Episode 20: A Sailor Hopes

Onboard MV Maverick’s Rose

May 21st, 2012 - 7:55PM

Rose’s Passenger Cabin

ROSE

Inside her cabin, Rose sat once more with the journal, its leather worn, its pages yellowed as though belonging to another decade.

She touched the journal’s cover with the tips of her fingers. Why had he given it to her? Why did it look so old, yet describe events from only days ago? And why, she frowned, why was it not exactly what had happened? Marisse’s writing from the first day was close, but not precise. The conversations were shifted, the details bent.

Is this some trick? Some manipulation?

Her heart urged her to shut it, to throw it away. But her curiosity being as sharp and restless as it were, drew her deeper. She remembered something Marisse had said with that half-smile of his, a riddle wrapped in ease: “What happens to the diary tomorrow will matter more than what you read today.”

The thought made her pulse quicken. Rose opened to the next entry, determined now. She would read to the end. 

*******

8:12PM
Rose closed the journal quickly, the sound of leather snapping shut loud in the small cabin. Marisse’s words lingered like smoke: To even hope of keeping that for myself would be insanity…

A sharp knock startled her.

“Rose?” Her aunt’s voice, cheerful and brisk as ever. “Second sitting already! You’ll be late again.”

Rose blinked. “Already?” She shoved the journal into the drawer by her bed, as though hiding a crime.

“Yes, already,” her aunt laughed through the door. “Do hurry. I won’t have us tripping in late again while everyone else has started their soup.”

Rose sprang up, fumbling for her dress, her hands clumsy with haste. When she opened the cabin door, her aunt gave her a once-over with amused eyes.

“You look half-ready at best.”

“Then half-ready will have to do,” Rose muttered, smoothing her skirt as they hurried down the corridor.

The dining hall greeted her like a burst of life: clinking cutlery, layered chatter, the scent of buttered rolls and roasted meats mingling with the salt of the sea. The chandeliers glowed above, reflecting in polished silver and crystal glasses. Rose’s stomach, uncooperative all day, actually rumbled.

“This,” her aunt declared with satisfaction, “is a proper ship’s meal.”

Rose almost smiled. Almost.

They followed a steward to their assigned table, weaving between laughing passengers, servers balancing trays, and the occasional violin phrase drifting from the quartet in the corner.

But then suddenly, the world shifted.

Not a blink, not a dreamlike haze no, it was instant.

One heartbeat, the dining hall brimmed with people and then now, it is all empty.

The chatter stopped mid-breath. The violin’s bow froze in silence. The air, once warm with bread and wine, soured into something stale, ancient, like the dust of forgotten rooms.

Rose gasped, nearly stumbling.

Her aunt was gone. Every passenger, every steward, gone.

Only the tables remained set neatly with cutlery and glassware, but cordoned now by thin brass barriers, like relics in a museum. A cold echo clung to the place, as if centuries had passed in the blink of her eye.

“No---” Rose whispered, her throat tightening. “No, no, no…”

She staggered toward the staircase, the only escape, and gripped its rail, only for her hand to pass straight through.

A sob escaped her. Ghost. She was a ghost.

And then she saw him.

Marisse.

He entered from the far side, slow but purposeful, his steps dragging slightly, as though time itself weighed on his shoulders. His hair was streaked silver now. His skin, weathered. His posture bent with years.

He stopped near the porthole, his eyes flicking to the sea as if searching for something or someone.

“Marisse!” Rose’s voice cracked, desperate. “Marisse!”

He turned.

Her breath caught.

Older. So much older. But the eyes, yes, those eyes were still the same deep, warm, searching eyes.

He froze, stunned. “Rose?”

Her chest tightened. “Who are you?”

His face paled, his lips parted as though the words themselves were difficult. “How are you here? Why are you here?”

She stepped forward, though the floor felt unreal beneath her. “I---I don’t know. I was just…dinner, I was just here. Then---”

Marisse moved closer, reaching out. His hand, trembling, stretched for hers.

Rose did the same, hope flaring like a fragile flame.

But when they touched, nothing. His hand passed straight through her fingers. A chill shuddered up her arm.

Marisse’s jaw tightened. “What is this?”

Rose shook her head wildly. “You…you look…older. Why? Why do you look like this?”

For the briefest second, something lit in his eyes. Recognition. Calculation.

“I don’t have much time,” he said quickly, urgently. He glanced behind him, nerves sharp. “They’re right behind me. Tell me, Rose, what date is it for you? What year?”

She clutched at her chest, trying to steady her breathing. “It’s…May 20th. 2012.”

Marisse shut his eyes, whispering something she couldn’t catch. His shoulders sagged as though some piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“What is happening here, Marisse? Where are we?” Her voice cracked with fear.

“The diary,” he said, snapping his gaze to hers. “You read it? You must have read it.”

Rose hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Yes. I read it. The last entry…was of today. May 20th.”

“That must be it,” he muttered. “I was holding the diary when I took the first Polaroid. Somehow…it traveled with me through time. Maybe it was affected by the camera. Rose, you must continue reading the diary.”

She shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. “I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand.”

Marisse’s voice broke then, more fragile than she had ever heard it. “You’re not supposed to be here, Rose. Not in this place. It’s dangerous.”

Her lips trembled. “Dangerous? From what?”

His eyes darted behind him again, to the growing shadow pressing closer. His hand tightened into a fist. “Them. They’re hunting me. They’ve been hunting me since I slipped through. I don’t know if they can see you, but if they can, you’re in danger too.”

Fear shot through her veins. “Who are they?”

Marisse’s voice cracked again, urgent and raw. “I don’t know their name---or even what they are. Only that they want the diary. And if they find it, then I failed you.”

Rose’s breath faltered. “Failed me?”

“Yes.” His face twisted with pain. “Rose, you don’t understand. Everything changes now that I see you here. Jax is right, we are soulmates. It’s the only explanation tha makes sense. Promise me, you’ll keep the diary safe. Hide it if you must. Don’t let it out of your hands. Promise me!”

Rose shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can, Marisse, please, tell me what all these means. Tell me why it’s me, why it’s us!”

His voice softened then, trembling with something deeper than fear. “Because you’re the only one who could find me. You always were.”

Her heart lurched.

Marisse’s breath quickened. He looked behind him again. The shadow thickened, closer now, its edges like smoke clawing across the floor.

“I have to go,” he said, his voice nearly breaking. “But listen to me. Keep reading. Everything I do from this point on, it’s for you. I didn’t mean for you to get caught in this, but now that you are…” He swallowed hard, his throat working as though each word cost him. “Now that you are, I must tell you everything. Rose, promise me you’ll listen…”

“Marisse---”

“Promise me, Rose!” His voice thundered with desperation. His hand, still uselessly passing through hers, trembled as though he could himself solid.

Rose listened as a part of her knew she had to. She listened to Marisse’s every word and though most of it did not make sense, Rose’s heart curved each word on its walls as if clinging to it ensures her heart’s survival.

 “Promise me you’ll be careful.” Marisse finally said

“I promise,” she whispered, the words tearing out of her before she could think.

His eyes softened again, that warmth she knew even beneath the years, beneath the terror. “Good girl,” he said. Then lower, almost broken “I have to go now, so, please remember, I need you.”

And then he was gone.

The shadow swallowed him.

The dining hall blinked away…

Rose jolted awake.

Her cabin. Her bed. The diary, still open across her lap.

Her aunt knocking again, cheerful and impatient. “Rose, we’ll be late for the second sitting if you don’t get up this instant!”

Rose’s breath came ragged, her hands clutching the blanket as though it might anchor her to reality. She glanced at the diary. Its pages glowed faintly in the lamplight, innocent, harmless and yet she knew. She knew.

She kept the diary on her bedside table too quickly that it fell on the carpeted floor, and there she saw it.

The back of the leather-bound diary had something engraved on it.

Rose picked it up again and studied the diary. And suddenly, her pulse thudded in her ears.

There engraved on leather were the words: “Thank you for your service, sailor. Happy Holidays onboard the MV Maverick’s Rose….Christmas 2014.”

Rose’s knees suddenly gave in and she had to sit down on the edge of her bed.

*******