Rose left the cabin and found herself on the poop deck in the stern. Her clothes had changed again, now she wore a burgundy evening dress – but still the same men's boots. It was dark, late evening or night, and all around her was the open expanse of the sea.

Someone stood by the white metal railing ahead, looking down at the white trail of foam following the ship.

When Rose came closer, she saw it was Elizabeth. She wore an identical dress as Rose, but it looked much better on her. Its color suited her dark eyes and brown hair.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, hello. I was just looking at the propellers."

Rose went to join her, looking down too, remembering another night not long ago. It had been bitingly cold and she had balanced outside that railing in the same thin dress she and Elizabeth wore now. How desperate she had felt! She had seen her whole life before her, an endless parade of parties and gala dinners, yachts and polo matches. She had thought about ending it, taking the quick way out – but then Jack had come. Jack Dawson.

"You wouldn't have jumped," said Elizabeth. Jack had said the same thing, and maybe he had been right. Rose was a coward.

Oh how she wished she was brave like Elizabeth. Strong and unafraid, both mentally and physically. The pirates had even assigned her King among their Brethren, and she was a skilled sword fighter.

Unlike Rose, Elizabeth had stood up against her father when he wanted her to marry out of convenience. She had chosen Will – a simple blacksmith – instead of the renowned commodore her father would have preferred. When in the same situation, Rose had agreed to marry Cal, never openly defying her mother.

She envied her friend.

"Why wouldn't you have jumped, Rose? Think about it with a rational, open mind."

Again she recalled the stormy emotions from that night. She had thought about her mother and how badly Rose's death would impact her, she had also thought of alternatives – that there may be other ways to escape the trap and she ought to think it through first.

"I was being logical about it," she said, surprised. "I wasn't afraid of dying, I just did not want to cause my mother pain. And I wanted to live, I wanted to grow old and have an interesting life. I think I realized that there's always a lifeline, some way out."

"And then Jack Dawson came, and you grabbed the lifeline that was him. That took courage."

"You're right. In the end, I chose the man I wanted. I even let him draw a nude painting of me and put it in Cal Hockley's safe." She giggled at the memory. "And later I went down into the sinking ship to save him, cutting him loose with an axe. I am like you, Liz! "

She hugged her friend, no longer jealous.

"You are," said Elizabeth. "And now it's time to get down there again. Third Class awaits you!" She pointed at a stairwell.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Rose walked down the steps and came to a steel gate. Last time she saw that, it had been locked to keep the Steerage passengers inside until the First Class people had boarded the lifeboats. She felt a surge of rage at the memory. How cruel! So many innocent lives had been taken that night.

She passed through the gate and was in a familiar corridor, narrow and claustrophobic just like before, but at least it was not half full of water now. On the other end she saw a familiar man.

"Hey, slut!" he called. "I can't believe you got tired of your gutter rat already. You have worked your way through no less than three men in a month. Bravo!" He clapped his hands three times, one dark eyebrow raised sardonically. Caledon Hockley was a master of putting on a scornful face.

"You bastard!" growled Rose, starting to walk towards her former fiancé, and then speeding into a run. "I hate you! Thanks to people like you so many on the Titanic had to drown. Selfish, proud pricks who think of themselves as masters of the universe." She spotted a case with a fire-axe in it and paused to break the glass and pull it out, hefting the heavy tool in her both hands.

Cal only smiled languidly, his black eyes sparkling with mirth. It drove her mad. She wanted to mash that smirk off his too-pretty face with her axe.

She had almost reached him when she began to have second thoughts. She was still fuming with justified wrath but hesitated to cleave another person's face. It would be messy. And there was a Commandment forbidding it. She had never murdered before and now when she was just about to enter the afterlife probably was a bad time to start.

Her steps slowed until she was standing still, trembling, her heart pounding. What should she do?

"I am a master of the universe. Those who survived the Titanic were the better half of the passengers, whereas whores and beggars like you and your painter boy followed her down. It was for the better – cleansing the world of some of its trash." He still wore that infuriating smile.

"You..." Rose tried to kill him with her glare instead of with her axe. Then she remembered Elizabeth's trick and imagined Cal with his drawers on fire, white-hot flames scorching his balls. She envisioned how his smile changed into a shocked expression and he emitted an unmanly yelp of pain. The amusing picture made her chuckle.

The anger seeped off her and she dropped the axe to the floor with a heavy thud. Cal was just a little boy in a suit, a spoiled brat who had always gotten his way. He was not worth her time or her energy. Only her contempt.

"You're pathetic," she said calmly. "You lost your bride-to-be and your diamond, and soon you'll lose your youth and be a fat old man drinking brandy and smoking cigars while you complain about how you miss the old days. You'll never be happy because you measure happiness in wealth, and the more money you make the more you want. You'll never be satisfied."

Cals gaze softened in a way it never had in real life. "You're right. I'll never realize this, and therefore I'm going to die miserable and alone. But for you there is hope. I'm glad you didn't give in to your anger."

"I forgive you, Cal," said Rose.

He nodded his head in acceptance and indicated a door behind him, it had a blue sign saying 'Fourth Class'. "Time to move on."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Behind the door was a small chamber full of steam and foul smelling coal smoke from the ship's engines. In here, Rose and Jack had once hid from Cal's fiery manservant. A loud roar hit her ears from a big hole in the floor which led to the boilers. She unsteadily climbed down a ladder, noticing in the process that her clothes again had changed. She still had her comfortable boots but now her legs were covered with rough worker's pants, complete with bracers holding them up, and on top she wore a once white cotton shirt.

When she dropped to the floor below, the noise multiplied tenfold and she covered her ears with her hands. This was a hot and dirty place, bustling with activity as the insatiable furnaces were fed with a continuous supply of coal by strong-looking stokers.

Was this hell? But no, the men were singing a catchy song over the din and despite the terrible working conditions they looked cheerful.

Then she suddenly recognized one of the stokers. "Father!"

"Rose!" He gave her a hard hug, soiling her clothes further with his coal-coated hands, but instead of smoke he smelled his usual pipeweed and mothballs.

When she had wiped her eyes from an outburst of tears, she took a good look at the man before her. He seemed strong and fit, much unlike the way he had looked in life, and a lot more happy too.

"Welcome to an honest day's work," he said. "Here, take this, and we can do it together." He placed a shovel in her hands and grabbed a full wheelbarrow, pushing it to one of the blazing furnaces. Picking up a shovel of his own, he took turns with Rose to feed the fiery maw.

Soon Rose was soaking with sweat and the handle of the shovel had given her blisters, but it felt good too, using your body for hard labour.

"When I was alive I used to despise workers," yelled her father to override the roar from the fire. "I was such a sloth."

"Was that why you gambled?"

"No, that was because I was an addict."

"I wish I could have helped you."

He paused, resting on the shovel as he looked at her closely. "No Rose, an addict must help themself," he said seriously. "It was not your job." He stroked her cheek. "Now, get on with you to the next Class, I manage quite well for myself here."

She hugged him one last time. "See you in the afterlife, Papa."

"Don't hurry to it dear. Maybe there is another adventure waiting for you first, who knows?"

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Rose left the boiler room and went up a long stair and through a door into an elegant gentlemen's smoking lounge. The contrast with the bustling area she had just left was striking; this place was silent, clean and very neat. The walls were mahogany panels and the linoleum floor tiled in red and blue, and comfortable leather chairs sat around several square card tables.

All the tables were unoccupied except for one, around which sat Mr Andrews who had built the Titanic, Mr Ismay of the White Star Line who owned her, and Mr Guggenheim, one of the millionaires who had drowned when she sank. Above them was a cloud of tobacco fumes and each held a brandy glass in one hand and a stack of pound notes in the other. The table was cluttered with cards and markers.

Rose took the vacant chair, noticing she was back in her burgundy dress as she sat. "What are you doing?"

Mr Andrews looked up and provided her with a friendly smile. "Ah, Rose. I'm sad to see that you died after all. I thought I had built you a strong ship, but alas, I was wrong. I was wrong in so many ways when I was alive."

"Same," said Guggenheim.

"I survived," said Mr Ismay.

"You were still wrong though," said Guggenheim.

"Wrong how?" asked Rose.

"We were greedy."

The other two nodded agreement.

"But we practice to be generous now," said Ismay, indicating the table. "We wager money and then we play. When someone wins he donates the pot to charity."

"What will you do when all the money's gone?"

"Then we will wager our clothes."

"Don't look so shocked," said Mr Andrews, smiling again. "You won't have to watch. You were never greedy, so this place is not for you. You'll find the Sixth Class that way." He pointed at a set of double doors with black wrought iron panels.

"The Dining Saloon!" She eagerly hurried to open them, being quite hungry after her exertion as a stoker. Behind the doors was the large, white room with its beautiful pillars she remembered so well, and one of the many tables was laden with all her favorite dishes. Gibbs sat at the table with a plate of cookies before him, he was just pouring coffee into a neat china cup.

"Coffee!" Rose almost ran to him. "Please, can I have a cup too?"

"Of course." The sailor gave her his broad, friendly smile and poured another cup. "Cheers, miss!"

"Cheers!" Rose clinked her cup together with his and put it to her mouth, but when she tasted the sweet, strong flavour she nearly spat it out again. "This is port wine!" She grimaced, disappointed.

"Have a cookie instead."

She gingerly tried one of them, but alas, it was hard and wooden, tasting exactly like hardtack crackers soaked in rum.

Suddenly she understood what this strange place was all about – the Classes, the people, the lessons.

"I'm not a glutton, why do I have to be punished with port wine and hardtack?" She heard how whiny her voice sounded, but she really missed coffee and nice food after her weeks at sea.

"It's so you'll realize what you'll be missing out on – if you go back."

"Go back? But... I thought there was no way back?"

"Hmm?" Gibbs smiled secretively.

Was there a way for her to return to the Caribbean Sea and her friends? Come to think of it, her father had hinted something similar. But could she dare to hope yet another time? And how would she ever find her way out of the Titanic?

"I must go. There is one last Class?"

"One more, aye."

A solid metal gate had appeared in the back of the room, with a huge seven painted on it. Rose opened it and found herself in the Cargo Hold, right before a brand new Renault touring car, and she was wearing one of the more daring dresses she had owned. She was not surprised.

"Lust," she sighed. That sin at least she had been guilty of many times, one of them in the back seat of that very vehicle.

A/N:

For these chapters I have stol... borrowed some ideas from Purgatorio in Dante's Divine Comedy. :) Sorry Dante, but your works are public domain now!

Image Credits:

Screenshot from the Titanic