Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. Rough week. . . been trying to squeeze the last-minute summer reading and math homework in. School starts Tuesday, so the next chapter probably won't be up til Friday or Saturday. Sorry about that :-( But thanks again for all the reviews!!! They are MUCH appreciated-- it's a really good feeling to go to my mailbox and see one of those review alert emails. Thank you all for taking the time to review. Oh, and an historical note for this chapter: I've heard two different stories. One is that Will Murdoch didn't actually commit suicide, but rather, he gave his lifejacket to a passenger and went down with the ship. The other is that supposedly, either Murdoch or Henry Wilde shot themselves that night, but no one seems to be sure which officer it was. Considering that Murdoch's home town in Scotland got reeeeally pissed off at James Cameron when the movie came out for the whole Murdoch-shoots-two-passengers-then-kills-himself-too, I'd go with the first one. But I am trying to follow the movie the best I can . . . anyway, enjoy, and please review if you have time!!

EIGHT

I was the first one out the door to the deck, so naturally it was I who was hit first with the gust of a shockingly cold breeze that swept over the boat deck. I looked around as the others spilled out behind me, half searching for Thomas, an involuntary shiver running the length of my spine. It was my first time out to the deck since Thomas and I had gone inside after the escapade in the chartroom, and the change was incredible.

Before, there had only been crewmen every few feet, rushing around, trying to get the falls hooked up to the davits. Now, it was nearly pure chaos. Passengers rushed every which way, desperate to get to a lifeboat. Crewmen hurried back and forth among them. And the noise-- there was sound ranging from quiet talking to thunderous shouting. I jumped a mile as a flare went off high above our heads, letting off a series of explosive pops.

"C'mon!" Jack said; I shook myself from my daze and followed as he launched himself on the railing to see farther down the ship.

"The boats are gone!" Rose cried, and as I looked, I saw she was almost right. There were a mere two boats, way up near the stern.

Je-sus. Two lifeboats. Remembering the blueprints again as we raced to get to the other side of the ship, I glanced to the highest decks, where I saw the two collapsible boats, far to the front of the ship. Okay, four lifeboats left. That sure as hell didn't leave much time to find Thomas.

I nearly ran into a squat, well-dressed gentleman; I tried to keep going with a "sorry", but Rose said, "Colonel!" I looked again, and recognized the man this time-- he'd been one of the people sitting at the table with us during dinner Saturday. "Are there any boats on that side?"

"No, miss," he said to Rose. "But there are a couple of boats all the way forward. This way; I'll lead you."

But we were already gone, becoming part of the chaos as we rushed toward the bow.

Okay, I thought to myself as we went. You absolutely have to get back to Thomas before you leave. You are NOT going anywhere until you see him again. But then . . . suddenly a new thought came to mind. Are you honestly going to get into a lifeboat and leave Thomas behind on a sinking ship!? You can't!!

"Jack," I said, hurrying to the front of our group as we jogged along. "Jack, I can't stay with you guys. I have to find Thomas."

"I don't think so." he said incredulously. "We've got to get you on a boat."

"I'm not getting off yet," I said firmly. "I've got to see him again." as an afterthought, I added, "You'd do the same for Rose."

Jack glanced over at the soggy redhead next to him, and when his eyes returned to mine, they had softened quite a bit. "You're right." he said quietly, slowing down until we could stop.

"What's all this?" Tommy said, staring from me to Jack.

"She's going to find Andrews." Jack told him, and reached out to squeeze my shoulder. "Be careful, alright?"

"You got it," I said, knowing full well that this could be the last time I saw Jack. Or any of them. I glanced at Tommy.

"You're insane." he decided, and a short distance away, I heard the familiar strings of the band picking up "Orpheus." "How're y'gonna make it to a boat?"

"I don't know yet," I said, pained at Tommy's upset expression. "But I'm not leaving without saying good-- good-bye to him." My breath had caught in my chest at the word "good-bye", and it began to sank in that if Thomas and I couldn't both find a boat, it really would be so long for good.

There was a long pause, in which Tommy looked at Jack and Fabrizio, and back at me. "Then go," Tommy told me gently, eyes terribly sad. "No one's stoppin' y'."

I turned to Fabrizio, realizing that this might be good-bye for us as well. "Fabri, I--"

Fabrizio kissed me on both cheeks. "Go to him, Carrie." he said, dark eyes sad but accepting. "Amore finds a way. Always."

My lower lip trembled as I tried to smile. "Guys. . ." Tommy held me in a quick but tight hug; I closed my eyes, silently cursing at his lifebelt. Though thin, it seemed to keep us at such a distance, just as it had with Thomas earlier in the hall. "Thanks." I said to all of them, swallowing hard. "Thanks for everything."

Jack nodded slightly. "Go, Carrie."

I forced myself to move, fighting burning tears. Cry later, I thought to myself, and, feeling numb, realized that I probably would be doing a lot of it when this whole thing was over. . . if it ever was over. God, it seemed like ages ago that Thomas and I had stood together in the chartroom, and he'd nearly fallen apart.

Stop it! It was as though my conscience had just yelled in my ear. Quit thinking about the past and the future! Start thinking about right now! Where can you go to search for Thomas!?

You can't waste time just scouting for him, I realized. It'll take too long-- you'll never find him. . .

A crewman rushed past me, and I was struck with an idea. All I had to do was find an officer, a first-class passenger-- anyone who would know Thomas, and ask if they'd seen him nearby, or what direction he'd gone in. I nearly nodded. Yeah, that was a good plan. I took off, heading for the stern section.

As I went, my ears again picked up the jumpy notes to the finishing sweep of "Orpheus". The band, I realized. They know Thomas, and they might have seen him going by. I hurried in their direction, and they came into view hardly ten seconds later. Wally Hartley, the violinist, was just about to start another piece; I hurried to catch him before he did so.

"Mr. Hartley!" I called, and skidded to a halt before him, nodding to the other members. "Hi. Look, sorry to interrupt you guys-- I dunno if you remember me from the other night--"

"Miss Stevenson," Hartley said warmly, extending his hand in greeting. "Yes, we remember you well. One hell of a night, this one, eh?"

I returned the handshake and couldn't suppress a smile, even as I realized that his fingers were freezing. "Got that right," I said. "Just wanted to know if you've seen Thomas Andrews around."

From the sad look on Hartley's face, I knew he hadn't. "I'm sorry, Miss Stevenson." he said quietly. "Haven't seen him at all." he looked toward the other band members, who gave similar replies.

"Well, damn." I muttered, then smiled at them. "Thanks for the help. You guys, uh. . ."

Without warning, I felt so saddened that I could hardly breathe. Somehow I knew that the band would be playing until water was sloshing around their heels. They probably had no chance of survival. I looked at each one of them, memorizing their features. It took one hell of a lot of guts to be stationary like this on a sinking ship, denying your screaming instincts to get to higher ground, to try to find a lifeboat. All this to play music that no one heard.

It was as though Hartley was reading my thoughts, and he said softly, "We'll be alright, Miss Stevenson."

I tried to swallow over the lump in my throat. "Mr. Hartley," I managed. "The name's Carrie."

His smile was sad. "Then you might as well call me Wally."

I tried to force images from my mind of a solitary violin floating on icy black water, stars reflected in its polished surface, tiny waves lapping at its sides. "Thanks again." I looked at all of them. "And thank you for the music."

Wally gripped my shoulder for a moment, nodding ever so slightly. "Thank you for the compliments."

I took in a deep breath. "Can I make a request?"

"By all means."

"Sometime before. . ." I couldn't bring myself to say it. ". . . will you guys play 'Nearer My God to Thee'?"

A tiny, longing smile surfaced on Hartley's face. "We were discussing that earlier, Carrie. Of course we will."

I had to get out of here before I completely broke down. I nodded again to express my gratitude, and forced myself to keep moving, fighting a furious battle with my tears. I won that battle-- for now.

Ahead of me, I could see two lifeboats being readied to lower, the crowds thick around them. There were bound to be officers there; I hurried toward the nearest boat. I forced my way through the crowd, pushing past shoulders and squeezing between people. Near the boat, I noticed that a man whom I recognized as Fourth Officer Boxhall was escorting the women over the rail to the lifeboat seats. "Mr. Boxhall!" I called over the din.

He turned toward the sound of his name, and held out his hand, gesturing. "Step forward, miss!"

He thought I was trying to get on the boat. I called again. "No, I'm not getting on-- I just wanted to know--"

"Would you please step forward!" he said, annoyance creeping into his voice.

"Have you seen Thomas Andrews!?" I said, not moving an inch.

"For the last time, miss, will you please step forward--"

"Forget it!" I snapped, turning, knowing that there were plenty of other officers somewhere who could help. In fact, there was one with his back turned by the davits, talking to that crew--

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind and yanked me from the floor, spinning me around. "No!" I cried as I was dropped into the lifeboat amid a gaggle of women and children. I looked back at Boxhall, wide-eyed and horrified at what he'd just done. "Get me out of this boat!"

"She's the last!" he was calling to someone near the davits. "Prepare to lower!"

"Wh-- no!" I launched myself toward the rail of the ship to climb back on, but two sets of arms grabbed my wrists and yanked me back into my seat. Dumbstruck, I looked at the women responsible.

"It's for the best, miss." the one of them said sadly.

"You'll see your man again someday." the other one said.

"You don't understand!" I said, standing up again, only to be pulled forcefully back downward.

"Mad with grief," one of the women said, shaking her head.

This couldn't be happening! I couldn't leave yet! Jesus, I cannot stay here! I couldn't leave Thomas here without him ever knowing what happened to me, and vice versa! Shaking like mad, I remembered his words to me, how he'd said to take a lifeboat if I got the chance.

And for once, somehow, his words didn't mean chicken shit.

"Lower away!" Boxhall shouted.

I regarded the scene before me in pure shock. It was like being trapped in a nightmare. A sick, twisted, frightening nightmare, except that everything was almost painfully hard and real, instead of dream-like. "You can't do this!" I hollered at Boxhall as the lifeboat began to drop. "Get me out of this God-damned boat!"

"Steady, men, steady!"

I watched the inches grow as the boat was lowered toward the sea. Desperate for help, I looked back toward the officer I'd noticed a few moments ago, thinking that maybe if I knew him, he'd help. Maybe. . . a terrible, impossible hope rose within me. Maybe it would even be--

It was.

"Murdoch!" I yelled, loud as my voice would allow, relief and fear pounding through my veins at the same time. "Will!" He didn't turn; he was still speaking with the crewmember.

And from the looks of it, he was about to leave.

Somehow I knew that if he left, I might as well abandon all hope for getting out of the lifeboat. "Crazy, I tell you." one of the women latched onto my wrist was saying. "She's absolutely mindless with grief!"

I ignored her. "Will!"

Still, the first officer didn't turn. He made a step to move away.

No!

I launched myself to my feet, shook off the women, and cupped my hands around my mouth, gathering as much air as my lungs could hold. I bellowed, "WILLIAM MCMASTER MURDOCH!!!!"

It worked. He turned at the sound of his name, and, realizing it was someone in the boat, he leaned over the railing. Will's eyes met mine, and then grew wide. "What's the matter?" he called down.

"Get me out of this thing!" I pleaded. "It was a mistake! Boxhall threw me in!"

Murdoch's eyes turned from surprised to serious. He said quickly to a crewmember. "Slow it, lads, and stop!"

The lifeboat slowed jerkily, and finally stopped.

Murdoch turned back to me, nose pink with the cold. "You want out of this boat?"

"I need out of this boat." I assured him, our eyes still locked across the fifteen feet that separated us. He was my only link to getting back up there.

Murdoch's eyes finally lifted from mine and flickered toward Boxhall, then back to me. "Well, we can't pull the boat back up," he said. "Can you climb the falls, then get onto the railing?"

I looked at the ropes, then up at the davits. The distance from rope to rail was large, but manageable. "Yeah." I said, climbing through the lifeboat to the left side of it. "Will you give me a hand?"

"Certainly," Murdoch said, and turned to the crew. "Keep it right there, lads, don't move it!" He moved to the part of the rail closest to the rope; there was about four feet separating it.

I looked at the rope. I'd climbed ropes before; it was no big deal-- but I'd never climbed one over a frigid sea into which the world's grandest ship was sinking. Just the sight of it told me that one slip, one misstep could send me hurling three stories into the icy water with no hope of getting back onto the ship.

I gulped and stepped onto the ledge of the boat, taking hold of the rope. "See?" one of the women was saying. "I told you she was mad."

I tested the falls to make sure that the davits would hold the extra stress, then reached up, tightened my grip, and pulled myself up, locking my legs around the coarse ropes. They were unbelievably stiff from being so taut with the weight of a boat and forty passengers. I pulled myself up another foot, realizing angrily that another twenty people could have sat comfortably in it.

Halfway there, sweat was rolling off of my forehead despite the freezing air and my numb fingers. "Come on," Murdoch was urging quietly, while I forced myself not to look down. "Come on, not much farther. . ."

The muscles in my arms were burning; I gritted my teeth and kept going as the crowd in the lifeboat watched me with bated breath. Murdoch, Boxhall, and the several crew members were also watching this intently. Murdoch's eyes were glassy and wide; Boxhall was watching grimly, clearly ashamed for not keeping me on the deck.

"Okay," I said when I was level with the railing, my arms trembling as I gripped the rope. It was fifteen feet down to the lifeboat, and then three stories to the ocean.

Murdoch said, "Alright, listen. Reach out your arm to us, and we'll take it. Then you give us your other one, and we'll pull you over."

I nodded, shortly and quickly. "Got it." I slowly removed my hand from the rope; it was red from its work on it, and it trembled. The muscles in my other arm tightened further as the weight of my body was transferred to it. Murdoch, who'd stripped off his gloves, reached out as well, until he could take my arm at just above the elbow, and at the wrist. Boxhall stood close by, ready to assist.

"Now the other one," Murdoch said, swallowing.

I started to release the rope, then gasped and nearly yanked my other arm away from Murdoch's when I slipped a few inches, realizing that in taking my hand from the rope, I'd go down.

"It's alright!" Murdoch said quickly, eyes staring intently into mine. "I'm not going to let you go. Trust me, Carrie. You're not going to fall."

I was trembling violently by this time, knowing that by reaching my other arm out to Boxhall, I'd go down a few feet. I took a deep breath to try to steady myself, and closed my eyes for a moment. You can do this, I thought.

Murdoch's hands tightened. "Come on, Carrie." he said quietly. "You'll be fine."

I opened my eyes, staring into his intent ones. I knew I could trust him-- and Boxhall. With a final, quick, silent prayer, I shot my other arm out toward Boxhall.

Just as I suspected, I fell several feet. Such adrenaline rushed through me that I felt about as strong as a newborn puppy; I nearly cried out, but realized that I was safe, hanging in Murdoch's and Boxhall's grip, and that they were slowly pulling me upward. "Need a hand here!" Murdoch hollered.

I took in another deep breath, my feet hanging into space. I then tightened my own grip on Murdoch and Boxhall, and pulled myself up as well. Another crewman took hold of another part of my arm, and finally, Murdoch was able to get his arm around me. I held onto his neck for dear life as he pulled me the rest of the way over the railing and set me down gently on my feet.

The crowd by the boat cheered and clapped. Murdoch, an arm still supporting me, said to Boxhall, "Take them the rest of the way down." And he drew me to the other side of the davits, by the railing.

"Will," I said, struggling to breathe properly, still shaking violently. "I don't know how to begin to thank--"

"Don't worry about it," he said gently, smiling a tiny smile at me. "It's alright. You're safe now."

"Thank you," I said, taking in a deep breath of cold air. "Thank you."

He nodded, slightly, then said, "Why is it you wanted to come back up?"

"Thomas." I said simply, meeting his concerned stare. "Listen, I have to get moving-- have you seen him around?"

Murdoch, looking half surprised, said, "He came by and asked me earlier if I'd seen you anywhere. . . after that I saw him heading for the grand stairs entrance."

I nodded, feeling hopeful somehow that Thomas had asked for my whereabouts, but wondered why in the hell he'd chosen to go back inside. "Okay, thanks." I looked at Murdoch then, and felt an all too familiar pang of intense sorrow. He'd never take a lifeboat, I knew that for certain. He was most likely going to stay on the ship until it disappeared into the Atlantic. Suddenly, I realized that I was staring at a man who had probably less than an hour to live. And from the look he was giving me, I knew that he knew it as well.

"Will, I. . ." What do you say to someone who knows that their life is nearing its end? "Thanks for all the help you gave me the other day, and for everything you've done. . . your friendship has been really very valuable to me."

In his eyes I saw that my words had touched a chord; his cheeks reddened even more. "Carrie," he said finally, quietly. "Thank you for that. It means. . . means a lot to me."

I tried to think of something to say in return, but my mind was full of too many thoughts. My lower lip trembling, I could only wrap my arms around him in a tight embrace; he returned it, his freezing ear pressed against my cheek. I was surprised to notice that, under his bulky coat, he was trembling, though from nerves or cold I didn't know-- it was probably a combination of both.

I didn't want to let go at all, knowing deep down that I would never again talk to Murdoch, never see another of his smiles, never be able to obtain any more advice from him. When I finally pulled back, it was an effort to keep my eyes from glazing over with tears. "What's this, now?" Murdoch said gently, seeing the look on my face. I tried to respond, but knew that if I opened my mouth I'd end up sobbing. He knew it, too. "Carrie," he said, one hand on my shoulder, staring intently into my eyes. "Tears won't do you any good, and you know that. Please don't worry about me-- I've lived my life. I'm lucky enough to have been blessed in it with friends like yourself. Whether I survive this night or not. . ." he let out a long breath, nodding shortly. ". . . I'd be satisfied if I didn't."

I tried to smile, wishing I were brave as he. "Right." I managed. "Good. I'm-- I'm glad."

Murdoch took my hand and raised it to his lips, lightly brushing them over my knuckles (thankfully not the bloodstained ones). "It was a pleasure to meet you, Carrie Stevenson."

I squeezed his hand that held mine. "It was an honor for me to meet you, Will Murdoch."

He smiled, a small, quiet smile. "Go find your love." he murmured, eyes sincere.

We released each other's hands, and I turned toward the crowds. I was just stepping forward to head to the grand staircase entrance to find Thomas when suddenly I felt a hand latch onto my shoulder. I turned, half expecting it to be Murdoch, but was surprised to see Second Officer Lightoller there. Murdoch was gone. "Are you Miss Stevenson?" Lightoller said, all business.

"No," I said, wondering why he'd be asking for me. "The name's Carrie."

The barest glimpse of a smile surfaced and then faded on his face. "Very well, then. Carrie. But it is you who was with Mr. Andrews earlier?"

"Yeah, that was me." I said. "Why, have you seen him?"

"Last I saw he was heading for the bow, but that was half an hour ago. Did he teach you much about lifeboats?"

It took me a second to register his abrupt subject change. "Yes, a little."

"Know enough to come give us a hand with the collapsibles?"

I frowned. "Well, sure, but I was--"

"Please." Lightoller said it through his teeth to keep them from chattering, pleading now, the dark turtleneck sweater high around his neck not doing anything to keep the cold out. "We could use the help. Most of the crewmen have run off to save themselves."

I was absolutely torn. I had to get back to Thomas before it was too late, but I couldn't just leave Lightoller when he was asking for help. I never refused anyone when they needed a hand. "Will it take long?" I asked, feeling awful for asking.

"Shouldn't," he said, hope distant in his eyes. "Just need your help getting her down from the roof of the officer's quarters."

I felt myself nodding. "Alright." I said. "I'll do it."

"Thank you." Lightoller said, a definite smile on his face now. "God in heaven bless you. This way. . ." He led me forward along the ship, not a long distance from where I'd just been. But I noticed, with a jolt to my stomach, that the water wasn't all that far away, the nose of the ship already under. Someone gave me a hand up to the officer's quarters, and then Lightoller passed me a wrench. "Get the nuts off the bolts that keep it to the deck," he instructed over the noise. "Then pull out the bolts."

The chaos of everything surrounding the area seemed to fade into nothingness as I lowered myself onto one knee and began to work on the nuts. It was like I was back in the shipyards, where I'd learned to block the noise of machinery out until I couldn't even hear it. Behind me and the other crewmen, the other collapsible boat was being worked free; I saw it go over the edge of the officer's quarters out of the corner of my eye.

Dammit! I thought to myself as my wrench slipped on one of the nuts. I repositioned it and got back to work, cranking the wrench until I could remove the nut and bolt by hand. Wonder where Thomas is? I thought to myself. Please don't have given up on me yet, Thomas. I'm coming just as soon as I can.

Five minutes later, Lightoller was by my side again. "Excellent work, Mi-- Carrie." he said, flashing me a quick smile. "If you have somewhere to be, then by all means, go."

"Thank you, Mr. Lightoller." I said, and looked around. It would be quicker to head aft on the roof of the officer's quarters, then just climb over the rail to get to the grand staircase entrance. I was headed that way when suddenly I heard it: a familiar, Irish-accented voice. "What th' hell's'a matter with y'?!"

A cold dread settled over me from head to toe.

I slowly turned toward the source of the voice, which was to my left, in the direction that the other collapsible had just gone over. Then I saw him-- Tommy Ryan, and Fabrizio, both at the head of a swarm of men trying to get to the boat, which was already half full with women and children. Officers and crewmen were rushing around, trying to get the falls hooked up. One officer-- I recognized it to be Henry Wilde-- was trying to keep the crowd back like a police officer. "Women and children only, damn you!" he was snapping. Another officer was aiming a pistol at the crowd, obviously trying to keep them back. My heart flew into my throat when I realized that the gun-wielding officer was Murdoch. Tommy was the one who'd shouted, eyes blazing at the first officer, Fabrizio close by Tommy's side.

"Get back!" Murdoch was hollering, his voice raw from shouting, no warmth at all in his eyes-- instead they were beady and wide, but desperately angry.

"Will y'give us a chance t' live, y' limey bastard!?" Tommy cried, but his powerful words did nothing, just as they hadn't in the stairwell. It killed me to see two of my closest friends so angry at each other-- but not like they knew that the other one was my friend.

"I'll shoot any man who tries to get past me; get back!" Murdoch yelled it again, pistol outstretched before him.

Frozen, I watched as a tuxedoed man stepped forward and muttered something to Murdoch. It hit me like a slap in the face when I realized that the tuxedo guy was Cal Hockley. What the hell was he doing!?

My question was answered when Murdoch, staring murderously at Cal, reached into his own pocket and threw a wad of bills at the passenger. They fluttered away; Murdoch shook his head slightly and murmured something back to Cal, hopelessness flickering in his features before the hardened anger returned. Cal had been trying to buy off Murdoch. "Get back!" and he pushed Cal into the crowd.

Without warning, a man vaulted over the edge of the lifeboat toward Murdoch, who rounded on him. I bit my fist to keep from screaming as the pistol went off, deafeningly loud; the man fell to the ground with a strangled cry.

Shaking from head to foot, I looked back toward Tommy and Fabrizio, almost to see if they were alright-- but at that moment, the crowd surged forward behind Tommy.

It happened seemingly in slow motion.

Tommy couldn't do anything. He was pushed along with the crowd, and right at Murdoch-- who, in his panic at just having killed a man, thought that Tommy was trying to attack him-- and he fired again.

I cried out and sucked in a strangled gasp as I realized what was happening.

As the gunshot echoed into nothingness, Tommy grimaced and stumbled backwards; Fabrizio had him before he hit the ground. "Tommy!" Fabrizio cried, struggling to hold the Irishman's head up as blood spilled from Tommy's lips, lifeless eyes staring into space. Fabrizio looked up at Murdoch, eyes furious. "Bastardo!" he cried.

I was absolutely gaping at Murdoch, my nerves completely shot, frozen where I stood. He was realizing what he'd done now. The anger had faded from him; he was wide-eyed and utterly shocked at what had just happened. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes traveled to the ground, where Tommy's blood was sliding down the deck in thick red streaks. Numbly, he stepped out of the way, and looked slowly back at a crewman, whose return glance showed no sympathy.

Murdoch just as slowly turned toward Wilde. I watched, horrified, as Murdoch instantly straightened his shoulders and clicked his heels together, his hand snapping to his forehead in a salute.

I knew exactly what he was doing, but all speech had escaped me. Murdoch's saluting hand dropped, and his other hand raised the pistol to his temple, eyes blank but somehow very set.

I found my voice and shouted just as Wilde did, and both of us with the same words: "No, Will!"

Murdoch's eyes shot up to mine just as his finger tightened on the trigger; I jumped at the gunshot. He tumbled backward into the icy water with an almost comic splash, and I turned my head away, shaking violently, this time unable to stop the tears and hating myself for it.

Oh, God! Tommy and Murdoch both-- and Murdoch's last sight of me, staring at him at the lowest point of his life. "I'm sorry," I choked out, somehow feeling so unbelievably ashamed, and then suddenly I was filled with an uncontainable rage. "What did they do!?" I snarled under my breath. "What the goddam bloody hell did they ever do wrong!?"

At that point I realized that I had to get myself under control. Thomas. I thought to myself. You've got to get to Thomas. Stop wasting your time! I took in a couple of deep breaths, trying to make them steady and slow. I closed my eyes, hoping to calm myself, but all I could see was Murdoch, stepping out of the way of Tommy's blood. . . and Tommy, blood pouring from his mouth. . .

I pulled myself over the railing before me and landed on the deck. Murdoch had said that he'd seen Thomas heading for the entrance, so maybe someone inside would have seen him. I walked quickly, trying to warm my cold limbs, brushing tear streaks from my face. Cry later. I told myself again. Don't go to Thomas looking like an absolute coward.

Inside, it was blissfully warm and bright. Men were milling around, waiting. It chilled me all over again to see them in their top coats and hats, just waiting patiently for the inevitable. I prayed that Thomas wasn't one of them.

I started down the steps and almost bumped into a steward. "Excuse me," I said to him. "Have you seen Thomas Andrews around?"

"No, mum, sorry." and he was gone, up the steps.

I continued down the grand staircase until I reached the last step, at B Deck. Stepping forward, I caught sight of two people rushing toward me and the steps, and then I realized-- it was Jack and Rose, both of them soaking wet, but Rose wearing a large man's coat and trailing a lifebelt. "Jack!" I cried.

He saw me then and his face flooded with recognition. "Carrie!" he said, and let go of Rose's hand. "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be--"

"Have you seen Thomas?" I asked quickly.

"He's back there." Jack jerked his head behind him, and I won't even start to explain the relief I felt. "In the smoking room."

"Thank--" the relief suddenly faded. "What's he doing there?" I asked, and noticed that Rose's large eyes were downcast. I again looked at the lifebelt in her hand. "That's his lifebelt, isn't it." it wasn't a question.

"He gave it to me." she said quietly. "I didn't even ask."

I knew then, but I pushed the absurd thought from my mind. "Okay. Thanks." I met Jack's blue eyes, and knew deep down that I'd never look into them again. "Look, I better get moving--"

Jack hugged me tightly but briefly, and kissed my cheek. "Thanks for the travels." he said quietly.

"Thank you." I said, and tried to smile. "Good luck."

"Luck." Jack said, and took Rose by the hand again, pulling her up the stairs. I reached the door to the Parisian cafe, which I had to cross to get to the smoking room, and looked back at Jack and Rose one final time. Just before Jack crossed through the door to outside, he turned back. Our eyes met across the distance, his sad but trying to stay strong, and then he was gone, just like that.

Cry later.

I pushed the door open of the cafe, and it took a good minute to cross the room. Most of the chairs had tipped over, and there was broken glass and china everywhere-- all due to the listing of the ship, which made it hard to walk on.

I stopped finally before the revolving door of the smoking room. I don't know why I stopped, but there I stood, staring through the glass at the cozily lit room beyond it. He's on the other side of this door. I found myself thinking. The man you've been trying to get to for the past hour and a half. He's right there, and you've both got to get moving.

I stepped forward, and laid my hand on the fine woodwork of the revolving door. I took in a deep breath and pushed the door around as I did so. Finally I could go through and into the smoking room; I stepped in almost hesitantly. At first I didn't see him, but then I looked to my right, by the huge fireplace.

There he was.

He hadn't even turned at the quiet noise from the door. He was staring unseeingly at the painting above the fireplace. There were two half-full brandy glasses before him on the mantle; I half wondered if they were his. I looked at his face, and my heart twisted at his lonely, heartbroken, beaten expression.

"Thomas." it was a question, a plea, spoken to feel his name on my lips.

He turned his head, slowly. . . and after an eternity, his blank eyes locked onto mine.