A Night to Remember

“What do you mean he’s on the Titanic?” Gerard asked with his hand seizing Frank’s arm, taken by a combination of confusion and panic.
“I don’t really know, that’s just what he said,” Frank replied looking briefly at his arm and wondered if Gerard was ever going to release his grip.
“What who said?” Bob asked standing and facing Frank as Ray crowded around too.

Frank took a small step back trying to ease out of Gerard’s ever tightening hold, but the hint was not taken.

“Gee, that’s gonna bruise, you know,” he nodded to his arm.
“Who did you speak to?” Gerard asked ignoring him.

Ray could see Frank’s discomfort and stepping around behind Gerard, reached over to peel his fingers from the guitarist’s arm. Frank offered Ray a grateful smile, while Gerard seemed oblivious to what had just happened.

“It was Lord Alverton. I’m amazed none of you could see him, he looked as solid as any of you guys.”
“Alverton!” Bob gasped. “His ghost? Here?”

Bob, previously convinced that ghosts simply did not exist, didn't even feel the need to question or doubt Frank. The situation in which they found themselves was serious and no one, not even the ever mischievous Frank, was going to do or say anything that could potentially upset Gerard - or any of them, for that matter.

For his part, Frank merely shrugged. The apparition had seemed so real to him, it didn’t even seem to occur to him to be odd.

“Well, what did he say?” Ray prompted. “That was a pretty long conversation you had.”
“Well,” Frank began, “it seems we weren’t the only ones to notice how similar Mikey and Alverton looked. Lady Alverton took a shine to Mikey and, well…”
“Took him?” Bob asked.
Frank shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know how but, he’s with her. Alverton says he’s coming back soon, but I’m not so sure.”
“Why?” asked Gerard with concern, willing to grasp at any straw.
“Well, he just said they discussed it and he told his wife to send him back. So he just assumes she will.”
“Huh!” Gerard flopped down into a chair. “I can’t say I’m all that convinced.”
“Apparently, she was particularly upset. A combination of Mikey looking like Alverton and that it’s his birthday today too.”

Ray looked up into the air above their heads.

“Er… happy birthday?” he said in an attempt to appease Alverton in the vain hope it might help somehow.
“Never mind happy fucking birthday!” Gerard snapped. “We’ve got to find a way to get Mikey back!”
“How?” Frank reasoned. “I mean it’s not like we can just pop back in time nearly a hundred years is it?”
"She managed it!" Gerard snapped - even he knew he wasn't making any sense.
"She's dead, Gee," Ray tried to point out the obvious. not that he believed it would help.
"But Mikey isn't!" he yelled back only to stop suddenly, his face paling rapidly. "At least... I..."

Gerard's eyes opened wide in panic as the terrifying thought began to slowly settle like a falling leaf. “Get the owners on the phone! This must have happened before.”
“I seriously doubt it, Gee." Bob reasoned. "They’ll think we’re just making it up.”
“Call them!”
“Okay, okay!” Frank tried to sound marginally calmer than his friend, but he knew that his nerves were shredded and his panic was spiralling. Gerard’s agitation was getting to them all.
“It’s nearly dawn and I have a horrible feeling that if we don’t get him back by then, we won’t get him back at all,” Gerard quietly explained the root of his fear. He refused to make eye contact, believing that if he did, all his resolve would be lost like water down a drain.

*

Mikey had long since finished yelling; no one could hear him, or at least no one was listening to him. He’d shouted until he was hoarse and received no response at all. He doubted that anyone was even there. Now he sat on the tiny, and very uncomfortable bunk with his knees drawn up and his back resting against the wall. He glanced nervously at his watch; it was eight ten.

He remembered visiting the Titanic Exhibition when it had been in New York. Most of the information, he freely admitted, he couldn’t recall, but there were a few significant details that now preyed on his mind. The ship had hit the iceberg sometime around eleven forty and the lower decks and filled rapidly. From the number of flights of stairs they had dragged him down, he presumed that he probably couldn’t be much lower in the ship without being underneath it. He checked his watch again – three and a half hours.

“Hey!” he yelled again. “Anyone?”

A large, well built man loomed into view as he walked down the narrow corridor.

“Stop shouting,” he snapped, “you’ll be heard well enough by the judge when we reach New York.”
“You’re not going to reach New York,” Mikey advised.
“Is that so?” the officer countered.
“In three and a half hours, you’re going to hit an iceberg. It’s going to do too much damage, the ship’s going to sink.”

The officer eyed him suspiciously.

“And where did you hear that nonsense?” he asked not taking his eyes from Mikey as if he were watching a card sharp cheating.
“I didn’t hear it, I know it!”
“So, you’re telling me that at…” the officer checked his watch before continuing in a disbelieving tone, “twelve forty, we’re going to strike a berg?”
“Eleven forty,” Mikey corrected.
“It’s nine ten, you said three and a half hours. Can you not even count?”

Mikey glanced urgently at his watch. For a few moments, the discrepancy confused him, and finally he realised.

“Daylight saving!” he cried. “I forgot! We only have two and a half hours.”
“You don’t impress me, mister! We have a full account of how you killed Lord Alverton and tried to attack Lady Alverton in their suite. We have no one on board unaccounted for, so I can only assume you’re a stowaway.”
“No,” he smirked in reply, “I’m Mikeyway.”

The officer curled his lip at the sarcastic reply but was certain of the last laugh.

“Well, Mikey Way, now you have a room of your own. Enjoy it, you'll hang for murder, but you’ll be in one similar to this for the rest of your short life.”

Turning to leave, the officer turned his back on Mikey as he headed away. If he couldn't convince the officer, the rest of his life was only going to be two and a half hours. He had to make him listen.

“Wait!”

Reaching quickly, Mikey pulled at the collar of the officer's jacket and yanked him back towards the bars. He had only intended to pull him back and try to reason with him, but, surprised by the action, he was dragged off balance and cracked his head hard on the bars either side of Mikey’s arm.

Mikey’s eyes widened in alarm - he hadn't meant to hurt him but knew he had to take advantage of the situation. Kneeling, he pulled the officer until he was within easy reach and he rifled through the pockets of his jacket looking for a key. Unable to find one, Mikey could feel the panic rising inside him as he heard footsteps running to the officer’s aid.

“Officer Pitman!” one of the crew called.

Mikey looked up and pulled his hand back through the bars as four crew members approached and pulled the dazed and groggy, but now waking, form of Officer Pitman clear of the bars.

“It was an accident!” Mikey tried to explain, but he knew from the expressions on their faces that they didn’t even want to believe him.
“Oh, it’s far too easy for accidents to happen down here,” one of them mocked as he opened the cell door and all four stepped inside. Mikey, now on his feet, was forced backwards towards the opposite wall. "And we don't like stowaways. Especially ones that attack our officers."
"I didn't attack him," Mikey took two steps back warily. Raising his hands defensively, he continued: "Look, you don't understand, the ship's going to sink."
"Is that so?" the lead man narrowed his eyes. "What have you done? Are you an anarchist? Planted a bomb on the ship?"
"No!" Mikey's eyes widened as he took another step back.
"Well, whoever you are and whatever you've done, we're going to make you wish you'd never been born."

The man signalled to one of the others and Mikey swallowed hard as the cell door was pulled shut, locking them all in.

Staring at them, Mikey knew without question that they were more than ready for a fight and he could tell just by the looks on their faces that they thought his slender frame was an easy target.

They stood between him and the door of the cell. He was grossly outnumbered but he would fight; fight for his very life.

Notes