Laying the Music to Rest

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  I stood there too stunned to move. My mind wouldn’t accept the fact that this was the same man that was standing in front of that tent in that picture, even though he looked like he was, right down to the turn-of-the-century style pants and shirt.

  He had a rugged, hard face, accented by a short handlebar mustache. His blue eyes cut at me with a look of annoyance.

  Marjorie pushed me far enough into the room to get the door closed behind me. Then she turned and faced the man.

  “Alex?” she said.

  He nodded, looking first at Marjorie and then back at me, with the same annoyed look.

  “My name is Marjorie. This is Kellogg Jones. He’s new on board and was looking for you.”

  “Looking for me?” Alex asked. He got a puzzled frown on his face that cleared his eyes. He stood, closed his book and laid it on the bed. “Do I know you?” He reached out to shake Marjorie’s hand, then mine.

  I shook my head. “No. But I know of you. And in a fashion I have met Gretchen.”

  His face seemed to drain of color and he sat down in the chair, his eyes focused on something not in the room. After a moment he came back and looked at me. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “Have a seat and tell me about her. There’s an extra chair in the room across the hall.”

  I went across the small side hall and into a matching room. The chair was solid, heavy wood and I ended up dragging it back into Alex’s room instead of carrying it.

  Marjorie had already sat down on the couch, her legs curled up under her and the pillow behind her back against the wall. I slid the chair over so that we formed a triangle in the small room. I was facing down hill, and if the tilt to the floor got much worse, I wouldn’t be able to sit in the chair. I could see why Alex had his chair against the forward wall and his feet up.

  “So tell me, Mr. Jones,” Alex said, “how you came to meet Gretchen.”

  “Call me Doc. Everyone else does.”

  Alex nodded.

  I didn’t know where to start, so I figured I might as well get the worse part over. “Gretchen is dead.”

  Alex nodded thoughtfully. “I assumed she would be by now. She must have lived a full life to have met you. I’m glad to hear that.”

  I looked over at Marjorie and she nodded.

  “She died the night you were pulled here,” I said.

  “But how—” He stared at me with a cold, intense stare. “If this is some sort of joke, I do not find it the slightest bit funny. I was very much in love with Gretchen.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a fact,” I said. “Gretchen is the main reason I’m here. She died the night you left. The same night the town of Roosevelt flooded. She has been waiting for you to return.”

  “Waiting?” All these years?” Again his eyes focused on another place and he had to shake himself to return. “How? How can she be waiting? And what do you mean the town flooded?”

  Again I looked over at Marjorie, but she didn’t offer help. “She’s a ghost.”

  “A ghost?” he asked. “A spirit? Now I know you are making fun of me. A ghost seems a little farfetched, wouldn’t you admit?”

  “I didn’t believe it either, but I’m afraid it’s the truth. She can be clearly seen, and she seems very centered on having you return.”

  Alex shook his head. “I’m getting very confused.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said. “Let me back up and tell you everything I know. It might make more sense that way.”

  “A very good idea,” he said. He laughed softly. “A very good idea.”

  I started by telling him about what happened to the town of Roosevelt and what was left of it after eighty years. I told him about Constance and Fred and how Gretchen was hurting them without meaning to. I told him about the dive and about Gretchen playing the piano. Then finally I told him about Susan and how she had come through his grandmother’s mirror before I had.

  During the entire story, he just nodded, or added a detail about Gretchen or Roosevelt. After I finished, he sat there, his legs up on the bed, his eyes glazed over in thought.

  I couldn’t tell if he was accepting my wild story or not. But I was having different troubles. The floor of the cabin was tilting more and more. Halfway through the story I had abandoned the chair and sat down on the carpet. Now I was feeling very trapped. Claustrophobic. I didn’t like the idea of being so far inside a ship while it was sinking, even if the two people in front of me were living proof that I would survive it. I would much prefer my chances at swimming.

  I looked over at Marjorie. “Think it might be possible to go up and listen to the band?”

  She smiled and checked her watch. “Don’t think we’d make it.”

  Alex checked his gold vest-pocket watch. “Just a few more minutes.” He looked directly at me, his blue eyes now very clear, even more intense. “Do you think there might be a way back?”

  I fought down the fear building in my stomach and tried to give him a straight answer. “I got the impression that Susan thought there was. But we’d have to find her.”

  “I’d like to help,” Alex said. “It’s been a long time since Gretchen, but I still have memories of her as if it were yesterday. Before coming here, I would have laughed if you had brought up the possibility of a ghost existing. After eighty-one years on this ship, I tend to believe you.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But couldn’t we talk about this up on one of the decks? Doesn’t the water come up this high?”

  Again Alex checked his watch. “As a matter of fact, it does. Have a look down the hall.” He smiled at Marjorie as if they shared some stupid joke.

  I opened the door and scampered down the narrow passageway into the very tilted main hallway. No one was in sight. Water swirled one corridor away, rising toward me incredibly fast.

  I ran back to Alex’s open door. “There’s water in the hall. I’m going to try to —”

  “Come back inside and close the door,” Alex said. His voice was firm and left no room for argument.

  I glanced back toward the main hall and then did what he said. Somehow I had to believe this man. If he was wrong, it wouldn’t matter much longer. Even if I didn’t believe him and tried to make a run for it, it was doubtful that I could make it up those stairs in time.

  “Sit here,” Alex said, swinging my chair around so that its back rested against the bow bulkhead. “Stick your feet up there.” He pointed at the end table beside my chair. Then he sat down and put his feet up on the bed.

  I did as I was told. It was like sitting in a chair that had tilted backward and rested against a wall. Only the entire room was tilted, like we were in a carnival fun house. I was not having fun.

  “Where we going to meet?” Marjorie asked.

  “In heaven, no doubt,” I said.

  Both laughed.

  “How about the first-class lounge?” Marjorie said. “I think Doc just might need another drink.”

  She was right. I wished I was there having one right now. Water was swirling and bubbling under the door and a wet stain in the carpet was moving across the room lightning fast.

  “How deep does it get in here?” I asked, trying to make my grip on the arms of my chair relax before my fingers went completely numb.

  “Not very,” Alex said as the water started to bubble up under the door like an artesian well.

  “Good to hear,” I said.

  Again they both laughed.

  “The first-class lounge would be fine,” Alex said. “It will take me a short time to reach it.”

  “Thirty minutes, then,” Marjorie said.

  “Don’t you think we might want to get started now?” I asked.

  Both were laughing at my gallows humor when the room faded and I found myself for the third time in total blackness.

  This time, the weight of the backpack felt heavenly against my shoulders and the cold wind felt like my first kiss.

  And I was never so glad to see a sunset in my entire life.

  CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

  First-Class Lounge

  Third Cycle

  April 14, 1912

  AS I HAD last time around, I beat Marjorie into the first-class lounge. Only this time I didn’t stand and wait for her. I went straight to the bar, watched until the bartender was down the bar and all of the stewards were serving, then jumped in and made myself a drink. Scotch again. My nerves deserved it.

  I poured Marjorie a brandy, then went over to the same booth and tried not to gulp my scotch while I took stock of myself and tried to sort out all that had gone on.

  First off, I had survived twelve hours of the last six hours of the Titanic. I wasn’t tired and I wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. In fact, I felt full, as if I had just eaten the huge lunch Constance had forced down me. If I got stuck here, that meal was going to do me for years. Constance would be happy to hear that, I was sure.

  Not being tired seemed even more amazing, considering that over the last few years I had been getting tired much faster than I used to. If the last twelve hours had been in straight time, I would have been a walking zombie by now. Of course, I had gotten tired a lot because I was bored. The last few days had been anything but boring.

  It was fairly obvious that I was in what was called a time loop. But a loop where not everything repeated. In each of my three cycles so far, I had done different things. I wasn’t forced to follow the same path. My body started over but my memory didn’t. I didn’t have the foggiest idea how that could work and the more I tried to figure it out, the more my head ached. Maybe Susan could explain, assuming she was on board and assuming we could find her.

  Even if she could explain the time loop, it was going to be one damn long time before I really trusted the cycle to work each and every turn. Just my luck that the one time there was a malfunction I’d be trapped down in a cabin with the water swirling around my toes and a drink in my hand.

  “Already fixed yourself a bracer, I see,” Alex said as he came up from behind me.

  “And one for Marjorie. Didn’t know what you were drinking. Want me to make something for you?”

  “Thank you, no,” he said. “Been pouring my own now for years.” He laughed softly to himself as if he’d said something funny, then moved toward the bar.

  I watched him as he went behind the bar and worked around the bartender. Alex seemed to know every move the bartender was going to make and was always a fraction of a second ahead when the guy made it. It didn’t seem possible that he was the same Alex who had lived in Roosevelt, Idaho. What had kept him going for eighty years? Why keep living? This was only my third cycle, but I could already tell how life would be if stuck here. And he’d been going around and around for over three hundred cycles.

  He ambled back across the lounge, his walk light, almost bouncy on the thick carpet. “You recovered your wits yet?” he asked as he set his drink down on the linen tablecloth and slid into the booth so that he sat facing me.

  “Going to take some getting used to.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right about that.”

  “I imagine you’ve seen a few over the years.”

  Again he laughed his soft, easy laugh as he leaned back and twisted his mustache. “That would be an understatement of large proportions. There have been more than I can remember. A large number don’t make the transition.”

  “Transition?”

  “They go insane,” he said. “Go over the side, kill themselves in some fashion or another. Sometimes they take some of us with them. I’m surprised Marjorie talked to you. Those of us who have been on board a few years have learned to stay clear of the newcomers for a few cycles.”

  “So that’s why no one here has formed a welcoming committee. I was wondering about that during my first cycle.”

  Alex shrugged. “All of us have helped others at one time or another, as Marjorie obviously helped you. But to my knowledge, nothing organized has ever been done. There is very little organization on any level among the prisoners. We’re all stuck here and everything stays the same every six hours. What is there to rule? There’s just no need for it.”

  He looked away into the distance for a moment, then went on. “Except, of course, when incidents occur, such as those murders back a few years.” He laughed to himself. “Dreadful episode, that one. We actually had a police force for a short time. It was fun while it lasted.”

  I was about to ask how murders could be fun when Marjorie came through the stern door to the lounge and waved. I was glad to see her again. I hadn’t felt that way about a woman since Carla.

  “See you both made it,” Marjorie said as she slid into the booth beside me and picked up her drink. “Thanks.” She held her drink up and then took a sip. Her smile again made me smile.

  She was wearing the exact same thing she had last cycle. So was Alex. It seemed they both had distinct habits they followed. I was learning habits, too. This time I hadn’t even bothered to drag the pack over to the wall or put on my coat. Didn’t seem to be a need to do either. If one of the other prisoners took something, I’d get it back in six hours.

  “Any ideas what we should do next?” Marjorie asked after she took a quick sip of her brandy.

  “It seems to me,” Alex said, “that finding this Susan should top the list.”

  “I agree,” I said. “But with the size of this ship, that is not going to be an easy task.”

  “But it is only a ship,” Alex said. “It would seem logical that since she used my mirror, just as we both did, she is on board somewhere. If that is the case, we will eventually find her or she will find us. We have more than enough time.”

  “Maybe not,” I said.

  “Why?” Alex asked, looking directly into my eyes as I’m sure he must have done to witnesses in courtrooms.

  “Because we’re here,” I said. “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to set this all up and keep us safe and living. Susan said we are all going to be used to start civilization over. My question is, start over after what?”

  “Atomic war?” Alex asked.

  “How could you know about nuclear war?” I asked.

  He laughed. “I’ve tried to keep up with current news and developments from arrivals. Keep a hand in the real world just in case.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. I took a sip of the smoky-tasting scotch before going on. “Let’s stop and logically look at what has happened. First, Susan knew what the mirror was. Second, she wanted to go through it for who knows what reason. Third, she said others would want to use the mirror. Fourth, we are here and cycling around on top of ourselves every six hours. Over the years has anyone on board come up with a reason for all of this?”

  Alex shook his head. “None that would hold water,” he said. Again he laughed softly at some private joke. I watched him for a moment. I suppose I would laugh a lot after eighty years on a ship. Assuming that I had any sanity left at all.

  “Then it might follow,” I said, “that no matter how much we don’t like the idea, our civilization might come to an abrupt end real soon. Someone set up whatever device it took to guarantee—”

  I stopped and smiled at them. It had suddenly occurred to me that I knew exactly where Susan was.

  “What’s wrong?” Marjorie asked.

  “I think I’ve solved the problem of finding Susan,” I said. “She said the mirrors were only triggers and focuses. She said that the real time mechanism would be at the other end. This end. Alex, do you know of anywhere on the ship that seems to be off limits to prisoners? Or that seems in the slightest big different?”

  “I see what you’re getting at,” Alex aid. “The main device would be somewhere on board and Susan would go to it. Very logical thinking. You would make a good member of the bar. But I’m afraid I know of no place on the ship that would even remotely fit your conclusion.”

  “How about the center?” Marjorie asked. “Wouldn’t it be in the center of the ship?”

  “Possibly,” I said. “But not necessarily. However, it might be
in the middle of where everyone cycles. I come out forward on the boat deck. Marjorie, you said you were down below somewhere?”

  “Down on E deck on the port side and slightly to the rear.”

  “I cycle onto E deck, also,” Alex said. “Just forward of my cabin.”

  “Seems that if we got enough places spotted,” I said, “we might be able to narrow down this search to an area on a couple of decks.”

  “Craig has that kind of information,” Marjorie said. “It’s his hobby. I know he asked me all sorts of questions like that once.”

  “And he asked me, also,” Alex said. “He knows where the plans of the ship’s decks are located. But I must say I am hesitant about imparting any of your information to fellow prisoners.”

  “Why?” Marjorie asked.

  I could see why. The same reason I felt hesitant about telling Craig. “We’re looking for the way back to the real world. We don’t want to get the others’ hopes up too soon.”

  “As well as have them interfere,” Alex said.

  “Very good point,” I said. “Can this Craig be trusted?”

  “He seems to be the one most of the prisoners turn to when something needs to be done.” Marjorie said. “I guess you could say he is the unofficial leader. He doesn’t push it, though. And no one runs against him.”

  “He can be trusted,” Alex said. His voice was flat and serious.

  “Well then,” I said. “How about someone fixing us all more drinks and we’ll go tell the man a story.”

  “I’ll get the drinks,” Marjorie said, downing the last of hers and standing. “Alex?”

  “Brandy,” Alex said. “Porter’s, down on the shelf to the right.” He laughed softly to himself as we followed Marjorie over to the bar.

  I figured that as much as he laughed, there must be a running comic monologue going on inside his head. I didn’t want to think about what I’d be like after eighty years on the same ship. I doubted if I would be in half as good shape as he was. I’d probably laugh more to keep from crying.