Scene
1 -
Race Against Time: The Carpathia's Urgent Mission
EXT. RMS TITANIC DEPARTURE - DAY
Stock footage of the Titanic’s departure from Southampton,
followed by newspaper headlines chronicling the disaster. We
see articles detailing the Titanic’s sinking and the
Carpathia’s response to rescue survivors. The scene
culminates with a headline announcing the C.S. Mackay-
Bennett's commission to recover the bodies.
Fade Out
Fade In
INT. CARPATHIA BRIDGE – NIGHT
CAPTAIN ARTHUR ROSTRON (40s) stands at the helm, overseeing
the crew as they push the Carpathia to full throttle, racing
to rescue Titanic’s survivors.
CAPTAIN ROSTRON
(Shouting over the noise)
Keep her steady! We’ll push the
boilers as long as they hold.
HELMSMAN
Yes, Captain.
MONTAGE:
ENGINE ROOM: Stokers shovel coal into the furnaces, faces
streaked with soot, sweat dripping from their brows as the
heat intensifies.
ON DECK: Crew members prepare for the unknown. The crew’s
anxiety grows with each passing minute.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
Racing Against Time
INT. CARPATHIA BRIDGE - NIGHT
Rostron turns to his first officer, HAROLD DEAN (30s).
CAPTAIN ROSTRON
Any word from the Titanic?
HAROLD DEAN
Shakes his head.
Last transmission said they were lowering lifeboats, but the
signals have gone silent.
Rostron clenches his jaw, acknowledging the grim reality. His
eyes dart to his pocket watch: 2:45 a.m. Still miles away
from the distress call’s coordinates.
LOOKOUT
(Shouting)
Captain! Flares to the north!
Rostron grabs his binoculars and scans the dark horizon.
Faint white rockets flicker against the black sky.
CAPTAIN ROSTRON
Full speed ahead. We’re close.
MONTAGE:
As the Carpathia surged forward, the crew prepared for the
unimaginable. Blankets and hot drinks were readied in the
dining saloon, while the ship’s doctor gathered supplies for
the injured. Rostron had ordered all passengers on deck to
assist with the rescue, their faces pale with apprehension as
they awaited the survivors.
DOCTOR'S QUARTERS: The ship's doctor assembles medical
supplies, bracing for the aftermath.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Rescue at Dawn
EXT. CARPATHIA DECK – DAWN
The Carpathia reaches the debris field. Splintered wood and
overturned lifeboats litter the sea, but Titanic herself is
gone, swallowed by the ocean’s depths.
LOOKOUT
Lifeboat off the port bow!
Rostron snaps into action, his heart racing.
CAPTAIN ROSTRON
Bring us alongside. Prepare to
bring them aboard.
He turns to Harold Dean.
CAPTAIN ROSTRON (CONT’D)
Log every name. We’ll need a full
accounting when we return.
The ship slows. Crew members lean over the railing, reaching
for trembling survivors. The first to board is a man in his
forties, weak from exhaustion, who collapses into a sailor’s
arms.
MALE SURVIVOR
(Hoarse) Thank you. Thank you. We
didn’t think anyone was coming.
A young mother and child follow. The child shivers
uncontrollably, and a sailor wraps them in a blanket, leading
them below deck.
INT. CARPATHIA BRIDGE - MIDDAY
Rostron and Harold Dean stand, looking at the survivors as
they board.
CAPTAIN ROSTRON
How many survivors?
HAROLD DEAN
Over 700, Sir.
Dean trails off as he watches the survivors. His voice
trembles.
HAROLD DEAN (CONT’D)
One young boy about ten...he kept
crying, saying he didn’t want to
leave because his papa was still in
the water.
MONTAGE:
The Carpathia continues its grim work, recovering survivors
from the lifeboats. The crew pulls bodies from the sea, their
expressions grim. The weight of the tragedy sinks in.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
A Somber Farewell
INT. CARPATHIA CHART ROOM – AFTERNOON
Rostron meets with his senior officers.
CAPTAIN ROSTRON
We’ve done what we can. One final
sweep before we head for New York.
HAROLD DEAN
Yes, Captain.
EXT. CARPATHIA DECK – SUNSET
The survivors gather on deck for a memorial service. The
ship’s chaplain leads them in prayer. Captain Rostron stands
apart, observing the solemn ceremony, his face unreadable.
FLASHBACK:
The faces of the survivors—haunting, grateful, broken. 700
survivors out of 1,500 passengers.
INT. BELOW DECK CARPATHIA-DAY
Below deck, the saloon fills with the sounds of
survival—stifled sobs, murmurs reassurances, and the clink of
teacups being filled with hot liquid. The crew works
tirelessly to distribute blankets and provide what little
comfort they could.
CUT TO:
INT. TELEGRAPH OFFICE – HALIFAX
The telegraph offices in Halifax buzz with activity. Family
members clamor for news. The streets of Halifax are alive
with the unfolding disaster.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
A Grim Mission: The Weight of Loss
INT. SMALL OFFICE OVERLOOKING DOCKS – DAY
CAPTAIN FREDERICK LARNDER (42) sits with a telegram in hand.
The White Star Line has commissioned his ship, the Mackay-
Bennett, to recover the Titanic’s dead. His first mate,
SAMUEL O’CONNOR (30s), stands by the window, arms crossed.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(Grim)
They want us to recover the bodies.
SAMUEL O’CONNOR
All of them?
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Or as many as we can find.
Larnder stares at the telegram.
CAPTAIN LARNDER (CONT’D)
We’ll be paid handsomely for it.
Even Astor’s family is offering a
private reward for his recovery.
SAMUEL O’CONNOR
(Whistles)
That’s no small incentive. But
still... it feels wrong, talking
about rewards for this.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(PAUSE) The Carpathia has over 700
survivors.
SAMUEL O’CONNOR
At least they rescued 700.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(Pause) 700 out of 1500.
They both become silent.
FLASHBACK
Captain Larnder is preparing to leave his home saying goodbye
to his worried wife Margaret about his time at sea.
MARGARET LARNDER
(Voice wavering) You’ll come back,
won’t you?
Now, as he stares at the telegram, he wonders how he would
explain this mission to her when he returns—if he returns at
all.
RETURN TO PRESENT:
MONTAGE:
Outside, the streets of Halifax teem with activity. The
tragedy of the Titanic has cast its shadow over the city, and
the Mackay-Bennett’s mission is becoming a focal point for
the community. At the docks, workers pause their labor to
murmur about the tragedy. Mothers pull children close, their
faces pinched with worry. The Titanic was more than a
headline—it was a shared wound.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Preparing for the Unthinkable
EXT. HALIFAX DOCKS – DAY
The crew works tirelessly to load embalming fluids, coffins,
ice, and canvas. Captain Larnder oversees the operation.
A voice rises above the din.
10-YEAR-OLD BOY
Captain!
He darts toward Larnder, clutching a rolled newspaper. The
boy’s cap is askew, and his breath comes in hurried puffs.
He lowers himself to the boy’s level.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
What is it, son?
10-YEAR-OLD BOY
The papers are saying thousands
died. Is that true?
Larnder exhales deeply.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
We’ll know soon enough.
He hands the boy a coin and sends him on his way. The reality
is worse than the headlines could ever capture.
The Mackay-Bennett’s crew work tirelessly to prepare the ship
for its grim voyage. Crates of embalming fluid are hauled
aboard, along with coffins, ice, and canvas sheets. The air
is thick with the acrid scent of coal smoke and the salty
tang of the sea.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN, (30-something, athletic) oversees the
loading, his voice sharp as he directed the younger sailors.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Shouting)
Handle those supplies carefully! We
can’t afford to waste anything!
ELEANOR GRANT, 30s, stands by, observing. She jots notes in
her notebook. Michael Callahan approaches her, his sleeves
rolled up and a smudge of soot on his cheek.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
(Amused)
You look like you’re writing the
world’s most tragic novel.
ELEANOR GRANT
If only it were fiction.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Softly)
You sure you’re ready for this?
It’s not going to be easy.
ELEANOR GRANT
No. But it’s necessary.
Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of DR.
JONATHAN HAYES, 60-something, who carries a clipboard and
wears an expression of grim determination. He looks at
Callahan.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
We’re short on embalming supplies.
We’ll need to prioritize who gets
embalmed and who doesn’t.
Callahan frowns.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
That’s a decision no one wants to
make.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
It’s not about want. It’s about
necessity. First-class passengers
will be embalmed, second-class
wrapped in canvas, and third-class
buried at sea. It’s the only way we
can manage.
Eleanor’s pen moves quickly, capturing every word. She can’t
help but wonder how the families of those buried at sea will
feel, knowing their loved ones will never return home.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
Navigating Grief
INT. MACKAY-BENNETT - AFTERNOON
As the ship cuts through the rough Atlantic waters, the crew
prepares for the grim mission ahead. Captain Larnder stands
with Callahan, looking out at the sea. Callahan hands him a
flask of whiskey.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Thought you could use this.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(Quietly)
This is going to be the hardest
voyage we’ve ever made.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Aye. But if anyone can handle it,
it’s this crew.
Larnder takes a long drink from the flask before handing it
back.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Let’s make sure we give those souls
the dignity they deserve.
INT. ELEANOR’S STATEROOM – NIGHT
Eleanor watches from her cabin window as the ship’s whistle
sounds. She feels a knot of apprehension but steels herself
for the journey ahead.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
Contrasting Views on the Mackay-Bennett
EXT. MACKAY-BENNETT – DAY
The ship prepares to depart Halifax. Eleanor stands on the
deck, her notebook clutched in one gloved hand, the pencil
poised but unmoving. The sky was an endless gray, promising
rough seas ahead. She watches the crew.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
This ship’s seen storms, wars, and
more miles of cable than any other.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Smiling)
You’re a poet, sir?
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Smirking)
Not much call for poetry on a ship
like this. Just facts, tides, and
steel.
ELEANOR GRANT
Yet you sound like you care about
her.
MICHAEL CALLAHA
I care about getting the job done.
He straightens and nods toward the gangway.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
And that means hauling bodies out
of freezing water, not waxing
poetic about the ship’s keel.
Eleanor sighs and jots a quick note in her journal.
ELEANOR GRANT
(To self) ‘A ship built for cables,
now ferrying the dead.’
As the final supplies were loaded—a mixture of coffins,
canvas, ice, and embalming fluid—Captain Larnder’s voice
rings out.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
All aboard! Final call!
Eleanor tucks her notebook into her satchel and watches the
line of crew members boarding the Mackay-Bennett. Michael is
barking orders to a group of younger sailors.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
Conversations in the Galley
INT. GALLEY – DAY
In the galley, Eleanor sits at a corner table with a steaming
cup of tea. She is sketching a rough diagram of the ship,
labeling areas for future reference in her article. Across
the room, Michael Callahan enters, shaking off the cold and
accepting a mug from the cook. He spots Eleanor and, after a
moment’s hesitation, made his way over.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Mind if I sit?
He motions to the empty chair. Eleanor invites him to sit.
ELEANOR GRANT
You seem to have a talent for
turning up when I least expect it.
Michael chuckles.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Small ship. You’ll get used to it.
They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the engines
fills the space. Finally, Eleanor breaks the quiet.
ELEANOR GRANT
Do you think we’ll find them? All
the bodies, I mean.
Michael’s expression darkens.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
We’ll find enough. But this isn’t
about finding everyone—it’s about
doing what we can with what we’ve
got. No ship can bring back the
whole Atlantic.
His words are pragmatic but laced with an unspoken
bitterness.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Softly) Is that how you cope? By
telling yourself it’s just the job?
He glances at her, his jaw tightens.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You write about these things, don’t
you? Tragedy, loss. How do you
cope?
Eleanor doesn’t answer immediately. Her pen hovers above the
page before she finally replies.
ELEANOR GRANT
I tell myself the truth matters.
That if people see what
happened—really see it—they’ll care
enough to make things better.
Michael nods as he gazes off somewhere.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Maybe you’re right. Or maybe the
ocean will swallow this story just
like it swallows everything else.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
Facing the Abyss
EXT. SHIP’S BOW-MORNING
Dawn breaks over a restless sea, the Mackay-Bennett enters
the outer edges of the debris field. The horizon is dotted
with ghostly fragments of icebergs, their jagged edges
illuminate in pale gold by the rising sun. Smaller chunks of
ice float aimlessly in the swell, a cruel mimicry of the
bodies the crew has been sent to retrieve.
Eleanor stands at the ship’s bow, her coat pulled tight
against the biting wind. She grips her notebook with
trembling fingers, the icy gusts threaten to snatch it from
her hands. She scans the vast expanse.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You’re staring too hard.
He appears beside her, a coil of rope slung over his
shoulder, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes cautious,
aware of the same impending gravity.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’m preparing myself.
Michael shakes his head.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You can’t prepare for this. You
just get through it.
Eleanor wants to argue, but something in his tone resonates.
There is no preparing for the aftermath of a disaster so
vast. She turns her attention back to the sea, feeling a
deep, eerie sense of foreboding settle within her.
The ship slows, and the captain’s voice rings out across the
deck.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(Shouting orders) Crew, to
stations! Prepare the skiffs!
Dr. Jonathan Hayes stood nearby, arms crossed and face pale.
He mutters to himself, as if rehearsing what to write in his
medical log.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Hypothermia. Cardiac arrest.
Massive trauma...
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You all right, Doc?
Michael’s voice snaps Hayes from his trance.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
(Curtly) I’m fine.
Michael turns back to Eleanor.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Are you sure you want to write
this?
ELEANOR GRANT
(Firmly) Yes.
People need to understand what
happened. Not just the disaster,
but the aftermath—the cost, the
loss.
Michael leans against the railing, his gaze fixes on the
horizon.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You’re braver than I thought, Miss
Grant.
ELEANOR GRANT
Eleanor.
He glanced at her, the corners of his mouth lift in a faint
smile.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Eleanor, then.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
The Weight of Loss
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-DAY
By mid-morning, the Mackay-Bennett anchors just outside the
densest part of the debris field. The crew lowers skiffs into
the water, their oars cut through the frigid waves as they
approach the first signs of wreckage—a splintered lifeboat
drifts aimlessly, blackened by exposure.
Eleanor watches as the skiff’s crew leans over the sides,
pulling in the first body a man in a tattered dinner jacket,
his arms frozen in a half-curled position. The sailors work
with grim efficiency, wrapping the body in canvas before
loading it onto the skiff.
Dr. Jonathan Hayes, standing nearby, mutters to himself as he
jots notes into his log.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Hypothermia. Cardiac arrest.
Massive trauma.
Callahan looks at Eleanor and smiles. Eleanor, her pen
trembles in her hand, begins jotting down notes, her mind
whirling. Bodies bob in its icy grip, a cruel reminder of the
fragility of human life against nature’s forces.
Eleanor begins jotting down notes, her pen moving rapidly
across the page.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
The sea was deceptive—calm,
endless, and indifferent. Bodies
bobbed in its icy grip, their
presence a stark reminder of the
fragility of human life against the
forces of nature.
Michael approaches Eleanor.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Are you sure you want to write
this?
ELEANOR GRANT
Yes. People need to understand what
happened. Not just the disaster but
the aftermath—the cost, the loss.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
Remembering the Lost
INT. MORGUE-LATE AFTERNOON
Captain Larnder enters the makeshift morgue which is filling
quickly. The recovered bodies are categorized—first-class
passengers embalmed and placed in coffins, second-class
wrapped in canvas, and third-class or crew buried at sea. The
decisions are grim, yet pragmatic. He approaches Dr. Hayes.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Do we have enough embalming fluid
for tomorrow?
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
No, sir. We’ll continue to make
difficult choices.
Larnder nods, a deep furrow in his brow.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Do what you can. We’ll rendezvous
with the Minia if supplies run out.
That evening, Eleanor sits alone in her cabin, her notebook
spread open before her. The words blur as tears fill her
eyes. She has seen faces frozen in terror, small hands
clutching broken lifeboat pieces, and wedding rings glinting
against pale fingers.
A knock at the door startles her. She wipes her eyes quickly
and called out.
ELEANOR GRANT
Come in.
Michael enters, holding two steaming mugs of tea.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I figured you might need this.
He places one down on the desk before sitting across from
her.
ELEANOR GRANT
Thank you.
Her voice is barely audible. Callahan hesitates for a moment,
then pulls up a chair beside her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You’re not like the other reporters
I’ve met.
Eleanor looks up from her journal.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
They chase the story. You seem to
be... living it.
Eleanor looks at him, her gaze unwavering.
ELEANOR GRANT
Because it’s not just a story.
These were people. Families. Lives
that were supposed to continue.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Then make sure they’re remembered
the way they deserve.
Their eyes meet in a shared moment of understanding.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
A Somber Duty
INT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
The second signs of the Titanic’s remains are subtle—small
fragments of wood bobbing on the waves, a torn piece of white
canvas draped over a floating chunk of debris. Captain
Larnder orders the engines slow as the Mackay-Bennett
approaches the edge of the wreckage site.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
All hands to stations.
The crew scrambles to their posts, their faces a mixture of
grim determination and dread.
Eleanor stands near the railing as the debris grows denser.
Amid the detritus of the ship floats the unmistakable shapes
of life vests and lifeboat oars. Her hands trembles as she
raised her camera, snapping a photograph of the haunting
scene.
Callahan appears beside her, his expression tight.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Here we go again. No turning back
now.
ELEANOR GRANT
I wasn’t planning to.
He glances at her, something like admiration flickers in his
eyes, but it is gone as quickly as it came.
By mid-morning, the ship’s skiffs has been lowered into the
water. The crew rows cautiously through the debris field,
their oars cutting silently through the icy waves. From the
deck, Eleanor watches as the first body of the day is pulled
from the water, a young man, his face pale and bloated, his
arms frozen in a protective gesture over his chest.
Dr. Hayes stands at the edge of the deck, waiting with a
stretcher and a small team. He mutters instructions to the
sailors as they hoists the body aboard.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Handle it carefully. These people
deserve dignity.
Eleanor scribbles in her notebook, the words coming in fits
and starts.
ELEANOR GRANT
(To self) The sea has claimed them,
but the living are here to bear
witness. Their stories will not be
lost.
Michael’s voice startles her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You’ll run out of pages before
we’re done here.
She looks up, meeting his gaze.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’ll get more if I have to. These
people deserve to be remembered.
He nods, his expression softens.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Then you’re braver than most.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
Facing the Truth
INT. BELOW DECK-DAY
The ship’s cable hold that had been converted into a
temporary morgue contained wooden coffins lining one wall.
Another section holds canvas-wrapped bodies awaiting burial
at sea. The air is thick with the sharp scent of embalming
fluid and the quieter, heavier smell of death.
Dr. Hayes works quickly, his hands steady as he documents
each body. He looks at his staff.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Name tags, personal effects. Every
detail counts.
Eleanor hesitates at the entrance, her stomach churning. She
has told herself she would document every aspect of the
mission, but the reality of the morgue is more than she had
anticipated.
Callahan sees Eleanor preparing to enter the morgue.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You don’t have to go down there.
ELEANOR GRANT
Yes, I do. If I’m going to write
about this, I need to see it.
Michael follows her down, his presence a quiet reassurance.
Together, they move through the room, Eleanor jots notes
while Michael explains the process in a low voice.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
This isn’t just about recovery.
It’s about giving people closure.
Families need to know what
happened, even if it’s not what
they want to hear.
Eleanor nods, her throat tight.
ELEANOR GRANT
Do you think it helps? Knowing?
Michael pauses.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I don’t know. But I think not
knowing is worse.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
Reflections on the Sea
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-NIGHT
As the sun dips below the horizon, the crew gathers on the
deck for a brief respite. The air is heavy with the weight of
the day’s work, and conversations are hushed.
Captain Larnder addresses the men, his voice carrying over
the steady hum of the ship’s engines.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
We’ve made a strong start, but
there’s more to be done. Rest while
you can. Tomorrow will be harder.
Eleanor sits near the bow, her notebook open but untouched.
Michael joins her, holding two cups of steaming tea. He hands
her one.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Smiling) Thank you.
They sit in silence for a while, the waves lap softly against
the ship’s hull. Finally, Eleanor speaks.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
Do you ever wonder why you do this?
Why you chose this life?
Michael considers her question, staring out at the dark
water.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Because someone has to. And because
the sea has a way of calling you
back, no matter how much it takes.
Eleanor nods, her gaze follows his.
ELEANOR GRANT
I think I understand that.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
Confronting the Indifference of the Sea
EXT.DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT- MID-DAY
The Mackay-Bennett enters a world of ice. Great floating
slabs, jagged and gleaming, bob in the frigid waters. Smaller
bergs, no bigger than barrels, mingle with chunks of debris
from the Titanic. The ship moves cautiously, its engines
groaning as it navigates through the treacherous ice field.
Eleanor stands on the deck, her breath forming clouds in the
icy air. She clutches her notebook, her gloved fingers stiff
as she scribbles observations. Her gaze drifts to the
horizon, where the occasional bird swoops low over the waves.
The stillness is unnerving, broken only by the distant groan
of shifting ice. She makes a note in her journal.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
It’s like a graveyard.
Dr. Jonathan Hayes appears beside her, his expression grave.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
It is a graveyard, Miss Grant. One
the ocean guards well.
ELEANOR GRANT
I was just thinking the same.
Doctor, why can’t we see more
bodies? I thought....
Hayes sighs cutting her off. He crosses his arms against the
cold.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Currents, mostly. The sea pulls
them away, scattering them far from
where the ship went down. And those
life preservers—they’re white, just
like the ice. Makes them near
impossible to spot.
Eleanor frowns, scanning the water.
ELEANOR GRANT
So much for the romanticized idea
of tragedy. It’s just... cold and
empty.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
It always is. The sea has no mercy
for the living or the dead.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
A Somber Recovery
INT. BELOW DECK-MACKAY-BENNETT-DAY
Below deck, Captain Frederick Larnder and First Mate Michael
Callahan poured over the charts, their faces illuminated by
the glow of a single oil lamp. The faint hum of the ship’s
engines underscore their low voices.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Look at this.
He taps a pencil on the map.
CAPTAIN LARNDER (CONT’D)
The debris field extends farther
than we thought. If the currents
are this strong, we’ll need to
adjust our course.
Callahan leans over the chart, his brows furrow.
(CONT’D)
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
We’re already running low on
embalming supplies, Captain. If we
keep chasing wreckage, we might run
out before we’ve even covered half
of it.
Larnder rubs his temples, exhaustion evident in his posture.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
I know, Michael. But we can’t just
leave them out there. We owe it to
their families.
Callahan nods, his lips press into a thin line.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I’ll inform the crew. They’re
already stretched thin, but they’ll
do what’s needed.
Later that afternoon, the ship slows as the crew spots a
group of bodies. A rowboat is lowered, its oars creaking as
two sailors carefully maneuver it toward the floating forms.
Eleanor watches from the deck, her stomach churning with
unease. Dr. Hayes joins her, carrying a leather satchel.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
You don’t have to watch this.
ELEANOR GRANT
I do. It’s my job to document
everything, no matter how
difficult.
Hayes nods, his respect for her growing. Together, they
observe as the sailors pull the first body from the water—a
man in a torn tuxedo, his face pale and bloated. The sailors
work quickly, handling the body with a mix of reverence and
efficiency.
Eleanor’s pen scratched across the page.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
Does it ever get easier?
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
No. (Pause) But it reminds you why
it matters.
By nightfall, the ship has recovered over thirty bodies. The
mood aboard the Mackay-Bennett is somber, the weight of the
task presses down on every man and woman.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
Burden of the Dead
INT. MORGUE-NIGHT
Below deck, the makeshift morgue is nearly full, the air
thick with the scent of embalming fluid and sawdust.
Callahan stands near the entrance, his arms crossed as he
watches the crew arrange the coffins.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
We’ll need to start burying at sea
soon.
He looks at Captain Larnder, who is standing beside him.
The captain nods, his expression grim.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
We’ll hold a service tomorrow
morning. Make it dignified.
Callahan hesitates.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Some of the men... they’re starting
to feel it, Captain. They talk
about seeing faces in the water,
hearing voices. It’s taking a toll.
Larnder’s gaze hardens
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Superstition won’t help anyone,
Michael. Tell them to focus on
their work.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
A Solemn Farewell
INT. ELEANOR'S CABIN-NIGHT
Eleanor sits alone in her cabin, her notebook open before
her. The words she has written feels hollow, inadequate to
capture the enormity of what she had witnessed. She stares at
the page, her mind replaying the images of lifeless faces and
outstretched hands. She throws her pen on the notebook.
A knock at the door startles her. She rises to answer it,
finding Dr. Hayes on the other side. He is holding two mugs
of tea, the steam curling in the dim light.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
I thought a cup of tea would hit
the spot.
He offers her a cup which she gratefully accepts.
ELEANOR GRANT
Thank you.
Hayes leans against the door frame, his gaze distant.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
You’re doing better than most
would.
Eleanor shakes her head.
ELEANOR GRANT
I don’t feel like I am. Every time
I close my eyes, I see them. And
it’s only going to get worse, isn’t
it?
He doesn’t sugarcoat it.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Yes. But that’s why what you’re
doing matters. People need to
understand the cost of this
tragedy—not just in numbers, but in
lives.
She nods, taking a sip of the tea. It was warm, a small
comfort in the cold expanse of the Atlantic.
ELEANOR GRANT
I just hope I can do it justice.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
You will. You already are.
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
The crew gathers on deck for a burial at sea. Captain Larnder
stands at the bow, a Bible in his hands as he read aloud from
Psalm 23. The bodies, wrapped in white canvas and weighted
with lead, are lowered gently into the waves.
Eleanor stands among the crew, her notebook clutched tightly
to her chest. The words of the psalm mingles with the sound
of the sea, a haunting requiem for the lives lost.
She made a silent promise to remember them all, to ensure
their stories would not fade into the depths.
As the last body slips beneath the water, the crew stands in
silence, their heads bow. The Mackay-Bennett drifts onward,
the horizon stretching endlessly before them. Somewhere ahead
lay more lives to recover, more stories to uncover.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
Echoes of Tragedy: The Titanic Inquiry
INT. U.S. CONGRESS-DAY
The hearing room is packed to capacity. Rows of men and women
fill the gallery, their faces a blend of curiosity, outrage,
and grief. At the center of the room sit Senator William
ALDEN SMITH, 50-something, a stern figure whose gaze seem
capable of dissecting every witness before they spoke. The
Senate’s inquiry into the Titanic disaster had commenced, and
the air was heavy with the weight of unanswered questions.
At a table near the front, HAROLD BRIDE, 20-something, one of
the Titanic’s surviving wireless operators, sits with his
hands clasped tightly together. His face is pale, and his
eyes dart nervously around the room. Reporters whisper to one
another as they sketch his likeness, their pencils scratching
furiously against their pads.
Senator Smith raps his gavel, calling the room to order.
SENATOR SMITH
Mr. Bride, we understand you were
one of the last men to leave the
Titanic. Can you describe the
events of that night?
Bride clears his throat, his voice barely audible at first.
HAROLD BRIDE
Yes, Senator. I was on duty in the
wireless room when we received the
first iceberg warning. There were…
several warnings throughout the
day, but we were focused on
relaying passenger messages.
SENATOR SMITH
And did you relay those warnings to
the bridge?
HAROLD BRIDE
(Hesitates) I believe so, sir. But
I wasn’t the one to deliver them
personally. That was up to Captain
Smith and Mr. Murdoch.
The senator’s expression darkens.
SENATOR SMITH
So you’re telling this committee
that critical warnings about
icebergs may not have been properly
communicated to the officers in
charge?
Bride’s hands tighten into fists.
HAROLD BRIDE
I can’t say for certain, sir. I
just know we were…overwhelmed.
The murmurs in the gallery grow louder. Senator Smith raps
his gavel again, silencing the crowd.
SENATOR SMITH
We will hear more about these
failures in communication as the
inquiry continues. Thank you, Mr.
Bride. You may step down.
As Bride leaves the stand, he avoids the gaze of the
audience, his shoulders slump under the weight of his
testimony.
Outside the hearing room, the corridors of the Capitol are
equally crowded. Relatives of Titanic passengers mingle with
journalists and officials, their faces etched with worry.
Among them is EDITH ROSENBAUM, 30-something,a first-class
survivor who had barely escaped with her life. She clutches a
small music box shaped like a pig—a gift from her mother that
has become her lifeline during the chaos. She turns to a New
York Times reporter.
EDITH ROSENBAUM
They’re not asking the right
questions. Why didn’t they have
enough lifeboats? Why did they let
us think the ship was unsinkable?
The reporter scribbles furiously.
REPORTER
Do you believe negligence played a
role, Miss Rosenbaum?
She hesitates, her eyes well up with tears.
EDITH ROSENBAUM
I believe there were mistakes. But
I also believe that no one could
have imagined what happened that
night. The ship was… it was
supposed to be invincible.
Nearby, JOHN ASTOR son, Vincent, 20-something, stand in quiet
conversation with a lawyer. His father’s death has sent
shockwaves through high society, and Vincent’s presence at
the hearings is as much about seeking justice as it is about
protecting the family’s reputation. He walks over to the
reporter who immediately recognizes him.
VINCENT ASTOR
We need to ensure this never
happens again. But we also need to
remember the human cost. My father
wasn’t just a name in the papers.
He was a husband, a friend, a man
who deserved better than to die in
the freezing Atlantic.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
The Weight of Reputation
INT. PRIVATE CHAMBER OF CONGRESS-DAY
Representatives of the White Star Line huddle together, their
faces grim. J. BRUCE ISMAY, 49-years-old, the line’s managing
director and one of the most controversial survivors of the
disaster, paced back and forth.
BRUCE ISMAY
(Raising voice) They’re painting me
as a coward. I did what anyone
would have done! I saved myself so
I could help manage the aftermath.
If I had died, who would be here to
answer their questions?
ATTORNEY FOR WHITE STAR
With respect, Mr. Ismay, it might
be better to adopt a more… humble
tone when you testify. The public
sees you as the man who abandoned
ship.
Ismay’s face turns red.
BRUCE ISMAY
I didn’t abandon anything! The ship
was lost, and I did what I had to
do to survive.
The room falls silent. Even his closest allies seem hesitant
to defend him. Finally, another lawyer speaks.
ATTORNEY #2
What matters now is damage control.
We need to focus on the facts—the
lifeboats, the ice warnings, the
actions of the crew. If we can
shift the blame to systemic issues
rather than individual failings, we
might salvage some of the company’s
reputation.
Ismay sinks into a chair, his head in his hands. The weight
of public opinion is proving heavier than he had anticipated.
MONTAGE:
Newspaper headlines display that across the Atlantic, similar
inquiries are underway in London. The British Board of Trade
faced scrutiny for its outdated maritime regulations,
particularly its lifeboat requirements. The sinking of the
Titanic has exposed glaring flaws in the safety standards of
even the most advanced ships.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Calls for Justice: The Aftermath of the Titanic Disaster
INT. HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES-DAY
In Parliament, voices are raised in anger.
MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT
How can we call ourselves a
maritime power if we allow such
negligence to go unchecked? The
loss of life on the Titanic is a
national disgrace, and it is our
duty to ensure it never happens
again.
INT. SENATOR SMITH’S OFFICE -AFTERNOON
Senator Smith prepares for the next day’s testimony. His
aides place a stack of documents before him—iceberg warnings,
passenger manifests, and the ship’s specifications.
SENATOR SMITH
Tomorrow, we’ll get to the bottom
of this.
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-LATE-AFTERNOON
The Mackay-Bennett continues its grim work at sea. More
bodies are pulled from the sea. The ship’s crew, unaware of
the political theater playing out in New York, focus on their
mission. Messages from Halifax relay updates on the inquiry,
but the icy waters of the Atlantic left little room for
distraction.
Eleanor writes a short note in her notebook.
ELEANOR GRANT
(To self) We’ll return soon enough.
She circles around the words justice and remembrance.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Pursuit of Truth: The Titanic Inquiry
INT. CHAMBER BRITISH BOARD OF TRADE-DAY
In a chamber as stately as it was somber, the British Board
of Trade opens its inquiry into the Titanic disaster. The
room, adorned with portraits of maritime pioneers, is filled
with the weight of history and the urgent necessity for
answers. Members of Parliament, shipbuilders, and grieving
families crowd into the space, their expressions ranging from
righteous indignation to quiet despair.
Presiding over the proceedings was LORD MERSEY, 71-years-old,
a man known for his impartiality and stern demeanor. His
opening remarks were direct.
LORD MERSEY
This inquiry is not a trial. It is
an examination of the facts, a
pursuit of truth to prevent such a
calamity from repeating itself.
CHARLES LIGHTOLLER, 38-years-old, second officer on board the
RMS Titanic, was summoned to address the lifeboat capacity
and safety mechanisms—or lack thereof. He stood tall but
looked weary as he described the design priorities of the
Titanic.
CHARLES LIGHTOLLER
The Titanic was built to be the
epitome of luxury and technological
achievement. Her lifeboats were
intended for transfer rather than
full evacuation, as no one
envisioned a complete sinking.
MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT #2
No one envisioned? You’re telling
us that despite years of maritime
disasters, a ship designed for over
two thousand souls lacked the
capacity to save even half?
CHARLES LIGHTOLLER
Yes, sir. That was the prevailing
assumption. An error, clearly.
INT. ELEANOR'S CABIN-AFTERNOON
Eleanor receives a condensed transcript of the testimony
through a telegram relayed by Halifax. She underlines one
phrase and places it in her notebook.
ELEANOR GRANT
(To self) An error, clearly.
Genres:
["Historical Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
The Titanic Inquiry: Accountability and Denial
INT. CONGRESSIONAL HEARING- DAY
The atmosphere inside grows tense as Ismay takes the stand.
Dressed impeccably, his demeanor is a mix of defiance and
regret. He faces a barrage of questions about the ship’s
speed, the inadequate number of lifeboats, and his own
actions during the sinking.
SENATOR SMITH
(His voice tight)I did everything I
could to assist.
When it became clear there was
nothing more to be done, I boarded
a lifeboat to ensure the safety of
those already aboard.
A sharp retort comes from Senator Smith. "
SENATOR SMITH (CONT’D)
Mr. Ismay, do you consider it
appropriate for the chairman of the
White Star Line to save himself
while so many women and children
were left behind?
The room falls silent, all eyes on Ismay. He hesitates, his
lips press into a thin line.
BRUCE ISMAY
I... I believed my presence in that
lifeboat did not take the place of
another.
Murmurs break out of disbelief from the audience and the
audible scoffs that followed. His remarks would be
telegraphed to Eleanor.
Senator Smith calls Captain Arthur Rostron of the Carpathia,
hailed as a hero for his role in rescuing survivors,
delivered a measured critique.
(CONT’D)
CAPTAIN ROSTRON
The lack of lifeboats was a
catastrophic oversight.No ship, no
matter how advanced, should ever
sail without enough lifeboats for
every soul aboard.
Applause breaks out, quickly stifled by the gavel. Senator
Smith nods approvingly.
SENATOR SMITH
Thank you, Captain Rostron. Your
actions undoubtedly saved hundreds
of lives.
MONTAGE:
Newspaper articles recite the testimony of Ismay and Captain
Rostron. Other articles focus to the Titanic’s crew
testimonies revealing gaps in training and communication,
with some crew members unaware of how to launch lifeboats.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
Silent Solidarity at Sea
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
The sea has grown mercilessly cold as the Mackay-Bennett
moves deeper into the Atlantic’s heart. The grim work of
recovery continues, but exhaustion had begun to take its
toll. The crew moves slower now, their spirits dampen by the
endless procession of loss.
EXT. BACK OF BOW-DAY
Eleanor finds herself back at the bow, her notebook unopened
in her hands.
She has written so much, but there were no words for this—the
unrelenting grief that hangs over the ship like a shroud.
Michael Callahan approaches, his face etched with weariness
but soften by concern.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You’ve been out here all morning.
Thought you might want some coffee.
Eleanor looks at him and forces a faint smile.
ELEANOR GRANT
Thanks, but I’m fine.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
‘Fine’ is what everyone says before
they crack.
He hands her the steaming mug anyway. He leans against the
railing, his eyes scans the horizon.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
You know, when this is over, you
could write a book about all this.
Eleanor hesitates.
ELEANOR GRANT
Maybe. But would it really make a
difference? The people who need to
care already do, and those who
don’t... well, they never will.
Michael turns to her, his expression unreadable.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
You care. And that counts for
something.
The sound of the ship’s bell interrupts their conversation.
Another body had been recovered—a child, no older than three,
still clutching a ragged blanket. The sight brings a lump to
Eleanor’s throat. She tightens her grip on the railing,
trying to steady herself.
Michael’s hand brushed hers, a silent gesture of solidarity.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Softly)You don’t have to hold it
all in. No one expects you to be
made of steel.
Eleanor glances at him, her eyes well up despite her best
efforts.
ELEANOR GRANT
I just... I keep thinking about
their families. About how many
people are waiting for answers that
might never come.
Michael nods.
(CONT’D)
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
That’s why we’re here. To give them
whatever answers we can.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Burial at Sea: A Moment of Reflection
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-LATE-AFTERNOON
The crew prepares for another burial at sea, Eleanor receives
a telegram from Franklin Avery. The ship’s wireless operator
handed it to her with a knowing smile.
WIRELESS OPERATOR
Your journalist friend seems pretty
dedicated.
Eleanor opens the telegram envelope and scans Franklin’s
words. His descriptions of the hearings were vivid, but his
closing lines stood out.
ELEANOR GRANT
(To self) The inquiry will end,
Eleanor, but the story won’t. Keep
doing what you’re doing—because it
matters.
She tucks the telegram into her satchel, her heart a little
lighter. Franklin’s encouragement reminds her that even in
the face of so much despair, their work held meaning.
Eleanor joins Michael on the deck once more before heading to
bed. The two had fallen into an unspoken routine of quiet
companionship, their conversations a reprieve from the
horrors of the day.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
I know I asked you before, but o
you think we’ll ever forget this?
No. (Pause) But maybe that’s not
such a bad thing. Some things are
worth remembering, even if they
hurt.
Eleanor nods, her gaze fixes on the distant stars.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
What about you? What will you do
after this?
Michael shrugs his shoulders.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
The same thing I’ve always done.
Work, sail, survive.
She turns to him, her expression thoughtful.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’re more than that, you know.
More than just a sailor.
Michael meets her eyes, his defenses momentarily slips.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
And you’re more than just a
reporter, Eleanor. You’ve got
heart—more than most people I’ve
met.
The words linger between them, unspoken emotions swirling in
the cold night air. For the first time, Eleanor allows
herself to consider the possibility of something beyond her
work, beyond the endless weight of tragedy.
INT. ELEANOR'S CABIN-NIGHT
The ship rocks gently on the waves, Eleanor writes in her
journal.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
The sea takes so much, but it also
gives. Maybe that’s why we keep
coming back—to find the things we
didn’t know we were looking for.
She closes the notebook and sets it aside, her thoughts
drifts to Michael. She makes a silent promise to herself
ELEANOR GRANT
(To self) To Michael, to the crew
members and Captain, and to the
people they were working so hard to
honor. They will be remembered, and
they will endure.
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-NIGHT
The Mackay-Bennett sails toward Halifax under a clouded sky,
its decks heavy with the somber cargo of recovered bodies.
Every wave that laps against the hull seems to echo the
collective grief carried by the ship.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
Shared Burdens
INT. ELEANOR'S CABIN-NIGHT
Eleanor sits at a small desk in her cramped quarters, writing
by the dim light of an oil lamp. Her hands tremble as she
works, the weight of the past days pressing down on her
shoulders. There is a knock at the door and she answers it.
Callahan is standing there.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Playful banter) Still at it,
Grant?
Eleanor manages a tired smile.
ELEANOR GRANT
Someone has to make sure these
people are remembered.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You’ve written enough to fill a
book.
Michael steps inside and leaning against the wall.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
Maybe you should take a break.
She sits down her pen and rubs her eyes.
ELEANOR GRANT
Breaks don’t come easy when you’re
surrounded by this much... loss.
Michael nods, his gaze drifts toward the porthole. The black
expanse of the Atlantic stretches endlessly, as if the sea
itself refuses to release its secrets.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
It’s not easy for any of us.
Eleanor stands and moves to the small table where a steaming
cup of tea sits untouched.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’ve been at sea a long time,
Michael. Does it ever stop feeling
so... relentless?
He chuckles softly, a sound devoid of humor.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You mean, does it stop chewing you
up and spitting you out? No. But
you get used to it. You learn to
carry the weight, or you find
someone to share it with.
The words hand in the air between them. Eleanor studies his
face, noting the weariness etched into his features. For the
first time, she sees beyond the gruff exterior—a man who has
carried his own share of burdens.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Softly) Maybe sharing the weight
is the key.
Michael meets her gaze, something unspoken passes between
them.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Maybe.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
28 -
Burial at Sea
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
Later that morning, the crew gathers on the deck for another
burial at sea. Captain Larnder stands at the helm, his hat
clutched tightly in his hands. CANON HIND, the ship’s
chaplain, begins reciting Psalm 23, his voice steady despite
the chill in the air.
Eleanor stands among the crew, her notebook clutched tightly
to her chest. She watches as another canvas-wrapped body is
lowered into the waves, the splash a stark punctuation to the
prayers.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Whispering)You don’t have to write
everything down, you know.
ELEANOR GRANT
I want to. But some things... they
don’t fit on paper.
He nods, understanding.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
This is one of those things.
As the crew disperses, Eleanor lingers at the railing.
Michael stays by her side, the silence between them more
comforting than any words.
INT. COMMUNICATION CENTER-MACKAY-BENNETT-NIGHT
The Mackay-Bennett’s wireless operator receives a flurry of
messages from Halifax. The city is bracing for the ship’s
arrival, and families of the Titanic’s victims are beginning
to gather near the docks. Eleanor overhears the operator
relaying updates to Captain Larnder.
Eleanor sees Michael on deck and approaches.
ELEANOR GRANT
They’re waiting for us. I heard the
wrieless operator tell the Captain.
Michael nods.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
They are. And we have to be ready.”
Eleanor nods, though the knot in her stomach tightens. She
wonders how she would face the families, how she would find
the right words to describe what they had done—and what they
hadn’t been able to do.
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-NIGHT (CONTI)
That night, as the ship sails under a canopy of stars,
Eleanor finds herself on deck once more. Michael joins her,
carrying two mugs of tea. He hands her one without a word and
leans against the railing.
ELEANOR GRANT
Do you think we’ll ever forget
this?
Her voice barely audible over the gentle rhythm of the waves.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Not a chance. But maybe that’s the
point. Maybe we’re not supposed to.
She sips her tea, the warmth seeping into her cold hands.
ELEANOR GRANT
I just want to do right by them. By
the people we couldn’t save.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You already are. And you’ll keep
doing it. That’s who you are.
Eleanor glances at him, her chest tightens. In Michael’s
eyes, she sees something she hadn’t expected—faith. Not just
in her work, but in her. It is a quiet, steady kind of faith,
and it gives her the strength to keep going.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
29 -
Echoes of Tragedy at Halifax Docks
EXT. HALIFAX DOCKS-DAY
The docks of Halifax are a somber spectacle as the Mackay-
Bennett makes her approach, the ship’s black hull cutting
through the harbor waters. News of her return has spread
quickly, and a crowd gathers along the waterfront, their
faces grim with anticipation. Among them are families
searching for closure and curious onlookers drawn by the
gravity of the tragedy.
Eleanor stands at the bow of the ship, her notebook tucked
under one arm. The salty breeze carries the muffled sobs of
grieving families mingled with the low hum of dockworkers
readying themselves for the grim task ahead. She spots rows
of stretchers and carts arranged on the pier, awaiting the
arrival of the recovered bodies.
Captain Larnder appears beside her, his hat in his hand.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(His voice heavy) Miss Grant.This
is the hardest part.
Eleanor nods, her throat tight.
ELEANOR GRANT
The families deserve answers. And
closure.
Larnder sighs, gazing at the harbor.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
I hope what we’ve done is enough.
The air is thick with the scent of embalming fluid as the
crew begins the solemn task of transferring coffins and
canvas-wrapped bodies from the ship to the waiting carriages.
JOHN SNOW JR., the chief embalmer, supervises the process
with meticulous care. His face is pale but determined, his
hands move with practiced efficiency.
Dr. Jonathan Hayes works alongside him, cataloging each body
before it was moved.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Body number seventy-three, male,
approximate age forty. Identified
by a gold pocket watch engraved
with initials.
Eleanor hovers nearby, her notebook open. She records every
detail she can, though her pen wavers when faced with the
smallest bodies—children who will never grow up.
Michael Callahan joins her briefly, his expression grim.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
This isn’t a story, Eleanor. It’s a
nightmare.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Softly) It’s both. And I need to
tell it. (Pause) Where will they
take the bodies?
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
They will be transported to the
Mayflower Curling Club, its ice
rink has been repurposed as a
temporary morgue. Inside, they will
have rows of coffins and canvas-
wrapped remains lining the cold,
polished surface.
Eleanor watches as workers move with quiet urgency,
identifying and cataloging each body under the supervision of
Snow and Hayes.
INT. MAYFLOWER CURLING CLUB ICE RINK-AFTERNOON
She walks among the rows, her breath visible in the chilly
air. She pauses beside a coffin labeled with the name “John
Jacob Astor IV. A glint of a diamond ring visible through
the viewing window.
ELEANOR GRANT
(To self) These are the stories
people need to hear. Not just the
wealthy but the unknowns, the ones
who will be buried without names.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
30 -
In the Wake of Tragedy
EXT. STREETS OF HALIFAX-AFTERNOON
Halifax itself has transformed in the wake of the Titanic
tragedy. Hotels and boarding houses are filled with grieving
families, and local businesses offer support in any way they
can. Eleanor walks the streets, speaking with people whose
lives have been touched by the disaster. At a small café near
the docks, she met a young woman clutching a photograph.
INT. CAFE-AFTERNOON
WOMAN#1
(Trembling) My brother was on the
Titanic. I just want to know if
they found him.
Eleanor listens intently, her heart aching.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’ll do everything I can to find
out.
She scribbles the man’s name in her notebook. Eleanor hears
her name being called and see FRANKLIN AVERY, (30-something)
a fellow reporter walking from the train station towards her.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
How was your journey?
FRANKLIN AVERY
Long.
They exchange pleasantries at the train station, their mutual
respect evident in their smiles.
FRANKLIN AVERY (CONT’D)
My God. I thought I’d seen tragedy
before, but this...
(MORE)
FRANKLIN AVERY (CONT’D)
this is different. (Pause) Is the
the temporary morgue, that rink?
Eleanor nods.
ELEANOR GRANT
Be prepared Franklin when you go
inside and remember,
It’s not just a story. It’s lives.
It’s grief. And it’s our
responsibility to tell it with
respect.
Together, they enter the makeshift morgue, their shared
mission binding them as they sought to bring humanity to the
unfathomable loss.
MONTAGE:
As the days pass, Eleanor and Franklin work tirelessly to
document the recovery efforts. Despite the overwhelming
sorrow, moments of kindness and resilience emerge
Sailors who have seen unspeakable horrors support one another
with quiet camaraderie. Families find solace in the knowledge
that their loved ones were being treated with dignity.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
31 -
A Moment of Remembrance
EXT. HARBOR CAFE-NIGHT
Eleanor sits at a small table. Michael Callahan joins her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I’ve read some of your articles.
You’ve done good work, Eleanor.
She looks at him, surprised.
ELEANOR GRANT
Coming from you, that means a lot.
He smiles faintly.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Even I can see the importance of
what you’re doing. You’re making
sure they’re not forgotten.
Eleanor’s eyes glisten with unshed tears.
ELEANOR GRANT
Thank you, Michael.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the harbor in hues
of gold and crimson, Eleanor feels a renewed sense of
purpose. The tragedy of the Titanic will never be forgotten,
but neither will the efforts of those who had tried to make
sense of the loss and those who have ensured the dead were
honored.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
32 -
Echoes of Dignity
EXT. SHIP'S BOW-MORNING
The days aboard the Mackay-Bennett blur into an exhausting
cycle of grim recovery and solemn rituals. Yet, in the midst
of the ship's relentless mission, a fragile sense of humanity
persisted among the crew.
Eleanor finds solace in the letters exchanged with Franklin
Avery, her link to the unfolding investigations on land. Each
update brings new revelations and questions. Yet, it was the
quiet, unspoken moments shared with Michael Callahan that
began to anchor her amidst the chaos.
She is startled when Michael joins her, a flask in hand.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I thought you would like a swig of
Irish whiskey.
Eleanor accepts, the fiery liquid burns her throat but
warming her chest.
ELEANOR GRANT
Thanks.
Her voice barely audible over the wind.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
I keep thinking about all those
people waiting for news back home.
They don’t know if they should
grieve or hope.
Michael leaned against the railing, his expression distant.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Hope’s a dangerous thing out here.
The sea doesn’t leave much behind.
She studies his face, noting the faint lines of exhaustion
and the sadness in his eyes.
ELEANOR GRANT
You carry this with you, don’t you?
Every body, every face.
He shrugs, but his voice betrays him.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Someone has to. Better me than
someone who can’t take it.
Eleanor hesitates, then places a hand on his arm.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’re wrong. You’re not just
taking it—you’re giving them
dignity. That matters.
For a moment, their eyes meet, and the unspoken bond between
them deepens. The sea roars around them, but in that small
corner of the ship, there is a quiet understanding.
The Mackay-Bennett’s work continues, and with each body
recovered, Eleanor learns more about the tragedy asDr. Hayes
shares his findings with her. Among the dead is a steward
whose notebook contains a fragment of a song, and a young
woman with a silver locket etched with initials.
Eleanor documents every detail, determine to preserve their
stories. Meanwhile, Captain Larnder and Michael work
tirelessly to maintain order as supplies dwindle and the toll
on the crew grows heavier.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
33 -
Silent Connections
INT. GALLEY-NIGHT
Eleanor finds Michael in the galley, repairing a torn section
of rope. She approaches hesitantly, her curiosity outweighs
her fatigue.
ELEANOR GRANT
Can I ask you something?
He looks up, raising an eyebrow.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Sure. But I can’t promise I’ll
answer.
ELEANOR GRANT
What brought you to the sea?
Michael pauses, the rope in his hands forgotten.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I guess you could say it was an
escape. From home, from...
everything.
Eleanor waits, sensing there was more.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
My father was a fisherman. He used
to say the sea gives and takes in
equal measure. I didn’t really
understand it until I started
working out here.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Softly)And do you still believe
it?
Michael noda, his gaze far away.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Yeah. The sea took a lot from me,
but it’s also the only place I
feel... I don’t know. Free, I
guess.
Eleanor wants to press further, but the vulnerability in his
voice makes her hold back. Instead, she sira beside him,
offering a quiet presence that said more than words ever
could.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
34 -
Dignity in the Depths
INT. GALLEY-DAY
Eleanor is sipping a cup of coffee in the galley as she is
handed another telegram from Franklin. She opens and begins
to read.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
(To self) The hearings have taken a
dramatic turn, with testimony from
the Titanic’s surviving crew
shedding light on the chaos of that
fateful night.
There have been heated exchanges
between lawyers, the tears of
witnesses recounting their stories,
and the growing calls for maritime
reform.
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-DAWN
The crew is already busy as Eleanor makes her way to the deck
where she joins the Captain.
The recovery boats are lowered into the frigid waters just
after dawn. The crew rows in silence, their breath visible in
the biting cold. Around them floats remnants of the
Titanic—splintered wood, a child’s doll, a woman’s sun hat,
now faded and waterlogged.
Michael Callahan guides his oar steadily, his jaw tight as he
scanned the horizon. Beside him, a young sailor named Patrick
shifts uncomfortably, his pale face betraying the sickness
building in his gut. They approaches a cluster of debris, and
the first body came into view—a woman, her arms wrapped
tightly around a small child.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Mother and child.
He signals to the other rowboat to hold position.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
Easy now.
Patrick turns his head and retched over the side, the sound
breaks the tense silence. The other men averted their eyes,
giving him a moment to compose himself.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
(Firmly but gentle) Get it
together, lad. We’ve got a job to
do.
Patrick wipes his mouth and nods, his trembling hands reach
for the retrieval pole. Together, they worked to bring the
bodies into the skiff, the woman’s frozen grip still
clutching the child protectively. The sight is almost too
much for Patrick, who stifles a sob.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
Take a breath if you need it.
But remember—they deserve better
than to be left out here.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
35 -
A Dawn of Grief
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-DAWN (CONT’D)
From the deck of the Mackay-Bennett, Eleanor continues to
watch the scene unfold through the lens of her camera. Her
hands shake as she captures the grim tableau, the click of
the shutter cutting through the mournful quiet.
She lowers the camera, unable to look any longer. Dr. Hayes
stands beside her, his expression as grim as the day’s work.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
They’ll be talking about this for
years. But no one will truly
understand it unless they see what
we’ve seen.
ELEANOR GRANT
That’s why I’m here. To show them.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Let’s hope it makes a difference. He pats her shoulder before
walking away.
Eleanor’s gaze drifts back to the rowboats as they return.
She notices Michael, his shoulders square but his eyes heavy
with exhaustion. Their eyes meet briefly, and something
unspoken passes between them—a shared burden, an unbreakable
bond forged in the face of unimaginable grief.
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-STAGING AREA-MORNING
As the crew lifts the bodies aboard, Captain Larnder assists
to oversee the process. His voice is calm but firm as he
directs the men to the makeshift morgue.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Handle them with care. They’re
someone’s family.
Patrick stumbles back toward the bow, his hands shaking.
Michael follows, gripping the young man’s shoulder.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You did good, lad. Don’t let it get
to you.
Patrick looks at him, his eyes wide with fear.
PATRICK
How do you do it? Day after day?
Michael hesitates, then speaks softly.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You don’t think about it. You just
keep moving. And when it’s over,
you pray the sea leaves you
something to hold on to.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
36 -
Flicker of Hope
EXT. BOW AREA - NIGHT
Eleanor finds Michael alone near the railing, staring out at
the dark waves. She approaches cautiously, carrying a flask
of tea.
ELEANOR GRANT
I thought you might want this.
Sorry, it’s only tea.
He glances at her and manages a faint smile.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Thanks.
They stand in silence for a moment, the gentle rocking of the
ship the only sound. Finally, Eleanor speaks.
ELEANOR GRANT
What you said to Patrick... about
holding on to something. What do
you hold on to?
Michael is quiet for a long time.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I’m still figuring that out. But
maybe... maybe it’s moments like
this. Knowing that even in all this
darkness, there’s someone who gets
it.”
Eleanor’s chest tightened, but she didn’t look away. “You’re
not alone in this, Michael. None of us are.”
The two stood there, side by side, as the stars emerged above
the horizon. The sea, vast and unyielding, stretched out
before them. For the first time since the mission began,
Eleanor felt a flicker of hope not for the world, but for the
fragile connection they had found amid the wreckage.
The days aboard the Mackay-Bennett seem both endless and
fleeting. As the ship nears the end of its grim mission, the
toll on the crew becomes more evident. Exhaustion etched
lines into faces. Despite the weight of their task, they
press on, rowing skiffs into the debris-strewn waters and
pulling fragments of lives lost from the Atlantic’s icy
grasp.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
37 -
A Tragic Embrace
EXT. SKIFF-DAY
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Shouting) Over there!
He points to a cluster of floating debris. As they draw
closer, the stillness of the scene is shattered by the sight
of another mother clutching her infant child. Her arms were
locked around the baby, their bodies preserved in the cold.
Michael turns to Patrick.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
You can handle this. We’ve got a
job to do. Let’s get them aboard.
Patrick nods determined to control his emotions.
The men work with care, prying the woman’s frozen arms gently
away from the child. The silence is deafening, broken only by
the sound of oars dipping into the water. Michael wraps the
bodies in canvas, his hands steady despite the lump in his
throat.
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
Back on the Mackay-Bennett, the crew lowers the recovered
bodies into the hold with a reverence usually reserved for
the living. Dr. Jonathan Hayes catalogs them, his pen
scratching against the ledger.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
(Voice hollow) A mother and her
child. What kind of world lets this
happen?
Eleanor scribbles in her notebook.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
They deserve to be remembered.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
38 -
Reflections at Sea
EXT. STERN-NIGHT
That evening, Eleanor finds Michael sitting alone near the
stern, a flask in his hand. She hesitates before approaching,
her own emotions raw from the day’s events.
ELEANOR GRANT
Mind if I join you?
Michael glances up, his expression softens when he sees her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Be my guest.
ELEANOR GRANT
I can’t believe you and your crew
do this day after day.
Michael takes a sip from the flask before answering.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You don’t think about it. Not in
the moment. You just keep moving,
one step at a time.
ELEANOR GRANT
But it stays with you.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Yeah, it does. Some of the men...
they’ll drown it in drink when we
get back. They probably already
have a bottle or two hidden on
board.
(Pause)
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
Others will bury it deep and hope
it never surfaces. Me? I don’t know
yet.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’re stronger than you think.
Michael chuckles, a humorless sound.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Maybe. Or maybe I’m just stubborn.
They sit in silence for a while, the ship’s engines a steady
hum beneath them. Eleanor finds herself inching closer, drawn
to Michael’s quiet resilience. Michael breaks the silence.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
You remind me of someone. My
sister. She always believed people
could do better if they just tried
harder.
ELEANOR GRANT
She sounds like someone worth
remembering.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
She was.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
39 -
Burials at Sea: A Moment of Hope
INT. ELEANOR'S CABIN-DAY
The next morning, Eleanor receives another telegram from
Franklin Avery. His words are concise but carries the weight
of the inquiry’s revelations as she reads to herself.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
Bruce Ismay’s testimony igniting
outrage. Rostron praised. Focus
shifting to reforms. How’s the
mission?—Franklin
Eleanor pens her reply with care before giving it to the
wireless operator.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
The mission is grueling. Found
another mother and child yesterday.
Crew struggling but pressing on.
Reforms are critical—this can’t
happen again. Stay safe.—Eleanor.
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-AFTERNOON
Eleanor finds herself working beside Michael as the crew
prepares another burial at sea. They move in sync, their
unspoken understanding deepening with each task.
As the last body is committed to the waves, Michael turns to
her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You ever think about what happens
after this? When we’re back on
land?
Eleanor meets his gaze, her heart skips a beat.
ELEANOR GRANT
I think about it every day. And I
think... maybe we’ll figure it out
together.
Michael’s lips curve into the faintest smile.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Maybe we will.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
40 -
Trapped Below: A Survivor's Testimony
INT. PARLIAMENT CHAMBER-DAY
The inquiry chamber is unusually quiet as the next witness is
announced.
A murmur sweeps through the gallery when the name is read
aloud. STEFAN NOVAK, late twenties with sunken eyes and
calloused hands, walks slowly to the stand. He is one of the
few steerage passenger survivors from the Titanic’s lower
decks. His testimony, delivered through an interpreter, would
cast a stark light on the realities of life below deck during
the tragedy. He clutches a small leather pouch—his only
possession from the Titanic. The interpreter, a middle-aged
woman with a calm demeanor, stands beside him, ready to relay
his words.
SENATOR SMITH
Please state your name and where
you were traveling from.
Novak turns towards the interpreter who repeats the question
in Polish. Nervous, Novak nods and answers.
STEFAN NOVAK
My name is Stefan Novak. I was
traveling from Kraków, Poland, to
New York City. I wanted to start a
new life.
The room listens intently as the interpreter translates his
words. Stefan’s hands trembled slightly, and he glances down
at the pouch in his lap.
SENATOR SMITH
What happened on the night of the
sinking? Take your time, Mr. Novak.
Stefan takes a deep breath, his eyes glistening. Through the
interpreter, he begins to recount his experience.
STEFAN NOVAK
We were asleep when we felt the
ship shudder. At first, we thought
it was nothing, just the ship
moving through the ice. But then
people started shouting in the
corridors.
(Pause)
STEFAN NOVAK (CONT’D)
We tried to go up to the decks, but
the gates... they were locked. The
crew said it was for our safety,
but the water... the water was
rising.
The gallery erupts in whispers. Several senators exchange
grim looks as Senator Smith raises a hand to restore order.
SENATOR SMITH
Locked gates? You’re certain of
this?
Stefan nods vigorously, gripping the edge of the stand.
STEFAN NOVAK
Yes. They said it was to stop
chaos, but it trapped us. My
wife...
His voice breaks, and the interpreter falters for a moment
before continuing.
STEFAN NOVAK (CONT’D)
My wife begged them to open the
gate, but they wouldn’t listen.
A tear slips down Stefan’s cheek, and he wipes it away
roughly.
STEFAN NOVAK (CONT’D)
Some of us... we broke the gate
down. We pushed together, and the
wood splintered. I pulled my wife
through, but the water... it was
everywhere.
Senator Smith leans forward, his voice solemn.
SENATOR SMITH
How many people made it out with
you?
Stefan shakes his head, his expression anguished.
STEFAN NOVAK
Not many. The corridors were like
traps. By the time we reached the
deck, the lifeboats were leaving.
The interpreter’s voice crack slightly as she translates his
next words.
STEFAN NOVAK (CONT’D)
I watched as my wife was pushed
back. I tried to hold her hand,
but...
He stops, burying his face in his hands. The room falls
silent, the weight of his grief palpable. Senator Smith waits
patiently before speaking.
SENATOR SMITH
Mr. Novak, your courage in coming
here today is commendable. Your
testimony sheds light on the
unimaginable hardships faced by
steerage passengers.
Stefan looks up, his eyes red-rimmed but determined.
STEFAN NOVAK
I just want people to know the
truth. We were not treated as
people. We were treated as... as
cargo.
The words sent a ripple through the chamber. Reporters
scribble furiously, capturing the raw emotion of the moment.
MONTAGE: Numerous newspaper headlines:
Stefan Novak’s harrowing testimony filled the newspapers
which fly off the stands. The words “Locked Gates on Titanic”
scream from the headlines, igniting a firestorm of outrage.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
41 -
Truth and Consequences: The Titanic Inquiry
INT. ELEANOR'S CABIN-MORNING
Eleanor answers her cabin’s door where the wireless operator
hands her another telegram from Franklin. She reads it while
transferring it to her notebook.
ELEANOR GRANT
Gates to the Graves: The Titanic’s
Steerage Tragedy. Stefan Novak’s
testimony yesterday not only
brought the room to tears but cast
an unflinching spotlight on the
human cost of the Titanic’s
disaster. Behind the gilded façade
of the great ship, a locked gate
became a death sentence for those
whose only crime was traveling in
steerage.
INT. CONGRESSIONAL HEARING- DAY
The inquiry resumes the following day with heightened
tension. Senator Smith opens the session by addressing the
public outcry.
SENATOR SMITH
Ladies and gentlemen, let us not
lose sight of our purpose. This
inquiry seeks the truth, not
scapegoats. That said, yesterday’s
testimony has revealed troubling
practices that demand answers.
(Pause)
SENATOR SMITH (CONT’D)
The next witness I will be calling
is Thomas Andrews Jr., a surviving
crewman from the Titanic. His
testimony is expected to clarify
the chain of command regarding the
gates.
As THOMAS ANDREWS, 39-years-old, takes the stand, the room
leans forward in anticipation.
THOMAS ANDREWS
)Thick Irish brogue) The gates were
locked by order of protocol, sir.
It was standard practice to
separate passengers by class.
SENATOR SMITH
Even during an emergency?
Andrews hesitates, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
THOMAS ANDREWS
We were following orders. No one
thought... no one believed the ship
would actually sink.
His voice cracks on the last word, and he grips the edge of
the stand.
THOMAS ANDREWS (CONT’D)
I’m not excusing it. I’m just...
I’m trying to make sense of it
myself.
Senator Smith’s gaze hardens.
SENATOR SMITH
Mr. Andrews, do you believe lives
were lost because of this protocol?
Andrews nods slowly, his shoulders sagging.
THOMAS ANDREWS
Yes, sir. More lives than I care to
reckon.
The gallery erupts, shouts of anger mix with murmurs of
despair. Reporters scribble furiously, capturing every word.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
42 -
Echoes of the Titanic: A Testimony of Chaos
INT. GALLEY-DAY
Eleanor is sitting at a small table when the wireless
operator arrives again.
WIRELESS OPERATOR
You are a very popular person Miss
Grant.
He hands her another telegram and sees it came from Franklin
again. She opens it as well as her notebook and begins to
read. He is asking her thought of his next article.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
When the Titanic sank, it wasn’t
just a ship that went down—it was
the illusion of fairness. The
locked gates aboard that vessel
were a symbol of something far
greater: a system that values
privilege over humanity. If we are
to learn anything from this
tragedy, let it be this: no more
locked gates.
INT. LARGER CONGRESS CHAMBER-DAY
Due to the crowds the inquiry is moved to a larger chamber
where the opulence of the committee room contrasts sharply
with the grim realities being unearthed. Rows of mahogany
benches fill with senators, reporters, and spectators which
creates a theater of accountability. At the center sit the
surviving officers of the Titanic, their faces etched with
fatigue and, for some, guilt.
Senator William Alden Smith, now fully immersed in the
inquiry, opens the session with a somber tone.
SENATOR SMITH
Let us not forget the magnitude of
the lives lost. Today, we will hear
testimony regarding the lifeboat
protocols and the capacity left
unfilled.
As the murmurs subside, VIOLET JESSOP, 24-years-old, a
stewardess who had survived the sinking, takes the stand. Her
composed demeanor belied the trauma she carries.
SENATOR SMITH (CONT’D)
Miss Jessop, in your experience,
were the lifeboats filled to
capacity during evacuation?
She hesitates, her gaze fixed on a point in the distance.
VIOLET JESSOP
No, Senator. Many were half-empty,
particularly those launched early
in the disaster.
SENATOR SMITH
Why?
Smith presses, his tone both curious and incredulous.
VIOLET JESSOP
There was confusion, sir. The
officers were under orders to
prioritize women and children, but
many hesitated to board without
their husbands. Some feared the
lifeboats would collapse
underweight.
The room buzzes with whispers. Franklin Avery, seats among
the press corps, scribbling furiously.
SENATOR SMITH
Miss Jessop, did you witness any
efforts to rectify these
inefficiencies?
VIOLET JESSOP
Yes. Some officers and crew tried
their best to fill the boats as the
situation worsened, but... it was
too late. The chaos and the fear
were overwhelming.
Her voice falters, and she takes a moment to steady herself.
VIOLET JESSOP (CONT’D)
By the time the ship tilted, there
were no lifeboats left. People were
jumping into the water, clinging to
anything that floated.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
43 -
Shared Grief on the Mackay-Bennett
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-EARLY EVENING
Eleanor sits on a crate, her notebook balanced on her knee as
she scribbles hurried notes. Across from her, Michael stands,
leaning against the railing, a bottle of whiskey dangling
from his hand. His face is obscured in the dim light, but his
slouched posture betrays his unease.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Do you ever stop?
Michael’s voice cuts through the silence like a whip. His
tone is sharp, tinged with a bitterness Eleanor hasn’t heard
before. She looks up, startled.
(CONT’D)
ELEANOR GRANT
Excuse me?
Michael pushes off the railing, his steps unsteady but
deliberate as he approaches her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Your notebook. Your damn notes.
Every tragedy, every corpse —
you’re there scribbling away. When
do you put it down?”
Eleanor’s brow furrows.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’m doing my job, Michael. This
story needs to be told.
He scoffs, shaking his head.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Told? Or sold? What’s the
difference anymore? You’re turning
this hell into headlines, and for
what? So you can get your byline in
some fancy paper?
Eleanor’s grip tightens on her notebook. She rises to her
feet, meeting his gaze head-on.
ELEANOR GRANT
That’s not fair. You think I’m
doing this for fame? For profit?
(MORE)
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
I’m here because people need to
know the truth. They need to see
the cost of this disaster—every
class, every soul. Otherwise, it’s
all just numbers.
Michael’s eyes flashs with anger.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
And what about the people who are
still alive? What about the ones
who have to wake up every day
remembering the faces we’ve pulled
from the sea? You ever think about
how your ‘truth’ tears them open
all over again?
Eleanor’s breath hitchs, but she refuses to back down.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’m not the one who let them die.
The ones responsible are sitting in
their comfortable offices, denying
they’ve done anything wrong. This
isn’t about me. It’s about justice
for those who can’t speak for
themselves anymore.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Justice?
Michael laughs bitterly, taking another swig from the bottle.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
You think your words are going to
bring justice? The ocean doesn’t
care about justice, Eleanor. And
neither do the bastards who built
that ship. They’ll bury this like
they bury everything else.
Eleanor’s chest tightens with frustration.
ELEANOR GRANT
So what? We just give up? Pretend
it didn’t happen?
Michael’s expression softena for a fleeting moment, but the
hurt in his eyes remains.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I’ve seen enough death to last a
lifetime. I don’t need you making
it worse by turning it into a
spectacle.
The words cut deep, but Eleanor stands her ground. She looks
past Michael for a moment, at the rippling black waves that
seem to stretch into infinity.
ELEANOR GRANT
You think this is easy for me? That
I’m not haunted by the faces I’ve
seen? I can’t stop hearing the
voices of the families who’ll never
have closure. Writing it down is
the only way I can make sense of it
all. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll
stop something like this from
happening again.
Michael’s grip on the bottle slackens, and he lowers it to
his side. The anger in his eyes give way to something
else—guilt, perhaps, or exhaustion. He steps back, leans
against the railing once more. The wind tugs at his coat, and
he closes his eyes, letting the sea’s rhythmic murmur wash
over him.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I didn’t mean...
He sighs, shaking his head.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
I just... I don’t know how to deal
with this. Any of this.
Eleanor’s expression softens. She steps closer, her notebook
forgotten at her side.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’re not the only one struggling,
Michael. We all are.
Michael lets out a bitter laugh, his eyes snap open.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Struggling? That doesn’t even begin
to cover it. Do you know what it’s
like to see those faces in your
sleep? To know there’s nothing you
could do to save them? That every
person we pull from that water is
someone’s father, mother, child?
Eleanor reaches out, hesitating for a moment before resting a
hand on his arm.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’re right. It’s unbearable. But
that’s why we have to face it. If
we don’t bear witness, who will?
Michael looks down at her hand, then back into her eyes. The
storm within him seems to calm, if only for a moment.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I just don’t want to lose anyone
else. Not to this damned sea.
Her heart aches at the vulnerability in his words. She nods,
her voice soft but firm.
(CONT’D)
ELEANOR GRANT
You won’t. Not if I can help it.
For a long moment, they stand there, the tension between them
replaced by a fragile understanding. The Mackay-Bennett
creaks beneath their feet, a reminder of the task that still
lays ahead. But for now, in the quiet of the night, they find
solace in each other’s presence.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
We’ll get through this.
Michael nods, his faint smile tinges with sadness.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I hope you’re right.
As the ship rocks gently in the cold Atlantic swell, Eleanor
picks up her notebook again, her resolve harden. There is
still work to do, and together, perhaps, they can make sense
of the senseless.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
44 -
Against the Storm
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
The sky hangs heavy with gray. The sea mirrors the heavens,
churning in restless peaks that makes the Mackay-Bennett sway
and groan like a creature straining under its own weight. The
day has begun with a biting wind that promised worse weather
to come.
Eleanor stands on the deck, bracing herself against the
railing as she stares out at the endless expanse. The sea,
usually a backdrop to her observations, now feels alive and
menacing. She tightens her grip on her notebook, though the
pages remained blank.
Behind her, Captain Larnder emerges from the bridge, his face
set in grim lines. His back is turned from Eleanor as he
gives orders to Callahan.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
We’ve got a storm moving in. Tell
the crew to secure everything below
deck. It’s going to be a rough
one.”
Eleanor turns to face him, tucking her notebook into her
coat.
(CONT’D)
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Do you think we’ll be able to keep
searching?
CAPTAIN LARNDER (CONT’D)
We’ll have to. Storm or no storm,
the bodies won’t wait. But I’d
suggest staying below until it
passes.
She nods, though she had no intention of retreating just yet.
The sea has become her adversary, and she wasn’t ready to
yield.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
45 -
Burden of Remembrance
INT. BELOW DECK-MACKAY-BENNETT-DAY
Below deck, Michael paces the length of the makeshift morgue,
his boots echo against the metal floor. The scent of
embalming fluid and sawdust hangs heavy in the air, mingling
with the faint, salty tang of the sea. Rows of coffins line
the walls, each one a silent testament to the lives lost.
He stops at a small table where Dr. Hayes is carefully
cataloging personal effects. A gold pocket watch, a pair of
spectacles, a faded photograph. Each item was a thread
connecting the dead to the living.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Does it ever feel like too much?
Hayes doesn’t look up.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Every moment. But giving up isn’t
an option, is it?
Michael exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Sometimes I think Eleanor’s right.
That someone has to record this.
Make people see.
Hayes finally meets his gaze.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
She’s braver than most of us. You
might want to tell her that.
Michael frowns, his thoughts drifting back to the night
before. He didn’t meant to lash out, but the weight of the
mission has been too much to bear. He resolves to find her,
to make amends.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
46 -
Caught in the Storm
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-DAY
Eleanor’s resolve to stay on deck soon leads her to the edge
of the skiffs. She leans out, trying to catch a glimpse of a
shadow beneath the waves—a possible body. The wind whips her
hair across her face, and the ship tilts slightly as a wave
crashed against its side.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Shouting) Eleanor!
She turns just as the ship lurches again, her footing slips
on the slick deck. The world tilts, and for a heart-stopping
moment, she feels herself falling toward the icy abyss.
Strong hands catch her arm, pulling her back with a force
that knocks the breath from her lungs. She collides with
Michael’s chest, his grip like iron as he steadied her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
What the hell are you doing?
ELEANOR GRANT
I—I thought I saw something.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Something?
His eyes blaze as he holds her at arm’s length.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
You could’ve fallen! Do you have
any idea what that would’ve done to
me?
She blinks, caught off guard by the raw emotion in his words.
ELEANOR GRANT
Michael, I—
Michael interrupts her while shaking his head.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Don’t. Don’t ever do that again.
Not for a story, not for anything.
The storm rages around them, but in that moment, all Eleanor
could see was the depth of his worry. She reaches out, her
hand brushing his.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’m sorry.
He exhales heavily, the tension in his shoulders easing
slightly.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Just promise me you’ll be more
careful.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Softly) I promise.
The wind howls, and the waves slam against the ship, but for
a moment, the chaos of the storm fades. They stand together,
a fragile connection forged in the face of danger.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
47 -
After the Storm
INT. ELEANOR'S CABIN-AFTERNOON
Eleanor sits in her cabin, her notebook open on the desk. She
writes furiously
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
Today we experienced the worst
storm. I had a near-miss almost
falling overboard. Fortunately,
Michael saved me.
She closes her eyes for a moment before writing about her
feelings.
ELEANOR GRANT
There is a strong bond forming
between he and I.
A knock at her door interrupts her thoughts. She opens it to
find Michael, his hair damp and his expression unreadable.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Softly) I just wanted to check on
you.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’m fine.
She steps aside to let him in.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
Thank you.
He glanceds at her notebook, then back at her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Writing about me?
She smiles faintly.
ELEANOR GRANT
Maybe.
He chuckles, the sound lighter than she’d heard in days.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I think I can live with that.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
48 -
The Arrival of the Minia
INT. WHEEL HOUSS AND DECK-DAY
The ship Minia’s silhouette grows larger on the horizon as
the Mackay-Bennett’s crew gathers at the railing. Their faces
bear a mix of exhaustion and curiosity, the sight of another
vessel brings a fleeting sense of relief. The bitter Atlantic
wind cuts through their coats, carrying the tang of salt and
the faint scent of embalming fluid that clings to the ship
like a ghost.
First Mate Callahan lowers his spyglass and turns to Captain
Larnder.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
She’s flying her signal flags,
Captain. She’s ready to come
alongside.
Larnder nods, his voice grim.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Signal back. We’ll coordinate
recovery efforts once they’re
secured.
MONTAGE:
The crew bustles into motion, ropes and pulleys creak as they
prepare to welcome the Minia. Eleanor stands on the deck,
notebook in hand, capturing the scene with hurried strokes of
her pencil. Michael approaches her, his expression
unreadable.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Quietly) You’d think we’d be
relieved to see them. But all I can
think is, there’s just more work
ahead.
Eleanor glances up, her gaze steady.
ELA
More work means more closure for
the families. That’s something, at
least.
Michael says nothing, his eyes fix on the Minia as it draws
closer.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
49 -
A Heavy Toll
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING (CONT)
As soon as the Minia is secure, CAPTAIN WILLIAM DeCARTERET,
50-something, steps onto the deck of the Mackay-Bennett. His
coat is buttoned tightly against the wind, his hat pulled
low. He extends a gloved hand to Captain Larnder, who clasps
it firmly.
CAPTAIN WILLIAM DECARTERETA
(Respectfully)Captain Larnder.
Thank you for receiving us.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Captain DeCarteret. Wish we were
meeting under different
circumstances.
DeCarteret gives a tight nod, his eyes flicking over the rows
of canvas-wrapped bodies on the deck.
CAPTAIN DECARTERETA
It’s worse than I imagined.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
This isn’t the half of it. Come to
my quarters. We’ll talk.
INT. CAPT. LARNDER CABIN-DAY
The two men retreat to Larnder’s cabin, leaving their crews
to exchange hurried introductions and begin preparations for
joint operations. Inside, Larnder pours two glasses of
whiskey, sliding one across the table to DeCarteret.
DeCarteret hesitates, then takes a sip.
(CONT’D)
(CONT’D)
CAPTAIN DECARTERETA
I heard rumors in Halifax, but I
didn’t believe it could be this
grim.
Larnder leans back in his chair, his face lined with fatigue.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Rumors don’t do it justice. We’ve
been pulling bodies from the sea
for days. My men… they’re doing
their best, but it’s taking a toll.
DeCarteret studies the glass in his hand.
CAPTAIN DECARTERETA
I’ve got young sailors aboard.
They’ve never seen anything like
this.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(Bluntly) None of us have. I’ve got
seasoned men who’ve seen their
share of storms and wrecks, and
even they’re breaking under the
weight. Some have taken to the
bottle. Others…
He shakes his head.
CAPTAIN LARNDER (CONT’D)
I’ve had to turn a blind eye to
things I never thought I would.
DeCarteret’s expression darkens.
CAPTAIN DECARTERETA
And the bodies?
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(Voice hollow)We prioritize as best
we can. First class gets coffins.
Second class, canvas. Third class
and crew…”
He trails off, his meaning clear. DeCarteret drains his
glass, setting it down with a soft clink.
CAPTAIN DECARTERETA
We’ll do our part.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
50 -
Confronting the Abyss
EXT. SKIFF FROM MINIA-DAY
Meanwhile, on the Minia, THOMAS CLARKE, 20-something, peers
over the side of a skiff as it approaches a cluster of
debris. The sea is deceptively calm, the water glinting under
a pale sun. Among the wreckage floats a tangle of lifeboat
planks and canvas sheets. Clarke squints, his breath catching
as he spots a pale shape beneath the surface.
THOMAS CLARKE
(Shouting) Stop the oars!
The skiff slows, the sailors exchanging wary glances. Clarke
leans forward, gripping the edge of the boat as the shape
drifts closer. It is a woman, her hair billowing around her
like seaweed. In her arms, she clutched a child, their faces
pressed together in eternal embrace.
Clarke’s stomach churns as he reachs for the boathook. His
hands tremble as he maneuvers it under the woman’s body,
lifting her gently. The child’s lifeless form follows, his
small arms still wrapped around her neck.
The sailor beside Clarke turns away, retching over the side
of the skiff. The sound echoes across the water, a visceral
reminder of the horrors they face. Clarke’s vision blurs as
he fights to keep his composure.
THOMAS CLARKE (CONT’D)
(Sternly) They’re just bodies. Just
bodies.
Genres:
["Drama","Tragedy"]
Ratings
Scene
51 -
Bearing Witness to Tragedy
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
On the deck of the Mackay-Bennett, Larnder and DeCarteret
watch the Minia’s crew work from the bridge. DeCarteret’s jaw
tightens as he observes the retrieval, his hands clenche
behind his back.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
(Quietly) That one will remember
this for the rest of his life.
He nods toward Clarke.
CAPTAIN DECARTERETA
They all will. But at least we’re
here. At least someone’s here to
bear witness.
Larnder glances at him, his expression weary but resolute.
CAPTAIN LARNDER
That’s what keeps me going. If we
don’t do this, no one will.
As the Minia’s skiff returns to the ship, its crew pale and
silent, the two captains share a look. It is a look of
understanding, of solidarity, and of mutual grief. The ocean
stretches endlessly around them..
For a moment, neither man speaks. Then Larnder breaks the
silence.
CAPTAIN LARNDER (CONT’D)
We’ll make it through this,
Captain. One way or another.
DeCarteret nods, his voice steady despite the storm in his
eyes.
CAPTAIN DECARTERETA
We have to.
MONTAGE:
The wind howlS through the rigging of the Mackay-Bennett as
the ship pushes through the churning waters, its engines
strain against the relentless swell of the ocean. The sky
overhead is a dull gray, heavy with the threat of a storm,
though the sea seems to remain unforgivingly still for now.
Beneath the surface, the bodies of the lost Titanic
passengers drift, their faces frozen in an eternal expression
of terror and despair.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
52 -
Weight of Loss
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
Eleanor stands at the railing, her notebook tucked into her
coat pocket, her hands grip the cold steel of the ship's
guardrail. She has been standing there for hours, lost in the
vastness of the ocean, her mind replaying the scenes of the
past week—bodies recovered, the stench of embalming fluid in
the air, the silence between the crew members as they go
about their work.
She hasn't written a word in two days. The weight of it
all—of the bodies, of the families waiting to know what
happened to their loved ones, of the souls forever lost to
the cold depths—has become too much for her. Her pen felt
like a foreign object now, incapable of capturing the
magnitude of the tragedy.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Eleanor.
The voice is soft but urgent. She turns to find Michael
standing behind her, his face drawn with exhaustion. His
eyes, though still sharp, seems weighed down by
something—something he hasn’t shared with her yet. He steps
closer, his boots tapping softly on the deck.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
(Gentle) You should rest. You’ve
been out here all morning.
Eleanor shakes her head, though her body screams for a moment
of respite.
ELEANOR GRANT
I can’t. I need to keep moving. The
sea is endless, Michael. There are
so many bodies still out there...
so many people lost. I have to... I
have to write something. I can’t
let them just disappear.
He hesitates before placing a hand on her shoulder, his grip
firm, grounding her.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
You’re doing more than most could,
Eleanor. You’re giving them a voice
when no one else can. But you need
to take care of yourself. You can’t
help anyone if you burn yourself
out.
Her heart twists, but she manages a small smile.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
You always know what to say.
Michael's eyes soften as he pulls his hand away.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I’m just trying to keep you from
making the same mistake I did.
Eleanor frowns, her brow furrows.
ELEANOR GRANT
What do you mean?
Michael looks away, his gaze drifting over the horizon.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I used to think that if I kept
busy, if I kept moving, it would
all make sense in the end. But it
doesn’t. You carry the weight of
this for the rest of your life.
His words are like a cold wave, sweeping over her and
chilling her to the bone. She looks at him more closely,
seeing the pain in his eyes that he rarely shows. She doesn’t
press him further; she doesn’t need to. The distance between
them has grown since they started this mission, and she can’t
tell whether it is the weight of the bodies or the weight of
the tragedy that has driven them apart.
Instead, she nods, taking a deep breath.
ELEANOR GRANT
Maybe I will rest for a while. But
there’s still so much to do.
Michael watches her for a moment, his eyes searching hers.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
We’ve done what we can. Let’s give
it some time. We’re not machines,
Eleanor.
Before she can reply, a loud shout from the deck rings out,
and both of them turn toward the commotion. A sailor stands
at the railing, his face pale as he pointed into the
distance.
SAILOR
There! Another body!
The order is immediate. The ship’s crew scramble into action,
lowering skiffs into the water. Eleanor's heart skips a beat.
She wants to stay back, to keep her distance from the bodies,
but the pull to see, to witness, to document, is too strong.
She turns toward Michael, her voice tight.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’m going.
His hand shoots out to stop her, but then he seems to think
better of it.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Quietly) Stay close.
Eleanor nods, following him to the side of the ship as the
skiffs are lowered. The crew moves quickly, rowing toward the
floating form in the distance.
As they neared the body, the men in the skiff begin to work
with grim efficiency. A sailor leans over the side, grabbing
the body by the arms, and pulls it in. The lifeless form is
wrapped in tattered clothing, the face bloated and
unrecognizable, save for the cold, glassy eyes staring
vacantly at the sky.
The crew member who had first grabbed the body recoils, his
face green as he staggers to the edge of the skiff and vomits
over the side. Eleanor’s stomach lurches, but she forced
herself to watch. This is their reality now—this was what
they had signed up for.
She turns to Michael, who is standing close behind her. His
eyes are locked on the body, his expression unreadable.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Whispering) Do you think we’ll
ever find them all?
Michael doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps forward,
placing a hand on her shoulder once more.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Like I told you before. I don’t
know. But we’ll keep looking.
As the body is lifted onto the ship, a sailor beside them
speaks up, breaking the silence.
SAILOR #2
This one’s a tough one. You’d think
they’d have a chance, but those
people who jumped from the
Titanic... they never had a chance.
Eleanor turns to him, brow furrows.
ELEANOR GRANT
What do you mean? They were
jumping, they were trying to
escape.
The sailor’s face is grave.
SAILOR #2
The water temperature out here,
Miss Grant, it’s freezing—about 28
degrees Fahrenheit. Even with the
life vests, they wouldn’t have
lasted long. A person could last
about 15 to 30 minutes, tops. The
cold shocks the body into
hypothermia so quickly that most of
them wouldn’t have made it a
hundred yards before losing
consciousness.
Eleanor’s stomach twists at the thought, but she presses
further, her voice tight.
ELEANOR GRANT
But they didn’t know that. They
thought the water would save them.
SAILOR #2
They didn’t know. They jumped
hoping for something that couldn’t
save them. But the sea... the sea
took them all the same.
Eleanor stands silently, absorbing his words, the weight of
the reality pressing down on her like a hundred tons of ice.
Michael looks over at her, his eyes soften.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
We can’t save everyone, but we can
bear witness. And that’s what
you’re doing, Eleanor. That’s all
we can do.
The weather had turned colder, and the sea had become more
restless. The Mackay-Bennett's crew had grown accustomed to
the sight of bodies—those floating alone, those who had
drifted aimlessly on the waves. But today, something is
different.
SAILOR #3
There’s five more over here.
They are clustered together. Looks
like a mother with a child in her
arms, a young couple holding hands,
and an elderly man.
The crew works swiftly but carefully to retrieve the bodies.
Eleanor’s heart tightens as she sees them for the first time
up close.
The child had been held close to the mother’s chest, its
little arms frozen in place as though trying to crawl toward
safety. The couple’s hands, still clasped together in a final
act of love, were stiffened by the ice. The elderly man’s
face is distorted in a grimace, his mouth open as though
trying to scream or shout a warning to those around him.
ELEANOR GRANT
This is what they were running
from. From the cold, from the fear.
Michael looks at her, his expression dark.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
They weren’t running. They were
trying to hold on. Trying to find
something—anything—to keep them
together.
Eleanor does’t reply. Her notebook felt heavier in her hands,
but she knows that she will write about this. She had to.
They all had to bear witness to this final act of
desperation.
As the bodies are lifted aboard, the crew is quiet. The usual
murmurs and grumblings has ceased.
There was no comfort to be found in this moment— Just five
people who had tried to survive by clinging to each other,
only to be taken by the sea.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Whispering)
How could they think it would work?
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
They didn’t. They just wanted to be
together when the end came.
Eleanor starts to cry.
ELEANOR GRANT
How many more? How many more?
Michael does not answer but the two embrace.
Genres:
["Drama","Tragedy"]
Ratings
Scene
53 -
Echoes of Desperation
INT. ELEANOR'S CABIN-LATE AFTERNOON.
Eleanor was writing in her notebook when she heard in the
corridor a sailer inform the captain of another group of
bodies being found. She looks at her notebook and writes.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
Another group. The word group
sounds hollow. How many more dear
God?
EXT. SIDE OF SHIP-AFTERNOON
She makes her way to the side of the ship, where Michael
Callahan stands, watching intently as the crew lowers the
skiffs into the water.
ELEANOR GRANT
I heard it is another group of
bodies.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Not just one or two, Eleanor. A
whole group, clinging together. The
largest group we’ve found so far.
The two watch the recovery.
MONTAGE:
The skiff returns soon after, with four men pulling it toward
the ship. They look pale, their movements stiff as they hoist
a series of bodies from the water.
Eleanor’s eyes fix on the figures as they come into view,
their clothing torn, their faces frozen in varying
expressions of horror. But it is the way they are positioned
that made her heart seize—their limbs entwined, their bodies
grouped together as though in a final attempt at survival.
A woman, clutching a child in her arms, lay frozen in death,
her face contorted in fear. The child’s tiny hands, stiff and
curled, were still pressed against the woman’s chest as
though reaching for something, anything, to save them both.
Nearby, a man’s hand is outstretched toward the couple beside
him, his fingers locked in a final grip.
Eleanor gasps, her breath catches in her throat. She feels
Michael’s hand on her arm.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
Eleanor. You don’t have to look.
But Eleanor can’t tear her gaze away. She watches as the
bodies are lifted onto the deck, their bodies now lifeless,
frozen in a last, desperate attempt at connection.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Whispering) They thought....they
thought that if they stayed
together, they might survive. That
together they might have a chance.”
Michael’s hand tightens on her arm.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
It’s not a matter of survival
anymore, Eleanor. It’s about
letting go. The sea takes, whether
they are alone or together.
Eleanor’s eyes fills with tears as she looks at the group of
bodies now laid out on the deck. She has heard the stories of
the Titanic’s final moments—the chaos, the fear—but this…
this was the unspoken truth. The passengers who thought they
could escape the cold, the terror, by clinging to one another
in their final moments.
The crew moves silently around her, their expressions grim.
Some of them begin to weep, unable to hold back the emotional
weight of the discovery..
She swallows hard, pulling out her notebook and scribbling
furiously. The words, though, felt hollow.
She has been able to capture moments of beauty, of horror,
but this—this is beyond her understanding.
Michael’s voice cuts through her thoughts.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
You need to be careful, Eleanor.
The weight of all this… it can
crush you. I’ve seen it before.
She lookd at him, her eyes brimminh with tears.
ELEANOR GRANT
I know. But how can I walk away
from this? How can I not tell their
story? Tell the world what
happened?
Michael stared at her for a long moment before his hand moves
to her shoulder.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Just make sure you’re ready for
what comes next. This isn’t a story
with an easy ending.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
54 -
Finding Purpose in Tragedy
INT. MESS HALL-EVENING
Eleanor sits at a table alone drinking a cut of tea gathering
her thoughts on what to write in her notebook. She sees
Dr.Hayes and motions him to join her.
ELEANOR GRANT
I was just thinking doctor, about
what you said. About the
hypothermia and the cold... and the
alcohol.
Hayes nods absently, but there is something different in his
demeanor today. His usually composed posture is gone,
replaced by a subtle slump as he walks toward the small
counter to pour himself a cup of tea.
She waits until he takes a seat across from her, and then she
asks.
Doctor, I’m curious. Have there
been any autopsies done on the
recovered bodies? I mean, is there
a record, or is that... something
that’s not really happening here?
Hayes exhales slowly, setting the teacup down with a soft
clink. He meets her gaze, his expression almost tired.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
No autopsies, Eleanor. Not really.
The few bodies that have been
identified—mostly first-class
passengers—have been embalmed and
prepared for burial. The rest...
well, most of them are just...
dumped over the side.”
ELEANOR GRANT
But... don’t you want to know what
happened to them? How they died?
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and
fatigue.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
The sea took them, Eleanor. After
so many days, there’s only so much
we can do. We aren’t here to
conduct autopsies or figure out how
each individual perished. We’re
here to recover bodies. The law’s
clear: we’re supposed to bring the
deceased back, but that doesn’t
mean they’re going to be examined
in any detail. There’s no time, no
resources for it. We’re not
equipped for that.
Eleanor frowns, her pen poised over the page, but her focus
now entirely on him.
ELEANOR GRANT
But that must be so... I don’t
know, disheartening. You’ve been
here for so long, but it seems like
all you’re doing is moving bodies
around.
Hayes sighs, his gaze dropping to the table.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
There are days when I wonder why
I’m here, Eleanor. I’m the ship’s
doctor, but there’s only so much I
can do. Minor injuries to the crew,
sure. A scrape or a twisted ankle.
But the real work here—the bulk of
it—isn’t mine. It’s the coroner’s,
and frankly, even his job is just
about disposal.
(Pause)
DR. JONATHAN HAYES (CONT’D)
Most of these bodies, they’re not
coming back with us. At least, not
in a form anyone would recognize.
We only embalm the first-class
victims, the ones whose families
will want them to be whole when
they arrive home. The rest... I
just sign papers and watch them
slip into the ocean.
Eleanor set her notebook down and leaned forward slightly.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’re not just disposing of them,
though. You’re giving them dignity.
You’re giving them... closure.
Hayes looks at her with a faint, sad smile.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Maybe. But it feels hollow,
Eleanor. You see these bodies, and
you can’t help but wonder—what if
we’re just... carrying out the
motions? A task that will be
forgotten when we turn our backs on
them. The men and women in those
waters... they had lives, families.
They weren’t just numbers.
ELEANOR GRANT
I think you’re doing more than
that. You’re preserving their
dignity, even if it’s just for
those of us left behind. I think
that matters, Doctor.
He looks at her for a long moment, then nods, albeit
somberly.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
I suppose that’s all we can do
here. But some days, I wonder if
it’s enough. I wonder if I’m doing
any good at all.
Eleanor leans back in her chair, her gaze never leaves him.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES (CONT’D)
I think you’re doing more good than
you realize.
(MORE)
DR. JONATHAN HAYES (CONT’D)
People will remember what you’re
doing here, even if it feels like
it’s just... pushing bodies across
the deck.
A long silence passes between them before Hayes finally
breaks it, his voice quieter than usual.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES (CONT’D)
Maybe you’re right. But I can’t
help but feel that if I was
anywhere else, I’d be helping in
some other way. You know... saving
lives, not just collecting the
dead.
Eleanor gives him a reassuring smile.
ELEANOR GRANT
Sometimes, what we’re doing here is
just as important. More people will
know about this tragedy because
you’re here. Because you’re giving
these people the respect they
deserve.
Hayes meets her gaze and for a brief moment, the weight on
his shoulders seems to lighten. He nods slowly, the
exhaustion still there, but now tempered with a sense of
purpose.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Thanks, Eleanor. I needed to hear
that.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
55 -
Bearing Witness
EXT. DECK-MID MORNING
MONTAGE:
The relentless hum of the engines beneath her feet has become
almost like a constant presence in Eleanor’s mind. Day after
day, the Mackay-Bennett moves forward, its journey both
physical and emotional. The crew is nearing the end of their
task, yet the weariness is evident in every step they took.
Eleanor could see it in their faces—hollow eyes, stiff
movements, the kind of exhaustion that went beyond the body
and into the soul.
INT. MESS HALL- MID-DAY
Eleanor sits in the mess hall, her notebook open in front of
her. The pages are filled with observations, fragments of
thoughts, and descriptions of the recovery process. But
today, her mind wanders. She begins to write.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
Another day...
She lifts the teacup to her lips. The warm liquid does little
to alleviate the chill that had settled in her bones.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
The uneasiness I feel isn’t just
physical...it is something deeper,
a sense that we have entered a
point of no return....
The door to the mess hall creaks open, and Michael Callahan
steps in. His usual confidence is nowhere to be found. His
eyes are shadowed, his steps slower than usual. He nods
towards her but doesn’t speak at first, his gaze falls on the
small table where she sits.
Eleanor hesitates before she speaks.
ELEANOR GRANT
Rough day?
Michael pulls out the chair across from her and sits down
heavily.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I don’t know what’s worse—the work
or the waiting. Can’t help but feel
like we’re just... moving bodies
around.
He sighs running a hand through his hair.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
And I’m not sure how much more of
this I can take. I didn’t sign up
for this, you know?
ELEANOR GRANT
None of us did.
They sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of
the ship’s engines below them and the occasional creak of the
wooden beams. Eleanor sits her notebook aside and took
another sip of tea, trying to steady her thoughts.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
You’ve been through a lot. We all
have.”
Michael’s voice is quiet.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
It’s different for you, though.
You’re here as a witness. You have
a purpose.
ELEANOR GRANT
I told you Michael, I’m just trying
to do my job...just like you.
He shakes his head slowly.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I don’t know, Eleanor. Sometimes it
feels like we’re just pawns in a
bigger game. Just pieces moving
across the board. The questions
never stop—how many more? Will we
find all of them? And then... why
am I even here? What good is it,
really?
Eleanor sighs, the weight of his words sinking in. She hasn’t
realized how deeply Michael has been affected by this
mission.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’re doing more than you think.
You’re not just collecting bodies,
Michael. You’re giving them a name,
a place, a memory. You’re making
sure they aren’t forgotten.
He looks at her for a long moment, his face unreadable.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
And what about you, Eleanor? Are
you doing this because you want to
make sure they’re remembered?
ELEANOR GRANT
Yes. (Pause) That’s why I’m here.
Before Michael can respond, the door to the mess hall opens
again, and Dr. Hayes enters, his face tight with exhaustion.
He is carrying a thick journal, his fingers clenched around
it as if it were a lifeline.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
Eleanor, I’ve been going over the
records again, and I thought you
might want to know something.
Eleanor’s curiosity pique.
ELEANOR GRANT
What is it?
Hayes sits the journal down on the table with a soft thud,
his gaze flickers between her and Michael.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
I’ve been going over the
autopsies—or rather, the lack
thereof. No autopsies have been
conducted on most of these bodies.
And the ones that were
embalmed—well, they’re the lucky
few, the ones with families
waiting. The rest? They’re dumped
overboard.
He pauses but frustrated.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES (CONT’D)
I’ve been thinking about it for
days. As a doctor, I should be
helping them. But all I’ve been
doing is documenting death. There’s
no closure for these people, no
chance for them to be remembered.
The bodies that don’t fit the
criteria... they’re just... gone.
Michael’s gaze darkens.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
It’s like we’re just doing a
cleanup job, isn’t it? Just a task,
no different than any other.
Hayes sighed, rubs his eyes.
DR. JONATHAN HAYES
I don’t know why I’m still here.
We’re not saving anyone. We’re just
moving them. And in the end, no one
will even know their names.
Eleanor reaches out and places a hand on his.
ELEANOR GRANT
You’re wrong, Doctor. Someone will
know. They’ll know, because we’re
here. We’re bearing witness.
The room falls silent again, the weight of the conversation
presses down on all three of them. The air in the mess hall
is heavy with unspoken thoughts, regrets, and the lingering
horror of what they had all seen.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
56 -
Turbulence of the Heart
EXT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-LATE-AFTERNOON
The weather has taken a turn for the worse. The winds have
picked up, whipping against the Mackay-Bennett as it plowed
forward through the rough waves. A thick mist rolls in,
dampening everything in its path.
Eleanor stands at the edge of the deck, her coat pulled
tightly around her as she watches the turbulent sea. The
distant sound of the ship’s bell ringing in the mist is the
only thing that pierces the growing silence around her.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Eleanor.
Michael’s voice interrupts her thoughts. She turns to see him
walking towards her, his face tense as always but with
something softer in his eyes today.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
You should come inside. It’s
getting cold, and you’ll catch your
death out here.
She shakes her head.
ELEANOR GRANT
I’m fine.
Michael steps closer, his eyes scanning the horizon where the
waves grow darker with the looming storm.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
We’ve been at this for weeks now.
We’re not getting any closer to the
end, are we?
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
We’re getting close. We are running
out of space for the bodies....We
just have to keep going.
Eleanor’s chest tightened at his words, but she doesn’t look
away.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
We’re all just waiting for the end.
But like you, I don’t know if I can
keep doing this.
I’ve seen men who never drank
alcohol turn to drink. It’s like
they think it’s the only way to
forget. To numb themselves.
Eleanor has noticed the same thing. The crew members who had
once been so strong, so capable, were now drinking to drown
out the horrors of the day. They don’t talk about it openly,
but it is there—an undercurrent of guilt and fear that ran
through every action they took.
ELEANOR GRANT
They’re doing it to forget.
Her hand gripping the railing as she stares into the mist.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
And are you forgetting, Eleanor?
Michael’s voice is soft but sharp, a challenge hidden in the
question.
Eleanor flinches at his words, but doesn’t look at him. She
couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to face that truth. Instead, she
focuses on the horizon, the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Quietly) Maybe I’m trying to
remember. Maybe that’s what keeps
me going.
The silence stretches out between them again, thick and
heavy. Michael steps closer, his presence warm in the cold
air, but Eleanor feels a distance between them that is
impossible to bridge.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You can’t carry all of this on your
own. Not without breaking.
Eleanor closes her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat.
She can’t let herself break, not yet. She wouldn’t. Not when
they are so close to finishing this. But in that moment,
something inside her cracks, and the tears she has held back
for so long threatens to spill over.
She falls into Michael’s arms.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Barely a whisper) I’m not
breaking....I’m just... holding on.
EXT. INT. DECK OF MACKAY-BENNETT-EARLY EVENING
The storm has arrived without warning, its fury unrelenting.
Waves as high as buildings smash against the hull of the
Mackay-Bennett, sending spray crashing over the deck. The
ship groans under the strain, her steel frame creaks as if
protesting the violent assault of the ocean.
Eleanor stands inside looking at the crew members struggling
to tie down the wooden caskets. Her hands grip the window
sill as the ship pitches violently beneath her. Icebergs loom
in the distance, their jagged forms resembling the remains of
ghosts from the Titanic’s tragic wake.
A few sailors slip in the chaos, their boots sliding on the
slick deck, but they remain determined to complete their
task. The faces of the first-class dead, once so dignified,
now had to be contained within these fragile wooden boxes,
braving the same cruel ocean that had taken them.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
57 -
Reflections of Grief
INT.ELEANOR’S CABIN-EVENING
Eleanor returns to her cabin and notebook. She writes:
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
The faces of the dead—they won’t
leave me. The bodies, the way
they’re stacked in the hold like...
like cargo. And still, we keep
pulling them out of the water. But
it feels like it’s never enough.”
None of us know how long we can
last. Maybe the captain does. But
we have to keep going. For them.
For the ones we haven’t found yet.
They deserve to be seen. All of
them.
She pauses closing her eyes before starting up again.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
Why are we doing this. What are we
even achieving? All these bodies.
First class, second class,
steerage... so many lives.
(MORE)
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.) (CONT'D)
And yet, here we are, taking them
back to Halifax. What will be left
when we get there?
She searches her notes from cover to end.
ELEANOR GRANT (V.O.)
I don’t know how to write about
this. How do I tell their stories
when we don’t even know them? How
do I make people understand what
this feels like?
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
58 -
Reflections at Sea
EXT. BOW OF THE SHIP-MORNING
Eleanor gazes out over the water and hears Michael coming
towards her. His steps are quicker than usual as with a
purposeful. He doesn’t say anything as he reaches her side,
only standing next to her, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
The end of the line. We’re heading
back to Halifax.
Eleanor nods, though her heart wasn’t in the gesture. She had
thought that when the recovery effort came to a close, there
would be relief, a sense of finality. But now, as they near
the end of the journey, she feels nothing but emptiness. The
ocean had swallowed so many lives, and even now, as they
approached Halifax, it seems to hold on to its secrets.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Softly)I thought it would feel
different.
Michael’s eyes softens as he looks at her, his gaze
unwavering.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You thought it would bring closure.
But closure isn’t something you
find on the ocean. Not like this.
They stand in silence for a moment, the sound of the ship’s
engines humming beneath them, the water stretching endlessly
in every direction.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
(Low voice) You’ve seen more than
most people ever will. And you’re
going to write about it, aren’t
you?
Eleanor nods slowly.
ELEANOR GRANT
I have to. I owe it to them—to the
people we recovered, and to the
ones we couldn’t save.
He looks at her with a mixture of sadness and admiration.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
You’re going to make them
understand. You’ll make the world
see what we’ve seen.
Eleanor turns to him then, her eyes meeting his.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
What have we seen, Michael? What is
it that we’re really looking at
here? The lives that were lost,
yes. But what else? What does it
all mean?"
Michael looks away, his jaw tightens. He is silent for a long
time before answering.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
I don’t know. Maybe there’s no
meaning in it. Maybe it’s just a
reminder that we don’t have control
over everything. That the ocean,
that the world, takes what it
wants, and we just have to live
with it.
Eleanor feels a pang in her chest, but she doesn’t look away.
She knew what he meant.
ELEANOR GRANT
I think you are right.
The world has taken so much—so many
lives—and we were left to pick up
the pieces. Yet I hope that
somehow, through my writing,
through the telling of the story, I
can make it mean something.
A crew member passed by, his face drawn, his eyes hollow from
the days of labor. He didn’t look at them, just moved forward
with the same mechanical precision that had become a part of
everyone on board. The crew was tired, their bodies aching
from the endless task.
He turns to her and places a hand on her shoulder.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
We’ll make it through this. The
ship will return to port, and we’ll
move on. You’ll write your story,
and we’ll all go our separate ways.
But we’ve done something. We’ve
done something important here.
Eleanor swallows hard, fighting the lump in her throat.
ELEANOR GRANT
But will it be enough?
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Smiling) It’s never enough. But
that doesn’t mean we don’t try.
She nods slowly, though she isn’t sure she believes him.
As they stand there in silence, the ship begins to slow, the
shoreline of Halifax comes into view. The end of their
journey is near, but the weight of what has been done will
stay with them forever. There would be no celebration, no
grand return. The ocean has taken its toll, and they will
carry that burden with them.
ELEANOR GRANT
Glancing at the shore.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
We’re almost home.
Michael follows her gaze, his eyes distant.
ELEANOR GRANT (CONT’D)
Home. But is it really?
But will it be enough?
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
(Sad)It’s never enough. But that
doesn’t mean we don’t try.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
59 -
Reflections on a Tragic Mission
EXT./INT. HALIFAX DOCKS-DAY
(Captains quarters)
The Mackay-Bennett anchors at the dock, but before stepping
off the ship, Captain Larnder retreats to his cabin for a
final moment of reflection.
He removes the worn logbook from his desk, his pen hovers
over the page. The ship's mission is complete, but the
numbers remains, a testament to the grim task they had
undertaken.
He began to write, his handwriting careful, though his mind
was weary from the weight of the journey. The ink flowed
steadily as he recorded the facts.
CAPTAIN LARNDER (V.O.)
May 30, 1912. Halifax Harbour.
Mission complete. Seven days of
search and recovery have yielded a
total of 306 bodies retrieved from
the wreckage. The bodies were
recovered as follows:
First Class: 116 bodies identified,
of which 54 were embalmed and
placed in coffins, 62 buried at
sea. Among the identified were John
Jacob Astor IV, Isidor Straus, and
Edward Austin Kent, their remains
carefully preserved. Their
identities, confirmed through
personal effects, clothing, and
jewelry, are documented thoroughly.
(Pause)
CAPTAIN LARNDER
Second Class: 62 bodies retrieved.
Of those, 32 were embalmed and
placed in coffins, 30 were buried
at sea. These bodies were more
difficult to identify, but many
were confirmed through the clothing
and minor details. A significant
number of second-class passengers
remained unnamed, their fates known
only through the wreckage they left
behind.
(Another pause)
Third Class and Crew: 128 bodies.
These individuals were buried at
sea, many of them unrecognizable
due to the extreme conditions in
the water. Their identities remain
unknown. A small number were
embalmed due to their appearance
upon recovery, but the majority
were hastily prepared for burial.
(MORE)
CAPTAIN LARNDER (CONT’D)
Among those was the Unknown Child,
whose body was preserved and placed
in a simple coffin. His identity
will never be known to those who
loved him......
EXT. HALIFAX DOCK-DAY
MONTAGE:
Outside, the crew begins the final preparations for unloading
the bodies, and the murmur of the dockside workers and
onlookers filled the air. The ship had completed its mission,
but for those aboard, the weight of what they had done could
never truly be lifted.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
60 -
A Glimmer of Hope
EXT. BOW OF MACKAY-BENNETT-MORNING
Eleanor stands at the bow, the cool sea breeze tousling her
hair. A small crowd has gathered on the shore, their faces a
blur of curiosity and quiet anticipation.
Behind her, Michael approaches, his boots ringing softly on
the deck. He has been distant for most of the journey home,
lost in the same grim thoughts that has consumed the crew..
Eleanor turns as he draws near.
ELEANOR GRANT
(Smiling)
We made it.
He nods, his expression unreadable.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
Yeah. We made it.
For a long moment, they stand in silence, the hum of the ship
and the distant sounds of the harbor filling the space
between them. The weight of the tragedy still clings to the
air, thick and suffocating. And yet, there is a sense of
relief, too—of knowing that the journey had finally come to
an end.
Eleanor takes a deep breath, her voice breaking the quiet.
ELEANOR GRANT
I don’t know how to feel. After
everything... I just... I don’t
know what comes next.
Michael turns to her, his eyes searching hers for
something—perhaps an answer, perhaps understanding.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You’re not alone in that. None of
us are.
Her gaze drops to the ground, and for a brief moment, she
feels the weight of it all—the faces of the dead, the sorrow
of the survivors, the pain that would never fully leave her.
Then, as if on instinct, she looks up, meeting Michael’s
gaze. A faint, hesitant smile tugs at her lips.
ELEANOR GRANT
I think I’ll be okay. Eventually.
Michael gives a small nod, his lips press together in a way
that suggested he isn’t convinced, but that he understands.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN
You will be. We all will be.
The ship creaks at the dock, the crowd on the shore
beginnings to stir in anticipation. As the crew starts to
move the bodies ashore, Eleanor and Michael exchange a final
look. It is a moment between two people who have lived
through the same horrors, and perhaps, despite everything,
are beginning to find a way forward.
Michael takes a step back, gesturing towards the gangplank.
MICHAEL CALLAHAN (CONT’D)
(Inviting)Shall we?
Eleanor hesitates, then nods. She turns toward the gangplank,
her hand brushing against his as they walk side by side
toward the shore, toward whatever awaits them beyond the
reach of the Atlantic. For now, at least, they had each other
and that is something.
As they reach the gangplank, they stop for one last look at
the Mackay-Bennett, the ship that has carried them through it
all. The crowd on the shore is waiting, the echoes of the
tragedy now reaching the land, the lives lost at sea soon to
be given a final resting place.
But for Eleanor and Michael, the end of this journey didn’t
mean the end of their story. It is only the beginning of
something new, something that, even in the shadow of death,
still holds a glimmer of hope.
Screen fills with the list of the dead recovered by the
Mackay-Bennett.