Chapter one: Months earlier, July 1912
It wasn't a hot day in Pennsylvania but it was warm enough for just a shirt and no outer coat.
Frustration and anger, hit Jack Dawson hard, he knew these feelings well. Perhaps a cigarette would help the thing blocking him from writing! He threw his charcoal and paper to the ground, not even caring if the wind blew it away. He placed his head in his hands for a moment, he almost slapped his own cheeks in order to take some frustration out of himself but he knew that this was a respectable public park and a young man hitting himself would surely ensure a passer-by would alert a policeman.
Digging deeper into his pocket he pulled out an already rolled up cigarette, he placed it between his lips before locating his matches. Striking one alight, he puffed it. The feeling which followed allowed him to calm. He sat back on the park bench and ran his fingers through his hair; he had cut it once in recent months after negotiating a deal with a drunken barber. He would exchange two cigs for a haircut. The deal was shaken on and he didn't do a bad job despite been leathered.
The sun beat down and he should have been smiling; enjoying the summer sunshine but there a blockage there just like it blocked his ability to draw and it also blocked his heart. He exhaled the smoke and glanced around the park through squinted eyes at all of the different scenes which lay out before him:- A young family with children, a young girl reading a book, a few children playing football and then an old couple sat together with the love still obvious between them. Their old leathered faces still showing signs of happiness. That was it right there! That, was what he used to capture on paper. He knew not to try it, it would make him angrier. He sat surrounded by happiness but yet he struggled to find a drop anywhere except at the bottom of a bottle. Where was his happiness? He wanted to scream the words so loud, he wanted God to hear and offer an answer.
He stood from the bench and threw his stub to the ground not even bothering to find a trash can nearby. Women gasped and he laughed at their shocked and horrified faces. Had he upset the ladies of society? He didn't even bother to collect his sketch paper, what use were they to him anyway?
Happiness surround him everywhere; it was almost as though it was taunting him. He left the park and found himself on a main road. He dodged past horse drawn carts, women and children making their way to the park with a picnic basket in tow, men heading to a business lunch and the occasional slow driving automobile. He reached a corner which overlooked the park, the upper-class houses which spread as far as the eye could see and swarms of people enjoying this lovely warm spring day. Why was everyone so oblivious? He thrust his hands into his pockets as he walked, putting his head down. He thought of how he had ended up in this place. How two weeks before he had run from the train believing this place would help him find peace. As soon as the train conductor had announced they had reached Philadelphia, he had a two second decision to make – to stay on the train or to go. And so, he had run, clutching a small backpack which contained all of his possessions, he hadn't made out an alternate plan, so as he ran from the train he had some new hope. His life for the last few months had been a meagre existence. Philadelphia had brought nothing to him.
The risk of running into her family had been high but he had almost looked for some sign of them. He had spent his days wondering the upper class neighbourhood, wishing to see any signs of something which would let him know that this was where she had grown up. He had waited outside every church on a Sunday morning to catch a glimpse of her mother or Cal but there hadn't been anything. That was when he had found something which helped him, which numbed the pain and ensure he slept on a night, wherever that may be. Alcohol.
He had thought that she had died...died because of him. And then one the second day of his arrival in Philadelphia he had seen a picture to change everything. There she had been; with Cal. There had been an announcement that their engagement would continue although the wedding was now postponed due to the sinking and the fact that Rose was 'resting.'
The bar where Jack spent most of his nights loomed, it was hidden in the shade. The entrance into the pub was darker and inside his eyes adjusted to the change in light. He found he was joined by two men, both lacking teeth and wore dark clothing. He ordered two whiskeys before locating a table in the corner next to a dirty window. He necked the first glass, allowing it to burn his throat and numb his insides. He nursed the other glass, pushing it around the table and watching the watery ring it left on the wood. He took a sip from the small glass, it wasn't so bitter anymore. It never was once the first drink was necked, the rest of the bottle went down a treat. He began to feel the effects straight away. His head felt lighter and as he watched out of the dirty window as passers-by went about their daily business, he felt hatred for them for living such normal lives.
He took another sip, this time he laid his head back against the chair he was sitting on. His eyes automatically closed. Once in his half drunken state, he allowed his mind to wonder. He saw the colour red like he always did. Those red curls which flew as she ran down the boiler room, the fire which burned inside of her which was so bright even when they had first met but over the course of the next few days it had glowed brighter. She haunted his dreams and had done so for as long as he could remember. It hurt him more so that he had lived while she had lost her life. He could never have given her a luxurious life, all of those things which she probably deserved but had so badly wanted to break free from. She needed love someone to listen to her and not tell her to shut up. She needed to be free and he had encouraged her freedom. He could see her dancing in his mind, so free like a bird. The smile upon her face, her eyes which came alive and sparkled. The images which flew around his mind were too much to bear and only when he was drunk did he allow himself to think of deeply of her. It was half a dream and half a reality.
A stack of papers was thrown onto his table, he quickly opened his eyes. He watched as a sorry looking man scattered towards the exit. Jack glanced at the table; it was a stack of newspapers. He eyes up the man as he walked away before finding the energy to reach forward and grab one of them. He opened it full length before seeing the headline ''Hockley's business to expand.'' He didn't know if the other customers had heard the sharp intake of breath or could see the tears welling in his eyes. As he opened his eyes, they fell upon a picture and he felt the tear run freely from his eyes, he wiped it way quickly. She was stood with her mother and her fiancé at some event the month before boarding Titanic. Jack swallowed the lump in his throat as he touched the picture gingerly as though it was her face right there before him. She wore her hair up like she had at those formal events and a large pair of diamond earrings. He hadn't seen a picture of her, he simply used his memory. To see her face there right now in front of him brought it back all the more. Her lips weren't curved into a smile instead she appeared sad. He whispered her name just once and it rolled off his tongue so easy. He touched her face before scanning his eyes over the print.
It was nothing of any important other than to let the people of the city know just how business was booming for the Hockley's, how the steel was churning out the dollars for the entire family. He wanted to spit on the face, to stamp on the paper but he knew that getting angry would do nothing in help of his search for Rose. Sure, he knew he could ask a local. But he had to be very discreet about the way he found them. After finishing off the article, he found an address. On a street which he was sure was very familiar.
He grabbed his glass to drink but for some reason he couldn't lift it as though it was the heaviest boulder. He attempted again but he felt weak. He gave up in frustration. For some reason the whiskey was suddenly the least appealing thing to him. He then stood from the chair and left leaving behind almost a full glass. The barman stood gaping; Jack had never left a full glass in the weeks which he had been coming here. In that moment, something amazing had happened. Jack didn't touch a drop the next day, nor the day after that. As quickly as the addiction had come to him, it had left him as fast.
It took two days for Jack to familiarise himself with the street. He had taken to hiding at night in the bushes of the neighbours front garden in order to catch a glimpse of Rose, through a window, perhaps getting into a car – but there was nothing. Ruth had come and gone several times, yet Cal had not yet left either. He wondered whether this was the right residence – or if so, why she hadn't left the house in those days.
His curiosity was killing him. His hands and legs had shaken out of frustration and temptation to not go and knock on the damned door. He would demand to see her, to speak to her, regardless of whether Cal was in there or not. He tried to think of ways he would attempt rationality but he knew it wouldn't be the case. It had been so long – he needed to see her.
His heart was hammering inside his chest but then, out of nowhere, he acted on adrenaline. He thrust himself out of the bushes onto the front porch of the Hockley residence during full day light and before he knew it, he was knocking on the door so hard that it turned his knuckles white and he didn't stop until he saw a face there in front of him.
A young maid came to the door immediately. Jack didn't even address her. ''I need to see her, I need to see Rose.'' He pushed the door back and the maid jumped frightened. Before she knew it, the strange man was inside the mansion, heading down the main hallway and shouting aloud.
''Sir, please-''
Jack saw the long narrow hall decorated full dark oak wood before him. ''Rose.'' He called out and his voice echoed, carrying loudly around the large house. ''Rose, its me.'' He shouted. The maid had scurried off into the parlour and soon he was ten or so yards away from Cal Hockley, for the first time in months. He eyes narrowed as they came face to face.
''Mr. Dawson? Perhaps you would care to come into my study?''