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"Sir? Sir, First Class is this way.“
Patrick sighed deeply as he looked up at the ship, hardly noticing the man who led him over to the entrance where first class passengers were entering the ship. First Class Passengers, rude and impolite people who thought they were better than anyone else. Patrick breathed in deeply. And now I am one of these people. Maybe it’s time I behave like one of them. He still couldn’t get used to it, nor was he too pleased with this thought. He looked over to a mass of people who obviously belonged to thrid class. They were treated differently, harsh and quick; being packed on the ship like a bunch of rats nobody of the „High class society“ should see. Nobody should even notice they were on the ship.
For a moment, Patrick was thinking about what he was doing here. In fact, he was nothing more like them; no, he was less than them. He knew the costs of a Ticket on Titanic and he could imagine how hard these people had worked to get one. And what was he doing? He was entering the ship under a false name, with a stolen ticket.
His guilt only lasted a moment. Patrick had never thought of what was right or wrong, most of the time, he didn’t even know why he was doing the things he was doing, why he had done the things he had done. But looking over to the third class passengers entering the ship, he knew why he was here. He was here for the same reason they were; he was here because he was hoping for a better life, a life without lies, where he didn’t need to hide; where he didn’t need wrong names because he was fearing they could caught him. He was a searched man and he knew; as long as he was in England, he wasn’t save and every day was just a new risk of being caught.
„Sir? Sir, you need to go over here.“
Patrick looked back, seing the young man again. He was wearing a „Titanic“ staff outfit. Patrick breathed in deeply, he took one last look on the miserable yet hopeful people entering the ship before he went over to the entrance to board the ship himself. The man looked at his ticket, then at him and for a moment, Patrick was scared he wouldn’t believe him. He didn’t even know the man he had stolen the ticket from. He didn’t know the man on whose name he was travelling now. What if this man was known in high society? What if this man knew him, knew that Patrick wasn’t him and would call the police? Patrick tried not to panic, but he couldn’t shake the feeling off his mind, not could he ease himself or tell himself that he was doing fine, that people believed him playing the role of a rich businessman, that he was going to be alright.
„Sir?“
Patrick looked back at him; the man was smiling and made the way free. „Welcome on Titanic. I hope you will enjoy your journey. May I bring your luggage to your room?“
Patrick sighed deeply; smiling back, he nodded. „Of course.“
Patrick felt nervous as he followed the man through the corridor to his room. Still, he couldn’t believe he had made it. Of course he knew he couldn’t be save until the ship had left the habour, but he had made his first Stepp into disappearance. He was no longer Patrick, the thief, the street rat who lived on betraying others. No he was a rich businessman travelling to America to make a fortune. He was a member of the club and the other first-class passengers believed him.
He nodded at the young man and handed him a generous tip (He had stolen the money or earned it by begging) and the man left to leave „the pleasant, dear generous sir“ alone. Patrick looked around; he looked at the rich room and suddenly, he felt lost. Outside, he surely was the rich and wealthy „pleasant, dear generous sir“, but inside, he was still Patrick, the street rat. It is time to get this off. You are no kid. You are not Patrick anymore. You are going to America and you are leaving Patrick and your past behind you. Patrick nodded at his reflection in the mirror; a nicely dressed young man looked back. Yes, he was one of them; inside and outside. He could talk about business like everybody in upper class, he knew the topics of their chatters, he knew how to please the ladies of high society and he didn’t look like the street rat he had been; he street rat he, in fact still was, still felt like. No, he was no street rat. He was a fine gentleman, a member of the club.
Patrick nodded at himself one last time before he went outside. He could feel the wind in his hair; he could hear the bells of the ship, people searching on the dock to find their relatives on the ship to wave them goodbye. Patrick was smiling inside. He knew, they were still searching for him downstairs, on the docks. Nobody knew he was here. Nobody knew in which luxury he was travelling. Even if they would find out, up to this time, he would be passing the Atlanic, maybe he would already be somewhere in America, again under an Alias, where he could finally leave his troubled past behind. Patrick looked at the faces of other passengers, faces which were showing sorrow and pain, but hope, one last hope, to start a new life by the ship of dreams, as they had called Titanic. For him, Titanic was the ship of dreams too, the ship which would take him away from this nightmare of living on street, which could wake him up from the nightmare of running away from police everyday. Yes, this was the „Ship of dreams“. He had wished to scream out and wave like a lunatic, to climb up the giant chimneys, but of course, this wasn’t first class style. First class had to stay first class and he had to keep playing his role. Silently, but excited, he went downstairs into the body of the ship again.
He locked the door behind him and looked at the luxury room, tidy and nice, waiting for him. Which name had he chosen? Who was William Jameson? He hadn’t seen any paintings of him or his family in the house, but this wasn’t much he was interested in when he was on a stealing tour, „earing money“. But of course, William Jameson was high class. Patrick suddenly started doubting he could play this man’s role. What if anyone knew this name? Who could he be then? His son? His nephew? Could his „Sir William Jameson“ even have any still living relatives? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about this man, about his own identidy. His nephew…probably this could work. He smiled at himself as his glance got caught on the mirror again. Slowly, he walked over to it and bowed lightly. „Miss, may I lead you to your table to join you for dinner? I don’t think he have been introduced already. My name is Sir William Jameson.“
He nearly started laughing. If being a first class society member meant to be a monkey in a suit who walked like a stick was caught in their suit and talked like there was nobody better than themselves, he knew what he had to do.
Slowly, he left his room again, looking around him at the shining objects, at the glamour. They were calling it „Ship of Dreams“ but this wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t dreaming. He had woken, leaving the nightmare. He was on Titanic.
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Come to the Dark Side...we have Jim Moriarty
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