16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Paper Crown by Alec Benjamin
April 12, 1912
Luckily, dinner is over quickly and the gentlemen withdraw themselves right on schedule, allowing me to make a quick escape.
I come straight back to my cabin from dinner and slump into a chair, exhausted from the brave face I’ve been wearing all day. I hastily pull my gloves off and throw them on the table. I’m determined to stay in the room this evening. It’s a half-hearted attempt to minimize the damage I feel I’ve already done. Sarah enters the room with her journal, but once she sees me, she sits down next to me at the table.
“Ali, are you alright?” Her voice sounds concerned.
“No, I’m not,” I admit. “I just feel like I’ve made a mess of everything.”
“So fix it.” She sounds so matter-of-fact. She doesn't realize this is far more complicated than I am letting on.
“It’s not that easy.” I don’t know how transparent I am. Does she think this is just about playing the first-class part and pushing myself through performances? Or does she realize how complicated things have gotten now that I’ve let my feelings get involved?
“Ali, come on, none of this is easy. We didn’t sign on to this for easy.” Her tone turns warm as she puts her hand on my back. I have no experience with it, but it feels like I have a big sister comforting me. “Look, I know we haven’t known each other for very long, and maybe this isn’t my place. But I can see you. And I can see that something has changed within you. I won’t speculate who or what it is. That is yours to keep until you’re ready. But, you should know, it’s not something that happens all the time. And if you sit here and let it pass you by, Ali, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
I get the sense that Sarah is speaking from experience, as if she has loved and lost, or perhaps been too afraid to love at all. Maybe she’s not even referring to having feelings for a specific person. I don’t want to press her either, especially if it is not something she is ready to share. But at this moment I feel connected to her, as if we silently understand each other.
I sit quietly, trying to process my thoughts. I’ve never been this girl before, one who is reckless and acting on emotion instead of logic. Everything in my brain says run. It’s what I always do when it gets hard. Someone could get hurt. I could get hurt. And even worse, he could. But then there’s something in my heart, magnetically pulling me to him, as if beyond my control. Lonely, intrusive thoughts fill my head. But with him, it’s clear. Everything makes sense.
Perhaps what I need at this moment is one of Ben’s patented dance-it-out sessions, but I haven’t divulged to him the entire scope of what’s going on in my head. He knows all of what is happening with Violet, but all he knows of Charlie is some minor flirtation, not the complex feelings I’m having. I think if I brought him up to speed, we’d be arguing, not dancing. And I don’t need to be under his watchful eye the rest of the time we’re here.
“I think I need some air,” I sigh. The fresh air, I’m convinced, will clear my head. But truthfully, I think I’m hoping to find Charlie outside, though I know I shouldn’t. I look back over at Sarah. “Thank you, Sarah.”
I slip my gloves back on and walk towards the door, taking a deep breath to compose myself before heading back out.
I make my way toward the promenade. I take great care to avoid the aft of the ship. The views of the deck from the smoking room and lounge would surely provide Edward with an invitation to join me. I am not in the mood to entertain him, or speak to anyone, for that matter. I find a secluded area of the deck, out of sight from any windows, to just lean out over the rail and try to make sense of all my thoughts.
Although in a daze, I can feel a presence behind me. I do not know if it has been seconds or minutes that have passed. Oddly enough, I don’t hear any noise, no swing of a door, nor footsteps or breathing. It’s just as if there is warmth glowing behind me, a sense of kindness and security.
“Alice?” Finally, a light touch to my arm startles me, sending another electric current through my body.
“Charlie,” I whisper. I don’t even feel worthy of speaking his name. I need to get out of this situation. I came out here for mental clarity, but the sight of him clouds my mind even further. It’s like a drug you know you shouldn’t take, but it gives you such relief and pleasure you find yourself unable to leave it. The longer I stand in his presence, the more I will crumble.
He studies my face with concern. “I called your name three times. What’s going through that head of yours?”
“I have to go,” I say coldly as I try to turn away. I hate that I’m using such an empty, lifeless tone to rebuff him. I’m convinced it is what's best for him, though I can’t help but feel guilty.
“Are you unwell? Please let me walk you back to your cabin,” he says. He takes my hand in his to lead me. His voice is so full of concern. Charlie is the epitome of sunshine. He is the bluest skies. And I am a dark storm cloud, bringing only rain and thunder, set on destruction.
“No, please,” I utter as I pull my hand back. My voice becomes anxious as I hyperventilate. “I just… I can’t do this.”
“Do what, Alice?”
“I can’t lie to you anymore.” I pull back and push through the door leading back toward the staircase. I’m convinced that removing the privacy of our conversation will end it; however, I can see Charlie following me through the corridor.
“Alice,” he says in a hushed but worried tone. “Just tell me what's going on!”
“I can’t.” I don’t want to destroy him. I keep walking, hoping I can outmaneuver him. But part of me, deep down, wants him to chase after me. I can’t decide whether the truth or the deception is worse.
“Why? Alice, please. Just tell me,” he pleads as he grabs my arm in the hallway to slow me down.
I sigh and turn to face him. I take one look at his eyes and I break. “Charlie, I have to show you. Otherwise, you will never believe me.”
“What?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Alice—”
My voice grows firmer. “I said, do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then follow me.”
I motion for him to follow my lead back to my cabin. I check the hallway. Luckily, there are no passengers nearby to notice any impropriety. I pull Charlie into my cabin. Sarah has left for the evening, though I’m not sure if that is fortunate or not. It allows me the privacy to speak with Charlie. But it also means there is no one of sound logical mind to pull me back from the ledge right now.
Charlie stands in the room nervously. I can’t tell if he’s nervous about what I could have to tell him, or because he’s alone in a room with me. I pace the room, back and forth, trying to think of the right words to say. Where do I even start? How could I ever expect him to understand or believe me?
Charlie is the first to break the silence between us. “Alice, what is going on?”
“I’m not like everyone else.”
He laughs. “I know that. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
“No. I mean it.” I stop pacing and take a deep breath. “I’ll tell you everything. But I need you to listen first, okay?”
He nods tentatively. “Okay.”
“I’m not from this time.”
“ What do you mean?”
I exhale deeply. “My name is Alice Kelly Murphy, and I was born on April 29th, 1997. I’m from the future, Charlie.”
“Alice…” Charlie tilts his head, growing impatient as if he thinks I’m using a delaying tactic, stalling him from the truth with some outlandish story about being from the future.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m so different from anyone else? You have said it yourself. I seem so modern, not like any other woman you’ve ever met. Why do you think that is?”
He shakes his head in exasperation. “Alice, what are you saying?”
“Charlie, I mean it. I’m from the future.” The details of Dr. Conrad and Dr. McCoy’s discovery pour out of me. “I work at Chisholm University in Boston. I’m a historian there, and so is Ben. His godfather is a scientist, and he and his research partner discovered time travel. Eric and Sarah are scientists. Ben and I, as historians, were asked to come along on this project to time travel to the Titanic.”
I realize this has to be an impossible story for Charlie to comprehend. Saying it out loud makes it quite apparent how ridiculous it sounds. How could I ever expect him to believe what I’ve just said?
Charlie stares at me, confused. He can’t tell if I’m joking or if this is an elaborate ruse. I know he’ll never understand without proof.
“Alice, stop.” He raises his hand for me to stop speaking as if he needs a moment to dissect everything just thrown at him. Or perhaps he raises his hand to me, fed up with what he likely believes is the continued fabrication of something not at all plausible.
“I can show you, Charlie,” I whisper.
I walk over to my trunk and pull out the small locked box. I press my fingerprint to it and it opens. The advanced technology widens Charlie’s eyes enough to be intrigued. He follows me over toward the trunk, eyebrows raised, curious but suspicious. I pull out a small stack of evidence—the photos I had packed.
I hold them in my hand for a moment, debating whether to continue. I want him to understand and believe me. But I also know I’m about to shatter his world. I just don’t want to lie to him anymore. There’s no going back now. I’m past the point of no return. I hand a few of the photos to Charlie to look through.
Charlie stares at the first glossy photo. I’m posing with Ben in front of a Christmas tree at last year's university Christmas gala. Ben is in a modern, dark green three-piece suit and black tie with his arm around my waist. We were allowed plus ones but opted to attend together. I’m wearing a crimson red sequined fitted midi dress with a scoop neck and spaghetti straps. It’s a far cry from the layers of silks I’m currently wearing. Charlie’s eyes flicker with interest; however, I can’t tell if it’s the clear technicolor photo or the sight of so much bare skin.
He looks back at me, struggling to understand, and flips to the next photo. I’m moving into my college dorm, standing in blue jeans and a cropped Pink Floyd tee shirt next to my packed Jeep. I remember that day vividly because it was one of the few times Dad ever showed emotion. He acted all nonchalant the entire day, like me going off to college and leaving him for the first time was no big deal. Yale was only two hours from home anyway, and I’d travel back to Boston frequently. But we hadn’t spent more than a few nights apart my entire life, aside from soccer camp a few summers during high school. He helped me unpack, bought me beer and groceries, and then we went to dinner. When he said goodbye, he acted like he’d see me the next day, but I watched out the window from my dorm as he cried on the way to his car. He couldn’t show me his emotions, but he felt them.
The third photo is of Dad and me in 2011 at game six of the Stanley Cup Finals. We had just watched our beloved Bruins force a tie-breaking game seven, after scoring four quick goals in less than five minutes in the first period, the fastest ever tallied by one team in the finals. Dad’s friends had seats behind us and took the photo. Late in the third period, as we waited for the final whistle to blow, Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I put mine around his back. You can’t see either of our faces, but somehow the pure joy is so clear.
“Alice, how…” He loses his words as he flips to the next photo. In the most revealing photo in the stack, I’m standing on a large rock formation in front of the shoreline in Cape Cod wearing sunglasses, a Bruins cap, and a black bikini. Ben took the photo when we were in the Cape over the summer, capturing me during the golden hour with a bright smile and a hand on one hip.
He looks flustered, and he drops the photos as he tries to compose himself and form a sentence. “I’m sorry,” he says nervously as he picks them up off the floor. I remain focused on the task at hand and wait for him to wrap his brain around what he’s been told.
He sits down in a chair and leans forward with the photos still in hand. He’s leaning so far forward that his elbows are resting on his knees.
“Tell me everything.”
“Well… my name really is Alice. Most people call me Ali.”
I sit down on my bed and tell him everything. It all just starts flooding out. It’s like one of those buckets at a water park that builds and builds until it tips over, flooding everywhere. Everything pours out of me. “Ben isn’t my brother. He’s my best friend and we work together as historians at Chisholm University in Boston. I really have lost my parents. My mother left us when I was a child. My father raised me, but he passed away four years ago.”
I watch his face as he takes in everything I’m telling him, looking for some indication of where his head is at.
“You… you lied to me, Alice. How could you?”
“I didn’t have a choice, Charlie. I swore never to tell anyone. We all signed a contract. I never thought I’d meet you, that I’d…” My voice trails off, unable to complete the sentence. I’m not even sure what I was about to say. My emotions are running at a completely different pace than my brain. “I promise you, I’m the same person as before. But there is something else I should tell you.”
Charlie places the photos gently on the table and stands. “How could there possibly be more?”
“Charlie….”
“Go on then.” His tone is flat, and I can hardly blame him for it.
“That woman you saw me with earlier. Do you remember?” He nods, unsure of where I’m going with this. “She is my great-great-grandmother.”
“Did you know that before you arrived? That she was here?”
I look down at the floor. I can’t bring myself to keep his gaze. His eyes, which normally shine when he smiles, are now full of hurt. It’s a pain that I have inflicted on him, and I don’t know how I’ll ever live with it.
“Look at me, Alice. Did you know?”
I meet his eyes and answer, barely above a whisper. “Yes.”
His voice and body language shift as if he’s crossed over from confusion to anger. “So you’ve been lying to everyone? Is anything you told me true?”
“Charlie, yes! Everything I’ve told you is true except for where I’m really from. I’m still me! I’m still Alice, I promise you. I never wanted to cause you, or anyone, any pain.”
Charlie paces the room, thinking quietly, stopping momentarily in disbelief. He seems to be summing up a total of everything. He appears to almost be somewhat accepting of everything he’s learned until something in his face fades, as though he’s come to a realization. He finally breaks with the question I’ve been dreading. “Why Titanic?”
I don’t know how to answer, and he deserves to know the truth. Whatever I say will hurt him.
“It’s…” I stop myself. I can’t jeopardize the work we’re doing, or even history itself. I can’t be selfish. My selfishness is what’s gotten me into this mess. “I can’t tell you. I have to let history unfold or else the entire future is in question.” I cannot plant the seed in his head for what is to happen. He is a selfless man. He will surely single-handedly try to ensure the collision does not happen, without realizing the catastrophic ramifications that act of heroism will have. My breath is rapid, almost as if I’m hyperventilating.
He takes a step toward me. “Alice, please. Have I given you reason not to trust me?”
“Charlie,” I whisper. I am faltering in my resolution. I am begging him not to press this further, but he remains determined.
“I believe you owe me this, Alice. I deserve to know.”
His eyes are pleading with me, and I succumb to them.
“Titanic will sink.”
He stares at me in disbelief, his face turns ghostly pale. “How?”
“Iceberg. Most of the passengers will not survive.”
He takes a step back. “And me?”
“Charlie.” I shake my head frantically. “Please don’t make me say it.”
His voice turns firm. The pain and exasperation in it are killing me. “What happens to me, Alice?”
I stare at the ground. I can’t even look at him. He doesn’t deserve this. My downcast eyes give away the truth before my words do. “You’ll die.”
“You tell me I’m going to die and you can’t even look at me? You can play judge and jury, but not executioner? These are people’s lives, Alice! My life! We are not some experiment for you in the future to conduct to explain away your failures.”
Charlie stares at me, a blazing combination of tears, hurt, and anger welling up in his eyes. I try to meet his gaze, but he looks away from me, shakes his head, and walks out of my cabin. I want to go after him, but truthfully, I don’t even deserve his attention or his forgiveness. There’s nothing I can say to make this easier, or even stop anything from happening. I’ve done enough damage. For a moment, I consider grabbing my locket and holding the button, just running away right now. But that feels almost like a hit and run, a coward's retreat.
I pick up a crystal glass sitting on the table and hurl it at the wall. It shatters. And I do too. I collapse on my bed under the weight of what I’ve done. I clasp my hands over my mouth and let the tears pour. I deserve his anger, and I hate myself for hurting him. I can’t believe the position I’ve put him in. How can I expect him to hold that information to himself? What if he doesn’t? What if he warns someone?