Kristen Schroder and Paul Rossington - the couple missing from the Carnival Spirit cruise ship. Source: News Limited
A CAMERA captured the first images even before they'd boarded, the cruise ship's resident photographer snapping cheesy portraits beside the gangway.
As days slipped by aboard the Carnival Spirit, glossy prints multiplied on the onboard gallery shelves. Cuddling on a jetty among grass-skirted locals against the azure backdrop of an island stopover. Posing casually with her brother, sister and parents.
The ship's roving video crew filmed them relaxing in the sought-after sun pods and hammocks of the adult-only Serenity Deck, away from squealing kids wired from abusing their bottomless soft-drink deal.
Slip mystery surrounds missing cruise couple
Security cameras guarding the pokies and roulette wheels captured other vision: a dispute in the casino on the last day at sea, and a retreat to the apricot decor of cabin 5281.
Thermal cameras caught the fuzzy outlines of their falling bodies as they tumbled, separately, from the wooden balcony rail into the fizzing, inky water below.
Paul Rossington and Kristen Schroder - the couple missing from the Carnival Cruise ship.
Many hours later, back at Sydney Harbour, more cameras flashed as police moved methodically among fingerprint dust collecting clues to help explain the mystery of two young lovers forever lost at sea.
THE Fun Times newsletter dropped by a cabin steward on the bed each night - along with a square of chocolate and towels twisted into exotic animal shapes - directs the ebb and flow of life aboard the Carnival Spirit.
Activities range from five-game bingo and arthritis seminars to hairy chest contests and a bawdy hypnotist show.
All guests assemble for a mandatory safety briefing at 5pm the first night, though some barely listen and rush off at the first chance to their balconies or the decks to wave farewell to reality - and get stuck into the food.
Dining options abound. Snags at Fat Jimmy's barbecue. Freshly cooked slices from the 24/7 pizza stand. Ginger ale and plain biscuits for queasy stomachs. Three-course dinners in the Empire room, where spontaneous renditions of the nutbush from cheery staff mask their homesickness after months straight at sea earning money to send home.
Plastic passes carried by each passenger act as room key and credit card, allowing purchases from a coffee to $3000 in casino chips to be charged back to rooms.
Early risers who are not invigorated by the sunrises or yoga sessions can enjoy screwdrivers and bloody Marys before lunch, and $2 blackjack hands from 8am until noon.
Bathers and resort wear are the dominant dress for days by the pool or on shore excursions. Two nights deemed "elegant" see guests don their finest. Another night, guests mingle in white terry-towelling for a "bathrobe bash".
On Caribbean theme night, grown men compete with children to dress as pirates, complete with eye patches and parrots, for prizes.
Guests are as diverse as the cities they come from. New parents on their first getaway with a toddler. A bride in a white gypsy dress, celebrating her nuptials at the early dinner sitting. Retirees on their second marriages and their fourth cruise. Women celebrating recent divorces with scented massages at the day spa. Forty-something school friends on the prowl in the multi-level disco for the few eligible singles aboard. Adult families looking for a cheap and easy way to see the world together.
Kristen Schroder and Paul Rossington - the couple missing from the Carnival Spirit cruise ship.
TWO months before her Pacific Island cruise, Kristen Dennis had chucked in her Sydney real estate career and packed up her beloved pets and belongings to live with Paul Rossington, a paramedic based at Barraba in NSW, near Tamworth.
Since they'd been dating, Kristen, 27, and Paul, 30, had lived apart, with only snatched weekends together when his hectic shiftwork allowed.
She dubbed the March moving date "dream day" and her belongings were barely unpacked when she declared to friends she was happier than ever. "Progress used to mean lower vacancies, less arrears, higher returns," she wrote.
"Now it means ... my amazing man snoozing beside me on the couch. This 'progress' is most important, the progress to peace, comfort, real contentment and happiness. None of the other crap was ever important to me, this is what counts."
Occasionally, Kristen's sunny social media posts darkened.
Two people are believed to have fallen off a cruise ship docked in circular quay - the Carnival Spirit. Picture: Robert Barker
In early January she asked friends if they could recommend a family law solicitor for an opinion, but when pressed for information said it was too personal to discuss.
Her frustration with former husband Matt Schroder was evident back in 2011, as she readied the house for Christmas. The tree was up, and bells on the door. But the man she married in 2007 wasn't there. While Kristen packed for a holiday to Europe, she bemoaned the heavy furniture blocking her from reaching the winter woollies she'd need: "And he is not home again (anyone surprised??) Why am I married to a man who is NEVER around?"
The navy pilot was often posted afar, including a tour to the Persian Gulf.
Guests at their wedding at HMAS Creswell on the shores of Jervis Bay, south of Sydney, remember the unusual cake. A smiling bride sat atop it, with a sailor in dress uniform scaling a ladder up the side, hands outstretched to her.
But the cake was cut long ago, and now, so were their ties. With a divorce and a change back to her maiden name, Kristen was more than ready to move on.
A room believed to be the cabin of Kristen Schroder and Paul Rossington on the Carnival Spirit crusie liner. Picture: Adam Taylor
In January, Paul gave her an impressive ring, which she wore on her middle finger. "Just a little spoilt," she crowed to friends when she showed off the sparkler. She'd given him a promise ring, too. She wanted the world to know how happy they were, and that she loved him "beyond reason".
Paramedic Paul had wrangled time off his intense roster only with the promise to do extra days on his return to the ambulance station where he'd worked almost two years. A passionate surfer and fisherman, he'd been on cruises with his own family before, but was looking forward to spending time with the Dennis clan as he cemented his life with Kristen.
As much as they were anticipating the holiday, animal lover Kristen feared she'd miss their "babies".
The devoted pet owner fretted about leaving the couple's combined menagerie, all rescued from animal shelters - an adult cat, two recently acquired kittens, and three dogs.
The move from the city to Barraba meant Kristen couldn't continue her volunteer "pound round" duties, walking or sometimes just sitting with dogs facing death row. But she continued helping as best she could from her new home, posting frequent social media urgings for others to adopt or foster and give unwanted animals a chance at life.
The day before they left for the cruise, Paul popped home for lunch to cuddle their pets and to offer his opinion on the shoes and formal wear Kristen should pack.
Like most other things, her excitement at the thought of time away with Paul, her mum Roxene and dad Reg, younger brother Aaron and his partner, and pregnant sister Dee and her husband Sascha, spilled on to Facebook: "It's going to be awesome to have the most important people in my world around me for 10 days."
THAT final night, home was tantalisingly close. The Carnival Spirit was in party mode as it sliced through the waters off the NSW coast, about nine hours before the expected arrival back in Sydney. Sauvignon blanc and Jack Daniel's - the most popular drinks aboard - flowed freely.
Throughout the voyage, cruise director Stu Dunn had exhorted passengers to have the time of their lives, a time they'd never forget, and most were. Kristen and Paul - who on land was often the last one to leave a party and the first one up in the morning for a surf - didn't want any more entertainment.
They'd retreated to their cabin after an earlier spat in the casino, skipping dinner with the others. After the sun set, the halo from the ship's lights illuminated the surrounding ocean for about 30 metres. Beyond that glow, the Tasman Sea was black.
Memorial service for Paul Rossington. Picture: Cameron Richardson
Kristen and Paul's balcony cabin was on deck five, at the rear of the ship.
Four decks up, directly above them, chilled-out drinkers were enjoying cocktails, though the darkness limited the 270-degree views.
Down below, on deck three, those seated by the windows for the late sitting at the Empire dining room had finished delicate salmon mains and were contemplating the chocolate melting cake for dessert.
Security staff patrolled the ship, and monitored a bank of CCTV cameras, though at that time of night most attention was focused on high-traffic areas such as the casino and bars. Only later, on recorded footage, did staff see Kristen and Paul's plunge from the ship about 8.50pm, off a wooden balcony rail just wide enough to stand on and about mid-torso high.
One after the other they tumbled, some seconds apart. The position of their cabin meant, with no alarm raised, in less than 30 seconds the ship had passed them by.
A room believed to be the cabin of Kristen Schroder and Paul Rossington on the Carnival Spirit crusie liner. Picture: Adam Taylor
The hunt for them began only after Italian captain Adriano Binacchi's final cheery "ciao ciao" over the loudspeaker. When all other passengers disembarked, the couple's luggage remained uncollected. Checks revealed two passengers hadn't swiped off the ship with their "sail and sign" cards.
What could possibly have happened to them?
By the time an extensive air and sea search started, they'd been missing about 15 hours.
As word leaked out, people puzzled at how two people could tumble and then vanish into the ocean. Were they imitating a scene from the movie Titanic? Was it foul play? A suicide pact? Across the nation, people pondered the most pressing question: could they still be alive?
SARAH Kirby is proof you can fall from a moving cruise ship in the middle of the ocean and survive.
Kristen Schroder and Paul Rossington - the couple missing from the Carnival Spirit cruise ship.
The birthday girl was aboard a Carnival Destiny cruise from Miami to Jamaica in October last year when she drunkenly toppled overboard about midnight. She describes her survival as "an absolute miracle".
The American women fell further than Paul and Kristen - dropping two storeys, hitting a lifeboat, then tumbling five more. Her injuries included fractured bones and ribs, hypothermia, blood clots, and severe bruising. That was the least of her problems. Alone in the black water, she watched, with rising panic, as the ship sped away.
Unable to see lights after a while, she realised she was bleeding into the water, and feared a shark attack was imminent. "Please don't let me die, please don't let something eat me," she whimpered repeatedly.
She swam until she ran out of energy, then floated face-up to catch her breath. Waves crashed into her face, and the more saltwater she swallowed, the more she coughed and threw up.
When they couldn't find her aboard, her friend and partner begged staff to turn the vessel around to find her. They did. Almost two hours after Sarah fell, a crew member in a life boat approached and helped her aboard. After a week in intensive care, and three more weeks in hospital, she was home. Lawyers have filed a lawsuit against Carnival in the US. It is set for trial early next year. But such survival tales are rare.
Memorial service for Paul Rossington - his mother Christeen and his father Richard. Picture: Cameron Richardson
Victorian Trevor Gready knows the flipside of a man overboard. His son Andrew, 24, jumped off the Pacific Sky about 6km off the coast of Queensland on the last night of a cruise with his family in 2005.
Another son, Chris, and other passengers frantically threw chairs, tables and lifebuoys to mark the spot and to give Andrew something to cling to.
Trevor says Chris was so distraught at his brother's plight, he felt an overwhelming urge to jump in.
"He wanted to save him. A family friend stopped him," Trevor says. "It's a good thing, or they would have been trying to find two of them."
He and his wife heard the alarms go off, but didn't realise at first it was for an incident involving their son.
Soon a ship officer knocked on Trevor's cabin door to inform him, assuring "don't worry, we'll get him back". But, though the ship turned around, the rescue bid failed. Trevor says his son, who'd been drinking, had talked throughout the cruise about jumping from an upper deck for an adrenaline rush. "He was a thrill seeker. He'd go and jump off cliffs into the ocean and stuff," he says.
His family remain badly affected by their loss. "None of us have handled it very well," he says. "We miss him every day. The worst part is we never found him. There's no one to bring home."
ON the Carnival Spirit, as cabin stewards did their rounds to make guest cabins feel like home for their final night - turning down beds, switching on soft lamps - Paul and Kristen were in the casino, between the main lobby and a sports bar on deck two. They hadn't had much, if anything, to drink all day and had skipped dinner with the family.
Guests gravitate to the gambling hub, where one of the security supervisors is a dead ringer for rugby league identity Paul "Fatty" Vautin and the croupiers smile between gritted teeth, thinking of the money they're missing because Aussies don't tip as well as Americans.
Staff make a peculiar air-kiss noise to attract attention instead of shouting out. Kristen and Paul weren't quite shouting, but they weren't kissing either as they had a spat on the gaming floor.
Make: CanonModel: Canon EOS-1D XDate/Time: 2013:05:09 16:00:11
Another of the ship's 600 CCTV cameras caught them mucking around as they passed through the heart of the ship, the copper-toned Spirit Atrium with its marble-topped bar, elaborate staircase leading up to the photo gallery, and glass lifts.
Up to level five they went. Down the corridor. Tenth door on the left. They were inside cabin 5281 by about 8.30pm. Only two people truly know what happened in the next 20 minutes.
Though police are preparing a brief for the NSW Coroner, and an inquest might flush out more detail, those who loved Kristen and Paul already know in their hearts the tragic mystery can never really be solved, at least not completely. Facts suggest one of them hit deck three before plunging into the water. Thermal images show a short gap between one and the other tumbling.
Carnival Australia says nothing is more important than the safety of guests and crew, and that the company consistently exceeds regulatory requirements and actively pursues further safety improvements.
The families speculate that she climbed up on the balcony rail for innocent reasons, lost her grip and slipped overboard. They believe that, instinctively and immediately, Paul jumped in to save her - half-brave, half-crazy but devoted to her safety and happiness until his last breath.
Two people are believed to have fallen off a cruise ship docked in circular quay - the Carnival Spirit. Picture: Robert Barker
For all the speculation, so many questions remain. United in grief, two families console themselves that two souls so devoted to each other, and so committed to protecting and rescuing, had each other for company in the swirling sea.
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