Rarity: Part 6

At the police station, it's waiting, waiting, and more waiting again, punctuated by repeated questionings. I forgot that the Hellsing guy (I still haven't gotten his name, though everyone seems to know who I mean) was covering for me, and described being followed from Fioli-Sternson's house, and that just led to even more questioning. At least now they aren't treating me like a suspect.

I'm guessing that the Hellsing people are leaving me here because they've already talked to me about the most recent events, and because I'm reasonably safe in the police station in the daytime. Seras did say that vampires were uncomfortable being out in daylight (and would suffer a compulsion to sleep, rather than spontaneously combusting or anything), so I should be fine locked up in this little interrogation room for the day. Still, I think I'd feel a little better if one of them was here, since they're the specialists in this case.

Eventually, Jacob brings me a slightly large cotton sweater, which he apparently spent his lunch break getting. He also brought me a cup of split pea soup for lunch. I'm starting to really, really like this guy.

The soup helps warm me up inside, as does the tea that I've been guzzling for most of the day. Still, I feel cold. I guess it's that whole marked-for-death thing.

Finally, four o'clock rolls around, and I'm told to go home. Suits me fine; I'd really like to go and tend to my cats and get some sleep in an actual bed, instead of slouched over a table. I'm too tired now to even be overly worried. I just tell them to make sure that the Hellsing people know where I am.

It takes another half hour to get all checked out - at least they can just hand my revolver and holster back to me this time. I spend several uncomfortable minutes trying to get the holster on before giving up and asking for a bag.

Jacob, just coming off shift, gives me a ride down to the ferry. I consider asking him to stop at one of the jewelry shops downtown - even one of those teenybopper boutiques - so that I can get a cross to wear, but then I remember that Fioli-Sternson had a cross above his bed. He probably wouldn't be deterred by one around my neck... especially since biting didn't seem to be in his repertoire anyway.

Since I don't have a car today, I ask Jacob to drop me off at the Aquabus end of the ferry lot. An Aquabus is one of a touristy little fleet of leftover WWII amphibious vehicles that putter people back and forth across the Loch. Most of the locals seem to think that they're a little silly, but... oh well. At least they're functional and, excepting one disaster a couple of years ago, reliable.

I bid farewell to Jacob, who lives on the City side of the Loch, and go wait in line with the rest of the carless people. As I stand there with a harried mother and her boys in front of me and some lip locked couple behind me, I long for the privacy of my car. At least I won't be taking the Aquabus for long. I'd been allowed to call my insurance company and get that glacier moving, so eventually, they'll be paying for a replacement car. It's not that my insurance is particularly good - it's that my car wasn't, and I don't expect to get one any better.

The line starts moving. We funnel through the ticket booth and onto the waiting Aquabus, rather like a herd of cattle through a slaughterhouse.

I fear that I'm doomed to a certain amount of morbidity in my mind for the rest of my life.

Being the first ferry run of the evening, and since it's the off-season for tourists, the Aquabus isn't full. I get a window seat to myself in the middle. I settle in - being careful not to lean back, as the anesthetic has long-since worn off - and stare at the concrete dock outside the window. My pistol and holster, hidden in a paper bag, I keep in my lap.

I glance at the passengers in front of me as the Aquabus starts up. The guy and his girlfriend that were in line behind me are a few seats up, giggling to each other. Across from them and behind the pilot is a guy in an Aquabus Maintenance jumpsuit, apparently napping under his hat. Behind him are a couple of smartly dressed young men - entry level businessmen, I'd guess. There's a girl in a long coat with headphones and pink streaks in her hair next to a guy with multiple piercings who appears to be reading, and a guy behind them who would appear to be a businessman were it not for his slightly disheveled appearance and the laptop he's huddled over. I'd guess that he's a programmer. Behind me, I can hear a man on a cellphone saying he'd soon be home, and the two boys that were in line in front of me; there's probably some other people back there as well, besides the boys' mother.

I return to staring out the window as the Aquabus drives into the Loch, its rough movements suddenly smoothing out as buoyancy takes over. The movement of the water I'm staring at is almost hypnotic to me, particularly given how tired I am. I watch as the dark water begins to take on a slightly yellow-grey hue as the sun sets. Mesmerized by the rhythm of the water, I begin to drift off to sleep.

A loud slapping sound jolts me awake. I open my eyes, still staring at the water. It seems closer than it should, and I blink rapidly, attempting to re-focus.

It's not me. The water is closer than it was when we left the dock. A small wave strikes my window, causing again the slapping sound that woke me.

I realize that the other people on the Aquabus have noticed, too - the ambient noise has changed. The boys are speaking in low, nervous tones, and the guy with the laptop begins to put it away with slow, uneasy movements, his head frequently turning to his window.

Two years ago, an Aquabus sank. The drive shaft housing hadn't been bolted back on properly during maintenance, enabling water to flood into the housing and from there into the engine and body of the boat. The bilge pumps had failed to function, much less raise an alarm. It had simply ridden lower and lower in the water, until, ten minutes out from the dock, the nose had dipped down and the thing had swamped entirely. Nine of the twelve people aboard had drowned, unable to find their way out in time.

I watch as most of the other passengers also review that tragedy in their minds. Like me, they obviously know that the whole fleet had been overhauled in the wake of the disaster, and should all be as safe as can be at this point. Like me, nobody wants to appear foolish by approaching the pilot and ask why we're riding so low in the water.

I glance back at the window, and see that it's not just waves lapping at the glass now - the water level is an inch above the bottom of the window. The Aquabus' engine sounds as though it's having difficulty with something...

BEEP

Everyone jumps. A red light has appeared on the dash.

BEEP

Several people rise, but I'm the first to reach the pilot. I notice, as I step forward, that there seems to be about a half inch of water on the floor. "Excuse me, sir? Is there a problem?"

BEEP

"We seem to be riding awfully low in the water."

The pilot doesn't look at me. "No need fer worry, lass. Jus' some choppy wo'er."

BEEP

"Are you sure? Because there seems to be an alarm of some sort here..." I point to the red light.

"Eh?"

"This light, here. The one that says 'bilge'."

BEEP

"Wot're yeh talkin' 'bout, lass? Ah don' see anythin'."

I'm a little irritated. "This light right here. It wasn't on when we started."

"Please take yer seat, lass. Yer alarmin' t'other pass'ngers." A wave sloshes over the front of the Aquabus, and the pilot runs the windshield wipers a bit.

BEEP

"Look, could you please tell me why the bilge light is on?" I can see the water out the windows, and it's now a good inch higher than it was when I came up here. I warily eye the water on the floor; I think it's getting deeper, too.

The pilot turns and gives me a withering look. "Yer a Yank, aren't yeh?"

I take a deep breath, about to demand that he not change the subject, when I see the Aquabus mechanic, who's still lounging in his seat behind the pilot.

He's smiling, but that's not what catches my attention.

BEEP

I put my deep breath to better use. "LIFEJACKETS! EVERYBODY OFF!"

Most of the people are all too quick to comply. I suspect that some of them had been getting the lifejackets from beneath their seats before I said anything.

"'Ere, wot're you doin'!" the pilot demands.

BEEP

I ignore him. There isn't a lot of time - the water level is already another inch higher on the windows, and nearly an inch deep on the floor now. The engine sounds horrible - it's going to die at any moment.

The girlfriend sitting close by starts to panic. While her boyfriend pulls out their lifejackets, she waves her hands and jabbers about not wanting to die. The programmer is already wrapping his laptop case in the plastic bag that his lifejacket was stored in; one of the businessmen offers the plastic bag from his lifejacket to help. The girl with the pink streaks in her hair is stuffing her trench coat into her backpack, along with the shoes of the pierced guy next to her. The boys in the back are being regular boy scouts, helping an older woman that I hadn't noticed before with her lifejacket.

I stay where I am, ignoring the increasingly angry protests of the pilot. The man dressed as a mechanic has yet to move, but it doesn't matter - I've recognized him.

BEEP

The laboring engine finally cuts out. The old woman in the back moans as the Aquabus pitches forward, and the girlfriend wails. I realize that if I want to put on a lifejacket, I have to get back to my seat to get one, and that means getting past Fioli-Sternson.

I'm glad that I can't see his eyes, hidden beneath his hat. I don't want to know what he could do to me if I could see his eyes. I don't know what he's done to the pilot, but the poor guy clearly isn't in his right mind...

The water inside the Aquabus is rising. The other passengers are scrambling toward the back; the two businessmen throw open the emergency exit.

BEEP

Oh, crap. My revolver is still sitting in my seat.

The other passengers are piling out, and the water inside the bus - which has momentarily leveled again - is now knee-deep.

A hand lands on my shoulder. "Ah don' know who yeh think yeh are, lass, but ah'm puttin' a stop teh this -"

I slip to my knees as the Aquabus tilts forward again, and the pilot slips with me. The water is shockingly cold, but that's to be expected of the Loch in October. I can hear the girlfriend shrieking hysterically from the other end of the sinking vessel.

Water splashes the pilot's face as we thrash to get up, and he suddenly appears to be very, very confused. "Wot..."

BEEP

"OUT!" I shout at him, and to his credit, he makes his way toward the back of the Aquabus on his own. That other guy must've finally gotten his girlfriend out - she's shrieking outside now.

I crawl toward the exit, hanging on to the seats to make headway against the strong flow of water now coming through the emergency exit. My fingers are numb from the cold. The bus tilts forward so far that it's vertical, the front half of the bus now filled with water. For a moment the flow of water stops. I see the pilot leaping out, and realize that I'm the last person left on the Aquabus.

Well, the last human, anyway.

Water begins to pour in on all sides of the emergency exit. I manage to gasp before the freezing weight of the water comes down on me as the Aquabus submerges.

I lose my grip on the seat on one side, but manage to hang on to the other, so I'm not pushed to the nose of the Aquabus. The force pushing me suddenly stops - there is now no more space for water to fill, and the pressure is equalized.

The bright square of the exit seems to be getting dimmer, and I realize with horror that the Aquabus is plunging straight down to the bottom of the Loch. Lochs are deep. My ears hurt already.

I let go and kick, aiming for the exit. I get my torso through when I jerk to a halt - my shoelace seems to have caught on something.

I look down, and in the fading light, I see a pale hand with one finger looped in my shoelace. Fioli-Sternson.

I can't kick him off. My pulse pounds in my ears - I can't hold my breath much longer.

I can see him raising his head. I glimpse his wide, teeth-baring smile, brilliant and sharp in the gathering shadow... In a moment I'll see his eyes, and I suspect that if I do, it'll be too late...

With my other foot, I kick off the trapped shoe, and am released. I struggle upward for all I'm worth.

My blood is pounding like a steam engine; it's painful. I desperately need to breathe. At the risk of losing buoyancy I let slip a little air, but that just makes it worse. Everything hurts. It feels like my rib cage is going to break, like someone's stabbing my shoulder, like my ears are punctured. I can see the light on the surface of the water, but it's dim - I'm too far down. I squeeze my eyes shut.

I'm not going to make it.

I'm wrong. My head breaks through the water; the moment I feel the air on my face, I gasp.

It seems to take forever for me to make sense of what's going on. The air feels colder than the water, but I know that it's just an illusion due to hypothermia. I try to calm my breathing, but every time I take a deep breath, I cough from the water in my lungs. I try to wipe my eyes, but given that I'm completely soaked, that's a pointless exercise.

Eventually I manage to orient myself. Now and then, as I bob in the water, I glimpse a patch of orange or yellow - the other passengers in their life jackets. Only the pilot and I don't have, and I briefly hope that he's all right.

We sank not too far off from the Village side of the Loch; in fact, I seem to be closest to the dock itself. I think I can swim that far. Maybe.

I proceed to head for the shore using my strongest, most reliable swimming stroke: the dog paddle. It's also the stroke that causes the least pain in my shoulder.

I seriously hope that someone from the Village docks can get a boat out to me before I run out of energy. One cup of split pea soup for lunch doesn't leave me with much by this time of day.

The sun has dipped below the clouds just before setting, and it illuminates the water of the Loch. I have seen innumerable writers and poets say that the setting sun turns the waters blood red, but it does not. The sun turns the waters purple in the shadows and a horrid salmon pink elsewhere. It's nauseating.

Or maybe I'm just nauseous from swallowing the Loch water. It's none too clean.

I get closer to the dock, and I see that they've finally managed to put out a couple of emergency boats. In a few minutes I see one heading back with a few passengers, then another with more passengers and, it seems, the pilot. I realize, as another boat heads back toward where the Aquabus sank, that they haven't seen me, and I haven't the strength to call out to them and swim at the same time.

The sun sets, mercifully erasing the lurid colors. In the dim afterglow, spotlights come on. Finally, someone catches sight of me. Two emergency crewmen come swimming out to me; I'm quite close to the dock now. One directs me to turn over as the other loops his arm around my neck, and they drag me in to shore.

I get my feet beneath me when we reach the dock and try to stand, but I feel too heavy. My legs are trembling. I fall back to my knees.

"You can stand, Ms. Crouse." Hands take my arm, pulling.

At first I think it's one of the emergency personnel, and I give a weak wave of my free arm. "Just gimme a minute," I pant, planting one foot again. My second try at standing is much more successful, if aided.

A blanket lands about my shoulders as I'm led up the concrete ramp. Reaching to pull it close around me, I realize that the hands holding my arm are gloved, and that the backs of the incongruously white gloves are marked with bizarre sigils.

I look up - and up - at the Hellsing agent. I still don't know his name, but I greet him anyway. "Oh. Hi." I take a breath to continue, but it's too deep, and I begin to cough.

He leads me to the open back of an ambulance, and I sit on the bumper. There appears to be no one else here at the moment, though there are people rushing every which way all over the dock.

"Nearly everyone is accounted for," a new voice chirps, approaching. I raise my head again to see Seras approaching. "All but the mechanic who was doing maintenance on the Aquabus earlier in the day."

"They don't have to worry about him," I tell her. "It was Fioli-Sternson. He went down with the ship."

"It would be nice if that took care of him, but it doesn't," she sighs, sitting on the bumper next to me. "He was probably trying to fake his death again, and you coming on board was just lucky coincidence. For him, I mean." She hands me a Styrofoam cup of something steaming, which I'm all too happy to accept.

It could be hot water for all I care, but as it turns out, it's hot chocolate. I mumble my thanks and drink deeply, burning my tongue a bit. I don't care. "Not really," I say after a moment. "He'd know from my information that his wife had that I lived in the Village, so he knew that I'd have to commute. After he took out my car, he knew I'd probably have to take the Aquabus. So it wasn't really a coincidence."

I try not to think about the fact that this guy just tried to kill an entire boatload of people just to get rid of me. "Could you hold this?" I ask, handing the hot chocolate back to her. "I want to get my jacket off..." I let the blanket fall back and begin to work myself out of my jacket. My shoulder hurts horribly, so it's slow going.

"Oh!" Seras exclaims, getting up again. "You'll need to have your dressing changed. I'll go get someone to help." She walks quickly away, thankfully remembering to leave the hot chocolate behind.

I manage to remove my jacket and wrap the blanket around myself again, leaving my jacket in a heap on the bumper. I realize, as I take up the hot chocolate again, that my feet are freezing, but I'm a bit too tired to do much about it.

I glance to my left; the other Hellsing agent is still standing there, unnaturally still. "Well?" I ask.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to chastise me for almost getting myself killed, or something?"

"No," he says, tilting his head. "Why?"

I blink. "Um. Well, it would've made Fioli-Sternson harder to catch, if he'd succeeded, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. But you're already aware of that."

"Oh." I stare down into my hot chocolate, wondering why I'd expected him to chastise me in the first place. Possibly it was because I knew that he was old enough to be my father, if not older. No one had told me anything of the sort, but somehow... I was just certain of it. "Okay..."

Up until now, he had still been wearing his ridiculous hat, just as when I'd first seen him. Now, he removes the hat, leans it against the inside wall of the ambulance, and picks me up, hot chocolate and all. I'm so startled that I don't protest, and once I'm up, I just focus on not spilling my drink.

"If it is more in keeping with your expectations," he says, "I am assigned to ensure your survival. I would therefore appreciate it if you would cooperate." He lets me down onto the gurney, then pulls another blanket from a storage compartment and throws it over my legs. I note that his dark hair seems to be awfully messy, but I suspect that it would be so whether he constantly wore that hat or not.

He looks up suddenly, then hops down from the ambulance, picking up his hat on the way. "I will return to escort you home," he informs me, moving away.

"Wait a minute, where are you going?"

"Away."

"But -"

And then I see what's scared him off: there are people coming this way, and it's not Seras. I can see that one of them is carrying a television camera.

"Oh." I settle into my blankets a bit, glad that I hadn't removed my soaked sweater as well; it wouldn't be proper to flash the local TV viewers.

"...Jerk."

Disclaimer:

Hellsing, the series, concepts and characters, are the property, copyright and trademark of Pioneer Animation/Geneon (see http/hellsing. No ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by the use in this work. This work constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This work is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.