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You could have heard a pin drop. Frank had apologised again, as he had done five or six times previously. Now the only sounds in the control room were breathing, an occasional throat clearing and the shuffle of a chair whenever any of them shifted in their seat. Ray glanced over at Frank and pursed his lips as if he was about to speak, but the right words were nowhere to be found. Frank blamed himself; anyone could see that. Bob had already tried to explain that it wasn’t his fault, but Frank had refused to accept it. He had taken the whole situation very much to heart. The way he felt went far beyond blame and fault; the guilt he felt implied intent and no amount of words were going to change his mind. Ray decided he was going to try again anyway.

“Frankie, you have to stop blaming yourself.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.
“No,” he snapped, “he doesn’t! If he wants to blame himself, let him!”
“Gee!” Bob chimed in, his tone filled with surprise at the singer’s reaction.
“What?” Gerard got to his feet and turned to face them. “Mikey didn’t want to come here in the first place! And when we got here, what happened? He separates us and weird things start happening.”
“That was me!” Bob interrupted.
“Was it you who stuck the knife into the kitchen table? Was it you who nearly made me push a knife through my heart? Was it you who snatched Mikey? Was it? Well?”
“No, but it wasn’t Frank, either!”
“I have to blame someone!” Gerard yelled his voice cracking as the pitch rose higher. “I can’t blame Mikey and I’m damn sure I can’t blame a ghost, so who does that leave?”
“You’re not being fair, Gee,” Ray replied disappointed by his friend’s outburst.
“Fair!” Gerard yelled in reply. “Do you think any of this is fair? Mikey’s vanished and it’s all his fault.”
“Shut up, Gee!” Bob snapped. “Frankie’s not to blame and you know it!”
“Yes it is! Even he knows it!”
“I’m sorry, Gee! I’m so sorry!” Tears stood in Frank’s eyes as he got to his feet and moved tentatively toward his friend. “I’d do anything to get him back, you must believe me.”
Gerard yelled in frustration.
“You can’t do anything right, can you!”
Frank shrunk back away from him and closed his eyes. Bob narrowed his; one more word of abuse from Gerard and he was going to make him the sorry one.
“Can’t you see I’m trying to make you angry? You’re supposed to argue with me! Stand your ground!” Gerard’s shoulders sagged as he looked at Frank’s pained expression. “I was trying to provoke you into saying it wasn’t your fault.”
“But…”
“Frankie,” Gerard sighed extending a hand lazily to pull Frank closer. “You’ve got to believe it’s not your fault, please. I can’t listen to you apologise any more.”
“But, Gee, if I…”
“No!” Gerard insisted going on to emphasise the next three words in staccato fashion. “Not your fault.”
Bob relaxed. None of them had realised what Gerard was trying to do and it was a good job he explained when he did or it could have degenerated pretty quickly into a full-blown argument.

“It’ll be dawn in just over an hour,” Frank commented, turning a worried expression to the others, “they’ll be expecting us to leave.”
Gerard’s eyes met his; the determination on his face there for all to see.
“I’m not leaving this place without Mikey, even if I have to buy it, I’m staying here!”
Frank nodded his understanding and approval, immediately joined by Ray and Bob.
“I’ll check their site on the Internet,” Frank offered, “get some contact details. No matter what, I think they should be warned.”

Gerard checked the monitors again as Frank logged in to the site. Jotting down the relevant numbers, he was just about to close the browser when something caught his eye.

“What!” he cried wide-eyed, staring at the monitor astonished by what was written on the screen.
All eyes turned and Ray and Gerard spoke at the same time, almost in unison.
“What’s wrong?”
“What is it?” added Bob.
“Remember what I told you? About the death of Lord Alverton on board the Titanic? It’s now saying they both survived!”
“But that’s not… how…?” Gerard stumbled over the words. “Mikey?”

*

Mikey pulled back away from Lady Alverton as she drew him in to a kiss. For the briefest of moments, it had felt right, natural and in that moment he sensed the other spirit within him, taking over memory by memory. Mikey fought to retain control, but it felt as though somehow, his own spirit was the weaker of the two.

“Why are you doing this to me?”
“My dear, I just want my husband.”
Mikey shook his head and rose from the sofa.
“And my life? I want that!”
Lady Alverton turned her eyes down; she had no reply. She knew she was effectively robbing Mikey of his own life, but it was too late to change her mind now, it was set. Her heart was set.

“Where are you going?” she cried as Mikey headed for the door.
“I need to get out of here! Away from you!”
“We’re on board ship,” she smiled pityingly, “there’s nowhere for you to go.”
Mikey frowned bitterly. He remembered vaguely knowing where he was and the steward referring to the boat deck. He would find out exactly where he was and how to get away; it was his only chance.
Slamming the door behind him, Mikey found himself in a very long corridor; the ship was huge. Making a note of the room number, he looked to his left and right. To his right, as far as he could see where more rooms, but to the left, only a few yards away, he could see a staircase. Mikey stood at the bottom of the grand, sweeping stairway and gazed at it for a few moments; it looked familiar to him, but oddly, he felt that what he sensed were his own memories, not those of Lord Alverton. He walked up, slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself. As he looked around, he noticed that everyone was dressed very elegantly; the men in woollen suits and derbies and the women in close fitting jackets with long skirts, some wore hats too, but they appeared more decorative than functional. Occasionally, someone would nod to him or say good afternoon, to which he merely mumbled a reply. He felt very out of place but he also appeared to be the only one who thought so. Everyone who addressed him by name called him Lord Alverton and it was really starting to distress him. Dressed, as he was, in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, it was inexplicable to him how he, as a man in his late twenties, could conceivably be mistaken for the English lord.
As he reached the top of the staircase, he looked up at a massive glass dome covering it and bathing him in natural light, from what he realised was a sunny sky with a few light clouds.
To his left and right he saw door that appeared to lead outside. Heading to the right, the steward at the door opened it for him.

“Good afternoon, Lord Alverton,” he greeted him politely.
Mikey merely nodded; all he wanted to do was to get outside. The ship was travelling at speed and the wind that whipped up under the covered section near the door was a chill one. Stepping out into the sunlight, Mikey looked to his left, first down the length of the ship, then up to view the four giant funnels of the impressive steamer.

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”
Mikey turned to see who had spoken. Beside him stood a man of medium build with a large moustache.
“Ismay,” he introduced himself. “This is my ship. Breathtaking, isn’t she?”
“It’s the Titanic,” Mikey murmured bleakly.
“Quite so. Not just beautiful, but unsinkable too.”
“What’s the date?”
“April fourteenth,” Ismay replied, trying not to react to what he saw as the gentleman’s strange behaviour.
Mikey nodded. “Then it’s tonight.”
Ismay regarded him with a curious expression.
“I’m going back to my room, won’t you excuse me, Mister Ismay?”
“Of course, good afternoon, Sir.”
Mikey nodded as he headed back inside. He would have remembered the route anyway, but he felt he knew it from more than one use. He was losing control; Alverton was taking over. By the time he reached the cabin and opened the door he felt as though his body wasn’t his own and that he was merely nearby, listening in on other people’s conversations.

“Catherine,” he began. “We need to talk.”