Chapter Nine

The morning was just coming to life. Outside, Jack could hear the raised voices of his neighbours, and the cheerful cries of their two small children mingled with a dog's bark. However, while the boisterous bustle of everyday life continued around him, Jack had no desire to join it this morning. Instead, he lay alone in his room, gazing at the dirty ceiling. His eyes idly took in a crack that was beginning to snake its way across the plaster. The weeks since his return had passed in an instant, his days filled with a million small diversions. Searching for work in a small town, even his home town, wasn't easy, and it seemed that everywhere he turned there were old friends waiting. He didn't seem to be able to walk down a street without hearing a voice cry out his name, and Jack suddenly felt weary just thinking about it. He had always cherished his freedom, and again, he wondered if his return had been a mistake. He didn't feel like the person who had been when he had left here so many years ago, and he wondered if he would ever fit in again; or if he ever had at all. By some instinct possessed only by those living in a small town, everybody seemed to recognise the sadness that haunted his face; no one was in any doubt that Jack Dawson had returned because he had seen trouble in his life. The constant sympathy and unspoken willingness to 'help' was beginning to grate on his nerves.

The room was very quiet, and he enjoyed the rare solitude, although it was a little frightening. Suddenly, he was alone with his thoughts, free to follow whatever path they took him. At least since returning home, he'd been to busy and distracted to allow his despair to take over. He realised with a shock that he had been blocking out reality, immersing himself in a million meaningless tasks just in an effort to forget. He had thought he was coping, but now, with just a moment alone all his pain once again rose to the surface.

Opening his eyes wide to hold back the tears he suddenly felt comforted by the quiet and peace of early morning. He felt close to Rose again suddenly, and for a fleeting moment, wondered if somewhere, somehow, she might be thinking the same thoughts. Despite his best efforts, a tear silently slipped down his face as he desperately hoped that, wherever she was, she was happy. "You deserve that, at least." Jack whispered silently to himself. Somehow, Jack was sure she had heard his silent wish.

An impatient rap on the door shattered his dreams. Rose's presence seemed to linger just a second longer, before the spell was broken by Eliza's high pitched whine.

"Jack!" she cried "I know you're awake in there. Now hurry up and open this door. I need to talk to you." When Jack failed to respond, she continued petulantly. " It's important!" Jack could almost picture her throwing back her hair with an irritated flourish.

Jacked sighed wearily as he trudged to the door. He would get no peace until he dealt with her problem, , but he resented the interruption. Eliza had been nothing but trouble from the first, just as every instinct Jack possessed had warned him she would be. Unable to take no for an answer, she had latched onto Jack determinedly, and was seldom willing to let him out of her sight. Jack had overheard the giggled conversations with her friends, knew that she had described him as ' a catch.' "I'm determined to make him mine," she had laughed with friends, only half joking. "And you know that when I'm determined it's only a matter of time until I get what I want!" Flinging the door open angrily, the expression on his face was one of contempt. "What do you want, Eliza!" he cried sharply.

Even Eliza seemed a little taken aback by the angry glint in his eyes but, undaunted, she raised her eyebrows in an attempt to look seductive, and glanced at Jack out of the corner of her eyes. He merely sighed deeply, entirely sick of her posing .

"My, my" she trilled. "didn't we get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Mr. Dawson." She continued with a hint of ice in her voice. "May I remind you that you are a guest in this house-for now, at least" she added meaningly. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she glared at Jack with a look of triumph in her eyes.

The hint was not lost on Jack. No matter how obnoxious Eliza was, he was dependent on the Townsend's hospitality for the time being. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, and grasping the door frame for support, his voice had a defeated tone to it as he spoke through clenched teeth. "All right, Eliza. What on earth could be so important?"

Eliza giggled playfully, and for a moment Jack thought she was going to attempt a little ballet twirl, she seemed so girlish and innocent again . Jack marvelled at her ability to switch face at will. One minute cold and malevolent, her pretty face now bore nothing but a sweet, genuine smile. She leaned a little closer to Jack, as if inviting him into her confidence. Instinctively, he drew back. He couldn't help it- every time she moved closer, Rose's face swam before his eyes again, and he was filled with an unreasonable sense of guilt. Even though he wasn't the slightest bit interested in Eliza, he felt the shame of betraying Rose just by being in the same room, just by putting up with her flirting without telling her firmly that there could never be anything between them. As he pulled away, he caught the quick flash of anger that coursed through Eliza's blue eyes.

Pretending not to notice, Eliza spoke slowly. "Well..." she began coyly, feigning shyness as she stared down at the floor. "I was thinking about the ball at the Mason's house tonight." Jack breathed in sharply, not at all liking the direction this conversation was taking. Catching the look in his eyes, Eliza's voice rose defensively. "You practically promised you'd escort me, it's the proper thing to do as a guest in this house' she cried, her face suddenly flushed with anger.

"What!!" Jack cried in a sudden burst of anger. "I promised nothing at all! And believe me, I have no intention of escorting you or anyone else to the Mason's ball! Especially not you! I wouldn't go if..if.." Jack searched helplessly for a suitably crushing retort. "I wouldn't go if you paid me!!" he finished lamely, his unconvincing words betrayed by the anger in his voice.

An expression of horrified shock crossed Eliza's face, her cheeks flushing red with anger. Jack wondered briefly how many people had ever had the courage to turn her down before, let alone in anger. She seemed shocked into silence for a minute, but before Jack could move, her fury took centre stage once more. Pushing Jack aside rudely, Eliza dashed across the room and sat heavily on the bed, determined that nothing would make her budge. "I'm not moving until you agree," she countered childishly. Folding her arms across her chest defiantly, she held Jack's steady gaze until suddenly, something snapped inside Jack. He was sick of it. Absolutely sick of Eliza and her innuendo, her little games. He wasn't going to listen to it anymore.

"You do what you like," Jack spoke scornfully. "I'm tired of listening to you, trying to keep you happy just because I'm a guest in this house. You're a spoiled little brat." He paused briefly, remembering the last time he had spoken those words. That time, they had been spoken with warmth and affection, his words spilling over themselves as he tried to express his feelings, but now there was nothing but anger in his voice. "It's about time someone showed you what you really are!" he added in a final burst of anger. Turning quickly, he grabbed his sketchbook and portfolio from the dresser and stamped out of the room, slamming the door with a crash that echoed down the hallway.

Left alone in Jack's room, Eliza could still feel the angry tension that filled the air. Her heart raced with rage, and she lashed out helplessly, grabbing a charcoal sketch of Rose that had been tacked up on the wall and spitefully tearing it in two.

Gazing at the pieces of paper as they fluttered to the floor, Eliza studied the fragmented image with interest. Who was she? An old girlfriend, perhaps? Gazing at the loving attention to detail that the drawing revealed, it was clear to Eliza that this girl was special to Jack. Yet he never spoke of her, never saw her; it was a mystery. Eliza, who never allowed an opportunity to slip through her cunning fingers, stored the girl's face away carefully in her memory for the future. After all, she reasoned, you just never knew when a bit of knowledge might be useful.

Eliza's rage was slowly subsiding, replaced with something far more dangerous- a desire for revenge. Slowly, Eliza's hand was drawn to the necklace that rested at her throat. A valuable diamond... suppose it were to suddenly... disappear? Slowly, a wicked grin spread across her lips.


Alone on the hillside overlooking the town, Jack took a deep breath, trying to put his thoughts back in order, to calm his racing mind. This had always been the place he'd retreated to when he needed to be alone, when he longed for solitude and a chance to put the confusion into perspective. It was where he'd come to cry the tears that no one else had shared following his parents' deaths, the only place where he had felt able to let his anger and loneliness out. He'd often run here as a child to be alone to draw, and it was here that he had dreamed of escaping the small town that had seemed like a prison. Some of his earliest drawings were of the view spread out before him- the tiny church with its steeple that rose defiantly against the sky, the scattered farms and outbuildings, the village school.... Jack smiled as a memory flooded his thoughts, his voice wryly proclaiming "He draws landscapes." For a second, the joy and anticipation of that moment racedthrough him again.

But, now Jack realised, even then his drawings had meant more to him than a mere reproduction of the scenes in front of him. He had always tried to represent the soul of whateverhe drew- it had been evident even in his earliest work. Even now, he could see the character in everything around him- the school buildings, although old and shabby, still looked friendly and inviting, with children's work hanging in the windows. The church stood proudly, evidently the centre of a close knit community. Everything he saw was full of life and meaning.

But it was not the view he drew today. As always these days, his hands were drawn to create a million versions of the same image. Flicking through the sketch pad, Rose's face stared out at him, over and over again, each drawing an attempt to hold onto her memory, an attempt to do what he had never had the chance to do in life: to hold onto each precious moment they had shared, to cherish it and to never let it ecape. "To making it count" he said softly, staring down at Rose's smiling face once more. Each sketch lovingly captured the smallest details, captured, it seemed to Jack, the very essence of what she had been, what he had loved about her. Her eyes shone, and her face lit up as she smiled. Everything about her suggested someone full of excitement, on the verge of a new life. And now it had all been taken away.

Jack bit his life hard, so hard it caused him to gasp in pain. Alone on the empty hillside, there was not a sound except a distant bird's cry. The sound was so desolate and pitiful that he was filled with despair., realising that he had never felt so completely and utterly alone. Pulling fretfully at the grass growing at his feet, Jack twired it unconsciously around his anxious fingers, trying to keep pace with his racing thoughts. He had never imagined himself to be lonely before. Despite his wandering existance, this crushing sense of isolation was new to him. He had never experienced the sheer terror of having no one to turn to that he was so acutely aware of now. The sky seemed so vast and the countryside so huge he almost felt it might swallow him and, feeling the wrenching, tearing emotions that grippped him, Jack suddenly understood why people spoke of their hearts breaking,. More than ever, all Jack wanted was to throw hsi arms around Rose, to bury his face in her hair and never let her go again. He could almost feel her warmth, the beat of her heart against his. The loneliness of this hillside only seemed to bring reality into painfully sharp fous; what he longed for could never be. The finality of this fate rang in Jack's head like a death knell.


Eliza giggled aloud as she glanced around Jack's room, making sure that nothing was amiss. The necklace was safely tucked away in his top drawer. Clapping her hands with malicious joy, Eliza skipped from the room.

Finding her mother preoccupied in the kitchen, Eliza solemnly adopted an appropriate expression of concern. "Mother!" she cried. "I'm terribly worried. I simply cannot find my diamond pendant anywhere! I'm so worried it may have been stolen." She paused dramatically.

Violet Townsend was well used to Eliza's flair for melodrama, and merely chuckled. "Eliza, please, calm yourself! I'm sure you've just misplaced it."

Taking a deep breath, Eliza lowered her voice to a whisper.

"But Mother, you see, I would naturally have thought that myself, but as I walked down the hall earlier, I noticed Mr Dawson leaving my room. I hate to make accusations, but you know how he often speaks of how little money he has..." Her voice trailed off suggestively.

Violet Townsend's eyes narrowed. She had always liked Jack, and found it hard to imagine him doing such a thing. Still... it had been a long time since she had last seen him, and she had a great mistrust of those who travelled abroad. Who knew what habits he may have picked up, traipsing around from place to place, living like some sort of gypsy? She hesitated, then studied the winsomely trustful expression on her daughter's face.

"Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to look in his room."


Jack trudged home, a biting wind blowing his hair uncomfortably in his eyes, but he was too distracted to notice. In one afternoon, it was as though all the grief, all the guilt that he'd forbidden himself to admit to had finally risen to the surface. For the first time he'd felt free to yell, to shout his anger, to cry and speak Rose's name aloud., Yet somehow, he found that only deepened his despair. He found himself truly understanding what he had lost forever, and it was almost more than he could bear.

His feet carried him forward without him realising it, until he found himself at the Townsend's door. It squeaked forebodingly as he pushed it open, and found himself staring into the accusing glares of Violet and Eliza Townsend. It was Violet who spoke first. Glancing at Jack with contempt, her voice was frosty.

"I think it's time you left."