This chapter maybe a little distressing.

Chapter thirty three:

The study of the Hockley residence was silent. It was a small room with a dark oak décor. It was once lined with cabinets filled with files, sheets and every important document related to the business. All of which now meant nothing. They were burnt to absolute dust. There was nothing left here for a man to even start from scratch. The fire had long since deceased, leaving only an eerie black smoke which had charred his lungs past the point of any help. He didn't wish for help. He wished for the end.

Caledon Hockley glanced at the dark oak desk which had once been the place where he had worked. Drawn up ledgers. Conversed with Mr. Lovejoy, God rest his soul. His father had sat in the very seat some fifty years previous conjuring up a business plan which had gone on to become Hockley steel. One of the biggest steel companies in the United States. The desk, the chairs and the entire contents of this room had been moved across the ocean on the largest steamer to ensure that the good Hockley name was carried across to here. Upon arrival, around a year before, he had taken over most of the local area; collecting rents from shops, butchers, milliners and such. The farmers were rough, arguing bluntly with him as soon as they had seen his face. Perhaps that was the reason for the instant dislike. The mines had been owned by the previous Hockley line and so, taking over that had been his pride and joy.

The rent increase had affected the businesses, more than he had let on to his family. His father sat at his desk in Pennsylvania, so unaware of the turmoil. His elderly mother sat comfortably looked after by maids and under constant watch due to her dementia but she still lavishly existed. His wife who had never asked for anything but he had given her everything; all of the jewels, luxury and travel and in return, she had given him a daughter.

''You need to produce fine boys, Caledon. Fine, handsome young men who will represent this family and give life to more boys to carry on this family name.'' His father's words had been. The pressure had been constant for Rose to have another child. A son. Nathan had not been impressed upon hearing his only son had produced a girl. ''Girls turned into whores, they need training and they brought shame to the family but boys would turn into fine young men.''

A small photograph of a small, plump round face sat unburnt upon the desk cased in glass. His daughter. In eighteen or so years, she could be finding a suitor eligible to become her husband. No man would ever be good enough for the girl. The small number of times he had looked into the small pair of eyes, just smaller crystal versions of Rose's, he had failed to feel what he believed to feel when looking upon a son. A daughter was feeble. Too dependent on her mother. Too pretty to be even considered plain, yet, he would tell Rose that she was simply pleasant at best. Truth was, even though he felt no shred of emotion, there was no denying her beauty even as an infant.

He hysterically pushed the picture onto the floor and heard it smash into pieces. He couldn't bear knowing his daughter's eyes were watching his demise. He felt the anger build up inside, he smashed his fists into the wood but not even feeling the pain. Empty brandy bottles cluttered the room and cigar butts littered the floor. He flung open the top drawer of his desk and found a half drunk bottle of liquor. Shaking, he opened the lid discarding it across the room and brought the liquor to his lips. He downed half of it, feeling the numbness kick in and the pain subside. He dragged the drawer out to find clippings of all sorts mostly of his time with Rose; their engagement announcement, the wedding and announcing his arrival in Church Gresley.

He ripped them all into tiny pieces and began to feel his temper again. He ransacked the room, every award ever won, every document ever wrote out. He threw them all onto the floor creating one big mess. He stopped when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. His hair was greying, or so it seemed, the lines which had grown around his lines and the way his eyes had sunken in. He was his father's double and would continue to grow more like him every single day. He hated his own existence. He couldn't even look at his own reflection. Imagine having a house full of sons? Each one looking more like him each day. Teaching them just how to be such a man when even he was unsure just how great of a man he ever was to start with…

With one swift pull, the large mirror crashed to the floor with his own blood leaking onto the glass. Cuts covered his hands but he ignored their stings. He found his brandy once again, he down the rest as he felt the continued burning. He found his way to the chair behind the desk again. His name tag sat on the desk Caledon Hockley, he laughed pathetically. He glanced down at his own suit, black in colour. The colour of his soul. The colour of his heart. He had lost everything he had built. He was a failure. He had no reason to live. He wouldn't live much without medical attention either. The smoke refused to settle even if the flames did but he kept breathing it in. Oblivious to the pain of it now.

Losing his wife to a gutter rat was a bitter bullet to swallow. But he had done so. Watching the man rise like a phoenix from ashes carrying his beloved Rose across the once beautifully manicured lawns of Hockley House.

Jack Dawson had turned out to be a saviour. Perhaps even almost a gentleman. Rubbing his face, Cal ignored the sting of smoke lingering even though the fire had been extinguished about an hour ago. The fire men had worked, effortlessly to put it out. He could have helped. He could have fought for his home. For the ruins of a beautiful life. But what was the point?

''Damnit all to Hell.'' He could barely even whisper at this point.

Cal pulled out the bottom drawer, knowing what it held. He didn't even shake as he held the cold silver gun in his hand. He knew what to do because he had shot a gun on many occasions. He didn't even close his eyes as he raised the gun to his head; he opened his mouth tasting the coldness, the metallic coldness. He knew there was only one bullet left.

Pulling it away, for a moment, he contemplated life with a son and not a daughter. A man's son was supposed to be the most precious thing in one's life. A son to carry on the family name. A son to carry on the family business. A man would raise their boy to be strong, bear no weakness and to never back down. To go for what they wanted and not take no for an answer. Those were the things which Nathan Hockley had passed onto his only son, Caledon during his teenage years and when he had finally become a man; he was everything a well brought up boy should be.

Now, Caledon was thirty one. Not old by any standards. In early spring of the previous year, he had become engaged to the recently débuted Rose Dewitt Bukater. He was introduced to her at one of his father's parties; they were engaged within the month. Rose had been the most beautiful woman at all of the galas, and she was on his arm. His Father had been impressed by his choice of bride. ''Young enough to breed, wide hips for carrying beautifully, she will give you a mass of sons.'' Caledon had grinned at his prize. Yes, she would have. But she hadn't.

More than anything though. She had hurt him, taking another in her bed. Yes, he had been angry, reacted awfully but he had loved her, truly or whatever felt like love. He hadn't treated her well, he knew that much. He had never forgiven her for giving him a daughter, but now, his guilt riddled body just wore on living with the hurt which he had caused.

''So, who's the beauty Caledon?'' Nathan had watched his son with his eyes on the red head.

''Rose Dewitt Bukater, daughter of the late Robert. And, she sure is a pistol father.'' His eyes had twinkled, more so than ever before.

Nathan laughed. ''But can you handle her?''

''Of course. I thrive on a challenge. Taming a beauty like her will not be so difficult.''

But it had been. She had never been tamed. She refused to be. She had other ideas, other things to do. He had ideas for her; when she had married him in front of hundreds… they would honeymoon in exotic land and then he would return to run the business and she would bear their sons. Rose's place was at home, with the children. She would attend the country club, the writing clubs, indulge in the odd art gallery, the odd book and would certainly keep her opinions to herself at galas. None of which she did. She had infuriated him and yet that was part of his passion for her. But he had failed her.

She had failed him, too.

They were never meant to be together.

Perhaps they should have never moved to England so that she would become a lady. But he had believed that she deserved to be the highest that there could be…

Rose had done just about everything a woman could do to ruin a man. And he was a man who had never quite felt pain like it. Anything had to feel better than this? Perhaps even death.

''Father will be displeased,'' he croaked, aloud to himself. ''Perhaps my mother will finally die, sitting in that damned home without a care in the world but yet the crazy fool will outlive us all.''

Through a hazy vision, Cal located his bottle of brandy and sought comfort in the rest of the bottle.

''God damned whore,'' he laughed, ''stupid…fool.''

His vision dimmed then. Yet, as clear as day, he saw the gutter rat, with his wife, and his daughter, but she was older…prettier. Less….plump. She could walk and talk. She was….beautiful. And judging by how she smiled, she was happy.

''Happier without me.''

Cal knew there was only one bullet left in his gun.

He didn't even hesitate as he squeezed the trigger.

I just want to say in this chapter, although we spend most of this story hating him and not understanding his reasons for forcing Rose to have another baby and his cruelty and bullying, I also wanted to show that he was still a person. A person living in a time with such strict barriers. I wanted to get inside his mind just a little. I still detest him, but hopefully this will make people have a slight bit of empathy of his actions.