Disclaimer: Not mine.

Helpless 21

Drowned

The thundering in Marron's ears deafened her as she went down, arms flailing and feet furiously kicking. Her chest hurt with the cold, and her clothes felt as if they were trying to drag her down to the bottom of the river.

She fought the panic that threatened to overwhelm her and tilted her face toward the light above her. Dark shapes swam by, and she tried not to think about what might be in the river with her. Jerking her knees hard, she fought her way back up to the surface.

The first thing she saw when she could finally breathe again was Trunks, his face white and drawn with shock, poised as if prepared to jump into the water.

"No!" She screamed, terrified she'd lose him in that dreadful cold darkness of the river. "Don't jump! I'm here. Help me in."

His arms closed around her, and they felt as comforting and reassuring as the arms of an angel. He dragged her slowly into the wildly rocking dinghy and she clung to him, sobs of relief already shaking her body.

Dimly she heard as siren in the distance, and Trunks muttered, "Thank God." Then she forgot everything except the fact that he was kissing her, with a passion born of fear and relief, and it felt wonderful.

She could have gone on kissing him forever, except the voices yelled to them from the patrol boat that had pulled alongside.

Letting her go, Trunks waved to the uniformed men aboard the boat. "I'm sure glad to see you guys," he called.

"We'll throw you a rope," one of them shouted. "Tie her up, then we'll bring you aboard."

Trunks grabbed the end of the rope as it snaked over to him and quickly tied it to the dinghy. Marron shivered uncontrollably, and Trunks took off his jacket and wrapped it around her.

"All set," he called, and the men pulled the little craft closer to their boat.

"I'll take the computer," Marron said, reaching for it.

"Leave it," Trunks told her, but she ignored him and picked it up anyway. With the heavy machine tucked under her arm she climbed over the edge of the dinghy and into the waiting arms of the patrolmen.

"Be careful," she told them as they prepared to help Trunks into the boat. "He's got a broken ankle."

The burly man closest to her nodded, and grabbed hold of Trunks' arm in his thick fist. "Looks like you two had quite a trip," he said cheerfully.

Trunks nodded. "I've had better," he said feelingly.

"What were you doing on that thing?" The man asked, as the boat took off, towing the dinghy behind.

"My houseboat broke free from its moorings," trunks explained. "We had to abandon it when it started taking on water."

"Well it looks as if you made it just in time," the patrolman said, looking upriver.

Marron turned her head and let out a cry of dismay. The houseboat was half submerged, and sinking lower as she watched. Tears ran down her face, though she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was because her short-lived dreams were going down with the River Rat.

All she had left now to look forward to were the memories of Trunks, and those short, final moments in his arms. She wasn't going to delude herself into thinking he meant anything by that moment of passion. He'd been scared for her, and relieved when he'd dragged her back into the boat.

Emotions ran high at times like that, she knew that only too well. Nothing had changed. Trunks would always be perpetually swinging single, always looking for the next dangerous adventure; the next thrill to compensate for the lack of stability a family would have brought to his life.

She couldn't change that. She wasn't even going to try. Better women than she had tried and failed. She would just let him go, and get on with her life. She'd try to forget she was ever in love with a reckless heartbreaker who didn't even know how much she cared for him.

Trunks didn't seem to notice the final death throes of the River Rat. He stood talking to the patrolman, who was taking own notes for his report.

An elderly man with kind blue eyes poured Marron a cup of hot chocolate from a thermos, which she accepted gratefully. "Do you have somewhere to go?" The man asked her as she sipped her chocolate.

She nodded. "That wasn't my houseboat. I live in an apartment in East Hills."

"Well, we'll get you back there as soon as possible. I suggest a hot bath and some dry clothes just as soon as you get there."

Still shaking with cold, Marron agreed.

"What's that you've got there?" The man picked up the bundle of blankets containing the computer.

"It's a laptop," she explained. "I didn't want to leave it behind. It's a very expensive machine."

The man smiled. "Well, right now you need the blankets more than the computer does." He unwrapped the blankets and folded them around her. "There, that should hold you till you get home."

Marron thanked him, then smiled at Trunks, who came over to sit down next to her.

"Well," he said," I guess you knew what you were doing after all."

He plucked at the blanket with his fingers, and she managed a watery smile. "I wasn't planning on wearing them myself. But I did manage to save the laptop for you."

He looked at her, his face looking drawn and serious. "I'm just glad that you are safe. Computers can be replaced. No one could ever replace you, my sweet, practical Marron."

She wished, with all her heart, that he could mean that personally. Determined not to let him see how much she was hurting, Marron said brightly, "Well, we survived, and that's all that matters. I'm sorry about the River Rat."

He shrugged. "Don't be. I'll take the loss off my taxes."

That's all it was to him, Marron thought sadly. Just another tax break. While to her the River Rat would always be the magic place where she learned to love the way a woman loves the only man in the world for her.

Trunks seemed subdued and barely looked at her when they reached the houseboat ramp and were helped ashore. "You'll be all right?" He asked as she stood shivering by the patrolman's car.

"I'll be fine. What about you? You left your crutches on the houseboat."

"I don't think I'm going to need them anymore." He cleared his throat and looked past her shoulder at the little crowd that had gathered to watch the rescue. "I'm on my way to the hospital now so they can take a look at my ankle."

"I guess you'll be going back to the beach then," Marron said, trying to control her voice, which seemed in imminent danger of breaking.

"For the time being. At least until I find another River Rat."

"I guess it's just as well." She gave him a bright smile. "I'd pretty much decided to quit anyway. You didn't really need me anymore."

He nodded, his glance flicking away again.

"Are you ready, miss?" The young man who had been assigned to drive her home looked at her anxiously. "You should get out of those wet clothes as soon as possible."

"You're right." Marron glanced back at Trunks.

He touched his forehead with his fingers and gave her a mock salute. "See you around."

She nodded. "See you." She ducked her head and climbed into the car. She might be going home safe and sound, she thought wearily, but she'd left her heart behind, drowned. Right there at the bottom of the river. And nothing would ever be the same again.

Her misery deepened that night when she saw Trunks being interviewed on the local TV news. He had just emerged from the hospital, without his crutches, and hovering on his arm was Hikaru, or Hikari, whatever her name was.

The reporter asked Trunks about his recent "brush with death," and Trunks made light of it, as usual.

"It was a little tense," he said, his strong profile turned to the camera. "But we were fine once we were clear of the houseboat."

"Is this the young lady who fell into the river?" The reporter asked, gazing in admiration at the smiling woman.

"No," Trunks said shortly. "Excuse me, bit I'm rather tired."

He walked away, leaving the reporter to fill in the details, most of which were exaggerated.

Obviously, Trunks hadn't wanted to talk about her in front of Hikaru. Marron switched off the television, and tried not to think of her former employer being comforted by his circle of admiring women. If that was the way he wanted to live, there wasn't much she could do about it, she told herself. But it would hurt, and she knew it would go on hurting for a very long time.

The end

.

.

.

.

.

. Do you really want it to end here? I'm fine with this. (But then, images of rusty sporks and all sorts of improvised weapons enter the picture.) Ehehehe. *gulps*