Chapter Text
I am Ciaran Singleton. Born in Morefield. Today is October 19, 1899.
Someone knocked on the door. "You're supposed to knock two times, not three," Ciaran muttered to himself before going to open it. He already knew it was his breakfast. He had reminded them multiple times now to only knock twice, but the porter seemed incapable of remembering.
Ciaran didn't like eating in front of others. His "quirks," as his father used to call them, always manifested themselves during mealtimes and he was terribly self conscious about them. He knew it wasn't normal to cross his fork and knife together precisely four times, to always spread butter left to right, and to ensure none of the food was touching before eating any of it. He tried to make himself stop. But no matter how hard he tried, it never felt right to eat without making sure everything had been done exactly a certain way. So he'd given up trying and simply ate alone.
Ciaran had just finished crossing his silverware - the kitchen's presentation of first class meals always meant that food was never touching, for which he was grateful - when someone else knocked at his door. This person knew to knock exactly twice. Ciaran figured that it was likely his sister, which meant that she would open the door before he got there anyway.
Surely enough, a few seconds later, his sister walked through the door and into room 1013. "Good morning Maura Singleton," Ciaran greeted her.
"Good morning Ciaran. And I go by Franklin now, you know that." He did know it. Maura hated being associated with their father and his dealings, so she'd adopted their mother's family name as her own. He knew he should use it, but, like many things, it didn't feel right.
Maura pulled out the chair from his desk and sat down on it. "I had the strangest dream last night. I was a patient at father's sanitarium, and he injected me with some sort of fluid."
"That is strange," Ciaran said, cracking his hard boiled egg with a spoon. "I can't imagine you ever being patient at a sanitarium. We all know who the crazy one is in the family, and it isn't you."
"Stop that," Maura chided him. She didn't like it when he used that word to describe himself. Not that it wasn't true.
“What I'm saying is that it doesn’t make any sense with what we know about the dreaming mind,” Maura continued. “If our dreams are the subconscious engaging in wish fulfillment, then why would I be dreaming about being a mental patient?”
“Maybe you wish father had paid as much attention to you as he did to mother,” Ciaran suggested. Their father had indeed dedicated much of his time and energy to their mother, though it wasn’t for any reason to be envious. Their mother had acquired some sort of chronic psychosis when Ciaran was still in infancy, leaving her completely unable to care for either them or herself. Ciaran never knew his mother when she’d been sane, unlike Maura. He wished he had.
“Maybe,” Maura mused. “You should come down to the dining hall when you’re done eating. It might do you some good to talk to someone who isn’t me.”
"I'll think about it," said Ciaran, taking a bite of his egg. "Though everyone on board knows I'm related to the owner. I don't need people thinking they need to impress me."
Maura stood up from the chair. "I told you, you should have traveled under an alias." She had. But like much else, it didn't feel right to go by any name other than his own. "I'll see you downstairs."
***
After finishing his breakfast and setting the tray outside his room, Ciaran begrudgingly headed down to the dining hall. He didn't know why he let Maura talk him into being social. Too long around other people and they started to pick up on his oddities. And unlike Maura, most people could not simply ignore them.
Ciaran spotted Maura at a table near the front of the room sitting next to another woman he did not know. Ciaran walked over to join them.
"That exotic little bird over there - Ah, Mr. Singleton! Join us please." The woman sitting next to Maura gestured for him to sit. Ciaran pulled out the chair next to Maura's. The woman frowned briefly, then continued her upbeat conversation. "We were just remarking about the variety of the passengers on this ship and how strange they all seem. Take for example that nervous wreck of a priest and his horny-looking brother."
Ciaran turned his chair to see the men she was gesturing at. "They do seem a bit queer," Ciaran remarked, hoping she would quickly change the subject.
"They're clearly hiding something. All of them," the woman said. Of course they were, Ciaran thought. Everyone was always hiding something about themselves. He gave a knowing look to Maura.
"You'll forgive me," Ciaran said, deciding to change the subject himself. "You seem to know me, but I don't know you."
"Virginia Wilson," she said, extending a hand. Ciaran declined to take it. "Business proprietor."
"What sort of business?" Ciaran inquired.
"Imports," said Mrs. Wilson. "From China. Silks and earthenware, that sort of thing."
Ciaran nodded. That would certainly explain her presence in first class. Goods from the Orient were all the rage these days. It seemed like everyone wanted a jade vase or some such for their parlors.
Maura looked like she was about to say something when she was interrupted by someone bursting through the door. In ran a young man, shouting in Danish about a doctor. Something about it didn't seem right to Ciaran. Not that something was going wrong wherever he'd come from, that thought would have crossed everyone's mind. Something about it seemed to Ciaran like it shouldn't be happening at all. That something was wrong not just with this man but with the entire room.
The ship's crew quickly dragged the man away, back through the door from which he came. The other passengers in the dining hall, who had been silent as the man cried for help, went back to chattering amongst themselves. But Ciaran could not get rid of the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something didn't feel right.
Ciaran decided it would do him no good to stay in the dining room. He didn't need Mrs. Wilson or anyone else to start asking him questions, especially ones he didn't have an answer to.
Ciaran noticed Maura follow him out of the dining hall. She did not follow him all the way back to the room, however, but instead turned toward the upper decks. He did not know where she was headed and he did not believe it concerned him. Their father had raised Maura to be a headstrong independent woman. She certainly did not need Ciaran to be involved in her affairs. If anything, he needed her to be involved in his. Alone, Ciaran returned to his room and his solitude.
***
Ciaran was in the middle of his latest read-through of From the Earth to the Moon when he heard a pounding on his door. Three knocks again. How many times did he need to tell them?
Ciaran pulled out his pocket watch, wondering if he'd lost the time reading. It felt like he hadn't eaten lunch that long ago that supper would be served already. The time on his watch read a quarter after two. It seemed to be fully functional, which meant that Ciaran had not lost track of six hours as he feared. This wasn't supper. It was something else.
Ciaran marked his page with a bookmark and set the book neatly down on the desk. He then straightened his jacket before opening the door.
There was no porter outside. There were multiple other passengers though, including Maura. "What's going on?" he asked her.
"I don't know. The captain is requesting our presence in the dining room for some sort of announcement," she said. Ciaran already started to feel uneasy. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
His thoughts raced as they made their way to the dining hall. Were they low on coal? Had they encountered inclement weather? Was the sea unpassable? Would they make it to New York? Maura took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
The captain was already waiting for them when they entered the dining room. Ciaran and Maura found a place to stand near the front of the room, standing just far enough apart so as not to have anyone mistake them for a married couple. The captain, looking like he'd had a few drinks too many with lunch, cleared his throat before speaking.
"Yesterday, we received a message from the company." The captain let out a hiccup that he tried to hide. "Coordinates. Southwest of our course. We believe these are the last known coordinates of the Alcides, the ship that went missing a couple of months ago."
The other passengers started to murmur. Ciaran had recalled hearing about the missing ship a while ago, since it belonged to his father. He hadn't paid much attention beyond the news that it was missing, since ships tended to go missing in the North Atlantic all the time. Usually not in the middle of June, granted, but the sea was an unpredictable beast.
"Believe? You're not sure the coordinates are for lost ship?" one of the passengers cried out in broken English. The murmuring grew louder.
The captain started talking again, explaining that they were changing course to respond to the message from headquarters. Ciaran stopped listening halfway through. The unsettled feeling in his stomach was growing larger. This wasn't right. The Prometheus wasn't a rescue ship. It didn't have enough lifeboats for its own passengers, let alone another ship full of them. Why would anyone from his father's company send them on such a mission?
"My father is the owner of these ships and I demand you put this ship back on course this instant!" Ciaran shouted. He wasn't used to shouting. He didn't like drawing attention to himself.
"I'm sorry Mr. Singleton, but there may still be passengers alive on that ship. It's my duty to rescue them."
"Your duty is to get this ship to New York!" Ciaran shouted angrily. "Seven days, no detours! If you value your position with this company, you will do as I say!" Ciaran didn't like how he felt at that moment. The only person he'd ever gotten this angry with was his father.
"I'm sorry Mr. Singleton. I can't do that," the captain said, his words starting to slur. He then slunk off, presumably back to the helm, with his first mate not far behind.
The murmurs were turning into a roar now. Ciaran could feel himself starting to shake. This didn't feel right. Something wasn't right.