Page 63 of The Last Death Poet

I gasp and Meg whirls round. ‘What is it?’

I whip my head up, checking the sky for the bird.

‘Michael?’ Meg’s hand is on my wrist. ‘What is it?’

The ground beneath me shifts and I clutch the rail. A chill creeps up my arms and settles in my chest.

I sink to my knees as rain starts to fall.

‘Michael? Michael, are you OK?’ Meg is kneeling beside me. ‘What did you see?’

My tongue feels heavy. ‘Nothing,’ I force out.

I sit back. A woman Mum’s age is looking in my direction.

Meg takes out her phone, but I stop her. ‘I’m fine.’ Nausea has my head swimming. ‘Just give me a second.’

She sits beside me.

Rain tickles my nose. ‘You’ll get wet.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Take your time.’

I take a deep breath. As I push the air in and out, gradually my head clears. I wipe the rain from my mouth. ‘I think I had a flashback.’

‘What did you see?’

I close my eyes and picture the ship, the seagull and the feather.

‘I don’t know. It was like a dream or…’

Meg’s eyes widen. ‘Or something you’ve forgotten?’

I blacked out on the ferry. I didn’t remember what I had seen until now. ‘A vision.’

‘What was it?’

I shake my head.Not here.She helps me to my feet and we walk away from the railing.

‘I think I saw theTitanicwhen I was on the ferry. But then I must’ve forgotten it.’

‘No way! That’s class. Mad that you would you forgetthat.’

‘I didn’t take a photo.’

She looks up. ‘Unless you did, but it got lost when you—’

‘When the memory card broke.’

Meg nods. ‘Did you see anything else?’

‘A seagull and a feather.’

She frowns. ‘Oh, well, that’s slightly less exciting. You saw the feckin’Titanic, Michael. That’s insane! What was it like? Tell me everything.’

‘It was…big.’

‘OK, and…?’