MURDER ON TITANIC
By ME!!!!!!! (very long, but very good!) *my comp is weird. some of the punctuation marks are weird symbols, try to ignore it*


Chapter 1
Claire Miller stepped of the trolley and into the hustle and bustle of Southampton. This city was normally quiet and peaceful, but not today. The Titanic was setting sail! It had been publicized as the grandest, safest, biggest, and most luxurious ship of all time. And it was. Claire, a clever girl with fiery red hair, was sailing second-class with her little brother, Davy Miller, her mother, Marie Miller, and her father, Peter Miller. They had lived in England their whole lives, not poor, but not rich, either. Her father had heard from a friend of his in America about how there were jobs abound and plenty of houses with cheap rent. So, a week ago, he had announced that he had gotten four second-class tickets onboard Titanic. Her mother was overjoyed, and Davy, being only six, couldn't care less either way. But to Claire, who was twelve and had already developed friends and a sense of home in their three-bedroom flat, it was bittersweet. She had heard how great America was, and it would mean more money, which meant more things like clothes, books, food, and a good school. But it also meant leaving their friends and other family and possibly never seeing them again.
Claire had been at Bristol Central Academy with her best friends, Sunny and Michelle, since she was five years old. She sighed, remembering all the good times the three of them had shared. But it didn't matter now. They were on to a new and better life! Claire pulled her bag off of the luggage rack and felt the butter-soft leather that carried so many memories. Her mother, carrying her three bags and Davy's cloth bag, stepped off next to her, followed by Davy. "Now, Claire, stay close to me and Davy. With such a crowd you could easily get lost!"she said. It was true. Besides the 2200 passengers and crew, a huge crowd of friends, family, and people just wanting to see the Titanic set sail had formed in front of the gleaming, freshly-painted ship. Claire placed her hand on her forehead to block out the sun and tried to find Sunny or Michelle. "Mother, is anyone seeing us off? I thought that Sunny or Michelle might come." she asked. "Well, they are supposed to." she paused and squinted into the crowd. "Oh, there they are! Sunny! Michelle! Over here!" she exclaimed. Then Claire saw them. They flipped around, grinned, and ran over to Claire. "Oh, I wish you weren't going!" they said, embracing her. "Well, look at it this way," said Claire. "Now you will get plenty of mail!" They laughed and hugged again. I'm going to miss the two of you so much!” she told them. Then one of the funnel gave five loud bursts. Five minutes til sailing. “Hurry, we have to get onboard!” Claire’s father said, toting six leather bags and three large trunks on a luggage cart. Claire gave her friends a final hug, told them again how much she would miss them, and promised to write every day. They made their way through the crowd and handed their tickets to a bony, clean-shaven man with a strong Cockney accent. The five of them ( a crewman had to help Claire’s father with his luggage) climbed up the wooden gangway. Before she stepped on, she turned around to get what very well might be her last look of Southampton. She saw a huge crowd waving the passengers off. They were all grinning, some of them crying at the same time, and waving. At least, most of them. As Claire surveyed the crowd she saw one hunched figure wearing a dark coat, a brown scarf, and a large black hat. Claire thought this was odd, since it was quite nice out. He wasn’t waving, or crying, or grinning. He was just staring the ship. Pursed lips and a scowl were glued to his face. He looked upset. Angry. Suspicious, even. When he saw her looking back at him, his eyes widened and he ran to another gangway.
Whoever he was, he was coming onboard. She felt shaken by the man, even though she shouldn’t be. She shook herself of the emotion and stepped onboard the fancy, gleaming ship.

Chapter 2
They brought their luggage into their room on C Deck, with the help of a very friendly steward named Lester, who had jet-black hair and didn’t look older than seventeen or eighteen. They gasped in unison when they entered. The room was bigger than all the rooms at home combined! It had soft, deep-red carpets and a mahogany fireplace. A picture of flowers was hung up on the wall. Lester quietly placed their luggage into each of their rooms. “Anything else I can do for you, miss?” he asked Claire. She told him she was fine.
When Claire entered her room, she gasped again. The bed was large, with crisp white sheets and a deep blue blanket. In one corner, a wooden desk and cushioned chair looked the perfect place for reading or writing, or perhaps eating a midnight snack. She hung her clothes up in the closet, which had several lavender-scented sachets in it. Then she decided to see how nice the bathroom was. It had a porcelain sink and bathtub, and more lavender sachets. She explored for the next ten minutes, and so did her family. They occasionally passed each other, but they didn’t say anything, because they were too busy taking in the splendor of it all. “Mother, I’m going to explore the rest of the ship.” Claire said. “Alright. Have a good time, dear. Be sure to join us in the dining saloon for dinner. It’s supposed to be delicious!” she replied. Claire nodded vaguely, and stepped out. It turned out the ship had a ballroom with a golden chandelier, a gymnasium, a swimming pool, Turkish baths, and a large library, which Claire, who loved to read, walked through for what seemed like hours. She thought this would be her favorite room. She then spent the rest of the afternoon strolling on the boat deck, when the bugle blew for dinner. She had completely lost track of time! Claire ran down the Grand Staircase and then another flight of stairs, and finally to the second-class dining saloon. She was panting by the time she arrived. She stood on her toes and looked for her mother and father. She saw them and rushed over. “Sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. You should see the rest of the ship! It has a pool, and a library, and a gym, and………….” She stopped talking when the waiter came over. He spoke softly and had a strong English accent. “Today, sir and ma’am, we shall be serving haddock almondine, garlic mashed potatoes, fresh rolls, garden soup, grilled vegetables, and for dessert, chocolate éclairs and apple pastry with cream. What would you like to drink?” Her parents both had wine, and Claire and Davy ordered lemonade, which was all brought to them quite quickly. The food was brought only a few minutes later. It was positively delicious! She ate every item on the course, and so did everyone else because it was so good. Afterwards, she was surprised she could even walk!
When Claire got back to her room, she was exhausted. The food had filled her up, and the sheets were soft and warm. Perfect for sleeping. She changed into her warm flannel nightgown and climbed into bed, and closed her eyes. But something was funny. She opened them, and wondered what it was. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was odd. She shrugged and rolled over. Then she saw what was wrong, and screamed. Lester’s dead body was sprawled on the floor.

Chapter 3
She screamed again at his dead body. Her mother hurried in. “Dear, what’s the matter? Why were you scre-” She stopped short when she, too, saw Lester’s dead body slumped on the floor, his eyes endlessly staring into nothing. She screamed and Claire screamed again, too. With all that screaming, of course a steward, this one with graying hair and tired eyes, rushed in asking what was wrong. “D-d-d-dead.” Claire stammered and pointed. The steward followed her finger and his eyes widened. He stuck his head out into the hallway. “Go fetch the Master-At-Arms, we’ve got a situation here!”
A few moments later, the burly Master-At-Arms was there and questioned them, Claire in particular, about what happened. He asked where Claire had been when she saw the body, what she had been doing before that, at what time, and soon Claire got a little exasperated with him. It was almost eleven before he stopped questioning Claire and actually looked at the body, which provided a lot more information. His clothes, which had been starched, pressed, and snow-white were now rumpled and sooty. His wallet and gold watch were missing, too. When he rolled Lester over, Claire and her mother yelled again. There was a knife wound in Lester’s back, a note, written on crumpled, yellowing paper, had been crudely tied on with greasy rope.
I am the murderer of this great ship.
I’ll get more than half of you all.
Catch me if you can.
And hurry.

Claire’s eyes widened. A murderer? On Titanic? “This cannot be possible.” she thought out loud. “Well, miss, I’m ‘fraid it is. This hasn’t been the first. Right after dinner there were several people screaming. This fella’s the eighth steward we’ve found like this tonight, and the eighth note.” the Master-At-Arms said. “Well, what will happen?” Claire asked him. “I don’t know. Just hafta be extra careful and catch whoever’s sick self is doing this.” he replied. “Well, good sleep to you, miss.” He strolled out. But sleep didn’t come for many hours. Claire tossed and turned despite the bed being bigger, warmer, and softer than the one she used to sleep on. She wrestled with the sheer possibility of it all. She still couldn’t believe it. Finally, she fell asleep, dreaming of Lester’s last moments alive.
The next morning, Claire was still uneasy, and so was the rest of her family, since her mother had told them. She decided she should just try to forget it, if that was possible, and enjoy being on the grandest ship of all time. To cheer herself up, Claire wore her favorite dress, a soft pink one with lilac lace on the hem and sleeves. A few minutes later she went to breakfast. But as she and her family walked to the second-class brunch room, they were stopped by a large crowd being spoken to by the Master-At-Arms and a gentle-faced man, who she later found out was First Officer William Murdoch. The Master-At-Arms was talking. “Due to the, ah, incidents of murder last night, we will be asking that all passengers by accompanied by someone at all times. We are working very hard to trace the handwriting on the notes, so until we found out whom, please be extra-careful and inform us of anything suspicious. Thank you and please enjoy your breakfast.” He finished. Suspicious. Claire remembered the person scowling at her when they boarded, the one wearing lots of black clothes despite the good weather. The one who panicked and ran onboard. Should she tell anyone about that? No, she thought. It couldn’t have been him. Could it?


Chapter 4
Claire tried to ignore the thought and enjoy breakfast, which was raspberry crepes and eggs. No one talked as much as the night before, since they all seemed to be struggling with the idea of a murderer on Titanic. After breakfast, Claire went back to her room and put on her hat. She decided she would take a walk around the boat deck to think.
Claire stepped out onto the boat deck. She walked in silence for a while and saw that there were several other passengers doing the same. Just thinking of how all the stewards murdered last night had been someone’s son, brother, husband, and friend made her boil with hatred for whoever killed them. This is terrible. The note said he was going to get half of us all. All those stewards were just last night. What’s next? The stewardesses? The officers? The passengers? Claire thought to herself. It could be her next, or her family! She had to make sure they were safe, so she ended her walk and raced down to their room.
Claire burst into the bedroom. “Mother, Father, I had to make sure you were-” she stopped short. Her parents were crying, and holding each other. “W-what’s wrong?” she asked them. She feared the worst. Her parents just started crying more, and sat down on the bench by the fireplace. She walked into her room, and the main room, and found nothing wrong. Then she walked into Davy’s room. What she saw made her heart stop short. The Master-At-Arms was kneeling over Davy’s closet. Cautiously, she stepped over to him and peered over his shoulder. Davy’s eyes were shut on his pale gray face, and a coil of rope was around his neck. She backed away, slowly, into her room, and started crying.
After she had stopped crying, about a half hour later, Claire later found out that Davy had met the same fate as Lester. He had ran down to his room to get his favorite top to play with on the boat deck. When he took too long, Claire’s parents came down to help him find it, and found his strangled body in the closet. The Master-At-Arms said he was the fourth young child found strangled in closets. Why was the murderer just staying with one type of victim per day? And only one type of method per day? Was this a clever person’s attempt to keep them guessing? Or a stupid one’s attempt to make it seem like there was more than one murderer onboard? Claire wiped her red, blotchy eyes. She had to find out who did this. If she had been killed, she would have wanted the murderer brought to justice, at the very least. She just had to. For Davy’s sake. She wiped her eyes once more, drew in a shaky breath, and went to examine the body.
The same note was attached to Davy, only now it was tied on with the rope. His clothes were sooty and wrinkled, too. Just like Lester’s body, so far.
Claire looked at the rope tied around his neck. It had some kind of black substance on it. She untied it and sniffed the rope. She nearly gagged! Wrinkling her nose, she tried to put her finger on the smell. Grease! It smelled like grease! And there was coal soot on his clothes………..the murderer must be one of the workers in the boiler room! It just had to be. The stewards made sure everyone’s clothes were washed and ironed every day by the laundry man, and that the rooms were neat and tidy. So it couldn’t have been a passenger.
As Claire walked out of the room, she tried to remember if she had seen any of the coal-workers on sailing day. She had just seen three, and she had known them because they were sweaty and dirty. Even the poorest-looking steerage passengers had at least taken a bath that day for the big event. The first coal-worker had blond, shaggy hair and hazel eyes, and was very tall with a nice smile. She remembered his smile clearly because it was one of the nicest smiles she had seen: genuine, bright, and she could really tell he wasn’t faking it. She mentally crossed him out. Murderers don’t smile like that. The second had brown hair and green eyes, and only smiled slightly. He had seemed impatient, or bothered by something. The last one was old, ugly, fat, bald, and had scowled at her. He was the sweatiest and dirtiest. So it was either Mr. Mysterious, Mr. Brown Hair, or Mr. Ugly. She suspected Mr. Ugly. She decided just to sleep on it. She once again changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, but sleep didn’t come easy. She kept tossing and turning, every so often quiet tears streamed down her cheeks because of Davy. She finally fell into a restless, nightmare-plagued sleep. She dreamed of Davy. In a misty dream-version of the room, Davy seemed happy and chipper. He knelt under his bed and pulled out his suitcase, and then the bright-red top. Suddenly the room turned gray, and a hazy-looking figure silently entered the room with a coil of rope. He slowly wrapped the rope around Davy’s neck and then tightened as Davy screamed and struggled. Finally his body stopped moving, and then the murderer walked out. Claire awoke sweating and scared. It had been the worst dream she’d ever had, to see her brother get murdered. She tossed and turned some more, once again falling into an uneasy sleep.


Chapter 5
The next morning, Claire didn’t eat breakfast, and neither did her parents. They sat in the main room in the comfy armchairs, staring off into space, occasionally crying, and ignoring the tea offered to them by the gray-haired steward for the whole of the morning. Finally Claire wiped her eyes and decided that maybe some fresh air and the calm sea would clear her mind, maybe even cheer her up a bit. She silently walked out of the room, through the Grand Staircase, and out onto the boat deck.
The cool salty spray blew against Claire’s face. It was calming, and refreshed her. She started walking along the boat deck. It was very long, so she would have plenty of thinking time. Claire’s first thought was of Davy. He had been a good brother, and they had many happy memories. She remembered one Christmas when Davy and herself had been three and six, so they still believed in Santa, and had camped out in front of the fireplace to see him come down, but had fallen asleep after just a few minutes of waiting, and awoke to tons of presents under the tree. Claire smiled to herself, remembering how Davy had bawled when he didn’t get to see Santa, but immediately stopped when he saw the presents. She also remembered a summer when she and Davy were nine and six, and the fair was in town. They had saved their pocket-money for weeks to go. Finally when the had enough, they went, and had an amazing time. They rode the Ferris Wheel and the roller-coaster, saw the freak show and the trained animals, and ate more cotton candy than any person should. She wished he would still be alive. It just wasn’t fair that he had to die at such a young age, and when it was so avoidable. She stopped being sad and started being angry, just furious at the person who did this to him. She just had to find who did this. For Danny’s sake. Not matter what it took, she would find the murderer.



Chapter 5
Claire wondered how she could do this. After all, she was only one twelve-year-old girl. But she would. She walked out to the poop deck to think. Who would know the names of all the coal-workers, and probably a nice little history of them? The Captain, EJ Smith? No. He would be too busy. J. Bruce Ismay, the designer? No. She had seem him once before, at the first dinner, and he seemed boring and stuffy. Thomas Andrews, the master shipbuilder? Perhaps. But she had overheard that he had shut himself in his stateroom since sailing day to make improvements. Aha! First Officer William Murdoch! He had seemed like a nice man, and even though he was the First Officer, all he really had to do was watch for icebergs. And the sea was dead calm tonight, she thought, as she looked out. Almost too calm. But she couldn’t linger on that thought for long. She had to find Murdoch!
Claire raced from the poop deck to the bridge. Her well-worn shoes thudded against the polished wooden floors. She finally saw a sign that proclaimed MAIN BRIDGE-CREW ONLY-NO ADMITTANCE. Who cares? she thought. When she looked through the window, Claire saw the same face she had seen next to the Master-At-Arms yesterday morning. First Officer William Murdoch. She banged her fists against the window. “Mr. Murdoch! Mr. Murdoch!” she yelled. He looked over at her, came to the window, and pointed to the sign. “But I need your help!” she mouthed. He sighed and opened the door. “Yes, miss?” “Mr. Murdoch, as I’m sure you are aware of the murders going on, could you help me with something? I was wondering if you knew the identity of a coal-worker I saw and one other man. I have reason to believe they had part in it.” she told him. “It depends, miss. Describe them for me.” he replied. “Well, the coal worker was large and balding, but the hair he did have was gray and greasy, his eyes were gray, too, his nose was big, and he looked quite sweaty. The second man was wearing lots of heavy black clothes, and a thin face with a big chin, and had jet-black hair. I couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a gold pocket watch and horn-rimmed glasses. He was skinny and bony, and had a thin black mustache. Do you know who these two men are?” she asked him. “Oh, yes, I believe I do, miss. The first man you described is indeed a coal worker. His name’s McShane. Don’t know his first name, though. Shifty, dodgy fellow, actually. Hired him from….oh, I don’t know, I think he was in an insane asylum. Not to worry, though, turns out he was framed on that one. The second man is Archibald Wilson, a first-class man. It seems that he’s always cold, so that explains the heavy clothes. All I know other than that is that he’s been working odd jobs his whole life, but he never stays in one place for more than a few months. That’s why he’s onboard, because he lived in England, I think it was Liverpool, and now he wants to go to America. Anything else I can do for you?” he told her. “No, thank you. You’ve helped me a lot.” Claire replied. She walked away from the bridge and out to the bow of the ship. She knew who was who now, and a bit of why they might be a murderer. She had the pieces of the puzzle, she just had to put them together now. Staring out to the open ocean helped Claire a lot. It was incredibly calm and smooth, like a giant mirror. Now she had to sort out what she found. McShane might have killed someone because he was insane. Maybe he really was crazy, or maybe he had pleaded insanity on a past murder case, to avoid prison. Archibald Wilson might just be a murderer for the sake of it. Maybe that was why he moved every few months. Maybe what he did was kill someone, change his name and dye his hair or something, and move, then do the same thing over again. So either one of them could of done it. She sighed. “Hmm. McShane or Wilson,McShane or Wilson, McShane or Wilson…..” she said, talking to herself. She was then jarred out of thought by a bullet that whizzed over her head, thankfully not hitting her. She gasped and flipped around just in time to see a hunched figure dart around the main bridge and into the grand staircase. She ran to follow whoever it was, but when she got to the wall of the bridge, something stopped her short. A huge message written on the wall. STOP TRYING TO FIND ME. NOW. OR YOU WILL BE NEXT.

Chapter 6
Claire drew in a sharp breath and put one hand on her chest to steady herself as she backed up against the wall. Her? Next? She tried to absorb all this, but couldn’t. There was no way she could be the victim. She was the person who was going to solve this! Not get killed! There was no way the murderer would scare her off like this. She would solve this if it was the last thing she did. Literally.
Claire took a deep breath and tried to relax, and focus on the cold, salty sea air blowing on her face. She opened her eyes to see that the N in NOW was dripping, and running a long black streak into the wood, and onto the floor. It looked too greasy to be paint, which was her first idea. With a furrowed brow she stepped closer and sniffed the ‘paint’. Eww! It was the same smell of the rope around Davy’s neck, she sadly recalled. Grease! Grease again! She nixed the idea of Archibald Wilson being the bad guy and immediately thought that the McShane fellow did it. She was certain. And now she had to find him.
Claire entered the Grand Staircase and ran down to find the complete map of the ship. The coal-workers room and boiler room was five decks down. She continued going down the stairs, getting less grand with every flight since with each one, the class order went down. Finally she was walking on a narrow metal staircase, versus the wide, mahogany-and-marble first flight of stairs. Finally she saw the greasy footprints down a tall spiral staircase. The spiral staircase! She had heard rumors of a dank spiral staircase that led down to the main engine and boiler room. This must be it.
Continuing down to the bowels of the ship, Claire thought it would never end. It seemed to go on forever. She also thought how the murderer could easily be hiding on the steps. She got the chills. Who would find her? Her parents would surely look for her, but she had heard that even some of the top officers didn’t know about this place, much less had found it. She kept on walking, but slower and more cautiously now. She quieted her breathing to hear if the murderer was around. Around five minutes later, she came to the end. The lower level had several crates and coils of rope thrown around. She spotted the door! Claire ran over the jiggled the handle. It was locked. But just then the first door, the one she had come down from, the only exit, slammed shut. She heard high-pitched squealing laughter, and then she was left in pitch-black, utter darkness.

Chapter 7

Claire gasped, and ran up the stairs in half the time it took to walk them. She jiggled the handle but it was locked tight. She could see that someone was standing on the other side because of the shadows at the bottom of the door. “Help! Help! Let me out! Let me out!” she yelled and banged her fists on the door. “Oh, no, no, no, you don’t.” A gruff voice responded. “I think you should just stay down there for a little while. Who knows? I might let you live.” Claire yelled at him again and ran back down the steps. She tripped about halfway because it isn’t easy to run down steps in the dark. When she got to the bottom, she felt around on the floor for something sharp, and felt something. A nail? A spare davit head, maybe. She picked it up and quietly crept up the stairs, which took a while. When she got to the top, she quietly, quietly knelt and saw that whoever was out there was still out there. She grabbed the davit and jammed it into one of the person’s feet. The mystery person cried out and Claire ran down the steps as fast as possible and hid behind a crate. The door had opened, and whoever was out there was angry.
Now that there was a stream of light, Claire could see, but just barely. Everything was still grayish and hazy. She got the chills when she remembered this was exactly what her dream had been like.
The murderer was slowly coming down the steps, but she could only see his figure, not any details. “Where are you, my pet…………… I just want to find you……………” he said in that singsong voice bad guys always use when they are looking for their target. She clamped a hand over her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her breathing. And then he stepped onto the floor. The light from the first door lit his face, and she could see him.
Claire almost gasped, but caught herself just in time. It wasn’t McShane! It was Archibald Wilson, the dark-haired drifter! And she had thought all along that it was McShane! “Now, to find you, dear………..and make myself a new victim…….” Archibald said coldly. At first Claire was scared that she was alone with an armed (at least she thought so) murderer who wanted to kill her. But this was the man who had murdered her brother, her own flesh and blood! She would not just cower in fear until she died. She would do something about it! With a trembling hand, Claire picked up a nearby bucket, which was actually very heavy. He was turned in the opposite direction, so she crept out from behind the crate and up to his back. She brought the bucket down against his head. He sputtered and fell down motionless. For a second Claire feared he was dead, but she knelt down and checked his pulse. It was there, and he was breathing. Just unconcious, thank goodness. She ran back up the stairs to enjoy the rest of the voyage, and go to bed. She assumed it was pretty late. But as she reached the last step, the whole ship shook and she fell down the stairs backwards, getting hit on the head. The last thing she heard was a very faint cry of “Iceberg! Right ahead!”
Chapter 8

When Claire woke a few minutes later, she had a bump on her head. She ran up the stairs and out to the grand staircase, from the bottom floor to the next, and the next, and the next, and finally the top. When she reached the main floor, she stopped short. People were wearing lifebelts. From the window facing the boat deck she could see lifeboats being hooked up. Surely we aren’t sinking? A……a drill. Probably just a drill, she thought to herself.
But then a steward with clear blue eyes and hair the color of sweet potatoes came up to her. “Miss, you shall need to be wearing this lifebelt,” he said, and handed one to her. “Please try to get on one of the lifeboats. Nothing serious, but……” his voice trailed off. He made his way back through the crowd, and Claire strapped on the bulky white lifeboat. It reminded her of her father’s jacket he would give to her when she was cold back home. It was quite a sight then, with her buried in her father’s worn wool coat, and him shivering there, holding her small velveteen jacket. Father! She had to get her parents. Down in second, they might not have been informed yet. She had to get the story straight first. She quietly exited the Grand Staircase and onto the boat deck. The biting cold nipped at her cheeks and nose. Then she saw it. The bridge.
The same sign and ominous greasy messaged greeted Claire. She crouched by the greasy threat, which had dripped so much that it was now just barely readable. Oh-so-carefully, she reached up and pried the windowpane away from the frame so she could listen. She blew on her bare hands to keep them warm, and started to listen.
“Women and children first, Captain Smith?” a deep male voice was speaking. “Yes. Law of the ocean, Lightoller. Get them in as quick as you can. We have an emergancy on our hands here.” Claire recognized Captain Smith’s voice. Alright, so there’s an emergency. But what? she thought.
She heard clunky footsteps, and Captain Smith came out. She braced her back against the wall so she wouldn’t be spotted. Next she heard lighter footsteps. “So which side did th’ iceberg ‘it on?” someone said. Iceberg?!? Alarm bells went off in her head. “On the port side, Moody. Getting the passengers in the boats, but most of them are refusing. Say the ship can’t sink. It certaintly can. Big plates o’ iron, you know. Haven’t told them about the iceberg, might cause a panic.” A tightening sensation was building up in Claire’s chest. The great ship was really sinking. She numbly lifted herself up and walked back inside.
Claire walked back into the Grand Staircase. There were fewer people standing around. As she walked past the big mirror, she saw how pale her face was. She hoped that they were still in the room. She couldn’t take this tradgedy without her parents. She reached the room and burst into it. “Mother, Father, the ship hit an iceb-” She stopped dead. Standing in the room was not her mother and father, but the cold, angry face of Archibald Wilson.


Chapter 9

Claire stood frozen to the spot. “Yes, I’m alive. Too bad for you.” he said. His voice was dangerously soft. “I’m afraid I’m a little bit……angry with you, dear. It is not polite to hit someone upside the head.” “I was smart to hit you, you murdering rogue. You killed my brother! Do you expect me to just forgive you or something?” All the anger and hatred that had welled up inside her was coming out. “And to pin it on that coal-worker! You had me going for a while. But I’m smarter than that. I know you did it. First all those stewards, and then the little children!!! What kind of a horrible monster are you?!?!? I’m telling everyone that you are the culprit!” Mr. Wilson was silent for a moment. Claire started to slowly back away from him, but he stopped her. “Oh no,” he said, shutting the door. “I told you I was angry with you dear. Very.” He picked up a lamp from the table and slowly raised it. He brought it crashing down, but she darted out of the way into her parents’ room. Mr. Wilson threw the lamp on the ground and picked up a polished cherrywood clock from the mantle, and tried to hit her with it, but again she was too fast, and leapt over the bed into her room and slammed the door. He started banging on it, and banging on it. “Enough – is – enough. No more….silly…games….with…..lamps…and…clocks.” She could hear him breathing heavily from effort. She quickly dragged her bed over to the door to keep it shut more than just her small body. The other side of the door was silent. Had he gone? But just then the banging started again, and a gleaming knife tip poked through the wood, again and again. Soon a plate-sized hole had formed, and he furiously clawed away at the wood with both his hands and the knife. Claire started to back away from the door. There was only one door in this room, and he was coming through it. He finally got through, and crouched huffing and puffing from the effort on her bed. Claire thought he must be out of shape, despite his being thin and wiry. She turned pale as a ghost and backed up against the wall. Why hadn’t she gone to Davy’s room, with two doors, or back out into the main room? This just had one door, and it had a murderer in front of it, Claire thought. Mr. Wilson rose up, the gleaming knife in his hand.
He walked ever so slowly towards her, his face bent downward. His eyes were black as coal, two never-ending dark tunnels. “So how does it feel, being my next victim? Too bad you won’t live to tell the tale.” he smirked at her. “What…what will you tell them?” she asked, her voice quivering from fright. “Simple. You were hysterically afraid of the iceberg, and fled to your room. I tried to stop you, but you took your own life out of fear.” he said, and smirked again. “They won’t believe you. My parents know me, and know that I would never commit suicide. They’ll suspect it was you, and so will everyone else, and then they’ll suspect you for my brother, and Lester, and…..and all the other people you did away with.” she told him. Her voice was not frail and frightened now, but strong and determined. If she was going to die, she would at least put up a fight and die nobly, she thought out loud. He scoffed at that, and said “You? Fight me? Fine, you’ll die to the sound of my laughter, then.” Claire glared at him. “You wish.” she said. Mr. Wilson raised the knife and lunged at her. She dodged just in time. He lunged again, but Claire ducked and saw that she was now closer to the door than him. She paused for a moment, but in that split second he got her in the left shoulder. She cried out and backed against the wall. Hot tears were streaming down her face, even though she was trying not to cry from the searing pain. She wiped them off with her spare hand and tried again to go out of the hole in the door. But he lunged again. She kicked him and the stomach and he doubled over with a yell. “Good – kick……..” he said. He was clearly in pain, and clutched his stomach with one hand. When he brought it away, there were tiny smudges of blood on it. While he was still on the ground, Claire grabbed the fake-silver umbrella stand and picked it up. This is the perfect thing to knock him unconscious and get out of here…she thought. She raised it over her head and brought it down on him. He sputtered, and then his eyes rolled back in his head. He looked unconscious. Claire walked over and put her hand on his chest. It was still. No heartbeat. She backed away in horror as the sheer realization of what she had done came over her. She had murdered the murderer.

Chapter 10
Claire stood there, staring at him. Or, she thought revoltingly, his corpse. His body was crumpled like a rag doll on the floor of her room. What would she do? She would be the top suspect if he were dead in her room. Actually, he would be, since no one knew his dark deeds but her. She couldn’t think of anything else to do but stick his dead body under her bed and crawl out of the hole.
Claire poked around the room until she found some lifejackets. She was still wearing the one the steward had given her, but her parents might need them. She collided with a steward as she ran out. “Sir! Do you know where Marie and Peter Miller are? I need to find them.” she said to him. “Well, Marie and Peter Miller? Are they the ones staying in that room?” he pointed towards their room.
“Yessir. Have you seen them?”
“Yes, they went up to the boat deck a few moments ago.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Claire ran up to the Grand Staircase and out to the boat deck. She stood on her toes and looked for them. She didn’t see them. She looked in her entire line of vision but didn’t see them. Behind her, a man said “There are more boats on the other side. We have to…” Maybe they are on the other side, Claire thought. She darted through the crowd and searched for them on each new section. But her efforts were fruitless. She didn’t see them anywhere, and tried to tell herself that they had gone on another boat, despite a little voice in the back of her head telling her they were trapped below decks. Someone behind her screamed. Claire whipped around. People were leaning over the side of the boat deck. She pushed her way through the crowd to see what was going on. On one side of the ship, one lifeboat had been launched over one, and the bottom one was in danger of being squashed. A few women in the bottom boat were yelling, and some men were frantically trying to cut the ropes. Finally the boat gave way and rowed away from the top boat as fast as possible.
Claire decided to find a lifeboat. After all, maybe her parents were already out on one, worried about her. She walked from the bow to the tip on one side looking for one, but there were none. She tried to stay calm, but it was hard. If there were no lifeboats, she would be stuck on the ship. And if Claire was stuck on the ship, she would go down with it. And if she went down with it, she would be stuck in the freezing water. And if she was stuck in the freezing water…she shuddered and tried not to think about that. She had to find a boat! She started running down to the other side of the ship. Claire was running so fast that she bumped into a man. “Sorry, sir,” she gasped. “Quite alright.” he replied. She froze. She recognized that voice. She slowly turned around and met the eyes of a very much alive Archibald Wilson.

Chapter 11
Claire’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “You-you’re………a-alive.” she stammered. “Yes, I am,” he said softly. Then he said, louder, as in to put on a good face for the public, “Yes, plenty of lifeboats!” He grabbed her sleeve and yanked her into the Grand Staircase, where he pulled her down several flights of stairs, despite her struggling desperately to get away. When they were alone, he pushed her through the rooms with the spiral staircase, and slammed the door behind them.
When Claire entered the spiral staircase room, she thought there was something odd. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something funny here. Oh well. “How could you be alive? I thought I had….” Her voice trailed off. “Killed me? Yes.” Archibald replied. “But…how? Your pulse stopped. It’s impossible.”
“Not quite. A trick one learns from being an ex-doctor, drifter, and murderer all at the same time.”
“But how is that physically possible?”
“It isn’t. I’m the only person in the world who can do it, since I was born with heart problems. My heart gives off much more blood with every beat than the average man my age, height, and weight. I can make it stop, and my body will have enough blood for a few minutes, until it has to beat again. You see? I know everything there is to know about hearts. Including how to make them stop. For good.” He glared at her. “Any last words?” “Yes,” she replied. “Why? Why are you so determined to murder me?” “Well, actually there is a reason. I was raised never to quit anything I start. And I am quite a criminal mastermind. Are you aware that I have murdered and kidnapped over four hundred souls? Not to mention the stealing and looting. I have a total of over ,000 stolen dollars in various places, from hundreds and thousands in my hidden hideouts to ten dollars stitched into the lining of my coat. And also because,” he paused and gazed evilly at her. She once again fell into those endlessly cold, dark, scheming tunnels. “Because you are the only person who has ever found me out. You, one little girl. Not an ingenious top policeman. Not Scotland Yard. Not the FBI. Not the President of the United States. You, one little, innocent, stupid little girl. Who is about to die.” He smirked and narrowed his eyes.
Archibald kicked her down the stairs, down and down and down. Every time Claire would try to get up, she got kicked down another yard or so of steps. Soon she was bleeding terribly. He had kicked her in the stomach, legs, shoulders, and head. She was getting dazed and couldn’t think straight. But she had to, if she was going to live. When they got to the end of the steps, she realized what was wrong. This room had been flooded with icy water. When she dropped in the water, she kicked her arms and legs and scrambled back onto the stairs. “How will you kill me? I can swim, you know.” she said. “Oh. I know.” He glared at her, punched her, and tied a very heavy object to her legs. Claire screamed and tried to get it off. She tried to untie the object, which she saw was a large metal case, but then he hit her again and tied up her hands. “Goodbye. Enjoy dying!” he shoved her off the stairs and into the cold waters. Claire gasped, and she was trapped, sinking, sinking, sinking under the frigid, deep blackness.


Chapter 12
The water surrounded Claire, swirling around her in a freezing torrent. She slowly began to sink to the bottom. She fought as much as she could, but she wasn’t very strong and she was running out of air. No one could survive underwater this long, even though she was a good swimmer. All of a sudden, she felt and heard something large splash into the water next to her. Had Archibald thrown something, like maybe a box, in the water to kill her faster? No matter. It hadn’t hit her, so she ignored it. As she sank, she got weaker from the lack of air until finally her strong bursts of energy become slow, weak twitches. So this is what dying feels like…she thought. I wonder if they’ll ever find out the truth about that awful man…awful man…I wonder where my parents are……
Suddenly she was jerked out of thought. Something had caught on the metal case tied to her feet. She couldn’t see, because the salt water would sting her eyes, or hear, because the water was noisily rushing in, but she could feel. It felt like something was breaking. Finally, she felt a crunch and the metal case was off! She mentally gasped and swam furiously up to the surface. She had been much too close to death.
When she came out of the water, she gasped and gasped for air. Good, clean, dry air. Air had never felt so good in her lungs. She worked at the rope tied around her arms and hands to get it free, but it wasn’t working. Finally she bit and gnawed at the rope until it was starting to fray. Then she pulled her arms as far away from each other as possible, and the rope ripped. She pulled them off her arms and started to climb up the stairs, but she was curious about what had saved her life.
Claire took a deep breath and dove into the water. It once again shocked her body from the cold. She dove down, deeper and deeper, to the area she thought she had been. Finally her hands touched something. This is odd…it feels soft. She grabbed it and pulled it up and out of the water.
Claire rubbed her eyes because of the water and shivered. When she had gotten a bit warmer, she turned around to see what had saved her life. She gasped and almost fell in the water again. The thing that had saved her life was Archibald Wilson’s body, or rather, the knife poised in his right hand. She knelt and felt his chest to see if his pulse had stopped. It had. She remembered him saying that he could stop his heart for a few minutes, so she stood, shivering, for that long. Then she pressed her ear against his chest. Nothing. He must really be dead.
Claire silently stood up, and whispered “Thank you,” to his corpse, before escaping the rushing waters and climbing back up the stairs.


Chapter 13
As Claire walked back up the stairs, his death puzzled her. Had there been foul play? Or had he just slipped, and wasn’t a very good swimmer? Or had he committed suicide? She wrestled with this idea as she climbed the long, long staircase, and the other five or six flights of stairs getting out to the boat deck, and as she stood around looking for a lifeboat. She stopped thinking about it when she saw that there were none left. She walked both sides of the deck, but couldn’t find one. Her mind starting racing again, with the same thoughts of panic as before.
Finally Claire decided to look for an officer and ask him if there were any boats left. There had to be! The rule of the ocean was women and children first, and she could qualify as both. She jumped up on her tiptoes and looked for an officer in his navy blue uniform, white hat, and golden buttons. At last she saw one! It was First Officer William Murdoch. “Mr. Murdoch, are there any lifeboats left? I was having some…ah…trouble below decks and couldn’t get up fast enough. Please tell me there are some lifeboats left!” she pleaded. “I’m afraid that…that all the boats are gone. Just two were full, but when we shouted for the rest to row back, they wouldn’t listen. At least you have a lifebelt, dear. We’ll be going down soon, and……” his voice trailed off. She knew what he meant. They were going down by the bow of the ship, and the deck had already begun to tilt quite noticeably. She wondered what time it was, so she walked through to the Grand Staircase, which was now filled with worried-looking women and children, and drunken-looking men. She squinted from the doorway and looked at the nearest clock, which was the cherrywood clock with Greek godesses around it. 1:45 AM. It was getting late.
What should I do until I need to really do anything? Claire thought. There were no lifeboats, and the ship wasn’t underwater yet. She decided to just go out onto the boat deck and wait until…it sunk. She shuddered as she thought that. She walked out, and shivered from the cold, so she decided to go and get her coat from her room. It wasn’t as if the time mattered. She walked down the hallways and until she finally found the room, C23. She opened the door and entered her room, which she knew by the huge hole in the door.
Claire once again pushed and dragged the heavy bed, only this time she pushed it back into its original position. She then opened the wardrobe door and pulled out her green velveteen coat and put it on. Then she started to walk back out, but before she left, she realized this could the last time any living human looked at this room, so she turned around for one last look. It didn’t seem fair that after so much money, time and effort had gone into this room, it had to be sunk after having only one occupant. She finally felt the grim realization of this awful tragedy. Ever so slowly, she picked up an old-fashioned ink pen and walked over to the wall. She knelt and carefully carved Claire Miller, 1912, into the polished wood.

Chapter 14
Claire stood back up. She smiled, softly, and felt somehow at ease. She was ready to die nobly now, if she had to, or to survive and live with awful memories, if she had to. She didn’t know exactly how or why she now was able to accept this awful tragedy that was about to happen. After all, she had seen the half-full lifeboats, and the hundreds of people still onboard. She had seen, and could feel, the tilt of the ship. She hadn’t seen the iceberg, but she had seen them before, and they were simply enormous; huge mountains of ice.
Claire pulled her coat tighter around herself and walked out to the hall. People were frantically trying to find a boat, a lifebelt, a familiar face to ease the tragedy. Some had looks of intense shock and fear on their faces, others stood around with furrowed brows and crossed arms, and still others seemed acceptant and somehow at peace, like Claire.
She wondered where she should go. The bow is the front of the ship, stern is the back, and we’re sinking by the bow so I should probably head for the stern so if it tilts up, I’d be safe for longer, but what if it goes down horizontally? In that case I should probably try to…to what? Climb a funnel? She mentally crossed out the idea of it sinking horizontally.
Claire pictured the ship like a scale to help her figure out which end to go to be safest for the longest time. If the water is weighing down one end, the other end would rise up, she thought. She decided to head for the stern.
She wasn’t that sure of her way around the ship, but she could tell the stern by climbing uphill. It was like one big, iron mountain. She had seen mountains. Their home used to be at the foothills of one, and she and Davy had often brought a picnic up and spent the day, talking, laughing, and chasing the goats that also spent a lot of time on the mountain. She laughed at the idea of mountain goats on the Titanic.
Finally, Claire reached the stern, and saw that some people, but not too many yet, had shared her idea and headed for the stern. There was a lanky boy about her age, with straw-colored hair; a prissy-looking girl who was fancily dressed and probably in her twenties; an older couple who were talking and shivering; and a young red-haired mother with three little children around her. She gave them all a polite smile, and blew on her hands to keep them warm.
“Do you want these?” the boy next to her asked, holding a pair of dark green mittens toward her. “You look awfully cold.” “Thank you,” Claire said, and slipped them on. “No trouble. This is hardly even cold. I grew up in Newcastle, and I’ll tell you, that is cold.” He grinned. “Where are you from?”
“Bristol,” she replied. “Ah. Southern England,” he paused. “I’m sorry, here we are talking and I haven’t even introduced myself. The name’s Jack. And yours?” “Claire. Claire Miller.” Claire said. “Well, Claire, we have us a sinking ship here, and yet we are all alone. Did you come alone?” “No, I came with my parents, who I hope are in a lifeboat, and my…my little brother who…who got…murdered.” “Oh. I’m so sorry.” His grinning face changed and he looked genuinely sad. “My older sister got murdered too. She was a stewardess, and got me a ticket onboard so that I might go to America and gets a job. Been livin’ with her since I was seven. My mother got pneumonia one winter, and I never met my father.” “I’ve lived with my family my whole life. My father got tickets so we could have a better life…not that we were poor or anything,” she hastily added and blushed. “My dad was a steel worker and my mother was a quite good seamstress. I want…well I wanted to be a writer. From the looks of things, the only thing I’ll be is a memory.” Jack laughed. “Writer? Really? Of what? I love to read. Near the flat where we lived was a library, and the librarian was named Tom. He was nice, and he and my sister were quite fond of each other, so he would give me all the books that were about to fall apart. I learned to sew to fix them up, and read them again and again.” “Well,” said Claire, “I wanted to write everything. Fiction, mysteries, horror, romance, poetry, adult books, young adult books, children’s books, just everything.” She smiled. Soon they had talked about everything, from books and art to animals and plays. She was beginning to like him. A lot.
Soon more people had joined them, and despite their panicked faces, Claire and Jack continued to talk. His warm smile blew away the cold. But suddenly they were jerked out of their bubble and into the cruel reality of where they were. The ship was now tilting very high. People were jumping off, and landing in the water with a painful-sounding splash. Claire and Jack thrust themselves on the railing of the stern, and hung on for dear life. The freezing wind was ripping their faces off. In the background Claire could hear the band playing a slow, wistful rendition of Nearer My God To Thee. The ship was slowly tilting up, and up, and up. “I…I guess this is the end,” Claire said. This was it. She was really going to die now. These could really be her last moments alive. The thought chilled her. “But if it has to be the end, well…well I’m glad I’m spending it with you, Claire.” Jack said. He leaned over, and kissed her. But they were torn apart by an enormous cracking noise, and the ship started falling. “What’s going on??” Claire said to no one in particular. “The ship broke in t-” Jack’s words were cut off by the loudest sound Claire had ever heard. It sounded like a huge slap, as if God was angry and had slapped the Atlantic Ocean. It wasn’t God, though; it was the ship that had broken in two. The bow section silently went into submission and drifted into the water. Then the stern section started to tilt again. This time it tilted all the way to a ninety-degree angle, and people started sliding and falling down the length of the ship. Claire panicked and grabbed hold of the railing again. She climbed up onto the other side. She grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled him up as well, but when they were both safely on the other side, she didn’t let go, partly because she was falling for him, partly because in this chaos she wanted something to hold on to.
The stern was sinking and sinking, until finally Claire could feel the icy spray on her face. She squeezed Jack’s hand tighter. “Don’t worry. I’m here.” he said. She closed her eyes, took a huge breath, and tried to ignore the sound of a thousand frightened wails.
Then once again Claire was plunged into the freezing waters, and she almost screamed, but remembered to hold her breath. She held Jack’s hand so tight she thought she might have broken a finger or two. Claire kicked the water with all her might and tried to resurface. When she finally did, she pulled Jack up with her and held him close, shivering terribly. All around them, people were screaming.
They were screaming for loved ones, for the boats to come back, for fear. Though there were well over a thousand people in the water with her, it sounded like one strong, frightened, pained cry. She could only hear the individual voices if she listened very closely, which was hard since she was concentrating on how cold she was.
“Return the boats!” “Ruth! Ruth! Ruth!” “Send the b-boats back!” “Somebody help me!” “Daniel! Daniel! Where are you?” “Help me!!”
Claire tried with all her might to block out the screams, but she couldn’t. Even though her only thoughts were of the icy knives stabbing her body. Even though she was shivering so much, she could barely see straight. Even though her entire body was numb. Even though every thought swimming in her head could quite possibly be her last.

Chapter 15
Soon, Claire stopped shivering so much. The long wail that had been difficult to hear as single cries now was difficult to hear as one. Why aren’t the boats coming back? she thought. She had heard Murdoch say that only two of the boats were full. Why weren’t they coming back? Did they have no decency whatsoever? Here we are, freezing, wet, and miserable, when the greatly less number of people sits safe and dry in their lifeboats. Why aren’t they coming back?!?
“J-Jack? Are we d-dying?” Claire’s voice was like a mouse, meek and frightened, as it pierced the cold silence. “I can’t feel my body.” “I-I t-think that’s what’s happening. W-we’re dying at t-twelve.” They slowly absorbed this awful information like doomed sponges. “J-Jack…I don’t want to die.” Claire said. The peaceful, easy feeling she had had not too long ago was gone, just a memory, like she would soon be. “I know. B-but, Claire? If I h-have to die tonight, I’m g-glad it’s with you.” Jack said. “Me too, Jack, me too.”
A few minutes later, Claire could hardly keep her eyes open. A thin layer of ice was on her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes. She was really dying. The thought made her want to cry, but she was too cold and weakened to do so. “Jack?” her voice was barely a whisper, even though she wasn’t trying for it to be. “Jack?” She pried her eyes open. He wasn’t moving. At all. “Jack?!?” But it was too late. He had died. Claire’s heart was ripped in two. So, she gathered up her last remaining strength, tilted her head, and kissed his blue lips. Then she was all alone. She suddenly felt exhausted. Maybe I should take a nap, she thought. It would give me more strength to live. She closed her eyes, and the darkness wrapped itself around her. Then there was nothing, not even the darkness or the bitter cold. Nothing, because even though she escaped death several times that night, she couldn’t now. Claire Miller was dead.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Claire Miller and Jack were like the other 1500 people who died on April 15th, 1912. When the Titanic sank, far too many people were plunged into the mercilessly frigid waters that would be their grave. As they cried out for help, the 700 people in the boats built for 1000 did nothing, telling themselves that it was not their loved ones, their husbands, brothers, fathers, uncles, sons, unlucky daughters, sisters, aunts, mothers, or wives. The passengers did not believe their ‘unsinkable’ ship was sinking, until it was too late and the boats were gone. Titanic was too big with too small a rudder, making it difficult to maneuver around, say, icebergs quickly, plus they were going at too fast a speed, therefore sinking the ship and killing 1500 innocent people too many. Please, before you finish this, take a moment of silence in the honor of all the people who died, alone, freezing, and afraid, that ill-fated April night.