Chapter 37
Emmeline fought against the steep slope of the ship’s deck. She crawled, she jumped, she clung to everything she could: the storm rail, the nailed-down benches, the window frames. The lights had shifted to an eerie, duller red tone as if they were bathing the ship in its last sunset.
Somehow, amidst the crowd, she made it to the stairs going to the upper deck of the stern, and climbed them just as something whizzed above her head.
One of the massive cranes, attached to the deck, swung wildly as it fought against the gravity, then detached and fell down the deck, sweeping people with it.
Emmeline cried out and crouched on the staircase, closing her eyes and swallowing her whimpers, trying to shut out the terrified screams echoing around her.
Why didn’t she get on the lifeboat?
And then a voice came—far, at first, but drawing ever closer. Steady hands grabbed her shoulders. “Emmeline.”
She looked up through a curtain of tears. Theo. He’d found her again. She couldn’t say anything, just collapsed into his arms.
“Come on. We can’t stay here. We need to find shelter.”
She wasn’t alone. She stayed for him, so that he wouldn’t be alone, either.
A memory from the summer that felt much longer than half a year ago flashed through her mind.
She and Theo sitting on the back of the cart, side by side, their legs dangling off, like two children who’d snuck onto the ride.
I’ll be your friend, she’d promised him.
And unless you specifically want me to, I won’t leave you.
“I won’t leave you,” she said.
“I know. I won’t leave you either.” He dragged her away from the railing, and with all their force, they ran further up the deck until they reached a raised metallic platform, running intermittently across the deck. Theo pulled them behind and they sat down, leaning on it.
Emmeline had barely caught her breath when an awful noise pierced the air.
She couldn’t tell what it was. It sounded a bit like that time when Tristan overturned the china cabinet, and all the plates spilled and shattered on the floor; but this was louder, deafening.
It repeated again—two, three, four times—so loud not even the screams could overcome it.
And then the lights on the entire ship went out, and she was cast into pitch darkness.
***
Water pressed like a thousand icy blades against Emily’s skin, drawing her deep into the bowels of the ship.
It had already been cold when she was merely wading through it; but this, the complete submersion, almost knocked the air out of her lungs, and she had to hold herself back to not instinctively take a breath.
She and Will would need all the air they had left.
She held his hand as they went down and counted the seconds and decks. Boat Deck, A, B—down, a bit further still—she prepared herself and squeezed Will’s hand twice to give him the signal, then ran through her mantra.
Heartbeat, wait. Heartbeat, stop.
The water around her paused, and they were no longer being drawn downward. Will was only a dark outline next to her, his free hand pressed close to his body, holding his watch.
Surely, his time freeze worked, as well. But she wouldn’t know it before she stopped her own time freeze—and for that, she first had to get out of the shaft. Quickly. She might be frozen, but the air in her lungs wasn’t.
A weak light shone below her. She swam to it and found the open emergency door of the shaft, the one she’d noticed when they were making their escape topside.
A few of the waterproof lights flickered in the flooded hallway.
She’d gone from the gut-wrenching screaming on the surface to an eerie calm, with bits of dust and underwater dirt floating through the deep green.
Emily pushed into the hallway and released the time freeze, whipping her head around to find Will.
She saw no one at first, and she nearly screamed, a few bubbles escaping her—and then somebody tapped her on her shoulder.
Will.
No time to lose. She gestured him forward, and they swam toward the staircase leading down, propelling themselves off the railing.
Emily was no longer sure if what she felt was excruciating cold or heat.
Her senses had mingled the pain together, and the water was more like lava, dense and burning, as she fought against it.
On the deck below, she frantically glanced at cabin doors and off-shoot hallways. Which one was familiar? Which one was the portal in?
Somewhere deep beneath them—or above, or to the back, she couldn’t tell—the ship shook and vibrated, and a great explosion resonated through the water, lurching them forward.
The Titanic was breaking up.
Will looked at her, wide-eyed, bubbles escaping his lips. Shit. If they were breaking up, the bow would plunge downward, and they with it. She had no time left to find the portal.
Heartbeat, wait. Heartbeat, stop. The tremors subsided, and Emily swam forward, kicking, pushing, squeezing her muscles in the fight for every inch of progress made, every atom of oxygen she had left. She’d swam down one more hallway when, deep underneath her skin, she felt a tingle.
The portal was near.
She kicked at the water as she looked around. There, a shimmering, just around the corner! Something in the back of her mind told her the location was different. She was sure the portal she’d come through wasn’t at a corner, but if it was a portal, it would do. As long as they got out.
By the time she got back to Will and stopped the time freeze, a wooziness was starting to scramble her brain.
Which direction was the portal, again? That one—she gestured to Will, and she tried to swim back toward it, but her arms and legs felt so heavy.
Will grabbed her and pulled her with him as the lights dimmed.
The water grew dark. The portal, right there, he’d feel it, too …
And then she knew nothing more.
***
“Theo?” In the sudden darkness, Emmeline felt for his face, her fingers landing on his nose.
“I’m here.” His arms wrapped around her. Around them, desperate cries echoed through the night, and the great body of the ship groaned as if it was too tired to keep going.
It was dying.
“What happened? Why are the lights—” The floor disappeared from under her as the ship shook and the stern dipped forward.
For the most terrifying few seconds, as Emmeline thought her heart would give out, they fell—deep into the night, deep into nothing—and then, with another loud groan and a splash, the ship landed, and the stern righted itself.
Emmeline caught herself onto her hands, pain spreading through her wrists and knees as she plummeted to the floor.
Everything was quiet. Emmeline looked at Theo’s shadowed face, and as the stern settled, she had the brief urge to laugh.
They were okay. They were floating. They were level again—they were floating, floating—it was going to be fine after all—
And then, in another low, prolonged groan, the stern began to rise again, and she and Theo rammed against the same barrier that had kept them from sliding backward earlier. All around her were shouts, cries, and slamming sounds as people slid down the steeply rising deck.
They were going under.
“Emmeline.” Theo pulled her into his arms, perhaps trying to protect her, perhaps seeking solace.
She clung to the collar of his shirt. Far above them, the stars still shone so quietly, innocently, acknowledging her near demise with soft blinking, as if to say, “Have this last view before you go.” The stern rose steeper still until they lay on the platform as if it were the floor now.
The ship pointed straight up, like a finger at the sky … and stopped.
Somewhere along the way, or perhaps in Emmeline’s mind, the shouts faded, and it was only the dark, endless night, the stars, and her—so small, so insignificant.
A strange calm overcame her. The fear was still there, but it was somehow dulled, as if her imminent death no longer mattered.
Her family was safe, and she wasn’t alone.
At least, before she went, she’d had a grand, grand adventure.
Like a heroine from one of Miranda’s books, she’d chased mystery and found love.
Like the ship, all now was in equilibrium.
Equilibrium.
Realization blazed through her like electricity through a wire. Her ability to open portals had never been about one strong surge of emotion. It had always been about balance. The good and the bad, anger and happiness, hatred and love.
When she left the Titanic and found herself on the beach, she’d been brimming with anger over her parents’ decisions—and bursting with determination, expectation, the wish to find Leon, to find herself a life she wanted.
When she accidentally sent Maria back into the past, she’d been overcome with fear, but she also wanted to protect her new fantasy.
When Theo kissed her and they leaped from the balcony of the burning castle, she’d been scared for her life—and still so calm, happy, because he was there, and she knew she was safe.
Every time, she only needed balance.
Home. She repeated the word to herself, over and over, and conjured up all the memories of it.
It wasn’t just their house, it wasn’t this ship, it wasn’t …
material. It was her family. Father teaching her how to play baseball, Mother taking her shopping, her eyes glittering as Emmeline tried on the most fashionable outfits, Tristan and Brendon laughing across the dinner table.
And it was Theo, his shy smile as they rode on the cart, his firm grip as he spun her around the dance floor, his awe-struck face as she descended the stairs and he asked her to marry him.
It was Sebastian, and it was Louisa, and it was everywhere, and in everyone.