 FIC: "Fisherman's Excuse" Colin Farrell slumped back in the tub, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. He let the warm water envelop him, his tension slowly relaxing. Fuck, it felt good. He didn't even care about washing; he just wanted to let go. "Where are you, little brother?" "I'm in the tub," Colin called, taking the cigarette and stamping it out on the tiled rim. "I need a break!" "Take all the time you need. I'll run interference." Colin smiled, happy to know Eamon was nearby. He didn't want any interruptions -- no cell phones, no reporters, no condescending agents, no eager nymphets. He just wanted to forget all the crap, especially the smirking know-it-alls who had predicted disaster. Who gave a shit? It wasn't the end of the world, for Chrissake. Nobody died. It was just a fucking movie. And in just a few days he would be heading to Miami to start the next one. He had given 'Alexander' everything he had -- his sweat and blood and hard-earned tears. And the world had answered with a rousing thumbs down. If this were Ancient Rome, he would have been thrown to the lions or crucified. He and Oliver Stone. Poor Oliver. He hoped the beleaguered director didn't go out and drown himself. Despite the pain of the last few weeks, Colin had managed to keep his chin up. He hadn't been crucified. And he was a big boy and could take the shit. Life goes on, and so does the movie business. He sighed and reached for the bottle of Amstel Light on the edge of the huge tub, wondering if he should turn on the jets. He decided against it, content to drink his beer and just lie back. He could feel his bits floating in the warm water. Was this a good sign or a bad one? Colin smiled and closed his eyes. A distant rumbling sound woke him. Had someone turned on the jets? Disoriented for a moment, Colin found himself cramped in a narrow bunk, not spread out in a jacuzzi tub. He shook himself awake, trying to remember where he was. "Are ya' alive?" He sat up slowly. He was in an upper berth in a very small room. His brother Eamon stood below staring up at him. Eamon's clothing looked a little strange, especially the old-fashioned cap perched on his head. And his hair was different -- was that his natural color? Colin nodded at him. "Let's get somethin' to eat," Eamon said, his accent as thick as Colin could remember. Usually Eamon's voice betrayed little of his Irish origin. "I had a strange dream," Colin said, scratching his head. "I was in a huge bathtub and there were bubbles everywhere. I was smokin' and drinkin' and just lyin' there like a king! I must have been a rich man." Eamon laughed, his light eyes dancing. "That's a dream, all right! You're still as poor as a church mouse, livin' for the next few days in the bowels of the greatest ship in the world! I still can't believe we could afford the eight pounds apiece to make the trip!" Groaning, Colin extricated himself from the bunk, grabbing the painted pipe framing it. A smiling young man entered the small room; he reached over and slapped Eamon on the back. "C'mon you two! Soup's on. Our supper's included in the fare, but we better not be late," he said in a decidedly American drawl. "We're comin', Jack," Eamon said. "I'm just tryin' to get me lazy brother's arse out of bed." The man named Jack grinned at Colin, his fresh face and blue eyes shining. "Hurry up! It's a beautiful day outside, and we have our own deck for all us lowly steerage rats." Still disoriented, Colin tucked in his shirt and pulled on his shoes. Then he followed his brother and the young American, Jack, out of the cabin marked G-60, down a white corridor and up a set of stairs to a landing labeled 'F Deck.' "This is the 'Dining Salon,'" Jack announced as the three men entered a room about 50 feet long, filled with a couple hundred strangers speaking what seemed to be dozens of different languages. They hung their jackets on the hooks lining the wall, then sat down at a table that held twenty people; around them, Colin picked out at least three different English dialects alone! "Not bad," Colin said when they got their food. "It's edible." Eamon sat beside him, shoveling the contents of his plate. "Fucking potatoes," he complained between bites. "Just what we don't need!" "Jesus, the bread is fresh, and they've even got fruit!" Colin argued. "We don't get fed this well at home." "There's supposed to be a smoking room nearby," Jack reported. "But let's go outside and see the sights!" The three finished quickly and headed down the long corridor toward a staircase. Within minutes they were sucking in the clean, cool air of the Atlantic Ocean. Jack leaned against the rail and started scribbling in a large tablet. "15,000 Irishmen built this ship," Eamon bragged. "She's solid as a rock." He laughed. "But it took an Englishman to name it!" "What's it called?" Colin asked. Eamon looked at his brother with disbelief. "You know what the name of this ship is, boyo! Titanic! Everyone knows that." Colin cupped his hand around a flickering match as he lit a cigarette. Titanic? He must have known the name, because a feeling of familiarity tugged at his brain. The sea air and the feel of a smoke in his fingers were slowly bringing Colin back to a sense of reality. Even the steady motion of the ship now seemed normal. A steward walked by holding the leashes of several small dogs. Eamon snorted. "That's typical. First Class dogs come down here to take a shite." "Lets us know how we rank in the scheme of things," said Jack, laughing. "Like we could forget!" Eamon answered. "Why do you think they call it the 'poop deck'?" Colin added. He leaned toward Jack. "What's that?" he asked, looking over Jack's shoulder. The young American was sketching, with a light, expert touch. "You a real artist?" Colin continued, flicking his ash away from the sketch pad. "You make any money at it?" Jack nodded. "Little enough." He was distracted, gazing at one of the upper decks, watching a beautiful young woman in a green and white dress with a bright red sash. "Forget it, laddie," Eamon said, following Jack's gaze. "You'd as like have monkeys fly outta your arse as ever get so much as a look from her!" Jack didn't answer. Colin saw a well-dressed gentleman approach the young redhead, and the two began to quarrel. He smiled to himself and turned to look out at the vast ocean. "What a fine day!" he said. "Not a cloud in the fuckin' sky!" "It's rainin' in Dublin right now," Eamon agreed. "You can bet your arse on that." Colin found he wasn't able to imagine their home in Ireland. His mind's eye was crowded with other places and people that he couldn't quite bring into focus, other spots in the world that he should have no earthly reason to remember -- places hot and dry, dark and damp, loud and bright. And these places were peopled with strangers, many of them women. Facing the rail, the wind whipping his long, dark hair back, Colin closed his eyes and tried to shut out the stubborn vision of a child's face. He had no idea who the carrot-topped kid could be, but of all the people jumbled in his head, this one lingered. What the fuck's wrong with me, he wondered, squinting against the sun. He sighed and finished his cigarette. The good weather continued to hold throughout the day, and after dinner the men returned to the deck. The North Atlantic night was clear and cold. The three comrades, plus Jack's Italian friend Fabrizio, stood smoking in the chill April air. Colin stared in awe at a firmament glistening with stars. On the horizon, the sea and sky melded so completely that the stars seemed cut in two where water and air met. "Ain't it grand!" Jack said. "Could you ever have imagined this? Fabrizio and I won our tickets here in a poker game. I call that good fortune!" "Colin and I worked our arses off to earn this fare. It took every shilling we had, but it'll be worth it to get to America." "And now we're freezin' those arses off," Colin commented, wishing he had worn the thin jacket he had left in their cabin. He shivered a little. "I'm goin' inside." "I'm not ready to face those four walls. I think I'll sleep here under the stars," Jack said. "There's a bench handy." "Suit yourself," said Eamon. "We'll see you tomorrow, lad." Colin slept especially well that night, accustomed now to the distant churning of the ship's mighty engines. He dreamed of Dublin and his home there, but when he woke, he couldn't remember anything but the smell of the clematis climbing the trellis on the side of his father's house. The strange people and places of the previous day were gone, even the small child. Jack was in a pensive mood at breakfast. "Remember that beautiful redhead?" he asked between forkfuls of scrambled eggs. Colin nodded. How could he forget? He took a swallow of strong coffee out of the white mug marked with the red emblem of the White Star ship line. "I met her on deck last night. She's a little strange, really, but she sure smelled good!" "How'd ya' get close enough to smell her?" Eamon asked, chewing on a biscuit. "I had her in my arms," Jack said, smiling, "for a minute." "Fuckin' liar," Colin said. Jack laughed. "No. I really did! She almost fell off the back of the damn ship!" Shaking his head, Colin picked up his empty plate. "You're lucky you weren't blamed for pushin' her," he said. "Actually, I was," Jack said, his eyebrows arched. "Y'know, Colin, you're a pretty smart Mick!" Colin laughed. "Been there, lad. Believe me. I've been blamed for far worse." "And most of it was true," Eamon commented. "Why do you think we had to leave Ireland?" The three friends chortled as they deposited their dirty plates in the huge tubs near the door. "Glad we don't have to wash those," Colin said with a sigh. "What a job that would be!" "I've had worse," said Jack. "I'm gonna go on deck and do some drawing and see if I can find Rose. That's her name. Rose. Perfect, isn't it?" Colin smiled. "Sure, lad. Perfect." The next time Colin saw Jack, he had the redheaded Rose with him. The steerage passengers were having a noisy party in the General room on the C Deck, and Jack brought the young woman along. "I had dinner with the swells tonight," Jack explained. "I drank champagne and ate fish eggs. I decided to pass on the cigars." Eamon grinned. "Sounds dull to me, lad." "It wasn't. Really." They danced on tables, and Jack's upper-crust friend went on her toes. 'En Pointe' she called it later, spelling out the French for the ignorant paddys. Colin stood aside watching, for once content to leave another to the prettiest girl. As he clapped his hands and passed a mug of beer back and forth with Eamon, he could see Jack was taken with Rose. And why not? She was as beautiful as Jack was talented, and both were young and full of life. Watching, Colin had a strange feeling of being an observer of someone else's life, as though he were somehow standing outside his own body as one sometimes does in a dream. He stared at Jack's handsome, shining face, more fascinated by the young man's masculine beauty than he was by the blooming comeliness of his red-haired companion. Later, when Jack finally returned to their cabin, Colin could see by the light from the hallway that his face was still flushed from the excitement of the long evening. Eamon and Fabrizio were both asleep, snoring in their bunks. "Do you love her?" Colin whispered when Jack walked in and shut the door behind him. Jack shrugged. "I don't know. She's engaged to a real prick, but I don't know if she can give him up. Or give up her life. I'm a man who lives on God's good graces. What could a girl like that see in someone like me?" Colin thought how appealing he found Jack's life -- a free-spirited artist. How he longed to find a way to express his own artistic side! "Damn, I'll never sleep," Jack complained. "I should go up on deck, but it's freezing!" "Climb in with me," Colin offered. "I'll help you take the edge off." In a moment, Jack was beside Colin in the small bunk, his tall, lean frame pressing close. "You're a real friend," Jack said, wiggling as he slipped down his drawers. "It's nothin'," Colin insisted, "but keep quiet. Eamon's just below us." Jack laughed into Colin's ear. "I'll try." Colin reached over and rubbed his hand against Jack's crotch, teasing his private parts. He took Jack's penis in his palm, running his fingertips along its stiffening length. As he did so, he burrowed his face into Jack's long neck, softly touching the quivering skin with his lips. "Shit," Jack whispered. "That feels good!" "Shhhhh," Colin warned. Taut fingers gripped Colin's back as he worked on Jack, stroking the hardened organ with an expert hand. Moisture beaded up on Jack's back and neck, and he shook a little as Colin held him tight. "Colin, I can't," he said. "Can't what?" Jack laughed. "I don't know! I just can't!" "Can't come? Believe me, you can. I'll get the job done!" When Jack started to whimper, Colin covered the soft mouth with his own. He told himself he was doing it to keep his friend quiet, even while he enjoyed the salty taste of Jack's supple lips. In just moments, the contact had become a passionate kiss, and Colin's tongue met Jack's, oblivious to who had made the first thrust. Colin pulled away for a moment and wriggled out of his own trousers. His penis was painfully erect, demanding to be freed from the confining pressure of cloth. "Climb over me," he instructed Jack. "Grab on to that pipe." Jack did as he was told, now seemingly lost in a wave of enthusiastic ardor. He positioned his crotch over Colin's, guided by the Irishman's insistent hands. Then he slowly started to undulate his lower body, his belly, thighs and straining penis, all making maddening contact with Colin's own. Colin continued to gently direct Jack's actions, holding the firm hips in his hands, pushing and tugging until Jack was frenetically dry-humping him. Colin strained to make out the lovely lines of Jack's boyish face above him in the darkness of the Third Class cabin. Jack's light hair flopped on his forehead and over his tightly shut eyes, and he was clearly unaware of anything but his own sensations -- sensations that seemed to be taking him close to a rousing finish. "That's right, lad," Colin whispered. "Let yourself go. You've earned it." With a whistling breath, Jack stiffened over Colin and spurted out his achievement. The discharge was like a tribute, and Colin reached down and wetted his finger with the warm liquid and quickly rubbed it over his own suffering organ. Using Jack's ejaculate as lubricant, Colin held the now limp form in his arms tightly to his crotch and finished against the ridge of Jack's hipbone. "Oh, fuck," Colin said hoarsely, pulling Jack down next to him in the tight bunk. "That was so nice." Jack was making a soft purring noise, clearly relaxed after the release of his pent up passion. "That girl did a number on you," Colin whispered. "But leave it to an Irishman to set things right." "Thank God for the Irish," Jack agreed in a sleepy voice. "I love you guys." "We love you, too," Colin answered, his mouth very close to Jack's ear. "I love you," he added very softly. When Colin woke, Jack was gone. Eamon was puttering around the tiny room, whistling and singing to himself, obviously waiting for his lazy brother to finally come to life. "I slept like the dead," Colin said. "No wonder." "Did we wake you last night?" Eamon laughed. "No. Sure, I thought the boat was caught in a storm, then I realized it would take a lot more than a hurricane to rock a ship like this one! It would take a Farrell." Colin joined in the laugh. "You're right!" He climbed out of the bunk. His bright blue eyes suddenly serious, Eamon placed a hand on Colin's back. "It's not like you to look at a boy, little brother. I thought I was the one in the family with those tastes." "I guess you're not the only one," Colin admitted slowly. "Or maybe you're just a bad influence." "No doubt. Let's go eat while we still can! I'm afraid we missed church this morning." Their Sunday was spent eating, smoking and exploring what they could of the ship. The Third Class areas were all blocked off by either small gates or metal fences, some inviting trespass, others effectively deterring it. To Colin's chagrin, he didn't see Jack all day. He worried a bit that Jack regretted their interlude of the previous night, and although he wasted some time speculating, he found it didn't dampen his desire. He wondered what it would be like to spend more time in bed with the young American. Standing on deck that afternoon, smoking and watching the sea, he imagined Jack's mouth on his cock while his fingers were twisted in the thick, fair hair. He had to keep his back to the deck much of the time to conceal the enthusiastic bulge in his trousers. He even allowed himself to think about the possibility of penetration. Would Jack's ass be as tight as it looked? An agitated Colin retired early, hoping Jack would rejoin him in his bunk. The night was especially cold, and Jack could hardly sleep outside in the freezing air. But when the elusive American hadn't returned to their cabin after a couple of hours, Colin fell into a fitful, frustrated sleep, unwilling to relieve his sexual tension without Jack's assistance. It must have been close to midnight when Colin was suddenly awakened. The noise wasn't something he could describe. It wasn't a crash or a thud. It didn't really sound like an explosion or even a collision. But he had definitely heard a strange noise. And after that, a cessation of sound as the mighty engines of the Titanic stopped. "What the fuck was that?" Colin said to Eamon. "What?" "The ship has stopped." "No. I'm sure it hasn't." "Just lie there for a minute and listen. The engines have stopped and we're not moving." The two brothers lay quietly in their bunks. The only sound in the room now was Fabrizio's light snoring. Colin sat up. "Shit, now I'm awake anyway. I might as well get up. Is Jack in bed?" As he asked the question, he saw in the dimness of the room that Jack's bunk was empty. "Where the hell is he?" Eamon groaned as he disentangled his tall frame from the lower berth. "Maybe Jack is a bumble bee, and he's tasting a little nectar from that Rose!" Colin frowned at the thought and hopped out of bed. Somewhere he could hear what sounded like a whistle blowing, and now there were definitely confused voices in the corridor. Eamon shook Fabrizio awake. The three grabbed their jackets and caps and left the cabin. They stood in the hall, staring around them at the curious faces. "What's all the fuss?" someone asked. "Should we be going on deck?" Colin walked toward the stairwell and looked down. Far below he swore he could see a glint of white floating and shimmering on what appeared to be water. Was the mailroom flooded? "Holy shit," he called to Eamon and Fabrizio. "Let's go!" "We should get to the girls," one of the men said. The Third Class women were separated from the men, housed at the back of the ship. The only way to reach them was by traversing the walkway that ran from bow to stern on E Deck, two flights up. "Let's go," Eamon said, and the men started climbing the stairs. When they reached E Deck, they turned the corner and hurried down the wide aisle way known as Scotland Road. They passed the quarters of the scullions and the stewards and the waiters as they ran, noticing that even the crew that were below deck seemed confused and disoriented. They passed the engineer's mess and the cook's quarters. Colin noticed a portly man dressed in white, standing with a flask at the door. A steward passed by, handing out life vests. The women were standing huddled together, more dazed and disorganized than the men had been. Some were still below, and several men hurried downstairs to fetch them. "What do we do now?" someone asked. "We get the fuck out of here," Colin shouted, pointing to the nearest stairway. The crowd climbed up toward the Saloon Deck, but found themselves blocked by a secured metal cage. Behind the barrier, several Second Class stewards were arguing over what to do. For a moment the gate was unlocked to allow a few of the women to pass, but then the confused stewards pulled the thing shut. "Let us out!" Colin yelled, pushing his way forward. "For God's sake, man, there's women and children down here! Let us out so we can have a chance!" A horrible choking claustrophobia clawed at his throat. Eamon's face was reddened by fear and anger. "You can't keep us locked in here like animals!" he hollered. "The ship's bloody sinkin'!" Colin turned for an instant and saw a familiar face; Jack was just behind him in the crowd, hand in hand with Rose. "Jack!" he yelled. "Colin!" "Where have you been?" "Rose saved me, Colin! The bastards had me handcuffed down below." He leaned toward Colin and spoke quietly. "She loves me! We made love." Colin nodded in reply, not surprised. Eamon shoved past them. "It's hopeless this way," he said, throwing his hands up in disgust. "Whatever we do, we gotta do it fast," Jack said, noticing Fabrizio in the crowd and greeting him with enthusiasm. "The boats are all gone!" Fabrizio reported. He and some other steerage passengers had managed to get a look out of one of the heavy pressure doors in the hull before it was closed against the rising water. Jack grimaced. "This whole place is flooding! We gotta get out of here!" He motioned for Colin, Eamon and Fabrizio to follow. "Let's go this way -- all right? Come on!" The five headed down the corridor toward another stairway, this one more narrow than the first. Again the entrance to D deck was blocked by a metal fence. "Goddamn it!" Jack yelled. "Son of a bitch!" He and Colin scrambled toward a wooden bench fastened to the floor. With Eamon and Fabrizio's help, they tore it loose and used it as a battering ram against the steel cage. "Get back!" ordered a steward as they finally broke through. Colin rewarded him with a punch to the jaw that vibrated up his arm as he ran past. They kept climbing, finally coming into the freezing night air on the Boat Deck. Colin was oblivious to the cold as they burst out into the night, thankful to be free of the chokehold both physical and psychological of the sinking ship. Now they would be all right! They were free! The deck was in chaos. Rockets were being fired into the air, and they burst like celebratory fireworks through the blackness of the sky. The huge smokestacks emitted blasts of steam, and occasionally there were screams coming from either side of the ship and from the ocean below. In the midst of the pandemonium, the string orchestra sat on the deck, calmly playing. Eamon nearly laughed. "Music to drown by! Now I know I'm in First Class!" he said as they ran toward the lifeboats. The crowd in front of them was immobile. The officer in charge was pulling the women and children out and directing them to the safety of the boats. "Check the other side!" Jack yelled to Colin. "I've got to get Rose off this ship!" For the first time Colin noticed Jack was in his shirtsleeves and suspenders, and he was completely drenched with seawater. "Be careful!" he said vehemently. "They won't let you go! Once you get her aboard, come and find us!" Then, reluctantly, he turned from Jack. The scene on the other side of the ship was even worse. The officer in charge was nervous and brittle, seeming about to break with the cold and the stress. "Stay back!" he kept yelling. "Stop pushing!" "Will you give us a chance to live, you Limey bastard?" Eamon hollered. "I'll shoot any man who tries to get past me," the officer warned. Then a surge from the back caused the crowd to push forward, and the tenuous hold the officer had on his emotions completely cracked. He started to shoot. The man next to Colin fell over, clutching his gut. Eamon shouted and moved toward the officer, and he, too, was shot. Colin stood momentarily frozen with shock. Eamon hit the deck, groaning. All around them, time stall for an instant, and a strange hush enveloped them. Then another officer called out for the gun, and, maddened, Colin lunged toward the murderous, faceless uniform. Before he could reach him, the man put the gun to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. "Holy Christ!" Colin said. He tore his eyes from the gory remains of the steward and knelt down next to Eamon, whose left arm was bleeding from what appeared to be a flesh wound. "We gotta get him to a boat," Colin told the surviving officer. "This way," the man agreed, pointing at a boat now being lowered from above to the deck. Colin and Fabrizio grabbed the ropes and started to help. When the process stalled, Fabrizio pulled out a knife, stuck it in his mouth and started to climb the rope to cut the boat free. Behind Colin a man's voice said, "I have a child! Please! I'm all she has in the world!" The man was tall and handsome -- a gentleman who seemed vaguely familiar. Hadn't Colin seen him just a few days earlier with Jack's sweetheart, Rose? The sea was surging over the deck when the boat was finally settled on its right side. The man with the baby climbed in, and the officer helped Colin and Fabrizio get Eamon on board. "No, I won't go without you, Colin!" Eamon protested. "I'm not hurt that bad!" "Fuck you, Eamon! You stay in that boat!" Colin looked around at the rushing green water, and for an instant he could clearly hear the sound of the band. What were they playing? He knew the song. It was 'Nearer My God to Thee.' Jesus Christ. "Take care of my brother!" Colin said to the officer, his eyes smarting from the salt air and his own sudden tears. He reached over and kissed Eamon. "I love you, you pretty thing!" Eamon, too, was openly weeping. "May you be in heaven an hour before the Devil knows you're dead, you horny little bastard!" he said, bestowing the Farrell version of an Irish blessing. Colin laughed, the sound catching in his throat. "I'd better hurry then. We're about to get swamped!" Fabrizio had taken a life jacket from the body of the dead man. He motioned to Colin to move, and with a final nod at Eamon, Colin turned away, sure he would never see his brother's face again. The two men ran past the band, who had finally stopped playing, and as they scurried up the rapidly inclining deck, Colin heard one of the musicians say, "Gentlemen, it has been a privilege playing with you tonight." That must be the way gentlemen die, he thought. With the exception of the prick who had been Rose's boyfriend, who had hid behind a child to beg his way to safety. At the thought of the child, Colin's mind started to swirl, nearly knocking him off balance. He clambered up the slippery deck, noticing suddenly that Fabrizio had fallen back. "Fabrizio!" he yelled. Turning, he saw the young Italian far behind, now covered in water and swimming away from the ship. It was lucky he had managed to get a lifejacket! Without a moment's pause, Colin continued his trek toward Titanic's stern; the great ship was going down by the head. Then, miraculously, Jack and Rose burst from a door on Colin's right. Their reunion was short, as all three started to run up the ever-teetering deck. "We have to stay on the ship as long as possible!" Jack said. They climbed and jumped, dodging impediments, oblivious to the screams and the horrible sounds around them. The heavy ropes holding one of the smokestacks suddenly broke loose, snapping with enough force to knock a grown man into the sea. The great funnel tottered and then fell, crushing the people who were swimming below. Colin hoped their friend Fabrizio was not one of them. The lights of the ship flickered for a moment, threatening to go out. Then, as if making a reluctant decision, they continued to burn. "Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil," intoned a voice ahead of them. "You wanna walk a little faster through that Valley there?" Jack suggested, pushing his way around a pastor. The back of the ship was rising like a giant bitch in heat. The last few feet to the stern had to be climbed, and around them people lost their footing and their handholds and went sliding down the deck like competitors in a life or death slalom, finally splashing into the freezing Atlantic. The few people who had reached the end of the ship now held fast to the rail. Atop this strong barrier was a man in white -- the baker Colin had seen earlier below deck. In one hand he held his flask, and he let go long enough to take a drink. "Jack! This is where we first met!" Rose said. Looking at Colin, Jack smiled. "I told her, 'If you jump, I jump'! She didn't think I meant it." The voice of the priest or preacher was now praying loudly and resolutely, reciting a verse from Revelations. "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain," he sang out. Colin reached out and tried to grab a nearby young woman who was losing her grip, but he couldn't save her. She screamed as she fell and bounced off the deck, and Rose turned her horrified face away. Colin himself was having trouble holding on. Then the lights went out. The blackness of the night covered everything, the dying ship and the dying people. Colin said his own silent prayer, sure now the end was near. A horrible cracking sound rose beneath them. The ship began to groan and moan, as if a giant sea monster were breaking through the deck. For a few seconds, it was all they could hear. Then the butt of the ship started to fall, as though it, too, had lost its grip. The ship had broken in two! Colin held on so hard that he felt one of his fingernails rip off; he knew he could easily have been catapulted like a missile when the giant stern hit the water. "I've got you!" Jack said to Rose. "I won't let you go! Colin, hold on!" "Jack, what's happening?" Rose asked. "I don't know," he answered. The stern of the ship was rising again, at first slowly, then at an alarming rate. "Hold on!" Jack yelled unnecessarily, as a churning sound signaled their wild ride wasn't finished. The broken backside of the ship was now ready to sink, and it would soon be sucked down with the speed of a slippery noodle into the mouth of the gluttonous Atlantic. Jack helped Rose over the rail, where propellers the size of windmills faced the night sky. They were now perched on the very back of the ship. Colin, too, climbed over, noticing the baker still clinging to his perch, his face as stiff as rigor. "Take a deep breath," Jack commanded. "When we hit the water, start kicking for the surface. Rose, don't let go of my hand." Beneath them, the bottom dropped out like a broken lift, and the water started spouting up around them. "Colin, keep kicking! Don't let go of my hand, Rose! We're gonna make it -- trust me!" "I trust you," Rose answered tremulously. Jack kept shouting orders until his voice was drowned out by the roaring water. "Ready -- Now!" They were pulled under, submerged in the depths of the sea. Colin could make out the forms of Jack and Rose as they clung together under water, kicking for dear life, their hands clasped together, their legs akimbo. He found himself being tugged away from them, and he gasped for breath, straining to tear free of the ocean's grip and break for the surface-- Cold. So cold. Colin nearly shouted as he suddenly felt air on his face. He lurched up, shivering. The water was past his chin and the temperature had cooled a great deal. It was bathwater. He had obviously fallen asleep in the tub. "Eamon!" he yelled. "Eamon, where are ya'?" "Colin, are you still in the bath?" Eamon rushed in the room and reached out a hand to Colin. "Get out of there! You'll catch pneumonia!" Colin allowed Eamon to pull him up; he threw out his arms and grasped his tall, warm brother, unwilling for a time to let go. "What the hell's the matter with you?" "Not sure," Colin said through chattering teeth. "But I was worried about you. I thought you were hurt." "Let's get some clothes on you. Come on." Eamon tugged at Colin, urging him into the connecting bedroom. "Here," he said, tossing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt at Colin. "Put these on." Colin stepped into the jeans, not fastening them. He stood, shivering, staring at the tee shirt as though he had never seen it before and hadn't worn it dozens of times. It was light blue, the front covered with writing and a drawing of a boat; it was his Fisherman's Excuse Shirt. 'Hook was Dull,' 'Small Worms,' 'Warm Beer,' read some of the excuses. 'Too Windy.' 'Line Broke.' 'Boat Sank.' "Fuck!" Colin said, staring at the words 'boat sank.' "What?" Vivid images poured into Colin's mind like frigid water spilling over the bulkheads of a mighty ocean liner. He felt cold air on his skin and heard the sounds of exploding rockets and steaming smokestacks. He looked up at the tanned face of his brother, and it seemed wrong somehow -- out of place. He closed his eyes and pictured another face, that of a young American man with blonde hair and blue eyes. "Jack," he said. "Who?" He shook his head. "Nobody." Jack had gone into the freezing water. There was no possible way he could have survived. At least he had been with his beloved Rose at the end. "Are you okay?" Eamon finally asked, watching with concern as Colin stood half-naked in the dim light of the bedroom, clutching the shirt like a lifejacket. Colin looked at his brother, his expression grim. "I'm alive," he answered. The End
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