Page 93 of Haunting the Deep

Elijah appears with two lit chamberstick candles. I jump backward, scowling at him.

He hands me a candle, and I’m fairly certain there is an amused look in his eyes. “This should be enough light to read, but not enough that anyone outside the building will see us. Just the same, avoid windows.”

Elijah leads me into a room of shelves full of files and folders. There are three round tables with chairs. Each table has a computer on it.

“It’s a mini-library of paperwork,” I say.

“Indeed.” Elijah walks to a nearby shelf and holds his candle up. “These are the records and local newspapers for the past hundred years.”

It only takes him a minute to pull a stack of binders and place them on a table. We sit down with our candles, and I’m reminded of all the nights we stayed up doing research together in the fall.

“We shall start by looking at local newspapers on or around theTitanicanniversary during Redd’s childhood,” he says. “Every year there is at least one article commemorating the disaster. And if there was aTitanicsurvivor or a survivor’s relative in Salem, it is likely that person would have been asked for a quote or an interview.”

“That’s actually really smart,” I say.

“You sound surprised,” he says.

“That’s because I am.”

He tries to hide his smile, but the corners of his mouth betray him.

“Elijah?”

“Samantha.”

“Thanks for the tea.”

He smiles, and for the first time since he came back, his dimples appear. “You are very welcome.”

I look away from him and I’m annoyed all over again. How dare he come back here with his thoughtful gestures and his dimples and make me feel this way. I clear my throat and change the subject. “You pulled those binders like you already knew where they were. How do you know your way around this place so well?”

“I spent many an hour here when you asked me to help you figure out if your family was cursed.” He flips through an old newspaper.

“Oh.” I remember that day I bargained with him in the secret study to help me. I thought he was the most frustrating person I had ever met. Still do. I laugh.

“Yes?” he asks, and looks up at me.

“Nothing,” I say, and open a binder.Go away, nostalgia!

For the next half hour we pullTitanicarticles and flip through pages. The tips of my fingers get stained black from the old newsprint.

“This is so sad,” I say. “I just read a story about a woman who checked herself into a sanatarium after the boat sank, never again wanting to talk about what happened that night. People say it was probably the screams from the passengers in the water that haunted her.”

Elijah nods. “A great many of the survivors had nightmares about it. It is likely that the passengers in the water were pleading for help for the fifteen minutes before hypothermia set in. Many families were split up while evacuating. Can you imagine being in a lifeboat and wondering if that voice in the water belonged to your relative?”

I shudder. “I can’t. I really can’t. But why didn’t they helpthem?”

“Some wanted to. There were arguments in the lifeboats about whether they would be overturned if they went back. One man finally did. But he was too late.”

I pull another binder toward me and try to swallow the lump in my throat. I open the cover and instantly the candles blow out.

“Eli—!”

Before I can finish his name, he’s there, his hand on my arm.

I hear him strike a match in the darkness, and a small flame lights up his face. My heart plays a drum solo in my chest.

“What the hell was that?” I whisper.