She paused again, the way she had at the threshold, her hand to her chest, and then walked down the deck in the direction the steward had gone and into the light, through it, beyond it.

She had been wrong. It wasn't outside, in spite of the biting cold. The deck was gla.s.sed in, with long, wide, white-framed windows that stretched the length of the deck. Joanna went over to them and looked out, but the gla.s.s reflected the light so she couldn't see anything but the reflection of the white wall and the empty deck. Joanna turned and looked back at the door to the pa.s.sage. It yawned blackly.

The pa.s.sengers must have gone back inside. The bearded man had told the steward, "We'll be in our cabin," and the women had complained about being cold. They must have gone back to their staterooms, Joanna thought, and started after them, back toward the pa.s.sage.

Toward the tunnel. Don't, she thought. You don't want to go back yet, not till you've found out why you're seeing the t.i.tanic, not till you've found out what the connection is. Don't even look at it.

Remember what happened to Orpheus, she thought, and turned forcibly away from the door.

"But what if I can't find it when I'm ready to go back?" she said out loud, and her voice echoed hollowly in the enclosed deck. She wished she'd brought some breadcrumbs with her, or a ball of Mrs. Troudtheim's yarn. You'll just have to keep track of where you go, she thought, and not stay too long. You have a little over two and a half hours. Or four to six minutes.

But this wasn't a real NDE. This was a simulation, and she only had till Richard stopped giving her dithetamine, which might be any minute. So you need to get going.

She started down the deck. The steward had disappeared, and the long deck was empty except for deck chairs and low, white-painted lockers with the word Lifejackets stenciled on the lid. At intervals, shuffleboard courts were painted on the deck.Far down the deck, she caught a glimpse of the steward's white jacket as he emerged from a door and started on down the deck. His white coat flickered to brightness as he pa.s.sed one of the deck lights and then disappeared into the shadows between, like a light blinking on and off.

Joanna walked faster, trying to catch up with him, but he was already opening another door. She hurried down the deck to where he'd gone in, searching the inside wall for a door, but the wall was blank, though it seemed to Joanna she had already walked past the spot where he had disappeared.

No, here it was, a white metal door. Joanna reached for it, wondering what would happen.

Would she be able to open it, or would her hand go through it like a ghost's?

Neither. Her hand closed firmly on the handle and pulled, but it was locked. She tried again, with both hands, and then gave up and started down the deck again. There was another door a few yards past the first one, and another farther on, but they were both locked when Joanna tried them.

The deck began to bend inward, following the line of the ship, and become narrower. Farther down, directly under a deck light, was a door. She hurried down to it and pulled on the handle.

It gave under her hand, and she started in and then stopped and looked back down the deck the way she had come. She couldn't see the pa.s.sage because of the curve of the deck, and she hesitated, wondering if she should go back and check to make sure the door was still open, and then opened the door and went in.

She was in some sort of lobby. There were rugs on the polished wooden floor and high-backed benches against the walls. In the center was a straight wooden staircase with carved banisters. Joanna went over to it and leaned over the polished railing. She could see the stairs going down to the next deck and the one below that, receding into darkness.

She looked up, trying to see to the top of the stairs, but it was dark up there, too, and there was no sign of the steward. She hesitated, her hand on the railing, trying to decide which way to go. Not down, she thought, not on the t.i.tanic, and started up the stairs.

At the top was another flight of stairs, narrower, steeper, and another lobby, this one much more elegant. The rugs on the floor were Persian, and paintings hung on the wallpapered walls. Off to the right was a pair of doors inset with beveled gla.s.s. Through the gla.s.s, Joanna could see a large rose-carpeted room filled with tables set for dinner.

The First-Cla.s.s Dining Saloon, Joanna thought and tried to open the double doors, but they were locked. She couldn't see anyone inside and no waiters moving among the white-linen-draped tables. Each table had flowers and a small rose-silk shaded lamp on it, and the silver and crystal and china glittered pinkly in its glow.

There were rose lamps on the walls, too, which were paneled in some pale, fawn-colored wood, and a lamp on the top of the grand piano. The piano was made of the same pale wood, only highly polished. Its angled top glittered goldenly in the light from the crystal chandelier overhead. A gilt birdcage stood in front of it, though from this distance Joanna couldn't make out whether there was a bird in it or not. Had there been birds on the t.i.tanic? Maisie hadn't mentioned any.

A narrow wooden stairway led up past the windows of the dining saloon, and there was anotherflight above that. Joanna climbed up. The stairs ended at a door with a porthole in it. It must lead to the deck outside, she thought, but when she looked through the porthole, she couldn't see anything but darkness. She opened the door.

She still couldn't see anything. The sudden coldness told her she was outside, but she couldn't feel any wind on her face, not even a breeze. It was utterly still that night, she thought. Mr. Briarley had talked about that in cla.s.s, about how the survivors had all commented how still the water had been, without any waves at all.

She stared into the darkness, her hand on the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Maybe it's like the pa.s.sage, she thought, and there's no light for them to adjust to, but after what seemed like a very long time, she began to make out shapes. Railings, and a horn-shaped vent, and, looming above her on the right, a tall, ma.s.sive shape.

One of the funnels, she thought, looking up at its black shape against the blacker sky. She was in a little area bounded by railings. At first she thought the railings completely enclosed it, but after a minute she saw a little metal staircase, four steps leading up to a higher deck.

She started toward it, letting go of the door. It began to swing shut. Joanna grabbed for the handle and then stood there, unwilling to let it shut. She looked around the little deck, but she couldn't see anything on the deck to prop the door open with, and she didn't dare shut it in case it locked.

She transferred the handle to her other hand, bent down, and took off her shoe. She wedged it in the door, closed it carefully, and walked over to the stairway. She climbed the steps, holding on to both railings, and started along the upper deck. This had to be the Boat Deck. There were the giant funnels, four of them, looming above, and the thick cables of the rigging, the cargo cranes. But where were the lifeboats? She couldn't see them. They should be all along the deck.

What if they're already gone? she thought, and felt a stab of panic. But they couldn't be.

Collapsible A hadn't gone until two-fifteen, when the bow was already underwater and the slant of the deck was so bad they had had to cut the ropes and float her off, and the deck here was still level.

And even after the boats had gone, there had been people on the Boat Deck, the Strauses and the Allisons, and all the men who hadn't been allowed in the boats, all the steerage pa.s.sengers who'd found their way up from belowdecks too late.

And the band, Joanna thought. They'd been on the Boat Deck, playing ragtime and waltzes the whole time they were loading the boats, and then "Nearer, My G.o.d, to Thee." They had been on deck playing till the very end.

So it can't be after the boats have gone, Joanna thought, because there was no one on the darkened deck. No one at all, and no sound, except for the uneven patter and tap of Joanna's bare foot and remaining shoe.

The stretch of deck ended abruptly in a low white structure with a latticed roof. Next to it, a set of metal stairs, longer than the first one, led down through a cut-out roof to a covered deck. Joanna climbed down, looking back as she did to memorize the route she'd come so she could retrace it, and then turned around.And there were the boats. They hung in their white metal davits, suspended from pulleys and thick bundles of ropes, and Captain Smith must not have given the order for the boats to be lowered yet. They were still shrouded in their canvas covers.

But there should still be officers on the deck. Captain Smith had sent two of the officers to investigate the damage, but he'd stayed on the bridge with the other officers till they returned, and some of the pa.s.sengers had come up to see what had happened. And there were always officers on watch, and pa.s.sengers walking around the deck. It had never been completely deserted like this.

Maybe it's not the t.i.tanic, maybe it's the Mary Celeste, Joanna thought, and then, jamming her hands in her pockets, The ship's not deserted. It's just too cold for them to be out here. They're all inside.

That had to be it. She could see her breath, and her bare foot was freezing. They were inside.

Far up ahead, she could see light coming from a line of windows. It shone out in a golden square onto the deck. That's where they are, she thought, and walked toward it, past a long, low, white building.

"Officers' Quarters," a sign on the door said.

That's where they stored the collapsibles, Joanna thought, and looked up at the flat roof, trying to see the lifeboats, but it was too dark, she couldn't make them out.

And if this was the officers' quarters, the lights ahead were from the wheelhouse, and the bridge.

She walked on till she was standing in the light that shone out on the deck. There were steps leading up. Pa.s.sengers aren't allowed on the bridge, Joanna thought, and climbed up.

The bridge was deserted. The huge wooden wheel stood in the center, in front of the windows.

Beyond it were two large metal drums with k.n.o.bbed levers. The boiler room and engine room telegraphs. They had writing on them: Astern. Ahead. Full. Dead Slow. Stop. The levers on both were at Dead Slow.

Joanna walked between them to the windows and looked out, but she couldn't see anything but darkness. It was utterly black. No wonder they couldn't see the iceberg, she thought, peering forward into the darkness. You can't even see where the water meets the sky. It had been a dark moonless night, she remembered Mr. Briarley saying, so dark the stars came right down to the horizon. But she couldn't see any stars either, only black, blank darkness.

"No time for that," a man's voice said below her and off to the side.

Joanna looked through the side window of the bridge, but she couldn't see anyone. She ran back to the head of the steps. Two men were below her, one in the dark blue uniform of an officer, the other in sailor's whites.

"The captain wants you to set up the Morse lamp," the officer said. "Over here."

As he spoke, the two men moved off, and Joanna scrambled down the ladder after them, straining to see where they'd gone in the darkness.

"The Morse lamp?" the sailor said, his voice registering disbelief. "To use it on what?""On that," the officer said. They were over by the railing, and the officer was pointing into the blackness. She could see the sailor, both hands on the railing, lean far over it, his neck extended.

"What? I don't see anything."

"The light," the officer said, pointing again. "There." The Californian, Joanna thought. They're signaling the Californian. She looked out across the darkness. She couldn't see any sign of a light, just featureless blackness, but the sailor must have seen it because he said, "I doubt if she'll be able to see us at this distance. They need to use the wireless."

"They are. They can't raise her. Do you have the key?"

"It's in the..." Joanna lost the last word as he turned away. They started across the deck in front of the bridge, and Joanna followed them, but this part of the deck was littered with coiled ropes and chains, and by the time she'd picked her way through them, the two men had disappeared.

Joanna hesitated, trying to decide which way they'd gone, and, after a minute, the men came back across the deck past her and over to the railing, the sailor carrying an old-fashioned lantern.

He hoisted it up onto the forecastle railing. The officer struck a match and reached inside the lantern. Yellow light flared. The sailor shifted the lantern, so it sat at an angle, and slid a piece of metal down in front of the gla.s.s, obscuring the light. A shutter, Joanna thought. It made a sc.r.a.ping noise as he slid it down. "What do you want me to send?" he asked.

The officer shook his head. "Mayday. SOS. Help. I don't know, anything that'll work."

The sailor pulled the shutter up, and the light flared out again. Down, up, down, the shutter sc.r.a.ping along the gla.s.s as he raised and lowered it. Up, down, up.

Joanna stared out across the darkness, looking for an answering flicker, a light, but there was nothing, not even a glimmer. And no sound except the sc.r.a.pe of the lantern. Down, up, down.

Sc.r.a.pe, sc.r.a.pe. She moved away from the men a little, listening for the lap of water, but there was no sound of water slapping the bow, no breeze. Because we've stopped, she thought, because we're dead in the water.

"She's not responding," the sailor said, lowering the shutter. "Are you sure it's a light and not just a star?"

"It better not be a star," the officer said. "We're taking on water."

The sailor's hand jerked on the lantern, making the light flicker. "Isn't anyone coming?"

"The Baltic, but she's over two hundred miles away."

"What about the Frankfurt?"

"She's not answering," the officer said, and the sailor began signaling again, the light flaring on, off, on, the shutter sc.r.a.ping like fingernails on a blackboard.

"I'm not getting anything," he said. "How long do you want me to do this?""Till you get through to her."

The Morse lamp went on sending. Light, dark, sc.r.a.pe, sc.r.a.pe. "Sir?" a voice called, off to Joanna's left, and an officer ran past Joanna and up to the men. He saluted smartly. "I was just below, sir. Boiler rooms five and six and the mail room's flooded, and there's water coming in on D Deck."

D Deck. She was on C Deck. That was why the staterooms were numbered C8, C10, C12.

But she had come up three flights, and the deck below this was the Promenade Deck. Was that A Deck, or was this? If this was, that would make the Promenade B Deck, and the one with her pa.s.sage in it- She took off running, the sound of the Morse lamp steadily sc.r.a.ping, down, up, down, reaching all the way down the deck. And please let the door be open, she prayed, racing up the metal stairs.

Still let my shoe be in it.

It was, and there was no time to retrieve it. She flung the door open and was down the stairs.

One flight. Two. Past the dining room, with its glittering crystal and piano. Three. Please let it not be flooded, she prayed, and pushed through the door.

The deck was dry, but because of the curve, she couldn't see all the way to the pa.s.sage. She ran past the locked doors, around the curve. And there it was, the black rectangle of the pa.s.sage door, still open, still above water. She pelted toward it, her bare foot slapping an awkward rhythm with her remaining shoe as she ran.

Down the deck, which was still-thank G.o.d-dry, past the deck chairs, her reflection flickering in the gla.s.s of the windows as she sped past. Past the light. Into the pa.s.sage, and into darkness.

And more darkness. What happened? Joanna thought, panic clutching at her. Why didn't I go back? And realized she was back, her sleep mask still on, the IV tugging at the inside crease of her elbow, white noise playing in her ears. "Tish?" she said and pulled the headphone down off her ear with her left hand.

"...pulse just spiked," Tish was saying. "Pulse 95, BP 130 over 90. Wait, she's awake."

"Good," Richard said, and she could hear his footsteps as he came over to the examining table.

She felt Tish removing the electrodes along her scalp, and then the sleep mask was off, and she was looking up at Richard.

"Well?" he said.

She shook her head against the pillow. "I didn't have a different vision, like you expected," she said, and tried to sit up. "It was-"

"Stay put," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"But I need to tell you," Joanna said, lying back, "it was definitely-"

"Hang on," Richard said. "Don't say anything until I get the recorder started." He began pushing b.u.t.tons randomly on the minirecorder. The tape feed popped open. He took the tape out andexamined both sides. What was he doing? He'd watched her put a new tape in right before they started. "Tish, can you get Joanna a blanket?" he said. "She's shivering."

No, I'm not, Joanna thought, and realized he was stalling until Tish moved away so she wouldn't hear what she said.

"Sure," Tish said, and went over to the supply cabinet.

"Tell me what you saw," Richard said as soon as she was out of earshot.

"The t.i.tanic."

"You're sure? You had the same vision as last time? The pa.s.sage and the people milling around beyond the door?"

"Yes, but this time I went out on deck, and-" She stopped as Tish came back with the blanket.

"I'm going to wait on recording the account till after you've done monitoring her," Richard said to Tish. "Go ahead and finish unhooking the electrodes." He went back over to the console without another look at Joanna and started going through the scans. And what would he say when Tish left?

Joanna wondered, watching Tish spread the blanket over her legs and pull it up to cover her shoulders. Would he accuse her of being Bridey Murphy again for seeing the t.i.tanic?

I can't help it, she thought. It was the t.i.tanic. She went over the NDE in her mind again while Tish unhooked the electrodes and checked her pulse and BP so she wouldn't forget any of the details-the stairway, the First-Cla.s.s Dining Saloon, the door to the Boat Deck- I left my shoe in the door, she thought, and sat up. It's still on the ship.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Tish said.

"I-" Joanna said, and stared at her navy-stockinged feet sticking out below the blanket. But I was barefoot, she thought.

"I haven't got your IV out yet," Tish said, and Joanna obediently lay back down. It had felt so real. She could remember her bare foot on the icy deck, could remember taking her shoe off and wedging it in-She started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Tish asked, taping a piece of cotton over the site of the needle.

"My shoe-"

"They're in the dressing room," Tish said, "but you're not going anywhere yet. I need to take your vitals one more time." She did and then said, "So what's so hilarious about your shoes?"

Nothing, Joanna thought. They weren't what I was wearing.

"Come on, tell me, what's the joke?" Tish said.I can't, Joanna thought, you wouldn't understand. Because the shoe she'd left behind, wedged in the door, was a red tennis shoe, just like the one the patient had supposedly seen outside on the ledge when she floated up above the operating table.

Tish was still waiting for her to explain what was so funny. "Nothing, I'm sorry," Joanna said. "I think I'm still a little disoriented," and lay still while Tish took the foam cushions out from under her arms and legs. I need to tell Richard about this, she thought. I wonder if this counts as an out-of-body experience.

But Richard wasn't interested in which core elements she'd had or what she'd seen. He was only interested in whether or not she'd seen the t.i.tanic.