Liverpool. March 1912

I'm slowly regaining consciousness. The head is pounding, severe pain in the chest. Opened my eyes barely. Outside the window is the sun. I am in a small unfamiliar bedroom. Strange furnishing. Furniture unusual...looks like a museum. Near the window there is a desk. On the chair is a dark-blue jacket, almost black, with three gold stripes of galloons.

I go to the mirror and fall into a stupor. A strange 30 something man is looking at me. The appearance, I must say, is much more interesting than mine. Look with the squint, neat nose, thin lips, slightly large ears. Maybe, It's for better hearing.

On the table is a family photo of a naval officer and four children of primary school age with him - two boys and two girls. How much do you have to earn, in order to maintain such a crowd. And where is the wife? Divorced or dead? Rather, the second. Judging by the clothes in the photo it's the first half of the 20th century, it was not customary to get a divorce there. From marriage, without shame, was one way out - death.

What's going on? Where I am? How come I'm not me anymore? No-no. It's just a nightmare or coma.

I'll try to sleep again and everything will be normal.

Awakening did not end this nightmare. Everything was the same: old fashioned wooden furniture, beautiful elegant white curtains, family picture, unfamiliar landscape outside the window. This landscape consisted of two-floor town-houses built of dark brick.

Never seen one like this in America. More like English style.

I'm digging through the pockets of my jacket. There is a paper. So...a sailor's certificate. Yeah, name is Henry, last name is Wilde. Hm-m-m sounds good. Even nice. Year of birth 1872, 21 September... age 39 years, no tattoos - already good. It would be better with no mermaids and anchors on the fingers.

The sailor's book indicates the ship on which this Henry is currently working: R.M.S Olympic Chief Officer. I whistle. Olympic, Olympic… something familiar. Oh God! Twin ship of Titanic. Conspiracy theorists even claimed that Olympic sank instead of Titanic. Nonsense, of course.

I lay down on the bed, staring blankly out the window trying to remember everything I know about Olympic and Titanic. And then a cold sweat goes through me. Henry Wilde was transferred from Olympic to Titanic a couple of days before the disaster. I even read his letter to daughter, where Henry wrote that he would return in 18 days. He will never return from that voyage. His four children will be orphaned, having lost their mother only a year and a half ago. In James Cameron's film, dead Wilde's whistle saves Rose from freezing in cold water.

Amazing perspectives. Being shot at home, only to slowly die of hypothermia in a couple of weeks here.

I think it's time to get out of here.

At the time of this thought someone knocked on the door of the room and a thin childish voice asked: "Daddy, are you sleeping?"

Сhildren are not in my , help me!