The Memory of Eva Ryker

by Donald Stanwood

  “Now, I’m going to ask you once more,” Jason whispered. “Tell me where the package is.”

  Lisa eased the grip over her mouth. Jason turned one ear toward her.

  “Well?”

  Eva said nothing.

  His face grew red and clotted. “Come on, Eva!”

  No answer.

  “I’m warning you!”

  She bit down hard against any escaping words.

  Jason’s chest rose and fell. He smiled slightly, lips trembling around the gums. “All right, Eva. Have it your way.”

  Full force, he hit her in the mouth. Across the face. Again and again. The cut opened, blood dripping down her eye. Again and again. Forming screams were stopped by the next blow. Again and again.

  Out in the corridor McFarland ignored the faint noises coming from B-76. Albert and Martha Klein were finally emerging from their cabin.

  “Fine, fine,” he nodded, examining the life belts tied around them. A strap needed a tug here, a pull there.

  Eva blinked the blood away from her eyelids. Tears running down her cheeks shone in the lamplight. Her lips were slack and bleeding.

  “Up front,” she groaned like a Victrola near death. “In the front.”

  Jason’s face thrust up next to her mouth. “Tell me again, Eva. We can’t hear you.”

  “Up front. A big crate. He was lowering a big crate.”

  “Up front? You mean the bow?”

  “Up front.” Eva shut her eyes against the pain. “Where … where the crates are.”

  Jason and Lisa glared at each other in the common knowledge that they were too late.

  Up on the bridge the commutator clicked off sixteen degrees. A baby grouper, sucked through the gaping gash in the Titanic’s hull, swam curiously among the cargo in the forecastle hold, his tail brushing by the crate labeled “Ryker Industries.”

  Jason stood erect, his eyes averted from Eva. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  Lisa nodded, went to the closet, and rummaged through suitcases for their ready cash.

  Eva lay motionless and blankly watched them bustle around the cabin. She tried to move. An arm. A leg. Nothing happened.

  “So long, Eva.” Jason bent down close and wiped the hair matted with brown blood on her forehead.

  She snapped at his hand and sliced down to the bone, tearing away meat by his thumb.

  His lips snarled slowly; a low feral growl. Bloodstained fingers grappled his trouser buttons.

  “Jason!” Lisa ran to him. “What in God’s name …”

  Eva’s scream tore through the cabin walls, stopping John McFarland in his stride. Spinning away from the Kleins heading upstairs, he ran to the door.

  “Open up! What’s going on? Open up!”

  No answer.

  McFarland kicked through and rushed in. Light from the corridor cut through the cabin.

  The figures within strobe-flashed onto his retina, pinned down and frozen under the light.

  Slumped against one wall, Lisa Eddington stared at the bed.

  Eva Ryker lay on the mattress, blood dripping down the side of her face, down scratches on her arms, down in a thin stream from between her legs. The face was shrunken and dark.

  The door slammed behind him, cutting off the horror images. McFarland had time to see a shadow behind him before a fist hit the base of his skull. Without a sound he crumpled at the foot of the bed.

  The Eddingtons stood together, ignoring Eva’s soft whimpering.

  “Is he dead?”

  Jason bent down and felt his pulse. “No.”

  “Leave him. Leave both of them.”

  He rifled through McFarland’s pockets and took his pass keys. Eva cradled her stomach, crying, but they didn’t turn around.

  “Are we ready?”

  “I think so.” They surveyed the room.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said briskly.

  “Don’t forget to lock the door behind you.”

  Eva watched them pass through the door, silhouetted by the corridor light. A last glimpse of Jason’s back and he was gone. The door shut. A key rattled in the lock. Footsteps faded down the hall.

  Eva Ryker’s eyes were wide with inexplicable dirty terror. Her breathing was the only sound in the cabin. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale-exhale. Inhale-exhale. Faster and faster.

  A low wail rose in her throat, rising up and up as she curled into a tight shrieking ball.

  28

  I ran to stop the recorder as Eva’s brave armor began to crumble. No words; just a cry like a trapped animal as she tried to shrivel into herself.

  “Eva, stop it!” I knelt by her. “You’re all right!”

  The little-girl eyes were filled with unspeakable nightmare memories. I held her face up to mine, shaking her, making her see me.

  Mike and Geoffrey had that wishing-they-were-elsewhere look, like dinner guests who stumble into the midst of a deadly family quarrel. Tom blinked and wiped his eyes. Ryker hid his face behind his hands.

  My wife dug into the desk drawer for our decanter of Jack Daniels and handed me two glasses. I held one up to Eva.

  “Drink. Emergency plasma.”

  She reached for the glass with both hands and took a tentative sip. She coughed, then tried some more.

  “Are you okay?”

  Eva wiped away the last of the tears, throwing hair back off her face. “Sure. A very gutsy broad.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She considered the question for a long moment. “It’s been a one-woman hell for so long. Then Dr. Sanford pried her foot in the door. And now you.” Her head shook as she pointed at the tape. “I don’t want that part of my life to go on display.”

  “Eva, I think you know that was never my plan. We don’t need to play the tape any further. Fair enough?”

  She smiled her relief.

  “Your recollections,” I continued, “combined with the firm historical facts, enable us to state with a good deal of certainty what happened early that morning of April fifteenth. After the Eddingtons locked you and John McFarland in the cabin, they joined the crowd up on the Boat Deck …”

  The roar of the steam from the funnels stopped as suddenly as it began, echoing across the water into silence.

  Babbling chatter arose from the first-class passengers on the Boat Deck. Jason and Lisa, emerging from the grand staircase entrance, brushed through the crowds, catching odd phrases.

  “… this is perfectly ridiculous …”

  “… a precaution surely …”

  “… this wasn’t my idea to take this trip, Harold …”

  “… did you see the ice near the bow …”

  “… really? Say! Meet you tomorrow morning for a snowball fight! Loser pays for the dinner …”

  Jason prodded his wife’s arm, eyes on the string of lifeboats being readied by the crew. “Excuse me, pardon me,” he kept saying, but people were slow to move.

  Davits moaned as Boat Six swung free from the ship and eased down until the lip of the boat was level with the Boat Deck.

  Second Officer Lightoller rested one foot on the boat, turned, and surveyed the passengers. “All right! Women and children first! Step lively, please!”

  Women shook heads at each other.

  “… out in that little boat …”

  “… on a night like this …”

  “I’m no fool! You’re not getting me out there!”

  “… we’re safer here than out in that little thing …”

  The Eddingtons pressed between two elderly couples, nearing the boat.

  Women, some with children, gingerly stepped aboard.

  “Excuse me,” Jason said, “let us through, please.”

  Lightoller looked around and saw no more volunteers. “All right, lower away.”

  The crew bent over the cranks.

  Jason and Lisa ran up to the railing, out of breath, to see Number Six already descending past the Promenade Deck.

 
Chest heaving, he faced Lightoller. “You’ve got to get us on board!”

  The second officer scowled at Jason. “It’s women and children first, sir. Your wife’ll have to go alone. But there’s plenty of time. No need to panic.”

  As he turned away, Jason heard a crash of music over his shoulder. The orchestra had assembled, only half the members in their uniforms, their torsos made huge and puffy by life jackets. They stood near the grand staircase entrance, scraping through “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.”

  Eva Ryker lay on the bed in B-76, taut and brittle like a drawn bowstring. Her wide eyes took in everything and nothing. She clutched herself, ignoring John McFarland, sprawled at the foot of the bed, and she watched the crystal chandelier hanging at an odd angle.

  A golden trail of light hissed up from the bridge’s starboard side at twelve forty-five A.M. Conversation on the Boat Deck died as heads averted to watch.

  Past the superstructure it flew. Over the black and yellow funnels, the masts, and the gossamer-thin wireless antenna. A crackle and it blossomed into a blue-white nova, its light shimmering on the water.

  “Rockets.” A low sigh escaped from Lisa’s lips, as if in worship.

  The white star slowly fell and shadows of rigging and cables shifted across the Eddingtons’ faces as they watched.

  A little boy oohed somewhere in the crowd. “Fireworks!”

  “All right!” Officer Lightoller faced the crowd as he stood by Boat Number Eight. “Women and children first!”

  Women gave husbands a quick kiss, a few words, then left. Wives without husbands. Children without parents. Quickly the boats filled.

  Jason Eddington nudged Lisa as they peered over the heads of the crowd clustered in front of Boat Number Eight.

  “Come on, let’s try the starboard side.”

  Eva Ryker’s crying gradually ceased. She spread her arms wide across the mattress. It was tilting.

  Moments later, Eva was at the door, pulling at the locked doorknob. It wouldn’t budge. She twisted. She banged. She kicked the door with her bare feet. Nothing.

  Jason and Lisa passed Albert and Martha Klein, sitting placidly together in deck chairs.

  “Good evening, Mr. Eddington,” Albert Klein nodded politely. “Or perhaps I should say good morning.”

  Jason gave him a preoccupied frown. “Uh … hello, Mr. Klein. Aren’t you two going to try for the boats?”

  They looked at each other and smiled. “Oh, there’s plenty of time yet.”

  “Besides,” Martha Klein said, “I’m not leaving without my husband.”

  Second Officer Lightoller watched the loading smoothly progressing in Boat Ten, near the stern. Taking a momentary break, he wandered to the top of the emergency stairway leading down to E Deck. Green water was rising step by step, covering lights that kept burning below the surface of the sea.

  On the starboard side, a woman tottered on deck and plunged over the Titanic’s railing, vanishing in the darkness. Women screamed and leaned over the side, but a hand grabbed her. She hung there like a slaughtered chicken being carted to market. Men finally gathered on the Promenade Deck and dragged her aboard.

  On the second attempt, she stepped into the lifeboat without so much as a bumped shin.

  “Can anyone hear me? Help! Help me!”

  The voice echoed down the empty slanting corridors of B Deck.

  Bruised hands drummed on the door. Still pounding, Eva Ryker sank to her knees.

  Another rocket sputtered high above the Titanic as Jason and Lisa made their way to the starboard side of the ship.

  Far below several lifeboats hugged the hull, slowly disappearing into the darkness.

  Jason pulled at his wife’s arm. “Come on! This way!”

  First Officer Murdoch strode quickly by and leaned over the railing, addressing the crew below on the Promenade Deck.

  “Lower away, then row back to the gangway and wait for orders.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Murdoch swept past, nodding absently to the Eddingtons. They gazed bleakly over the railing and heard a voice below yelling “Any ladies?”

  The voice came from Boat Number Thirteen, hanging level with the upper Promenade Deck. Lisa squinted at the boat. There were some crew and a few men, but mostly women. Almost full, she noticed.

  Lisa shook away from Jason, vaulted over the railing, and tumbled into the boat.

  “Goddam you! Wait for me!”

  Even as he swung himself on the railing, three more women, a man, and a baby reached the boat from the deck below. It lowered away, the ropes creaking.

  Jason felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. He struggled but was dragged off the railing.

  A burly crewman shoved him across the deck. “You crazy fool! Jump when the boat’s lowering and you’ll swamp all of them!”

  Jason dodged the man and ran back to the railing, but it was too late. Boat Thirteen was already thirty feet below him.

  He glared at his wife in impotent fury as she sank from sight.

  Eva heard a low groan as she huddled by the door of B-76. She turned and saw McFarland. His arms moved a fraction, then stopped.

  She went to him on hands and knees and shook his shoulders. “Mr. McFarland?”

  He didn’t move. A prod in the back.

  “Mr. McFarland!”

  No response.

  Foot by foot, Boat Thirteen eased down the side of the black hull. Lisa listened to the ropes yelping through the pulley blocks. A porthole passed by, a brightly lit suite beckoning beyond the glass. Then it vanished over her head.

  The crewman at the tiller spoke up. “We’ll be coming down to the water by the condenser exhaust. We don’t want to stay in that long or we’ll be swamped. Down on the floor there’s a pin which frees the ropes. Pull it as soon as we’re afloat!”

  “What pin? Where?” Everyone searched fruitlessly.

  Lisa looked down over the side at the water gushing from the condenser.

  Settling in the swirling water, the boat became mired in the whirlpool.

  “I don’t see any pin!” a passenger bawled. “You find it!”

  Lisa heard ropes squeaking above her. Boat Number Fifteen was coming down directly overhead.

  “Stop! Stop Number Fifteen!”

  Seventy-five feet above, the crew still spun the davit cranks.

  Passengers in Number Fifteen, seeing the other boat below, yelled up at the crew.

  The words were lost. The crew kept on cranking.

  The two boats were less than twenty-five feet apart.

  “Stop that bloody cranking!”

  Twenty feet.

  “Goddam it, can’t you hear up there?”

  Fifteen.

  Ten.

  A second-class passenger and a stoker jumped up as the keel of Number Fifteen brushed their heads, trying to push it away. It was no use.

  Another stoker leaped to his feet, a glinting knife slicing the rope. “One!” he yelled, scrambling to the stern.

  The keel of Boat Fifteen grazed Lisa’s hair.

  “Two!”

  The rope snapped.

  The wash from the condenser tossed Boat Thirteen like a matchbook in a gutter, thrusting it away from the ship. As Lisa regained her balance, she saw Boat Fifteen settle into the same exact spot on the surface.

  Jason watched the scene from above, his face gray. A rocket hissed and crackled over his shoulder.

  He turned in frustration and watched the crowd at Boat Number Nine. First Officer Murdoch’s policy was to let men through, but only if there was extra room. Women and children filled the boat in seconds.

  Two hundred yards out on the Atlantic, Lisa Eddington watched the Titanic, its lights still bright. Brassy strains of “Oh, You Beautiful Doll” floated away from the ship. On the bow the gold letters spelling TITANIC vanished underwater.

  An ashtray on the end table of B-76 slid to the deck and crashed into pieces. As Eva jolted and spun around, the fragments slid into a
corner of the cabin.

  “Mr. McFarland!” She shook his head. “Mr.…”

  The words faded in her throat as she stared across the cabin. Something under the bed caught her eye.

  Long strands of black hair trailed from under the mattress fringe.

  Eva’s eyes narrowed in puzzlement as she crawled over the slanting deck. She bent down closer.

  Eva Ryker raised the fringe and looked into the unwavering eyes of her mother.

  Another rocket fired above the ship, flashing to its death.

  Down in Boiler Room Number Four a trimmer worked frantically to avoid a boiler explosion. Drawing the fires, he felt a clammy chill through his socks. He glanced down at the water oozing up through the steel floorplates.

  The last rocket arched over the Titanic. When the final sparks died, Lisa turned in frustration to the sight of red and green lights low on the distant horizon.

  “… it’s a ship, all right,” she heard a crewman mutter in the dark. “About ten miles out, I’d guess.”

  “Why doesn’t it come?” A woman cried. “Why can’t it see?”

  No one could say.

  The scream that tore through B-76 reverberated against the cabin walls and into the eardrums of John McFarland.

  His eyes jumped open like a frightened animal’s. With a low groan he sat up.

  Eva squatted on the floor in front of the bed, with her back to him.

  John McFarland’s face darkened in concern as he stumbled toward her. “Eva, what in God’s name …”

  The words stopped when he drew near enough to see over her shoulder. On her lap rested the head of Clair Ryker.

  Slowly Eva’s gaze rose from her lap. “Where’s my mommy, Mr. McFarland? Can you help me find her?”

  He watched for long moments, probing for answers beneath the waxen mask of her face. Then he noticed the cuts covering her mouth and the bruises over her body.

  “What did he do to you, Eva?”

  She couldn’t answer.

  “I’m going for help.” He rose to his feet, grimacing as he felt the lump at the back of his head. “Stay here.”

  McFarland strode across the cabin and reached for the door. The knob rattled but would not turn.

  With a grunt of exasperation he reached for his coat pocket. His face grew pale as he searched for the key that wasn’t there. Not until he finished the search did he notice the water seeping beneath the door.