follow your heart."
After saying her goodbyes to Otohime and Calypso, Rose placed her fingers on the door handle, preparing herself mentally. And then she walked through it, hearing the door shut behind her. She knew without being told she could not open it again.
From here, she could only go forward.
The carpet was soft under her feet as Rose slowly walked through the familiar First Class suite. The bed was the same, the furniture… everything. It even smelled the same; fresh paint. She was back aboard the Ship of Dreams. The RMS Titanic.
She went to stand before her dresser with the large vanity mirror. She wore that flimsy evening dress again, the one she had drowned in. With a trembling hand she touched her tortoise shell hand mirror and an embellished comb she had worn in her hair. They felt so real. All of this felt real, as if she had travelled forward in time – back to the future.
Then she noticed there were some differences after all. Around her neck hung the seashell pendant Otohime had given her and instead of the high-heeled pumps she had died in she wore the practical boots Elizabeth had bought.
The cabin had some changes as well. When she boarded the Titanic that day, she had brought with her her paintings. Monet, Degas, and that promising young artist – Picasso, his name was, if she recalled correctly – and placed them on the tables and chairs to liven up the place. The picture frames were still there, but instead of colorful oil paintings they now contained coal sketches. Most of them were drawings of a ship, the Black Pearl, made by Jack Sparrow.
With a twinge of longing she wished she was back in that house with sober Jack, just passing the time and doing nothing special. She had enjoyed being with him despite his grumpiness and cheating in dice. She missed sleeping together, hearing his even breathing and feeling his warm form next to her.
Then she saw the last frame, which had a drawing of herself made by the other Jack, Jack Dawson. In the picture she was naked, wearing only the Heart of the Ocean.
How erotic that moment had been! She still felt a flutter of excitement at the memory. The cool air against her bare skin, the dry rasping of his pencil, his eyes coming up to look at her over the edge of his sketchpad.
She longed for that Jack too. They had gotten much too little time together and no real closure.
Rose heard a noise from the other room and her mother entered.
"There you are. Are you wearing those vulgar boots again? You know I don't like that." Her voice was as calm and impassive as always.
"Mother…" Rose whispered, reaching out her hand towards the woman but then dropping it, not quite daring to touch her in case she would prove to be an incorporeal ghost.
"Turn around, I'll help you with your corset." As in a dream, Rose obeyed, discovering she was suddenly in her shift. She felt her mother grasp the strings and pull. The woman was no ghost then, an incorporeal being was certainly not capable of lacing up a corset. "I don't get you," Ruth scolded. "How could you be so selfish? Drowning with that boy instead of marrying Cal, ensuring our survival." She tied the final knot and twirled Rose to face her. "Do you know what I must do now?"
Wordlessly Rose shook her head.
"I have to work as a seamstress. Thanks to you, our fine things were sold at an auction – our memories scattered to the winds. Now I have to work for a living. Was that what you wanted?"
Feeling a pang of guilt, Rose opened her mouth to say no, but shut it when she recalled the friends she had made on the Titanic. All of them had been hard working men and women; Fabrizio, Olaf, Helga, Tommy… Jack Dawson.
"Don't be so proud. There is nothing wrong with honest work," she said.
"This from you, who loves a pirate." Mother's voice was teeming with scorn. "He's never done an honest day's work in his life. And you're becoming just as bad as him."
"I am not like a pirate! I would never sink that low," she protested, offended.
"Oh, so you think yourself better than him? You say I'm proud, but you're no different."
She was right, Rose did think herself better than Jack. He was the pirate, the thief, the drunkard – whereas she was generous and noble, who had sacrificed her life for Will and Elizabeth.
The truth of Mother's words stung, but Rose knew she had needed to hear them.
She thought about the pirate way of living. Was it so different from what her family had done? They had lived on 'old money' earned by her ancestors in dubious ways, often by using others – the poor and the less educated, who could be made into indentured workers and slaves. And she had accepted it, wearing the fine clothes and jewellery, eating the expensive food.
As for giving up her life… In all honesty she had not really had much choice. She had given the Pearl Box to Will because she knew the alternative would have made her miserable; hated by everybody, leading an immortal life alone in a world she did not know.
She had no right to look down on Jack and his lifestyle – especially knowing how limited his choices had been as a teenage father. One whose own father also was a pirate.
"I'm not better than him," she said at last. "We both are what we are because of who we were born to."
Mother's gaze softened and she smiled fondly, stroking Rose's cheek. "Well done. You passed the first test."
"I did? What do I win?"
Mother pointed at a door that had appeared on the other side of the room. "Passage to the Second Class. Good luck!"
Rose left the cabin and found herself on the poop deck in the stern. Her clothes had changed again, now she wore a burgundy evening dress – but still the same men's boots. It was dark, late evening or night, and all around her was the open expanse of the sea.
Someone stood by the white metal railing ahead, looking down at the white trail of foam following the ship.
When Rose came closer, she saw it was Elizabeth. She wore an identical dress as Rose, but it looked much better on her. Its color suited her dark eyes and brown hair.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, hello. I was just looking at the propellers."
Rose went to join her, looking down too, remembering another night not long ago. It had been bitingly cold and she had balanced outside that railing in the same thin dress she and Elizabeth wore now. How desperate she had felt! She had seen her whole life before her, an endless parade of parties and gala dinners, yachts and polo matches. She had thought about ending it, taking the quick way out – but then Jack had come. Jack Dawson.
"You wouldn't have jumped," said Elizabeth. Jack had said the same thing, and maybe he had been right. Rose was a coward.
Oh how she wished she was brave like Elizabeth. Strong and unafraid, both mentally and physically. The pirates had even assigned her King among their Brethren, and she was a skilled sword fighter.
Unlike Rose, Elizabeth had stood up against her father when he wanted her to marry out of convenience. She had chosen Will – a simple blacksmith – instead of the renowned commodore her father would have preferred. When in the same situation, Rose had agreed to marry Cal, never openly defying her mother.
She envied her friend.
"Why wouldn't you have jumped, Rose? Think about it with a rational, open mind."
Again she recalled the stormy emotions from that night. She had thought about her mother and how badly Rose's death would impact her, she had also thought of alternatives – that there may be other ways to escape the trap and she ought to think it through first.
"I was being logical about it," she said, surprised. "I wasn't afraid of dying, I just did not want to cause my mother pain. And I wanted to live, I wanted to grow old and have an interesting life. I think I realized that there's always a lifeline, some way out."
"And then Jack Dawson came, and you grabbed the lifeline that was him. That took courage."
"You're right. In the end, I chose the man I wanted. I even let him draw a nude painting of me and put it in Cal Hockley's safe." She giggled at the memory. "And later I went down into the sinking ship to save him, cutting him loose with an axe. I am like you, Liz! "
She hugged her friend, no longer jealous.
"You are," said Elizabeth. "And now it's time to get down there again. Third Class awaits you!" She pointed at a stairwell.
Rose walked down the steps and came to a steel gate. Last time she saw that, it had been locked to keep the Steerage passengers inside until the First Class people had boarded the lifeboats. She felt a surge of rage at the memory. How cruel! So many innocent lives had been taken that night.
She passed through the gate and was in a familiar corridor, narrow and claustrophobic just like before, but at least it was not half full of water now. On the other end she saw a familiar man.
"Hey, slut!" he called. "I can't believe you got tired of your gutter rat already. You have worked your way through no less than three men in a month. Bravo!" He clapped his hands three times, one dark eyebrow raised sardonically. Caledon Hockley was a master of putting on a scornful face.
"You bastard!" growled Rose, starting to walk towards her former fiancé, and then speeding into a run. "I hate you! Thanks to people like you so many on the Titanic had to drown. Selfish, proud pricks who think of themselves as masters of the universe." She spotted a case with a fire-axe in it and paused to break the glass and pull it out, hefting the heavy tool in her both hands.
Cal only smiled languidly, his black eyes sparkling with mirth. It drove her mad. She wanted to mash that smirk off his too-pretty face with her axe.
She had almost reached him when she began to have second thoughts. She was still fuming with justified wrath but hesitated to cleave another person's face. It would be messy. And there was a Commandment forbidding it. She had never murdered before and now when she was just about to enter the afterlife probably was a bad time to start.
Her steps slowed until she was standing still, trembling, her heart pounding. What should she do?
"I am a master of the universe. Those who survived the Titanic were the better half of the passengers, whereas whores and beggars like you and your painter boy followed her down. It was for the better – cleansing the world of some of its trash." He still wore that infuriating smile.
"You…" Rose tried to kill him with her glare instead of with her axe. Then she remembered Elizabeth's trick and imagined Cal with his drawers on fire, white-hot flames scorching his balls. She saw before her inner eye how his smile changed into a shocked expression and he emitted an unmanly yelp of pain. The amusing picture made her chuckle.
The anger seeped off her and she dropped the axe to the floor with a heavy thud. Cal was just a little boy in a suit, a spoiled brat who had always gotten his way. He was not worth her time or her energy. Only her contempt.
"You're pathetic," she said calmly. "You lost your bride-to-be and your diamond, and soon you'll lose your youth and be a fat old man drinking brandy and smoking cigars while you complain about how you miss the old days. You'll never be happy because you measure happiness in wealth, and the more money you make the more you want. You'll never be satisfied."
Cals gaze softened in a way it never had in real life. "You're right. I'll never realize this, and therefore I'm going to die miserable and alone. But for you there is hope. I'm glad you didn't give in to your anger."
"I forgive you, Cal," said Rose.
He nodded his head in acceptance and indicated a door behind him, it had a blue sign saying 'Fourth Class'. "Time to move on."
Behind the door was a small chamber full of steam and foul smelling coal smoke from the ship's engines. In here, Rose and Jack had once hid from Cal's fiery manservant. A loud roar hit her ears from a big hole in the floor which led to the boilers. She unsteadily climbed down a ladder, noticing in the process that her clothes again had changed. She still had her comfortable boots but now her legs were covered with rough worker's pants, complete with bracers holding them up, and on top she wore a once white cotton shirt.
When she dropped to the floor below, the noise multiplied tenfold and she covered her ears with her hands. This was a hot and dirty place, bustling with activity as the insatiable furnaces were fed with a continuous supply of coal by strong-looking stokers.
Was this hell? But no, the men were singing a catchy song over the din and despite the terrible working conditions they looked cheerful.
Then she suddenly recognized one of the stokers. "Father!"
"Rose!" He gave her a hard hug, soiling her clothes further with his coal-coated hands, but instead of smoke he smelled his usual pipeweed and mothballs.
When she had wiped her eyes from an outburst of tears, she took a good look at the man before her. He seemed strong and fit, much unlike the way he had looked in life, and a lot more happy too.
"Welcome to an honest day's work," he said. "Here, take this, and we can do it together." He placed a shovel in her hands and grabbed a full wheelbarrow, pushing it to one of the blazing furnaces. Picking up a shovel of his own, he took turns with Rose to feed the fiery maw.
Soon Rose was soaking with sweat and the handle of the shovel had given her blisters, but it felt good too, using your body for hard labour.
"When I was alive I used to despise workers," yelled her father to override the roar from the fire. "I was such a sloth."
"Was that why you gambled?"
"No, that was because I was an addict."
"I wish I could have helped you."
He paused, resting on the shovel as he looked at her closely. "No Rose, an addict must help themself," he said seriously. "It was not your job." He stroked her cheek. "Now, get on with you to the next Class, I manage quite well for myself here."
She hugged him one last time. "See you in the afterlife, Papa."
"Don't hurry to it dear. Maybe there is another adventure waiting for you first, who knows?"
Rose left the boiler room and went up a long stair and through a door into an elegant gentlemen's smoking lounge. The contrast with the bustling area she had just left was striking; this place was silent, clean and very neat. The walls were mahogany panels and the linoleum floor tiled in red and blue, and comfortable leather chairs sat around several square card tables.
All the tables were unoccupied except for one, around which sat Mr Andrews who had built the Titanic, Mr Ismay of the White Star Line who owned her, and Mr Guggenheim, one of the millionaires who had drowned when she sank. Above them was a cloud of tobacco fumes and each held a brandy glass in one hand and a stack of pound notes in the other. The table was cluttered with cards and markers.
Rose took the vacant chair, noticing she was back in her burgundy dress as she sat. "What are you doing?"
Mr Andrews looked up and provided her with a friendly smile. "Ah, Rose. I'm sad to see that you died after all. I thought I had built you a strong ship, but alas, I was wrong. I was wrong in so many ways when I was alive."
"Same," said Guggenheim.
"I survived," said Mr Ismay.
"You were still wrong though," said Guggenheim.
"Wrong how?" asked Rose.
"We were greedy."
The other two nodded agreement.
"But we practice to be generous now," said Ismay, indicating the table. "We wager money and then we play. When someone wins he donates the pot to charity."
"What will you do when all the money's gone?"
"Then we will wager our clothes."
"Don't look so shocked," said Mr Andrews, smiling again. "You won't have to watch. You were never greedy, so this place is not for you. You'll find the Sixth Class that way." He pointed at a set of double doors with black wrought iron panels.
"The Dining Saloon!" She eagerly hurried to open them, being quite hungry after her exertion as a stoker. Behind the doors was the large, white room with its beautiful pillars she remembered so well, and one of the many tables was laden with all her favorite dishes. Gibbs sat at the table with a plate of cookies before him, he was just pouring coffee into a neat china cup.
"Coffee!" Rose almost ran to him. "Please, can I have a cup too?"
"Of course." The sailor gave her his broad, friendly smile and poured another cup. "Cheers, miss!"
"Cheers!" Rose clinked her cup together with his and put it to her mouth, but when she tasted the sweet, strong flavour she nearly spat it out again. "This is port wine!" She grimaced, disappointed.
"Have a cookie instead."
She gingerly tried one of them, but alas, it was hard and wooden, tasting exactly like hardtack crackers soaked in rum.
Suddenly she understood what this strange place was all about – the Classes, the people, the lessons.
"I'm not a glutton, why do I have to be punished with port wine and hardtack?" She heard how whiny her voice sounded, but she really missed coffee and nice food after her weeks at sea.
"It's so you'll realize what you'll be missing out on – if you go back."
"Go back? But… I thought there was no way back?"
"Hmm?" Gibbs smiled secretively.
Was there a way for her to return to the Caribbean Sea and her friends? Come to think of it, her father had hinted something similar. But could she dare to hope yet another time? And how would she ever find her way out of the Titanic?
"I must go. There is one last Class?"
"One more, aye."
A solid metal gate had appeared in the back of the room, with a huge seven painted on it. Rose opened it and found herself in the Cargo Hold, right before a brand new Renault touring car, and she was wearing one of the more daring dresses she had owned. She was not surprised.
"Lust," she sighed. That sin at least she had been guilty of many times, one of them in the back seat of that very vehicle.
Two old men stood with their backs to her, admiring the Renault, discussing its many comforts in low, cracked voices. As they turned around, she recognized them despite the changes many decades had brought upon their faces.
"Jack and Jack," she greeted them.
"Rose," they said in unison.
Jack Dawson opened the door to the upholstered back seat and politely helped Rose inside.
"Would you still have wanted me when I became like this?" he asked, sitting down beside her.
"Yes." Despite his wrinkled face and white, wispy hair she felt a warmth at seeing him again. His eyes were the same, and she realized she still saw his old self when looking at him. In her mind, he would always be that boyish young man she had fallen in love with. "We would have been good for each other, I think. With you, I would have lived the life I dreamed of, and you would have become more aspiring, not just meekly accepting the role society had designated for you."
"What about me, then?" Jack Sparrow squeezed himself in on her other side, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. He had lost almost all his teeth and the two remaining ones were brown. Probably all that sweet rum's work. His long hair was iron gray and as usual held back by a red scarf under his pirates' hat.
"Definitely." She desired him even now, as strange as that was. "With you I would have had so much fun. And annoyance. An adventurous life, never knowing what the next day would bring."
"What if you could have neither of us?" asked Jack Dawson. "I'm dead, and Sparrow cares only for his ship. What would you do then?"
"Nothing. I would be with my friends, maybe marry if I fell in love with another man and he loved me too – but there is nothing wrong with living alone. I don't need a man to make me happy."
"Then I shall escort you out," said Jack Sparrow, taking her hand in a frail grip.
She passed through yet another door and nearly bumped into Edward Smith, captain of the Titanic, who was looking through a round window where an iceberg floated past the ship.
"Good day, Captain," said Rose, smoothing out her pants. Now she wore the men's clothes she had used aboard the Barnacle. "Is this the end of the Locker?
"That's right, Miss DeWitt Bukater. Over there are the stairs with the clock, and you will find they go two ways; up and down. You are entitled to go up, if you so choose."
"Really?" Did he imply she was worthy of Heaven? Rose felt her lips quirk up.
"Oh, don't look so smug, it's none of your doing." The captain's white beard waggled when he chuckled. "You are entitled to go up because the entrance ticket has been paid for you."
"Paid? By whom?"
"The Captain, of course! Not me, obviously, because I'm dead. I'm talking of the Captain of Heaven. He loves you more than both those Jack's put together. He paid the price so that no matter what you've done you're forgiven. Can you accept that?"
"Yes." She felt a surge of warmth, a mingle of embarrassment and happiness. How could she not have realized? Then another thought struck her. "But if all is forgiven, why did I have to go through all those tests?"
"Because for you, going up the stairs is not the only choice. Now, get on with you, someone's waiting for you by the clock."
Rose looked up and with a sharp pang she saw it was Jack Dawson, young and handsome again, just like he had looked when he was alive.
She ran up the steps, two at a time, and Jack turned to meet her, a boyish grin brightening his face. He looked real in a way she could not quite explain.
"Is it really you?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "Not another ghost?"
"It's me." His smile widened. "And are you you?"
"Yes!" She blinked to hold back the tears burning in her eyes. Her heart burned with so many emotions she could not even sort them. Was she happy, or sad, or in love, or ashamed? Then his arms were around her and he smelled just as she remembered, his slim body felt the same and when he kissed her hungrily, so did his lips. It really was him!
"But why are you still here?" she asked when they finally broke the kiss. "It was a long time since you… passed away." She swallowed hard at the memory of his frozen body sinking to its grave at the bottom of the ocean.
"I just came from the seven terraces, there were a few things I felt I needed to settle. You too?"
"Yes." She swallowed again as a crushing wave of guilt hit her. "But I… I did not come here directly. It's hard to explain."
"Tell me." He smiled encouragingly.
So she did. With the clock ticking behind them she told him everything that had happened since they parted, not even leaving out her night with Jack. Her other Jack.
"You forgot me fast, didn't you."
Another wave of guilt hit her, but then she saw he was grinning wider than before.
"I'm only teasing you." He took her hand, stroking her fingers reassuringly. "I have learned not to be jealous or angry."
"I'm sorry I let go of you so soon."
His face turned serious. "Rose, when I said to never let go I was talking of life, not of me. Remember how I told you you would die an old lady in your bed? For you there's another choice. Someone has come to bring you back, and now you have to either let go of me – or follow me. You can't have both." He pointed up the stairs. "And that's where I'm going."
Rose saw a bright, white light shining down on her. She had to avert her eyes, but yet she felt a strong desire to get closer to it.
"Even if you leave now you'll get here later. And I'll wait for you. It'll be fun, you can tell me of your kids and all the exciting adventures you had." He meant it, she realized. He really was not resenting her for what had happened.
"Oh Jack!" She kissed him again, a farewell kiss this time. "You really are an amazing person."
"Just reformed. Up there we'll all be like this." He grinned. "I can see you've made your choice." He squeezed her hand, and dropped it. "Good luck."
He took a step upward, and then another one.
"I will never forget you, Jack!" she called after him. And then he was gone, enveloped by light and warmth.
Rose sighed and turned to walk back down when she saw another man standing at the foot of the stairs, regarding her calmly.
"Jack…" she whispered, again feeling the pressure of guilt. "You… you saw that?"
"I did." He looked a bit different from when they had parted after the summoning of Calypso, cleaner, calmer – almost like when he visited his daughter. His triangular hat was gone, but the red scarf at least remained, for which she was almost grateful. She needed him to look real.
"I didn't go with him," she said, walking down another step but hesitating to join him. He did not appear 'reformed', she was fairly sure he could still feel jealousy.
"I'm glad you didn't. But then, I've always been a selfish bastard." He smiled wryly as he reached up to take her hand, pulling her closer until she stood on the floor before him.
"You're not mad?"
He shook his head. "How could I be? You're clearly mentally unstable, choosing me over Mr Pretty Boy."
She laughed, but at the same time feeling her chest grow tight. What had it cost him to come here and look for her? Only to find her kissing another man.
Jack harkled. "Sorry if this will sound cheesy, but… I kind of practiced a li'l speech, savvy?"
"I'm all ears." Rose tried to look serious and failed. Oh Jack! He was so like himself, even here at the end of the world.
He fell on one knee, still holding her hand. "I want to be with you, Princess Rose. I own no shining armor, so I can't save you from a tower. But I was kinda hoping you could save me?"
"I can't," she said earnestly. His lips turned down in disappointment, but she quickly continued. "You must save yourself. That's how it works."
He rose on his feet again, pondering her words. Then he put his arms around her. "Well then. I'll try."
"That's a good start. One step at a time." She hugged him back.
They remained under the stairs for a long time, just hugging, not speaking. Then he took her hand and led her through the final door, out on a sandy beach. The air was warm and tiny crabs came crawling up to them, following in their wake as they walked hand in hand towards the glittering sea ahead.
"Those buggers have taken a liking to me after last time I was here," he said, poking at one of them with his toe and yelping when it pinched him.
At the shore a small dinghy waited for them, and inside it sat a familiar pig.
"What happened to the Black Pearl?"
"I had to make a sacrifice." He shrugged.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. She's only a ship, mate. I let her go." He helped her aboard and pushed the boat out a bit before jumping in next to her.
"You chose me before the Pearl?" She could hardly believe it was true.
"M-hm." He extended one of the oars.
"Wow. There goes your free pirate's life down the drain. With the rum."
"What?" He dropped the oar into the water with a splash. "I must have heard wrong, you meant the rum would go down my throat, right?"
"No, I meant the drain." She smirked. "Stop gaping Johnny, and get this boat going. Hector wants to see your house and meet your daughter."
"Alright then, horrible woman. So he shall." He grinned as he set sail, humming to himself: "Yo ho yo ho… Drink up me hearties yo ho!"
The wind caught the dinghy's tiny sail and soon they were on their way. Just your average family; a woman, a pirate and a pig, beginning a new adventure together.
The End
A/N:
I have stol… borrowed some ideas in this chapter from Purgatorio in Dante's Divine Comedy.
Thanks a lot to all who followed, read, favorited and reviewed this story! It means very much to me.
Special thanks for the reviews of the last chapter to 8Ball3 and Dream Plane! (Good to "see" you again DP!)
And if you, future Reader, followed this to the end, don't hesitate to leave a mark, say hello, tell me what you thought. :)
Now, on to something else! My mind is full of ideas. Goodbye!