The Explorer's Apprentice

78:Turning Into a Monster

Isabelle Claiborne

“Dammit, Arabelle!” Arabelle’s mother throws another coat over Isabelle’s shivering shoulders. “It’s your own fault you’re cold! Look at you, you’re soaked! I told you not to leave me! Just—just dammit, Belle, what am I going to do with you?”

Belle doesn’t respond. She’s enjoying this, in a sick sort of way. Something inside her has changed. It’s like a hidden switch has suddenly been flicked on, or a button pressed that isn’t meant to be pressed.

It’ll never be the same, she thinks. I know the secret now. I know Marley is Rose and Jamie is Jack and I… I’m no one. There was never anything between us. And now there never will be. Even if all of this hadn’t happened—Titanic, switching bodies, any of it—I know they would still be together. This proves it. This is inevitable.

Not even the crush of bodies can comfort her. It feels like being in a living cocoon, all these people pressed together, but she feels no warmth from them. Fathers shout blessings to daughters, couples part with tender words, but she feels no love from them.

They’re meant to be together, and I’m meant to be alone.

The ship guard gives a shout of approval. The boat is ready to be lowered. “Wait! Wait! Step aboard, please, miss. Step lively. Stay back! Keep back I say!”

Arms open to accept one last girl to the boat. Her bright red hair lies limp and wet against her black coat. Desperately, she reaches out behind her to a boy, grasping his hand one last time. A single handcuff glows on his wrist like a slice of moonlight.

“Move around, please!” Jack is pushed away, and their hands slip apart. Rose gives a little defeated sigh. She deflates like a balloon. “And lower away!”

The lifeboat gives a jerk as the ropes are released, and the women gasp in horror. Inch by inch, they are lowered.

 Rose is sitting right next to Belle. Isabelle searches the once-friendly face for any sign of recognition, any hint that the girl had any idea of the pain Belle is feeling. But no. Rose—Marley—doesn’t even look over, not for a second. Gray eyes are fixed above, seeing no one but Jack, and she looks as if she is praying.

If Belle reached out a hand, she could touch Rose. She could push Rose over the side. She could hurt Rose. Isabelle could hurt Rose, and by doing so she would hurt Jack. Just like he hurt me.

The lifeboat moves down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, suspended by massive cables and pulleys. The first floor drifts past, and Belle can see through the smoky glass. There are still people inside, she realizes, but she can see they have no intention of moving. They’ve already given up. They’ve already accepted death.

Belle lifts up a hand. It looks ugly to her, tainted. It looks dirty as she lays it on the perfect little shoulder of Rose. Anyone watching would assume Belle is comforting her.

Rose doesn’t even notice. She’s too busy, gazing upward, looking at the beautiful boy that is the light of her life. The light of Belle’s life.  Rose looks so delicate, so broken. It looks like it would be easy to push her off now. Would anyone notice?

Jack would notice, Isabelle thinks. She looks up.

He’s just as beautiful as she remembers, and it hurts. She can see his perfect lips move as he talks sideways to the man beside him, but his eyes never leave Rose’s face. “There’s no arrangement is there?” he’s saying. Belle is only reading his lips, but she can still hear his beautiful voice in her head, like a thousand church bells.

“Oh there is,” the man beside him replies. This man, too, is watching Rose as she descends. “Not that you’ll benefit much from it. I always win, Jack.”

Rose gets them both, Belle thinks with hate. The hate is solid. It tastes poisonous. Hate tastes like molten metal. Cal wasn’t enough for her so she went for Jack. And I bet there’s more. More girls like me, who she’s stolen from. Even as Belle tells herself this lie, she increases the pressure on Rose’s shoulder. She’s an angel. A perfect freaking’ angel and I have nothing and I am no one.

Jack’s eyes, those gorgeous turquoise eyes that Belle once treasured so much, are full of pain.

And I like it, Belle thinks, nausea and excitement rising in her throat. I like his pain. I like their pain. They know they’re never going to see each other again, and I like it. I’m a vampire. I’m a junkie. And pain is my new drug of choice. I’m broken.

Belle looks around. She looks at the pulleys, creaking and moaning under their weight. She looks at the children, their faces shiny not with seawater but with tears. She looks at the ship guard, shouting with all the breath in his body, doing his best to get people to safety because he knows he will die tonight.

If I push her off, he’ll jump in after her. They’ll die together. They’ll be together.

 She looks down into the water, the beautiful, deadly water the same color as Jack’s eyes.

If I let her live, he’ll die anyway. And she’ll be in pain, like how I’m in pain. She’ll get what she deserves.

She looks at Rose, looking at Jack like he is the only person in the world. And finally, she looks at Jack, her Jamie—rescue flares lighting up behind him like bright halos, like he is an angel.

I can’t do it. She drops her hand.

And Rose jumps. She leaps off of the lifeboat and hits the side of Titanic, barely missing the rail of the second floor. The people in the boat scream, and her body crumples, like a doll, but the men on the other side help her to safety.

Belle looks up, but Jack is gone.