A Dream of Revenge

I reach down into my satchel and pull out a book. The first page reads “Property of Long River”. Following that, in the next few pages of said book, is my list of names. Looking down the list, almost every one of them is crossed out. I scrawled them out viciously as and when their relevance to me dissipated. On the second to last page, there is only a single name not crossed out. It reads ‘William Percival Clyde’ and underneath reads ‘Headmaster of the residential school’. I’ve collected various notes about this person I am hunting over the years. I’ve filled the pages with anything I found relevant or useful, but my last quarry eludes me and notes that no longer proved useful I scribbled out. The last readable note being my current lead: ‘friends with the mayor of London?’

I stash my journal away and hoist up my satchel. The strap wraps around my white work shirt crinkling it. I put on my dark brown leather boots, brush off my tan cattleman jeans, and make my way out to the common area of the inn. Passing by folks, they would give her odd looks. My coppery skin tone is a dead giveaway I’m not from around here.

"Wot's an Indian doin' 'ere?"

“Looks like a rancher’s daughter.”

“Must’ve ‘ad a fire on the ranch, considerin’ ‘er face.”

I paid them no mind. I wasn’t here to impress anyone. I was in this city looking for someone. Finally, making it to the common area, I pass by the front desk without even a look.

The innkeeper notices me leaving and calls out. “Thanks, Miss Bernadetta Clyde, come again!”

She calls me by the name given to me by my kidnappers. By the colonizers of my people. A name I hate using because every time I hear it I feel a pit in my stomach that roils in the pain and anger that came along with being given that name. But I will do what needs to be done to achieve my goals.

“No,” I responded in my native tongue, causing the inn worker to furrow their brow in confusion as I left.

On the sidewalk now, I travel northward toward the Mayor’s estate in London. My goal is to hopefully run into the mayor and ask him some questions about his good friend William Percival Clyde. I stop right before crossing a street, letting a sluggish automobile chug on by before continuing my journey.

I bob and weave through the crowded street. Furthermore, I take special care to not entertain anyone’s gaze and make no eye contact. Navigating the city proves to be a challenge as people bump into, cross in front, and sometimes outright shove me out of the way. People like me are either treated like prized collectibles or bottom-of-the-barrel trash. Since I’m not dolled up and in some fancy estate for some Lord or Lady, many took it upon themselves to remind me of how I shouldn’t be here in whatever ways they deemed appropriate.

I’m not even sure if I’ll even be able to get close to the mayor, but I have to do this. For myself, and for everyone else who had to suffer for the greed of evil men and women. I rub my hands together as I walk. They, like my face, also have ample burn scars. The natural series of events that follow, trying to put yourself out when you’ve been lit like a lantern. A savage punishment that many of my people received at the hands of oppressors in their so-called residential schools. In these horrid places, colonizers of the United States government stole native children for the sole purpose of being reeducated to what many American and European citizens would call civil society. What I experienced there could be called anything but civil.

My thoughts carry me and after the trials and tribulations of navigating busy city streets, I am faced in front of the mayor’s manor. There’s a sizable gate and wall surrounding the mayor’s manor, and at the gate are two metropolitan officers stationed outside. One is in a little hut-like building at one end of the gate. He looks to be sitting down while reading a newspaper. The other, with a groomed mustache, is set up on the other side of the gate and forced to stand. Both of their eyes immediately clock me, and the standing officer approaches me.

“What business do you ‘ave ‘ere?” his mustache wiggles as he talks.

I breathe, “I have business with the mayor.” I announce in my husky voice.

“You and everyone else. Mayor’s gone off to Southampton.”

I gritted my teeth as my only lead started to crumble before me.

“When is he coming back.” The last word came out harshly.

The mustached officer put a hand on his club and latched to his side.

“Listen ‘ere, you bloody Indian. If you want to make trouble, then we can make trouble. Maybe try reading a newspaper next time.”

The stationed officer pipes up. “Maybe she can’t bloody-well read, Robert? Indians only just started gettin’ civilized. Some anyway.”

The tension in my jaw could rip apart steel if I were to bite down. I stomp over to the stationed guard and snatch the paper from his hand, against his protests. I flip through quickly until I see the little blurb of text. ‘London mayor to help send off RMS Titanic in Southampton after meeting with the United States military commander William Percival Clyde’. I crumple the paper in my hands and throw it back at the stationed guard before rushing off back in the direction I came. The two officers yelled for me, but I ignored them and continued on my way. Southampton wasn’t far, but the ship is scheduled to launch in the next few days. I needed to get there by any means necessary.

____________________________________________________

On the outskirts of London, where the countryside takes over the urban jungle, there are ranches scattered about. Cows are grazing across fields. Farmers are tending to crops and small animals. The roads are a lot less busy and that is quite the boon because I needed to steal a horse. With a horse, I will make it to Southampton with time to spare, as long as they don’t set off early. After a couple of hours of walking along country roads, I finally happen across a stable that is stationed near the fence line. I lean against the fence and start to listen for any horse noises. I don’t have a lot of time to spare for mistakes. A few minutes of patience hardly compares to the years-long journey I have spent looking for all the monsters that have tormented me.

I hear a whinny. Horses are being kept here. I smirk slightly at my good fortune as I hop over the fence and sidle up against the wall of the stable. I look around the corner I am closest to and don’t see any entrances. I sneak along the wall toward the opposite side and peek around that corner as well. Sure enough, the barn doors are there and are open just enough that someone small or thin could get in. I walk over to the slightly open barn door. I wait again. I listen for any people's noises, doing my best to drown out the horse sounds. Hearing nothing I can rightly claim as a person, I look around to the wide-open pastures and see nothing but grazing cattle. With my presence undetected, I enter.

The stable is mostly empty. The horse sounds I heard earlier were coming from the stable’s only occupant. A brown colored horse with white spots and a dirty blonde mane and tail. I stay low to the ground as I approach the pen. I want to be as disarming as possible. The beast doesn’t seem the least perturbed by my entrance, another stroke of good luck. I grab the latch to the horse’s pen and undo it. I open the gate slowly, and am immediately taken off guard. A young girl, somewhere between the ages of eight to ten, is cleaning the horse's hooves, the horse’s stillness now making more sense.

The girl and I just stare at each other. Her in wide-eyed terror and myself in shock. I rally myself and stand up a little straighter to make myself taller and more imposing to the girl.

“What’s your name?” my native accent came out strongly.

“Ch-Ch-” the girl swallows, “Charlotte.”

The girl looks down at my boots and then up to my waist where I have a couple of knives hanging. She gains the courage to speak once again.

“Are you… Are you ‘ere to scalp me? I ‘ear that’s what Indians do to people.”

My fists ball up in anger. This girl can’t even begin to imagine what indignities I’ve suffered from people who look like her. I take a step forward and the girl lurches back. Her reaction shakes me out of my anger. I loosen my balled fists and put up my hands with open palms.

“No. I just need to borrow your horse here.”

At this, the little girl stands up and defiantly stands between me and the horse.

“I’m not lettin’ Conrad get stolen by no Indian.”

Anger boils in me again, but I quickly put a stop to it.

“It wouldn’t be stealing if I told you where I was going, would it?” I reason.

“That jus’ makes you a bad thief.”

I pace around in a circle, briefly considering pushing this girl to the ground and hopping on her horse, and escaping. Something deep inside begs me to not agitate the situation further.

“What if we were friends?”

The girl’s defiant stance loosens a bit.

“Well, I don't know anyone that’s friends with an Indian…” she trails off.

I point at her. “There’s nothing wrong with being the first. And if we’re friends, you’ll know I am being sincere about leaving the horse where I said I would, right?”

The defiance completely evaporates out of Charlotte.

“I guess so.”

I kneel down to be at eye level with the girl.

“I promise to leave the horse somewhere in Southampton under your name if you let me take, what was his name again, Conroy?”

The little girl giggles, “Conrad.”

“Right.” I forgot the horse’s name.

Charlotte stands there thinking about it for a few minutes. My patience with the situation wears thin, but this is better than having lawmen after me for robbing and assaulting a child. Suddenly the little brightens right up.

“All right! I’ll let you borrow my dear Conrad. But you have to promise!” The little girl holds out her pinky finger toward me. I sigh, but relent and extend my pinky finger and interlock it with hers. She squeezes as hard as she can, and we separate. I stand up and start rubbing Conrad to help him understand I’m a friend. He was a little reluctant to the new touch at first, but quickly melted into my hands. A very kind horse.

“I don’t know where the saddles are. Only Dad knows that stuff.”

“That is okay. I can ride him without one.”

I look down at Charlotte. “Remember. Southampton. It’ll be in the stable closest to the bay. Under your name, young one.”

Charlotte smiles, missing some teeth, “Okay miss Indian!”

“Long River. My friends call me Long River.” I yell back at her as I start guiding Conrad out of the stable, pushing the barn doors open a little wider.

I hop on Conrad’s bareback and Charlotte watches me intently. Finally, I give her one last look before I get Conrad racing towards the fence, and before you know it, we’re over the barrier and on the road to Southampton.

____________________________________________________

I make it to Southampton with time to spare. The whole town is elated with news that the world’s most luxurious vessel is getting ready to depart from its waters. As promised, I left Charlotte’s horse Conrad at a nearby stable to be kept and fed. I gave the stable enough money to have it there a week and told them that a little girl named Charlotte and her father would be picking this horse up. They eyed me warily, but took the money all the same. I make my way through the bustling and packed streets of Southampton. Any vehicles or carriages have no luck cutting through the swaths of people making their way to the harbor to see the launching of this ship. The large crowds make it easy to blend in and approach it as well.

I clench and unclench my hands in anticipation. If I can just take him out before he gets on the ship, then I can finally rest easy. Just a quick, simple killing. After a month or two of hiding in the wilderness to allow any authorities to give up looking for me, I can stow away on a ship heading back to the United States. I can finally achieve vindication for myself and everyone else who fell victim to those twisted residential schools. I only hope nothing goes wrong.

Following the crowds for half an hour and I have sight of the ship harbor in my sights. Sure enough, there is a massive vessel floating in Southampton port. Along the side, it reads ‘Titanic’ and there are loads of people getting onto the ship as well and many, many others who are simply there to see them off.

“All aboard the R.M.S. Titanic, the ‘Ship of Dreams’!” a young man cried out as he stood upon a box amidst the crowd.

The buzz in the air of the crowd was energizing for many. Dozens of people happily chattering away about how they wish they were getting on this vessel, or talking about some obscure connection they have to someone boarding the ship now. I won’t be much different from them if I don’t find William Percival Clyde and be on my way. Suddenly, the boy on the box gets pushed off and a man takes his place. Older, around forty years old. Unkempt facial hair, but not for too long. Well-dressed by Englishman standards.

“Everyone, I’d like you all to give all the well-wishes you have to spare to my good friend boarding the vessel at this very moment.”

The man’s booming voice catches the attention of many, but the crowd is hardly fazed. He’s perhaps not the first one to try to steal attention from these people today. I, like many, refuse to pay him any mind. I’m too busy moving through and scanning the crowds for the man I came here to kill. Not seeing him amongst the crowd, I start worrying, and I look towards the boarding ramp to the Titanic. My eyes nearly pop out of my head.

“Best of luck, Percival! I can’t wait to hear all about the accommodations I’m having to miss out on while I continue to serve the good people of London.”

Standing at the top of the ramp, waving to the crowd. It’s him. The man in charge of ruining my life so many years ago. He’s aged. His dark, slicked hair is no longer around and his once clean-shaven face is now sporting a full, graying beard. He’s still quite slender, but that seems to be more from age as opposed to his lean, muscular features from before. But despite the way the years have treated him, I could pin that smile down anywhere. The same smile he had while the nuns would lash us. The same smile that stared down shallow graves with burning bodies of kids and adults alike. The smile seared as permanently in my thoughts as the scars on my body.

He’s getting on the ship, and I am not. I could try to stow away on another ship, but I don’t know where this one is going or how long. I could find out, but then the time it would take me to find a ship going the same way would give him a head start. Not to mention, this big fancy ship probably moves faster than some common fishing ship or transport ship. I might not ever find him again if I don’t get on this ship. All this time would be wasted.

I look around. Passengers are still boarding, but you need tickets. If I try to board without a ticket, then I’ll get arrested, and it's done. I haven’t had enough time to make a proper bow, or I could have just shot him from here. I keep surveying around me. Finally, something promising catches my eye. Some individuals are packing up the vessel's cargo still near the back of the ship. Disregarding reverence or courtesy, I start plowing my way through the crowds of onlookers. My curses, angry looks, and dejected sentiments are thrown my way, but these are hardly a reason for concern. Not now.

I make my way through the thickest throngs of the crowds and am able to rush a little faster to where they are packing up some last-minute cargo. There also appear to be people handing off tickets and this end of the boat, but the people who are handling these tickets are not nearly as well-off as the ones drawing on all the onlookers. No attention to the dregs of society. It makes me sick. Just out of the corner of my vision, I notice something. There are crates with large holes in them.

I approach the holey crates and sure enough, I can hear the whining of dogs and clucking of chickens. People’s pets? Food for the journey? It didn’t matter because I found my ticket to get on the ship. I take my hunting knife and jam it between the main part of the crate and its lid. Once I have the full length of the thick blade within the slot, I bring down my elbow onto it with all the force I can muster. I loud pop and one corner of the crate was loose. With no time to celebrate, I started popping other sections of the lid off. After a few more pops, I am able to move the lid enough that I could slip in. I climb into the crate, and with an unceremonious crunchy thud, I was curled up in the crate with a bunch of confused dogs and chickens.

The animals react wildly to my presence. Panicked barks and clucks ran through me. A few moments later and there was a loud slam from the top of the crate, followed by a ‘Shut it!’. I looked through one of the air holes and there was a pair of work boots standing next to us.

“Everythin’ good, lad?”

“Yeah, bloody animals won’t shut up.”

“Well, no problems then. No one’ll ‘ear them below deck. Get’em loaded.”

Just as soon as the request was made, the crate started moving. I was going to be on the Titanic, and all I have to do was ride quietly with the animals and find my target when we landed. My luck was finally turning around.

____________________________________________________

A loud crash sound rings out, followed by violent rumbling. I had just gotten done eating the last of my dried meat. I spent the better part of the last few days held up in this container. When I absolutely needed to stretch my legs, I would slip out of the crate and walk around the darkened storage area for a while. Having been in the crate, my eyes have already become well accustomed to the sight of pure darkness, so I was able to make out distinct shapes as well as make sure I wasn’t hurting too many more animals. I had landed on a chicken earlier, and it did not end well for the bird.

I poke my head against the loosened lid of the crate, just so my dark-trained eyes could see out. There weren’t any crewmates or other people around. I push up on the lid and sneak out of it like I’ve done a few times before. I walk around the box to make sure there isn’t anything else to worry about. Aside from some scurrying rats, I don’t find much. I only have a few can’t of beans left for food, so I decide to take this opportunity to see if I can’t sneak some food away from somewhere while I figure out what that crashing was. I grab my satchel out from the container and make my way to what I think is the exit from the storage area.

A large doorway seems to lead out from here, so I make my way there cautiously. I try the door and, of course, it is locked, but I can easily unlock it from the inside of the room. I pass through another storage area of the ship, but the further in I go into this room, the more ambient noise I hear. People rushing around. Tools and equipment at work. Yelling, screaming, panic. A similarly large doorway leads to the next area of the ship, and unlike these two storage areas, this next room is lit up.

I peek through the small window on this set of doors and just as I heard, there are people rushing around in every direction. I open the door slightly to get a better clue of what’s going on.

“The outside hull has been breached, Thomas! Five of the water-tight compartments seem to be filling with water as we speak.”

The ship is sinking? Well, that’s unfortunate. Or is it fortunate? If I’m going to die, at least my enemy is also going to meet his end. It is not the most ideal situation, but so long as that monster goes down with this ship, then I have no real problem with also passing on.

Shaking me from my thoughts, the man named Thomas yells out to the whole crew. “We’re evacuating the ship! Get the hell out of this hull if you know what's good for you, and start helping set up the lifeboats. We need to get as many people out of here as possible. I need a few crew members to stay with me to help mitigate the damage as much as possible for now. Preferably, ones who can swim!”

At the order, the entirety of the crew starts either leaving or lining up behind Thomas. Lifeboats mean my quarry has a chance of escaping. I can’t imagine he would choose to die for anyone else, he is going to try to escape no matter who he has to throw out of the way. I have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Immediately, I start taking off toward where the crew members were going.

Everything being as chaotic as it is, no one even really noticed the fact that I’m tagging along with them. The cramped quarters of the underbelly of the ship took about twenty or so minutes to navigate properly through. I tried to push past the crew members of the ship, but they weren’t letting anybody by, as they were working equally hard to get topside. Eventually, we burgeon into long hallways where on either side there are all the passenger rooms every 20 or so feet. Crew members stop at each of the rooms to check if there are any passengers and alarm them of the situation if there are. Unfortunately, this begets the difficult part of my task, finding William Percival Clyde.

The crew of the ship has parted out of my way, but now dozens of people also flood the hallways with them and me. With no other recourse, I find myself scanning the throngs of people as I try to get topside. I spent a while doing this, so long the ship is notably starting to arch upwards. Water is starting to flood into the hallway and navigating through the crowd proves to be too difficult, people ram through and past me in a panic as their ship sinks. Frustration mounts within me, but I keep it inside. They’re concerned about dying, I just need to find my quarry. Just as that thought passes through my mind, I am hit particularly roughly by a lady rushing out in her nightgown.

I blackout when my head slams into the ground, and I’m trampled.

____________________________________________________

I wake up sliding a little. The pain in my head and body is unfathomable. Where am I? Right, the Titanic. I still need to find Clyde, if he’s even still on the ship. I stumble up. Gaining more of myself, I start noticing a crying sound. Like a little kid crying. I look around and sure enough, huddled onto one of the doorways there is a little boy, no older than four years old. Tears and snot running down his face. I think about my goal and how it's probably over now. It’s time to get myself and this kid somewhere safer.

I pick the child up with little concern about his wants and start making my way to the deck of the ship. All the while the child is crying and fighting me. I’m annoyed, but I can’t fault him. I’m just a stranger. But I’m not going to let a child die if I can help it, so he can deal with it. After much struggle, both from my stumbling and the kid’s squirming around, we make it topside. There are a fair amount of crew members standing around wearing life preservers. Some still are launching some last-minute lifeboats. Many are descending to the water, but one is still up next to the boat. A woman is pleading with the crew member, while the crew member is trying to mitigate the dispute between the mother and an older-looking man.

“If we don’t leave now, then we’ll all die. Me, you, and your boy.” an older man not in the lifeboat yet suggests.

The woman responds, “Please just wait a little longer. I told him if we- Oh! Oh, there he is!”

The woman points at me holding the child who is hitting my face. The child looks away from me and towards the lifeboat and sees his mother. He immediately stops crying and fights even harder to escape me. I let him go and he runs toward her. She scoops him up just as he gets nearby. The crew member looks toward the older man.

“Sorry, sir. That’s the last spot.”

“Do you know who I am? I am William Percival Clyde! My name means something in the United States.

My muscles tense. Nostrils are flares. Eyes glare at this man. The man feels my eyes on him and looks back at me. He sees my coppery skin. My horrible burn scars. My gritted teeth. He immediately stops arguing with the crew member and starts running further up the boat. I give chase. The crew member looks confused but sadly goes to lower the lifeboat as he is meant to.

I run. I run harder and faster than I felt like I’d ever run before. All the years I’ve spent trying to close this chapter of my life have finally come to something. I just need to catch him. When I get close enough, I lurch forward, but I’m still disorientated from my earlier injury. So I just miss him. Right at that moment, the ship's slight angling starts getting much, much worse. What was once a slight angle starts moving ever upward. The lithe, older man slips up because of this.

Taking the opportunity to catch up, I run, nearly climb, up to him as he pitifully tries to crawl away from me. Unfortunately for him, I’m faster. My anger. My hate. It kept me strong, vital and prepared for this and so many other moments. I grab his leg. His arms buckle underneath him. I drag him down to my level. I crawl over him, using my knees to pin him to the ground. He looks terrified. And for good reason, I can feel my face twisting into a vicious and cruel smile. One that is worn when the satisfaction is overwhelming. He tries to struggle, but his aged body can’t push me off.

I reach into my satchel and pull out my hunting knife. I run my finger along the edge of the blade. Blood trickles from my skin and I make sure he sees it.

“Now, Bernadetta. Let’s be reasonable and-”

“That's NOT my name.” I screech out before going to plunge the knife down.

Right before the knife makes contact, something incredible happens. The ship starts tearing in half right underneath us. The sudden rupture made me drop my knife, and then a gap opened up underneath us wide enough for us to fall through.

We fall.

By sheer instinct, I manage to grasp onto the ledge of the ship half that’s still slowly sinking. Much like me, William Clyde crabs onto my legs. He’s squeezing so hard it is starting to hurt my legs. He’s got them both held, so I can’t kick him off. I try to pull myself up, but I can’t pull myself up. I’m stuck there for a moment.

There’s only one way.

I look down at William Percival Clyde. He looks back at me. Something in my demeanor must have tipped him off because he starts crying.

“No, no Bernadette. Please. Please. Just hang on. Help will come, and we’ll figure this out.”

I look down at him. My dark brown eyes are unfazed and uncaring, “In the next life, perhaps.”

I let go of the ledge and we both plunge deep into the freezing, dark water below.