Severed, Part III
By Jaclyn
(musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)

Disclaimer: In a shocking turn of events, it has been discovered that I DON'T own these characters! Can you believe it?! Sources have been whispering that The Lost World and all characters/places/stuff contained therein actually belong to Telescene, New Line, and all the rest. Oh yeah, and yesterday I read on the internet that I'm not making any profit off this story! Isn't that absurd?!

Author's Notes: Once again, sorry for the huge delay....I had honestly thought this part would be posted sooner than the last....but RL was so crazyhecticstressful that I just didn't have time to finish it....

Note #2: I realize the beginning of this chapter seems very similar to the last one, but just bear with me because that whole part needs to be said, and then the real fun can begin, lol! The middle is when it gets really interesting. Well, in my opinion anyway....lol!

Note #3: I've never seen Assai or Jarl in my life so I have no idea how they act/talk/look or anything like that....I only know they exist because I've read about them in fic....

Note #4: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to my faithful reviewers!! You know who you are....I love you!!! *hug*


* * *



Marguerite - two weeks after being nearly killed by the rockslide
(please note - this part takes place before the end of the previous chapter,

which was Roxton three months after the rockslide)


- twilight -


The Zanga village was always at its most peaceful during the evening. The inhabitants would retreat to their huts and spend some completely work-free time - precious in its rarity - with their loved ones. Other than the gentle chiming of laughter or the soft murmur of voices that one would hear if they got too close to another's tent, the little town fell into a complete hush. It was everyone's favorite time of day.

And then, suddenly, a horrified scream shattered the stillness.

In the shadow of her thatched roof, Assai broke the kiss and rested her forehead against Jarl's. "Oh no, not again..." she muttered. She stood up, tracing his jaw line, smiling craftily. "Don't go anywhere...."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere but here," Jarl said softly, moving his head to kiss her fingers. "Hurry back...."

She nodded, already running out of the hut. "Marguerite!"

Although she was resting in the warm glow of a fire, Marguerite looked anything but serene. Her eyes were wild, and her whole body shook. "I remember!" she cried shrilly.

"Oh Marguerite...." Assai whispered, kneeling down next to the distraught woman and wrapping her in a hug. "I am so sorry...."

"It's still fuzzy....but I remember a rockslide....I was screaming; I didn't want to lose him....I was so....scared....telling him to run....but he said....he wouldn't leave me....which is what I've always wanted him to say, but not like that....now I'm here and I don't see him anywhere....please tell me he's just recovering in another tent, Assai. Because if he's not....then it's my fault he's dead. Is he dead?"

Assai remained silent, not knowing what to say to the hysterical woman beside her.

"NO!" Marguerite shrieked. "NO NO NO NOOOO....please.....no, I don't believe you! NO!!" Crying so hard she could barely see, Marguerite struck out at the nearest thing to her -- Assai. The Zanga woman, near tears herself, was forced to grab Marguerite's wrists rather roughly to stop the blows that were raining on her own head.

Marguerite stopped struggling. The strength had drained from her body. Just as she'd always feared it would, her love of Roxton had made her weak. But at the moment, she really didn't give a damn about appearances. Unable to manage anything else, Marguerite let her head fall against Assai's shoulder. She sobbed uncontrollably until her weakened body could take it no longer, and then she passed out, as much from emotional agony as from physical pain.


* * *



- midnight -

Assai nestled closer to her lover. "Jarl," she whispered to the near-sleeping man.

"Mmmm...." he mumbled.

"Promise you'll never leave me. Promise you'll stay here always and won't take anymore risks that could get you killed. Promise me you'll never go into another cave as long as you live...."

That woke him up. He knew where this was coming from. Jarl tightened his arms around her. "Oh Assai, my darling, my joy....you know I can't promise you that with utter certainty. But I swear to you, I will do my absolute best. I love you....now let me hear you promise the same thing...."

"I love you too....and I will do everything in power to always be here, to never leave you...." Assai repeated seriously, then began to cry against his chest. "Oh god, Jarl, it's so hard for her, and she's always been so strong....I just keep thinking....if that were me, would I survive it?"

"I hope we never find out...." he kissed her gently on the lips. "Try to sleep now."


* * *



The next morning, Marguerite woke with a new thought racing through her mind. "Assai!" she called excitedly.

The woman in question appeared a moment later, wondering what could possibly have caused the happiness in Marguerite's voice. Perhaps she'd found some token of Roxton's among the pile of supplies and other possessions the Zanga hunting party had found in that fatal cave? "What is it?"

"Isn't it possible...." Marguerite began, her eyes shining with a new hope. "That Roxton -- and the others -- are alive....only on the other side of the rockslide? Couldn't they have run? The cave had an opening on the other side; we hadn't reached it yet, but we saw the light. He didn't want to go when I told him to, but the others would have made him! I know they would have! He's alive....it will just be a matter of time before I can see him again. But he'll be doing his best to get back, I know he will."

"Marguerite....it's impossible to clear all those rocks away. The entire cave has collapsed, not just a section of it. If he....is....alive, as you say," Assai forged on, trying to hide her doubt for the other woman's sake, "it may be impossible for the two of you to be reunited."

"I *know* the cave won't work anymore, silly! But even if I don't know where Roxton is, he knows where *I* am, so the ball's in his court now, so to speak. He'll be trying to find me. I can feel it. He's alive, Assai....something inside me....I'm sure of it. Roxton is alive." Marguerite glowed with excitement. Yesterday she had been deathly pale, but now her cheeks had taken on a new pinkish flush.

For a moment, Assai no longer saw the myriad of bandages and waxy-looking salves that dotted Marguerite's torn skin - for a moment, she allowed herself to be swept up in the older woman's excitement....

But then she saw Marguerite's lips thin and the muscles of her jaw tighten in an effort to keep a whimper of pain in. Tentatively, the displaced heiress brought a hand up to her head. "Damn concussion," she muttered.

"Your body is still weakened," Assai said kindly. "Hope will do you good. But try not to think too much about the prospects of the future, for they are always unknown and it isn't good to work yourself up over a possibility that may never occur. Just try to think peaceful thoughts and your body will recover more quickly."

Marguerite sighed. "I don't care if you don't believe me. I've never felt the need to have other people supporting my opinions. But it isn't an opinion in this case. I *know* he is alive." Her voice, feeding on the emotion her words evoked, strengthened. "Yes, it sounds odd, but if I told someone from my world that dinosaurs still existed, they would think the same thing. Too impossible to be true....but Assai....it is."


* * *



Marguerite - five months after nearly being killed by the rockslide. She is now fully recovered and living on her own in the treehouse. Having a developed a daily routine, she now does *everybody's* chores but no longer complains - her ordeal has served to sober her up a bit, although she hasn't changed *that* much. Marguerite visits Assai and the other Zanga quite often, and is still known as an outspoken, sarcastic woman - but with a very kind heart. She thinks of John often, but tries not to get emotional unless she's alone. Sometimes, alone in bed at night, she cries.

Just like every day on the plateau, it started out like a normal morning. Marguerite was sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, carefully cleaning John's guns. Thank goodness the group hadn't taken all the weapons with them on that fateful day, or Marguerite would have found herself in quite a predicament!

She rubbed some more oil on the faded rag, smiling softly at it. Years ago, it had been part of one of Roxton's shirts, but after being badly torn - she couldn't even remember how; their clothes got ruined so often that the individual incidents no longer stuck out in her mind - it had been relegated to cleaning duties.

The image of Roxton doing the task she was doing now filled her mind. She could see him so clearly in her mind: sprawled in the floor, humming softly to himself as he maintained his beloved guns. She had often teased him mercilessly about it, only to be mocked in return - something about her passion for looking at rocks under magnifying glasses.

Smiling fondly, Marguerite allowed herself to remember how those particular 'arguments' tended to end, especially if the other occupants of the treehouse were out....



"Roxton!" she had called, after reheating the leftovers Veronica had set out last night. "Dinner is served!" she continued with the flourish of a French accent.

There was no answer. She frowned slightly. "You know," Marguerite snapped, rather loudly. "This doesn't happen too often - I've actually prepared an edible meal. I did a really nice job of warming it up, and I *wanted* to share it with you, but if you're going to ignore me than maybe I'll just go over there and dump this lovely pot of hot soup on your HEAD!"

Still no answer. With a sigh, Marguerite grabbed a dish towel and made her way to his room. Entering, she whacked him on the head with the damp material.

Roxton jumped. "Hmm? What?"

Marguerite shook her head ruefully. "Men!"

She bent and grabbed the oily rag away from him. "Unless you want to eat *this* for dinner, - and trust me, I will NOT make that a pleasant experience - I suggest you follow me to the kitchen and shower me with compliments over the fine meal I've prepared." Her voice was deadly; the threat was clear.

Roxton smiled broadly. Like a child who'd found his favorite toy, he loved this game! "Why Marguerite, I think you're jealous!"

She looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Jealous? Of WHO? There's no one HERE but you and me!"

"And my guns....whom I've been lavishing attention on while you slaved away over a hot fire," Roxton shot back with an impish grin.

She smacked him with the dish towel again, this time on his chest. "You're out of your mind."

In reality, he had hit rather close to home, and Marguerite steeled her expression so he wouldn't see it.

"No, actually, Marguerite, I know exactly how you feel....I've often felt neglected too while you scrutinize those glittery little rocks of yours....especially when I know we could be having so much more fun *together* if you'd only tear yourself away from that damn magnifying glass for one minute...." he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Only a minute?" she played along. "My my, you must be *very* talented to be such a quick worker."

Her boldness made his breath catch. Roxton slid closer to her, then tugged on her hand in one sudden movement, making her topple out of her kneeling position and onto her bottom.

"HEY!" she cried, but she didn't yank her hand away. In fact, her other hand moved to draw lazy patterns on his chest.

"We could always reheat the soup," he whispered in her ear.

"I might have a minute to spare...." she hinted back.

Roxton smiled broadly at her, and she returned the favor. Their heads moved closer, closer-

The elevator creaked.

"Not again," they both groaned simultaneously.

Marguerite rested her forehead against his, a gesture that had come to mean regret....but also a promise: later.

"Finish up with your guns," she sighed. "I'll go play welcoming committee for the rest of our darling family."

Roxton's thumb traced her jaw line. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. The look in his eyes was enough.



Only a moment, she told herself firmly. If you think about it too long....

It was a warning she repeated to herself endlessly. It was best not to dwell too long on what she had lost. One day he would return for her, she knew, but until that day....best not to lose herself in grief.

Well, on her better days, she actually listened to herself. But there was no need to think about those rainy nights when the world seemed to encourage her to cry, when she would allow herself to sink deeper and deeper into her grief, when she would be plagued by nightmares and her eyes would become gritty and itchy from constantly shedding tears....

No. It's too nice a day to ruin it with thoughts like that....maybe I'll go take a walk later; the sun hasn't been out like this for quite a few days already.

Marguerite picked up the rag that, only a moment ago, in her memory at least, had been in Roxton's large hand. She resumed cleaning the rifle, but a minute later, her head jerked up at the small thud she'd heard directly overhead.

Her brow wrinkled. "Footsteps?! On the ROOF?!" She stood up hastily, her eyes darting searchingly around the treehouse that had started to seem too large of late.

There was a whistling sound behind her, like the shrieking a whip makes when slicing the air. Sure enough, there was a thick brown rope hanging down over the balcony and into the treehouse. Stifling a gasp, Marguerite bent to snatch her rifle-

"Freeze!" a deep voice shouted.

Ignoring him, Marguerite made one last desperate grab for the weapon a few feet to her left.

"I mean it!" There was the click of a gun being readied. Something in the voice reminded Marguerite of a tone she had once employed often. A no-nonsense warning.

With a heavy sigh, she straightened, defenseless, to look the intruder in the eye.

"Cooperate," he said firmly, his clear blue eyes shining with exhilaration. Marguerite remembered that feeling too. "And I won't harm you."

"How very generous of you," she snapped dryly. "Now I have a proposal for YOU - leave, and I won't kill you."

The man tossed his long chestnut hair and tapped his gun pointedly. Marguerite noted with a slight hint of annoyance that he underestimated her because she was a woman - although she'd used this type of error to her advantage many times in the past, it still ticked her off.

She rolled her eyes. The skinny, twenty-something year old didn't exactly inspire fear to blossom in her heart. "What exactly do you want?"

"Well, actually, I want quite a lot of things - although it would be rather impossible for me to find them all here. Not a problem though, I'm still young, I've got plenty of time."

"My my, someone is certainly fond of their own voice...." Marguerite remarked. "Would you just get on with it already? Are you here to rob me, or what?"

The man's face split into a wide, boyish grin. "Now you *are* a brilliant one, aren't you?"

She snorted disgustedly. "Lemme give you a little tip, kid. I've got much more experience than you in this sort of thing, and you are doing it all wrong....you have to act larger than life, you have to tower over me and glare and frown....you have to frighten me! And you have to move quickly so that I don't have time to whack you over the head with a skillet or something - I had the dubious pleasure of having that done to me once, and trust me, you don't want to experience it."

The stranger narrowed his eyes are her. "You're a thief too?"

Marguerite snorted. "Now *that's* the understatement of the millennium. What I've been, little boy, is more than you could ever imagine. Now get out of here already, I'm starting to get bored."

He advanced, gun still cocked threateningly at her. "I fear we've both underestimated the other one. I *know* how to be intimidating, I just didn't want to lower myself to scaring innocent women. But now that you've proven yourself to be a whole lot more than a naïve little miss, my sweetness is apparently unnecessary." And true to his word, his face hardened into a purposeful expression.

Marguerite glared at him as he aimed the gun between her eyes. "Little overbearing bastard," she muttered. "I must be getting soft in my old age not to have predicted that."

"OLD? That's certainly not the word I'd choose....a little worse for wear, perhaps," he remarked, eyeing the scars on her temple and chest.

"HEY! Keep your eyes to yourself, kid!" Marguerite snarled, reaching for the nearest object and cracking him on the head with a plate, the element of surprise and unexpectedness on her side. The porcelain shattered, but he didn't black out.

"HEY!" he mimicked. "Don't try that again. I have an extremely hard head, but I won't be as forgiving next time." He grabbed her hair, pulling her toward him, and shoved the gun against her neck. "Enough games. Now let's go take a visit to your valuables, eh?"

"Go to hell," she choked out, struggling for breath, vainly clawing at his forearms. He immediately loosened his grasp.

"Oh....sorry," he said, his voice reverting to a gentler tone. "I'm used to dealing with beefy men....it didn't occur to me to take into consideration that your neck is going to be a lot more fragile...."

Once her powers of respiration returned, Marguerite opened her mouth to launch into a long tirade about the rudeness of him, but he insightfully cut her off before she could start. "I said no more games. Now take me to your bedroom."

Grumbling, she led him to Veronica's room. He took one look around and said, "One more trick and I really won't be so considerate anymore. If you were a man, you'd probably be dead already."

"You're a horrible liar," Marguerite informed him. She knew a bluffer when she saw one. He nudged her on with the gun, peering into the rest of the unlived rooms as they passed.

It wasn't that the rooms had been tidied up exceptionally or anything like that....it was just they had taken on a sort of static feel, as if they were frozen in time. He couldn't explain it, but it made him uncomfortable. "Your bedroom. Now."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah...." she mumbled. "Men. Always so impatient." She completely disregarded the fact that she herself had a reputation for impatience.

He ignored her.

When they approached her doorway, Marguerite whirled around suddenly and hurled herself at him, hoping to knock him to the ground and wrench the gun away. Cursing a blue streak in a quick succession of languages he'd never even heard of, she rained blows onto his lean body.

Grunting, he tensed his muscles to absorb the punches while trying to grab her wrists. She was growing frustrated by her lack of progress - he could tell by her expression.

"You're actually a lot stronger than you look," he grunted.

"So....are....you," she panted.

A moment later, he finally subdued her. Wild curly hair framed her flushed, wild-eyed face as she stared at him, backed up against a wall. Her face twisted.

"I've had enough of these games too," she gritted out.

And then she spat in his face.

He slapped her cheek, hard. Both their eyes widened in surprise and shock at his ungentlemanly actions.

But when he ripped his gaze away from the red, handprint-shaped bruise on her skin, his eyes were dark and angry. "No one spits at me," he said heatedly through clenched teeth. "That was the last straw. Now this *really* isn't a game anymore."

Marguerite sensed the new hostility directed at her and wisely kept her mouth shut. But no amount of self control was able to curb the loathing stare she fixed on him.

The intruder jerked Marguerite into the bedroom with him and warned her to keep her hands where he could see them. She complied wordlessly. Could this day get any better? Could my *life* get any better? First I lose what's most important to me in this entire world, and just when I'm finally getting a grip and learning to cope....now this stupid little wisp of a kid - with hidden muscles, no less, unfortunately for me - is going to take away my *second* most prized possessions. Well, isn't this just peachy....

The gun still pointed directly at her, he twisted his body to get a full view of the room. "Good lord ," he said. "What's a rich woman like you doing in the middle of a jungle?" He smirked at her. "Well, in just a few short minutes....that question will no longer be valid." He reached for a large ruby necklace.

"Hey!" she cried. "Leave that ALONE!" Once again employing the only tactic at her disposal, Marguerite grabbed a hairbrush and flung it at him, her pride stinging.

He laughed, able to see through her bravado as just a show - the real fight had gone out of her already. He waved the gun at her. Suddenly, his eye fell on her bed, on the small picture of Roxton that lay by her pillow. "My, my...." Suddenly serious again, he moved to pick it up. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Put it down," her tone was low and deadly. The man was stupid - or perhaps he'd just had no experience with women like her - not realize he had gone one step too far.

He grinned widely, still angry as hell at her nerve - she had spit in his face, a move which evoked memories he'd tried so hard to forget. "Let's see what this does to your fiery little spirit, eh?" His hand moved slowly, torturously, to the candle flame on her nightstand.

"NO!" Marguerite shrieked, hurling herself at him. They both flew backwards, landing rather heavily on the bed.

"Why, my dear," he said cavalierly, his good humor returning unexpectedly. "I never knew you felt that way." This was shaping up to be quite an interesting excursion - such a nice break from the routine robberies of his life that he could almost forgive her for a misstep that might have been tragic otherwise.

Her first urge was to rip the photograph out of his hand, but the possibility of it tearing was far too likely. She wrapped her hands tightly around his neck. "Give it to me," she said grimly. "Or I will kill you with my bare hands."

Silently, he handed it over, his eyes dancing. "Say, who is this fellow?"

Marguerite took the photo carefully, exhaling in relief, the tension in her body ebbing away.

"Did he used to live here? Was one of those unlived-in rooms his?"

Shoving off of the intruder, Marguerite pulled a drawer out violently and grabbed a handful of gleaming gems. "Take it and get out."

Realizing she wasn't going to talk about it, he changed his line of questioning. "Why so generous all of a sudden?"

"I don't need them anymore." She stuffed them into his hands. "Just don't come back."

"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" he badgered, genuinely curious, as she pushed him toward the elevator.

"A few years ago I would have without a thought," Marguerite replied dangerously. "Be thankful I didn't choose to today."

"You know, I don't believe you would have. It's that man, isn't it? He's taught you....the finer points of life, am I right?" His lips curled upward. "This has been quite an amusing afternoon, dear Lady, and for that I thank you." He tipped his hat to her. "Cheerio."

A few minutes later he was gone, and the strength left her quicker than a female raptor runs to save her eggs. "Oh god," she moaned, retrieving Roxton's picture from her shirt, where she'd deposited it before. Right next to her heart. She clutched it tightly, staring forlornly at his face. "Oh John...."


* * *

TO BE CONTINUED....

Feedback is craved and appreciated! Hope you enjoyed....and stay tuned for the next part, which will actually feature Roxton....unlike this one....whoops....

~ Jaclyn