Page 8 of Haunting the Deep

He stops, too. “Yes, sweetie?”

“This painting.” I point at the woman in a formal gown. A chill runs down my arm, raising all the hairs as it goes. “There was a man in it.”

My dad’s eyebrows push together. “I don’t understand.”

There was a man in it, I’m sure of it. She was standing and he was sitting. And now she’s still standing but he’s gone. “Don’t you remember a man being in it?” My voice rises.

He frowns. “This painting’s new. Well, not new, but I don’t remember seeing it displayed when I lived here. Mom must’ve brought it down from the attic at some point.”

“Oh.” I pull my hair over my shoulder. “You know what? I could be wrong. There are so many paintings in this place, and I haven’t really been down this hallway in a while. I may have gotten it confused.” More than anything, I want that concerned look to disappear from my dad’s face. “Whoever she is, she’s beautiful.”

He nods. “By her clothes, I’d bet she lived in the early nineteen hundreds or so.”

I study her big hat and proud expression. “Do you know who she is?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say she might be one of our extended relatives. I seem to remember Mom saying they were from New York. I think some of them survived theTitanic.But I really don’t know much more than that.”

Titanic?“That’s interesting.”

The hum of the ocean at night relaxes me. I grip the banister and look fifty feet below at the white foam kicked up from the bow. Brightly lit portholes extend down the length of the large ship, twinkling like Christmas lights on the endless water.

I scan the deck behind me. A beautifully dressed young couple chat quietly a ways down the railing. And three men in suits and top hats walk toward a door, smoking cigars and talking loudly. A butler opens it for them. I follow, but the door closes just as I reach it.

I peer in the window and my mouth drops. The walls are adorned with elaborate molding, and chandeliers dot the ceiling. Men and women play cards and drink out of crystal glasses. The women’s dresses remind me of the lady in the painting I was looking at with my dad.

I take a quick step away from the door. There’s something I don’t like about this place, something I want to remember but can’t. It’s like trying to stick a pin in a drop of mercury. Everything’s foggy.

I walk toward the railing. In my path, on the deck, lies the painting from my hallway. Next to it is a green silk evening gown and a silver book the size of a playing card. These definitely weren’t here a second ago. I step around them and move toward the water. The wind whips my hair. I have this strong urge to leave. I lift my leg to climb up the railing, but my ankle feels like it’s tethered by a fifty-pound weight.

My eyes open, and I’m gripping the air in front of me. My right leg’s raised high, straining against my thick blankets.

Someone laughs, and I sit bolt upright, blinking at the bright light streaming through my window.

Jaxon stands just inside my door, wearing blue plaid pajama pants and a navy-blue hoodie. “Sorry, I did knock before I came in.” He laughs again. “I didn’t know you slept with all your arms and legs in the air like that.”

“Jaxon?” I take a deep breath.I’m back in my bedroom.

“Yes, Sam?”

I throw back my covers. “What time is it?”

“Late. Breakfast’s ready. The parents sent me up to get you.”

“Your house or mine?”

“Yours.” He hesitates. “You okay? You look a little, I don’t know, upset?”

“Yeah.” I rub the corners of my eyes. “Bad dream.”

He nods. “Want me to stay? I’ll tell you funny stories and make you forget about it.”

I look at Jaxon, with his messy hair and inviting smile. I shake my head. “Thanks, though. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jaxon lingers for a second and walks out of my room.

I slide out of bed and slip my feet into black fuzzy slippers. MyTitanichistory homework sits on my vanity, where I left it last night. I freeze.The luxurious ship, the old-fashioned people.I grab my phone and type “Titanic lounge” into the search bar.

One of the first pictures to pop up is an exact match for the room I saw through the window. But I’ve never seen this room before. How could I get it right in my dream if I didn’t know what it looked like? I flip through myTitanichomework just to be sure. There’s no lounge picture. Dreaming about it makes sense, but exactly replicating it is just…strange.Unless…