by Calia Read
This doesn’t make sense. Even if I attempted to make sense of this entire situation, I’d become so overwhelmed and frustrated that I’d give up. No, at this point, it’s better to push aside everything that’s unsettling me and focus on one thing—getting the hell back home.
On the other side of the room is a drop-front desk flanked by two bookcases. I gently lower the hinged panel, only to reveal a network of shelves and small drawers. I go through the compartments and find an assortment of items: receipts, blank papers, writing utensils. There are a few letters written to Delia by someone named Alma. That name doesn’t ring a bell, so I continue searching.
There’s nothing here. Nothing of use to me at least.
“Why is it so hard to get you alone?” a voice says behind me.
I turn around, and my stomach sinks. Johnathan is standing in the doorway. I suppress a groan and stare at the desk with longing. I can’t search with him here, and judging from the gleam in his eyes, he won’t be leaving soon. “Why do I feel like I’m in a really bad Lifetime movie?” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” I face him. “What do you want?”
The first time I met Johnathan, he was barely tolerable. Now he’s annoying. He’s like a fly you keep swatting away but continues to come back.
“We haven’t seen much of each other,” he says.
Everything about my body language screams “back off.” Johnathan must know it, yet he moves deeper into the room, directly toward me.
“Believe me, there’s a reason we do not see each other,” I comment.
His arrogant smile never wavers. “Did I do somethin’ to offend you?”
I give him sickly sweet smile. “No. I just don’t like you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should probably get back outside.”
I step to the left, trying to get as far away as possible from him, but this isn’t a big room. I still have to brush past him to get toward the door. I’m mere steps away from freedom when he grabs my arm, spins me back into the room, and slams me against the wall. Pain reverberates through my skull.
A red veil of rage covers my eyes. My heart pounds in tandem with the one thought echoing in my mind—beat the shit out of him. Once I can get his hands off of me, of course.
Until then I stay perfectly still. We’re the same height, and I don’t want to look him in the eye. I don’t want to give him that satisfaction. Defiantly, I stare at the opposite side of the room.
Johnathan stands so close I can smell alcohol on his breath. “Serene, you’re not going anywhere.”
If I’m honest, I’m a little scared. But the adrenaline rushing through me is all-powerful and refuses to let fear take over.
“What has become of you lately?” he asks gruffly. “I haven’t heard a word from you in days.”
“Take the hint.”
“No.”
I take a deep breath. “Look, I changed my mind. I have a lot of things going on. Probably best if we don’t see each other. Ever again.”
Johnathan stands frozen in place. He doesn’t let go. His brows become furrowed as he absorbs my words. He’s not used to being rejected.
When he presses closer, my panic grows. “You need to let go.”
“No.” He tightens his grip until his fingers are digging into my skin, and it takes everything in me not to wince. That’s what he wants—for me to react. He wants to see me in pain.
“Let. Go.”
He leans in closer. “Or you’ll do what?” His lips tilt into a cocky smile.
We’re alone, and he’s banking on me putting up a struggle, with him ultimately getting his way. He’s the kind of man I hate. The kind that makes my flesh crawl.
Yes, he’s arrogant, but also very, very stupid; he’s underestimated me. He has no idea I have two brothers who taught me how to fight back.
He paws at my body, and my nails claw at his face and any available piece of skin. I draw blood on his neck, but I keep him back with strength I didn’t know I had.
I forcefully hit my palm against the top of his nose. He rears back and clutches his nose with both hands. Blood trickles between his fingers, but there’s no time to savor the moment. I remember my brother Ian’s advice, from all those years ago, that if I’m ever in a dangerous situation with a guy, I should knee him in the groin as best as possible.
Johnathan’s guard is down, and I use that to my advantage by wedging my knee between his legs and shoving it upward as hard as I can. Seconds later, he collapses. Panting, I stare at his limp body in shock. His hands abandoned his nose and are now in between his legs. He’s making noises that would usually make me feel sympathy. Instead, a shocking burst of laughter escapes my lips because I can’t believe I did it.
My muscles are coiled tight, waiting for him to stand back up and try something else, but he remains on the floor, eyes shut and an expression of agony on his face. He mutters curse words and groans that he’s never going to be able to walk again. That’s a stretch; he may be down for the count, but he’ll be okay.
“I was gonna see if you needed help, but it’s clear you don’t.”
My head snaps up, and I see Étienne leaning against the open doorway. His hands are tucked into his pockets. He looks like a man of leisure, but his eyes are narrowed on Johnathan and his body is rigid. He looks seconds away from pouncing on Johnathan and beating the shit out of him.
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to watch you deliver a blow that, as a man, made me cringe.”
“He was—”
Étienne’s eyes darken. “I saw everythin’.”
Pushing away from the doorway, he saunters closer. Once he reaches Johnathan, he stares at him as though he’s an insect underneath a microscope. Étienne uses the toe of his boot to nudge him. Johnathan groans and attempts to bury his head into the carpet.
There’s not an ounce of sympathy on Étienne’s face. He’s not furious though. Instead, he’s incredibly calm. Which is almost more terrifying than seeing him angry.
His green eyes meet mine. “Sure you’re okay?”
I nod.
He stares at me for a second longer before he looks away.
The last thing I want to do is spend another second in this room. “Escort me back. Husbands still do that, right?”
Wordlessly, Étienne holds out his arm.
Before I accept, I kneel next to Johnathan. “I’m not going to pretend I understand, but I hear it’s incredibly painful to be hit in the family jewels, so nod your head once if you can hear me.” I keep my voice calm, as if I’m talking about the weather.
He nods once.
“Good. If you ever touch me again, speak to me again, or even glance my way, I will gut you like a deer. Are we clear?”
Johnathan, who’s still clutching his crotch, moans something unintelligible. I’m going to assume it’s an agreement.
I smile and stand. “Excellent. We have an understanding.”
Étienne continues to stare between Johnathan and me in complete disbelief. It’s the first time I’ve seen him appear dumbfounded.
“He’s a creep,” I say as I loop my hand into the crook of his arm. “I don’t want to see him again.”
“I do business with him,” Étienne remarks as we walk out of the room.
“After what you just saw, will you still be doing business with him?”
He pauses and glances at me. “I don’t believe so.”
“Good.”
Something passes between us. It certainly isn’t understanding or respect, but it’s pretty damn close. And I’ll take it, because hating Étienne is far more exhausting than I anticipated.
We walk down the hall, toward the patio. The two of us are quiet. “I have to know one thing,” he says.
“What?”
Étienne lowers his voice. “Do you honestly know how to gut a deer?”
“No, but if I’m truly your wife, you should know that… right?”
H
e never answers me.
That teacher was right—I wasn’t believable as an actress. But right now, that might be the very thing to work in my favor.
“SERENE. SERENE! WAKE up.”
I peek one eye open and see Nat looming above me. I brush my tangled hair away from my face to get a better look at her.
“What?” I say groggily.
It takes a few tries to blink Nat into focus. She looks panicked. Propping myself up on my elbow, I glance around my room. The maids are moving around, their lips tightly drawn. Their eyes share the same panic as Nat’s.
Outside my door are muffled voices and footsteps. Time travel or not, it doesn’t take a genius to know something is wrong.
“It’s positively devastatin’,” Nat whispers. “How could this happen?”
I sit up in bed. “What are you talking about?”
Nat brushes the tears from her cheeks and paces. “I can’t believe it,” she murmurs so quietly I can barely hear.
I try to catch the eye of one of the maids, hoping they might be able to fill me in, but they won’t look my way. “What are you talking about?”
A somber-looking maid gives Nat a newspaper. Nat then hands it to me. I read the headline. My heart sputters then stops before it starts pounding rapidly.
TITANIC RESCUED BY CARPATHIA. ALL PASSENGERS SAFE.
At first, I think I’m reading the headline wrong. My gaze never leaves the newspaper. I keep waiting for the letters to move around. My mind tells me it can’t be. The Titanic sinking was over a hundred years ago. It’s history.
But reality slams into me and I realize that I’m living history.
Shoving my face close to the paper, I read and reread the first sentence of the article. Toward the end, I read that the Titanic is being towed by the SS Virginian.
I lower the paper, knowing that the reports of the ship and passengers being safe are erroneous. It won’t be until later that people will discover the Titanic was lost at sea.
I didn’t learn all about the Titanic for fun. My dad is a lover of all history, but nothing fascinated him more than the Titanic. As a kid, he made my brothers and me watch every documentary about the ship. He has an entire shelf dedicated to books written about the Titanic. He dragged me to the Titanic museum in Branson, Missouri, and the one in Buena Park, California. Over time, I began to find it fascinating and would readily listen to him spout off facts about the tragic sinking.
Nat stares at me with a tortured expression. “Can you imagine what those poor people have gone through?”
How can I tell her the truth? How can I tell her that this newspaper is wrong and that more lives will be lost than saved? The answer is simple—I can’t.
“I’m so relieved they’re all okay,” she remarks.
Although I know Nat will inevitably find out the news, I don’t want to be the one to break it to her.
“Did you know anyone aboard?” I ask.
She nods rapidly. “A few. Étienne is friends with John Jacob Astor.”
Then I see my opening, a way to prove to Étienne that I am who I say I am. For the first time in my life, I’m grateful for my dad’s strange obsession. I may not want to tell Nat the outcome of this disaster, but with Étienne, this might be the very thing to save me.
“Does Étienne know?” I ask in a steady voice, trying to keep myself calm.
“I don’t think so. The only reason I know is that I heard the maids talkin’ about it.” She wrings her hands. “He’ll read about it soon enough, I’m sure.”
That’s all I need to hear. Without another word, I jump out of bed and run out of my room, the newspaper in my hands.
“Where are you goin’?” Nat shouts.
I don’t reply because I know I only have a few minutes to intercept Étienne. Holding onto the railing, I fly down the staircase. I make a sharp left before hurrying down another long corridor. By the time I enter the dining room, I’m nearly out of breath. With my hands braced on my knees, I take a deep breath and look down the extended length of the table. My heart sinks when I see that Étienne is already sitting, his plate filled with food. A newspaper is spread out in front of him.
His coffee cup is halfway to his mouth when he lifts his head and sees me standing there. The look he gives me is filled with reproach. “Why do you continue to walk around the house with nearly nothin’ on?”
Clothes are the least of my worries. Ignoring the question, I walk straight toward him. “The Titanic sank.”
“No, it didn’t. Have you read the headlines?”
“Yes. But the newspaper is wrong.” I snatch the newspaper from the table and toss it to the floor. Shock registers in those whip-smart eyes, and before he can say a word, I speak up. “The Titanic struck a glacier at 11:40 p.m. last night. They were warned to slow down, but it’s theorized the captain wanted to set a record. By 2:20 a.m. the ship separated and sank. What was considered the safest boat in the world ended up not having enough lifeboats.”
“What are—”
“This will become one of the greatest tragedies of the century. And one of the deadliest peacetime accidents in history. There were approximately 1,317 aboard, and that’s not including the crew. Seven hundred and ten people survived. Close to fifteen hundred people died.”
By now, Étienne’s palms are laid flat on the table as he stares at me.
“The RMS Carpathia will respond to the distress calls and rescue the survivors. The ship will arrive in New York on April 18th. Thousands of people will be waiting for the ship’s arrival. Later today, the truth about what happened will be confirmed.”
“You’ve gone mad.” His gaze darkens with every word that comes out of his mouth. But beneath his harsh words, I can feel the ripple of his doubt. He doesn’t want to believe me. He doesn’t want to listen to me. But whether he likes it or not, I have his attention.
I can’t stop now. I have to make him believe me. “Nat told me your friend John Jacob Astor and his wife, Madeline, were on the Titanic.”
Étienne’s face loses a bit of color. His lips go into a flat line, and that’s all the confirmation I need.
“She’s one of the survivors. They’ll find John’s body on April 22nd. In four months, Madeline will give birth to their son. She’ll name him after his father, and his nickname will be Jakey.
“You can go ahead and read the newspaper inside out. The information I told you isn’t known yet. The details that are released over the next few days will be the numbers of survivors and the body count from the multiple searches.” I take a deep breath. “Do you believe me now?”
There’s a crack in his armor. Every other time I’ve tried to talk to him, I was quickly dismissed. But I have him struck speechless, and we both know it.
He swallows loudly and watches me warily. “How did you know that?”
I lean in, our faces inches apart. “How do you think I know all that?”
Étienne’s nostrils flare, and he stands. I step back as Étienne tosses his napkin onto the table. “I have to go to work.”
He walks out of the room, but I’m not giving up.
“You still don’t believe me?” I shout to his back. “How can you not believe me after what I said?”
Étienne ignores me.
“Tell me,” I say with determination. “Tell me what I can do to make you believe me.” My voice takes on a pleading tone because this is my last-ditch attempt. If anything is going to pull him to my side, it will be this.
Abruptly, he turns and faces me. “There’s nothin’ you can do.”
There has to be something—anything—that will spark his attention. I step forward, a sense of desperation rising in me. And words pour from my mouth. “In 1985, they’ll discover the wreckage of the Titanic. But are these facts not enough? Do I need to give you more on what’s to come?”
He stares at me.
“In the 1930s there will be a Great Depression. If you have any stocks in the market, I would watch out if I were you.”
“What are you doing?”
“In 1914, World War I will begin. It will end in 1918. It’s considered one of the biggest wars in history. Can’t forget World War II. It’ll start in the late thirties.” Étienne backs up, and I advance. I have a power that comes from my words, and it makes my voice confident and strong. “Technology will advance. Women will earn the right to vote. Everything as you know it will change and—”
“Stop, Serene!”
“I can’t stop! Can’t you see that? I can’t stop until you believe me.”
Étienne stares at me, and I don’t see the rage and disgust that was once there before. I see fear and unease. Those are two emotions I can relate to; they were all I felt when I first came here.
“What has gotten into you?” he demands.
My words have put me on a precipice. If I persist, Étienne will push me off and I’ll be done for good. If I persist, he will finally believe me, and I’ll have someone on my side. I know what I need to do, but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
“It’s not what’s gotten into me and more like what’s happened to me. I’ve been trying to tell you the whole time, yet you won’t listen!”
Étienne closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. “It’s too early in the mornin’ to do this.”
“What? To tell the truth?”
“What’s happening with the Titanic just occurred.”
“Exactly. Why would I make this all up?” I shout.
Right then, a maid appears in the foyer. She glances between Étienne and me and promptly hurries up the stairs.
“Keep your voice down,” Étienne says through gritted teeth.
“I will if you stop and process my words. Deep down, you know I’m right.”
Étienne stares at me with an unreadable expression. But he isn’t walking away, and that has to count for something.
We’re standing in front of the doorway to the receiving room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a gilt frame shining in the light. I walk over to the credenza and pick up the frame. Who has a self-portrait of themselves? Old Serene does apparently. I can picture the bold, narcissistic woman in the picture occasionally stopping in front of this photograph and admiring her beauty. We have the same face, but I don’t recognize myself in those green eyes. I don’t see me.
