After her eerie experiences the night before, Rose wasn't sure she was up to the daunting task of facing the world. But facing the world was exactly what she promised Jack she would do. How could he have known that she was slowly willing herself to death? She stared into the mirror suddenly disgusted with the girl staring back at her. The self-loathing she felt at what she had become was enough to propel her into action. She slowly stripped the nightgown off and carefully folded it so the stains would be preserved. It would become her touchstone, as Jack had become her guardian angel. She pulled on her robe, ignoring the mirror that no longer hid the truth. Her once lustrous hair hung limp and disheveled. The alabaster skin that was coveted by many had a grayish pallor from too much time spent indoors. The shadows under her eyes were almost as large as the trunks that held her belongings on the Titanic.

No more, she promised herself. Slowly willing herself to death was not a solution. It was just an escape from reality. It did nothing to stop the nightmares that she suffered nightly. In her nightmares she was trapped on the Titanic as the ship sank under the icy cold water, alone and in the dark. Rose hadn't slept without a light on since the sinking, but the light never followed her into her nocturnal world. She could still hear the screams and feel the terror every night. No, death was no longer an option. Living was the only way to make the dreams go away.

The hallway was blessedly empty in the late morning. The boarding house she was living in was owned and operated by Russian immigrants. Besides the occasional smell of frying onions, it was actually a pleasant place to stay. It wasn't up to the standards of living that she was once accustomed to, but it offered the anonymity that she so treasured. The landlords were an elderly couple who didn't understand much English but they understood Rose's need to be alone. Rose had paid her rent a year in advance, so other than an occasional smile or nod, they let her be. The other tenants, believing that she was a new widow, also left her in peace. Except for few hand-me-downs the kindly wives had supplied for her, they instinctually knew that Rose just wanted to be left alone. When one of the single men, struck by her tragic beauty, tried to speak to her an ice cold look her mother would have been proud of was enough to send him on his way.

The bathroom tile was cold, the window frosted over. How could she have forgotten that it was October? In her misery, the passage of time had no meaning to her. She ran the bath fast and hot When it was ready she undressed quietly and stepped into the steaming water. Rose couldn't let herself relax. She was afraid the lethargy that enveloped her for the last six months would return with a vengeance. Instead she dunked her head business like under the water and soaped her hair. When was the last time it was washed she wondered. What scared her even more was that she couldn't remember. She gingerly touched the sore spots on her scalp from the night before.

No, that was definitely not a dream. If the stains on her nightgown were not enough to convince her, the aching pain in her head would. She washed and dried herself quickly, again returning to her room.

Who was it that needed her? She paused in the packing of her few meager belongings. She wasn't pregnant. Cal had hardly given her a second thought before marrying soon after the sinking. It wasn't her mother, with Rose DeWitt Bukater's death, Ruth's social position and wealth was secured. She was sure that her mother grieved for her, hoped that she grieved for her, but need her? Rose shook her head sadly. No, Ruth was too strong to need anyone. Of everything that Jack spoke of last night, that cryptic message unsettled her most of all.

With her hair tied up in a chignon at the base of her skull, she had one last thing to do before she left the house. She pulled up a loose board she found her first day here and pulled out her most precious belonging. She held it in her hand watching how even in the poor light of the bedroom it gathered light and shone with an inner radiance. The stone no longer represented the punishment she would have endured as Caledon Hockley's wife; it was one of the only physical reminders that she had of Jack. Rose closed her fist around it and held it to her heart. She reached back in the hole and pulled out the stacks of money that Cal had stashed in his coat pockets. She smiled ruefully at small fortune that she held in her hand. She could probably buy a small house with all the money she held. Rose considered it restitution paid for Cal having tried to kill her. With a tight smile and shake of her head the diamond dropped into one hidden pocket, the money in another.

How shocked her mother would have been if she could have seen her. Ruth would have admonished her mercilessly about her appearance. Rose now resembled the third class passengers that her mother so abhorred. The black dress did nothing to improve her appearance; it only deepened the shadows under her eyes and her cheeks.

Rose looked more like a ghost then Jack had.

She put on her second hand coat and stared dismally at the four walls that had become her prison. She had escaped one prison only to lock herself in another. Once again, Jack was there to save her. What would have become of her if he hadn't intervened? Rose shuddered at the thought. He must have been so disappointed with her. But he never said anything about it to her, only reminded her of the life she was letting pass her by.

How long before her time was up? Twenty years? Forty? A century? It really did not matter any longer. The promise that she made was the only light keeping her alive. Rose picked up her suitcase and walked out of the house. As the door shut behind her, she lifted her face to the sunshine and let it's warmth wash over her. It was finally time to leave the nightmares behind.

Time to put Rose DeWitt Bukater to sleep for good.

Rose Dawson had a lot of living to do.