If you will recall in my last article, I reported how my friend, Eric, provided me a set of old journals that were written in my hand. From the one that he insisted I read first, I left off at the point where Marku and I departed Southampton aboard the Titanic.

Many of you were instantly curious about my adventure from there, and have been pressing me for details ever since. I can’t blame you for this, since the fate of that ship is one of the greatest historical events of my world; and were I to have heard my previous account for the first time, I would be just as eager as you are for more.

I will tell it as my journal tells it since I have no memory of those events; I must be up front with you about portions of this entry; I was extraordinarily detailed in my journal-keeping, and I wrote at length, about my first experience as a nyctomorph all the way back to the late 1700s; I ask that you be kind to me as it reveals a very personal, very intimate experience I had as the monster.

I know you have seen my sexually vulnerable side at the Lounge; but you have never seen me as vulnerable as I described myself in this entry so long ago; it was as if I never wanted to forget that experience, so I gave it a special level of detail.

Another thing; the reason I wrote such detailed journals in late 1912 and early 1913 is found in one of my other volumes; after coming to America, I learned that I would be subjected to some sort of memory-repression procedure to enable me to move on from the tragedy of the Titanic. Apparently the event very nearly crippled me, emotionally; and as you know, from the previous simcast, I have an unusual sensitivity to tragic things; I am unable to cope with them as well as most can. So, in order to protect myself, I tend to cloister in my attic and focus on my projects and investigations. The habit has yielded much productivity, but it comes at the cost of family bonding, which I am in the process of rectifying.

Here are the events as I penned them...

“November the 14th, 1912.

On the train to Southampton, Marku finally told me his plans. He said that we should very well have expected to be followed, and that operatives were likely on the same train with us. He went on to say that he would not be housed with me after boarding the vessel; that he had second-class passage booked for himself while I would be in first-class.

I did not like the sound of being separated from him again, not after the horror and agony I had to suffer because of our first separation.

‘There has to be another way,’ I insisted. ‘I’m still weak and in terrible pain from the long bite; I cannot defend myself!’

‘There’s a chance the operatives have booked third-class arrangements,’ he returned. ‘I mean to set myself between them and you and head them off before they invade first-class to find you! You have to trust me, child; being discovered together on that ship would be a catastrophe; we must make it to America and lay those papers in the Founder’s hands before the Initiative can become a precedent!’

‘Why will the operatives choose third-class arrangements?’ I inquired.

‘Because,’ he answered, “They’re expecting us to be in third-class as well! There is… an unregistered passengers list; a small number of international agents and government employees are on that list; I added four names to it: two with our first names and different last names for third-class, and two with our new names; Victoria Belcourte for first-class, Richard Mathison for second. I have also employed a number of third-class passengers to keep a look out for anyone who seems to be searching for someone in steerage, or asking about us by name.”

‘How did you plan this out so fast?’ I was stunned at the work he had put into this.

‘Most of it was planned out by the Founder in advance,’ he explained. ‘I secured our third-class spies in Hungary and sent them ahead of us; they will have a handsome reward waiting for them once we land at New York.’

I still didn’t like the idea, but I could see the sense in it once he explained it to me.

‘In your bag,’ he went on, ‘There is an ink pistol of the same make and weight as the one strapped to your thigh; it has an internal spring and weight mechanism that mimics the recoil of the actual weapon. While you are in your room, I expect you to practice with that ink pistol! I have provided you targets that you can roll up and hide anywhere in the room you wish. Practice until you can hit the targets in the head, even with less than a second of aim; I want you ready for anything!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I will try to find and dispatch the operatives before they’ve discovered you. But, if they, somehow, get past me, it will mean that I am incapacitated or dead. I pray it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, you will have to bear this responsibility alone from that point on; I want you to be prepared to kill them. And you listen to me; if it comes to that, you do it, Gabriel, I mean it! You do it without blinking an eye; kill them without a second’s hesitation; because they will not hesitate to kill you!’

When the train pulled into Southampton it was time to disembark and take a shuttle to the birth where the great ship was docked. 

‘Get ready to step off,’ said Marku as he came next to me and set my bag upon my lap, ‘Remember everything I’ve told you: practice with the dummy pistol until you hit the targets in the head; steel yourself to kill your pursuers if you have to!’

‘I will remember,’ I assured him, ‘And, I’ll try to be so brave.

The drive took nearly half an hour, but once we arrived we could see hundreds of people waiting to board the gigantic vessel. There were a few fancy automobiles sitting here and there with even fancier people stepping out of them.

When the shuttle came to a stop, and we exited, Marku gently shoved me toward the first class passenger side of the growing crowd,

‘Don’t leave me alone too long,’ I whispered as I turned around, ‘Come to me soon.’

‘I will as soon as I can,’ he replied, ‘Now, get to the first class side and hide yourself among them; they’re getting ready to board!’

I did as I was told and covertly inserted myself within the growing crowd. I looked toward the people whom I assumed to be boarding as second class passengers, but I could see no sign of Marku. I, then, turned my attention to the first class passengers as paranoia began tormenting me; could the operatives be hiding among these people? Am I going into an opulent lion’s den? Was Marku right to suspect them to be accommodated in steerage?

I was utterly terrified as dark thoughts filled my troubled head; nothing, except danger, was certain to me at that moment!

Eventually, the gangways were opened, and the first class passengers were invited to board; in all of my frightful pondering, I had failed to notice just how enormous Titanic actually was! It looked massive from the shuttle, but, standing next to it, it felt as if I had never seen anything so vast in all my life!

Being an autodidact in engineering and measurement, I calculated the ship to be at least eight hundred and fifty feet in length; it was so gigantic that it, actually, terrified me!

When my turn came to walk up the gangway toward the entrance, I trailed behind an older couple until they entered the ship, and then I stepped inside behind them. Doing this brought me into a little room whose doors opened to a massive, gorgeously furnished room on the other side; I was told by an attendant that I was on D Deck, and then he invited me to enter the Reception Room and have a look around, which I did; outside, the ship frightened me with its unparalleled enormity, but, inside, it thrilled me with its equally unparalleled opulence! For a moment, I found myself without the ever present dread that had been haunting me since the lupine attack, and, instead, I found myself intensely curious, and wanting to explore.

While standing there beholding the wonder of the Reception Room, a young and very polite concierge invited me to my room on C Deck. I turned and followed him up the fantastic staircase until we landed on C Deck, and then I trailed him to my room where, once there, he offered to help me unpack, to which I gently declined and thanked him. After providing me a planner, he bade me a happy stay and made a quick departure to attend the other passengers; I shut and locked the door behind him and then eagerly relieved myself from the hot and constrictive disguise I had been in ever since waking that day, and once I had stripped it all off, I began unbuckling the thigh holster that hid my weapon firmly between my legs; the strap and buckle rubbed horribly against the wounds I sustained in the maw of the monster, and it was agonizing undoing it and pulling it away from my damaged skin, which I did with much sobbing and moaning!

After lying on my bed and rubbing my leg for some time until the pain became manageable, I then sat up and began looking through my bag to see what Marku had left me; I came across the practice pistol he spoke of; it was a perfect replica in look, size, and weight of my actual gun, and the ink cartridges, which loaded into the handle of the pistol, were locked together in a small box. There were three targets to practice with as well, all of them rolled neatly into cylinders and kept unfurled by bands of rubber.

I was intrigued by the practice pistol; it was a work of genius! It was a tool one could use in the privacy of an opulent ship’s cabin without alerting anyone to its presence! I took one of the targets, unfurled it, and locked it onto the stand it came with; setting it near the door. I then took my practice pistol, loaded an ink cartridge into it and took aim; I was not prepared for the recoil! It kicked so hard the pistol flew from my hand and strained my wrist! I was terrified that someone might have heard me squeak from shock and I fell instantly silent and still, waiting for a knock at the door and someone insisting to be let in to determine my condition which, thankfully, never happened, considering I had nothing on!

Quite simply, I had forgotten Marku’s warning about the recoil of the practice pistol; I aimed, single-handed, at the target and paid the price for it with a throbbing wrist the rest of that day; it was a mistake I would not make again.

Demoralized, yet determined, I picked up the pistol and took aim again with both hands; this time managing the recoil quite well, even though my aim was hideous. I kept practicing, however, until I was actually hitting the target in the head area, but my arm muscles were in agony from the constant recoils they bore, and my shoulders burned as if coals of fire had been placed on them! I had done my duty for the day and managed to hit the target in a crucial spot before the punishment of the endeavor grew too much to bear any further; ever since waking in the mouth of the monster guide, I had not been able to escape weakness and pain, and it was becoming infuriating!

After double checking the door, I strolled eagerly to the bed, fell upon it, and pulled the comforting blanket over my savaged body; in seconds I was in a sleep so deep and blissful that I didn’t even know when Titanic had left harbor. Apparently it was a major event, yet the only thing I recall during those moments was the dream I was having about the loft I left behind in that condemned Romanian village.

By now the lupine packs had overrun it; butchering any stragglers foolish enough to remain behind, in spite of my parent’s warning. I despise the lupine! Ever since they haunted me in England so long ago, and then entered the village to murder our neighbors, only to then attempt to murder us, I have nothing in my heart for them but implacable contempt; and I wish the Founder would destroy them all so I would never have to dread their assailings again!

I was fortunate, however, not to be dreaming about such things. I dreamed of something just as painful, though; my parents.

They were with me in the loft, it was so eerie and calm; a dreadful serenity sat over that dream like a mist portending inevitable doom in the midst of tenderness and ecstasy. I sat on mother’s lap listening to father tell a tale of old world mystery over the single candle lighting the little round table between us. We waited for some unknown end as we made one last memory together; and I awakened from that dream sobbing inconsolably; I was so desperate for my mother’s embrace and my father’s voice that I turned, buried my face in my pillow and screamed in rage and despair at everything that had befallen us! It was a primal response to the trauma I had endured and was continuing to endure; the uncertainty was becoming intolerable, and I had no one to comfort me; no one to keep my sensitive nature from overwhelming me. My eyes still drip at the pain of that moment; now this page is wet and stained!

After awhile, I managed to calm down enough to fall back to sleep.

I slept for about an hour before I awakened again to the scent of delicious food wafting to me from somewhere in the vast ship. I pulled myself, with great effort, out from under the blanket and began to restore the disguise that I had removed to allow my injuries to breathe. After sliding on the undergarments, I took another dress from the bag and then began to strap the gun to my thigh again before getting into it.

With all done except the hair-piece and the cosmetics, I then took the piece and began to apply it to my head once again; brushing it afterward until it was lovely and straight; turning next to my make up until every part of my face looked like the mysterious girl I was expected to be. After this, I remained seated before the vanity mirror, practicing my British accent and comporting myself as Victoria until the disguise had fully taken hold again, and I felt comfortable enough to leave the room.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one tempted by the glorious scent of the food being prepared in Titanic’s kitchens. I came out of the corridor and descended the gorgeous staircase with many other first-class passengers to D Deck where we all began socializing in the Reception Room as piano music was played for us to set the mood.