It was running out, thought Walter. The air was running out. And so were his options. The cold knot returned to his stomach.
He had realized, just in time, that there was yet one place of temporary safety; and he had ducked under the boat, and come up with his head inside the open, inverted cockpit, just forward of the wide front seat. As he had hoped, there was a large bubble of air several inches high trapped within the cockpit; and he could hold easily onto the steering wheel while keeping his head up within the bubble, which encompassed the area from the wide rear seat to the ample stowage area under the dashboard. He had felt his strength returning and, even though he was getting colder, his exhausted panting had lessened, and he was able to relax somewhat and prevent his muscles from cramping with fatigue.
But, after eight or ten minutes within the bubble, the air was becoming stale, and he felt the exhaustion returning; and he knew that he could not stay under here.
Grabbing onto the horn ring, so he could hold the wheel one-handed without it turning, he slid sideways, and reached his other arm out along the gunwale, bent his elbow, and stretched his forearm up the side of the hull until it broke water. If he could just... No. He felt the hull, and it was as slippery as ever.
It came over him then, that he had reached the end of his rope; there were no more options.
He took a deep breath of the now-foul air, and let his head sag into the water. All those things he had wanted to do, all of the bright, shiny future he had mapped out for himself and Karen; and he had thrown it all away, for this vain, stupid fling! His eyes were smarting as his tears mingled with the salt water against his face; and he knew that these were the last tears he would ever shed; the last breaths he would ever take.
Walter became aware of something nibbling at his fingers. No! he thought savagely. He wasn't about to let some fish have him, not while he could still kick, or punch, or whatever it took. He swung his body out from under the boat -- and looked up through the water to see something hovering in the air beside the overturned hull. It was reaching out as though to grasp his hand.
His head broke the surface, and he gasped as blessed fresh air flowed once more into his lungs. Then he almost choked in surprise as he looked up to see a child poised in the air in front of him. It was a little girl. She was dressed all in white; and she was trying to take hold of his hand. She's come to take me, he thought; she was sent to bring me home.
Walter gulped in another lungful of the fresh, brisk air; and felt the sea breeze blow against the side of his face. He looked at the little apparition, and thought, No, please! I want to live; there has to be more for me than this. He jerked his hand away, even as she took a firm grip on his wrist. As the hand pulled free, he stared at it.
There was blood smearing down the back of his hand, where her small fingernails had scratched him.
Wha ... What was going on?! She wasn't an insubstantial being reaching for his insubstantial soul; she wanted him. *Himself*. SHE WAS TRYING TO SAVE HIM! As the adrenalin surged through him, he thrust out his hand; and the solemn, even worried expression on her little face changed to a wavery smile -- a smile that now matched his own. He thought, as she again took his hand in both of hers, I'm safe! I will live! His Guardian Angel had arrived.
* * *
Emma thought, why wouldn't he let her save him? He would drown if she couldn't get hold of his hand. But then, the man smiled, and freely held the hand out to her. She grasped it with both of her small hands, and thought, *up*. She began to rise, pulling him out of the water -- at least, until the water level dropped to just above his waist -- and stuck there. It's not supposed to *be* like this, she thought. I'm supposed to save him! As she willed herself to pull harder, she felt something sliding over her legs; and she glanced back, scandalized to find that she was almost vertical in the air, feet straight up -- and the hem of her new dress was starting to slide northward. She gave an involuntary gasp, promptly let go of the man's hand, and rotated herself to a nearly horizontal position. As the man's head resurfaced, he looked at her oddly as she again lowered herself toward the water and reached for his upraised hand.
She then tried pulling him up onto the slightly rounded hull ... but not enough of his body would come out of the water; and as soon as she would let go of his hand, he would immediately slide off the boat back into the ocean. After the third try, she gave a frustrated huff of breath, and screwed up her face into an exasperated frown. She glanced down, to find the man grinning delightedly at her. As his eyes met hers, though, the grin immediately vanished, and an appropriately solemn expression replaced it. Then she heard his voice for the first time: "Maybe we'd better try something else."
They finally ended up with her sitting on the hull, with her feet dangling in the water, and holding his wrist to keep him from sliding off as his forearms draped across the hull to her left. This almost hadn't worked, as each time she tried it, she would start to slide off herself -- until she had caught on to the trick of thinking, *back*, and letting her body push horizontally toward the center of the boat to balance the slipping. They stayed this way for a few moments, each silently regarding the other. She wanted to tell him that he would be okay, that she would find a way to save him. But her parents had made it clear that she should *not* talk to strangers, under any circumstances! So she just solemnly met his equally solemn gaze, and maintained her silence.
* * *
As Walter again relaxed and let his strength return with each breath, he found himself staring at his would-be rescuer. She appeared to be about the equivalent of a five- or six-year-old human child; and she was beautiful -- when she wasn't frowning, or scowling, as though disappointed in her performance. She wore a single piece of outer clothing; a knee-length dress of some iridescent material like shiny satin, which seemed to snatch the sunlight and throw it back at you. She appeared to be taking great pains to avoid letting it get wet; she obviously didn't want to contaminate it with earthly elements. Her hair was dark, almost black; and she had eyes of a deep, emerald-green. He had never seen eyes like those.
It was obvious that she had no means of speech; she had been completely silent since her arrival. That was sad; he had so many questions he would have liked to ask her. "You know," he said quietly to her, "I really am sorry I refused to let you hold my hand when you first arrived. I didn't want to go with you, because I thought you were here to take me away -- to heaven, or" he bowed his head in self-recrimination, "maybe someplace else..."
He jerked his head back up as his ears were treated to a totally unexpected sound: a *giggle*!! Her eyes were wide, and dancing with barely controlled merriment. He grinned back at her. Well, that answers that, he thought. She definitely had a voice; and a nice one, at that. Maybe she simply wasn't *allowed* to speak to mortals.
He rambled on. "I'm awfully sorry that I was too heavy for you to lift. It's too bad you can't simply push the back of the boat down, so I could climb on myself..." He gulped as her hand suddenly released his wrist, and he slid back into the water. He looked back up at her, to find her mouth forming an amazed "Oh".
* * *
Could it work? Could she actually do that? She'd never tried such a thing before; the whole idea of flying was to go *up*; when she wanted to land, or descend, she would just let gravity take over. But what if she could fly *down*? As she thought about it, she couldn't see any reason why it wouldn't... She quickly levitated back to a standing position, and moved so as to be over the center of the boat, about three feet forward of the stern. Then she lowered herself until her feet touched the hull, steadied herself, and thought *down*!
The stern dropped about two inches further into the water. "Yes!" said the man. Encouraged by this, she exerted more downward pressure -- and gave a startled cry as her feet slid neatly out from under her, and she landed on her bottom. Hard. The man gave a gasp of his own, and then was laughing, and then coughing as he tried to avoid inhaling more saltwater. She glared at him, and then stood, and floated into the air. He looked alarmed. "No -- wait! I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend you. Please don't leave!" She stood ramrod straight in the air, put her hands on her hips, and glared at him again for good measure. He looked suitably contrite -- but his lips were twitching. Then she was laughing, and he was laughing, and the tension was over.
She again landed on her previous spot, facing aft; but this time she knelt down, careful of the dress, and leaned forward with her arms straight down in front of her, hands on the hull, and fingers splayed apart for good measure. *Down*. The stern sank lower in the water. *Down*! her mind demanded; and the pressure on her knees and rigid arms increased to almost more than she could bear.
Water lapped over the stern.
Quickly, the man was at the stern of the boat, grabbing the thingy that stuck up in the back, and sliding himself onto the hull. "Excuse me," he said as he grasped her rigid wrist, and -- most carefully -- slid forward, one knee bent to the side, until he could place a foot against the upthrust piece; then he moved a hand to each side until his fingers curled over the edges of the hull. Emma released her will, and the hull again rose up nearly to its former height above the waves. She quickly scooted back to give the man more room, and rubbed her achy forearms. He looked at her. "You did good," he said. And she smiled.
* * *
Dimples, thought Walter. Mustn't forget those enchanting dimples. He began to gently ease himself forward -- and gasped as one hand nearly lost its tenuous grip on the side of the hull. So far so good, he thought, as he steadied himself, but what now?
She rose off the hull, and drifted around to where they could see each other without his needing to turn his head. "Well," he said with a wry expression, "you did your job well. And I'll never forget you. Thank you for giving my life back to me." Then, to his embarrassment, he felt a tear begin to run down his cheek. Then she rose another ten feet and began to drift away -- and he nearly fainted in sudden panic. "Wait -- wait! I just remembered! Could you please bring me my life vest before you go?"
She just stared at him with a puzzled expression. What...is...this? Walter thought disjointedly. Surely an angel would know what a life jacket was...
"It's over there," he nodded out towards the entrance to the bay. "It's orange," he added. She turned to stare in the indicated direction, and then was moving swiftly over the water to a spot about a football field's length away. She reached down to the water and hoisted the vest up to where he could see it. He nodded, and she was soon back at his side. She handed him the dripping vest.
* * *
Emma watched while he put on the life vest. Then she sighed, a deep mournful sigh of finality. The man was saved, and now she *had* to go. Otherwise, her mama would come up the hill looking for her, and she would find out that Emma could fly, and she would have to be Superman right away, and...
Emma's thoughts whirled to a halt. Wait. Hadn't she just saved someone? Maybe she could do this after all. Although best to not give away her secret until she was sure. The sigh turned into a radiant smile, as she rose higher into the air.
"Wait, please!" the man said. "Just one more thing." He looked at her with a wistful smile. "I'm sure you know my name; but before you go -- please tell me yours."
Whoa! This was getting into serious territory again. Her parents had made it very clear that, not only did children never talk to strangers, but *under no circumstances* did they *ever* tell a stranger their name! She slowly shook her head from side to side, her eyes wide and solemn.
"I just want some way to remember you!" the man said, his voice sad and almost plaintive. He was such a nice man. Then she had an idea. Maybe she could bend the rule just a *little* bit...
* * * * * *
Today:
Lois laid down the first page of the letter, and picked up the second. Just then, there was a *whoosh* from the direction of the kitchen, and Clark came striding in, adjusting his tie; and clearing a space beside her on the sofa, he sat down and placed an arm around her shoulders. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at her. She responded by leaning up to his downturned face and giving his lips a quick peck.
"Oh. Work, huh?" He flashed her a faux-disappointed expression.
"Clark, take a look at this." She passed him the envelope, sans return address, and the first page of the letter, while she proceeded to finish the second page.
".... When I asked her what her name was," the writer continued, "she looked really wary, as if I were somehow asking something forbidden. But I took a chance and asked again. As she rose into the air and departed, she turned and spoke a single word -- the only word she uttered during her entire 'visit'.
"It was a name -- a simple name, yet hauntingly beautiful -- a name which I had never heard before. And when I say 'haunting' I mean more than just in the aesthetic sense. The name stayed in my thoughts, and I had to find out more about it. I checked around, but after several weeks of searching, I found only a single reference to such a name -- interestingly enough, in the on-line archives of your own newspaper, The Daily Planet.
"No, Ms. Lane; I'm not including the name in this letter. But know this: As I said at the beginning, angels exist. They really do. And sometimes, they are even closer than we think."
Lois handed the second sheet to Clark, who skimmed it at super-speed. She heaved out a quick breath. "Well! What do you make of that?"
Clark picked up the accompanying photo and studied it. "This come with it?"
"Yeah, and it's just as goofy as the letter."
"Wait a minute. I remember this guy. Remember the day of our picnic with Emma last month? I was coming back from the LexOil fire when I saw this same guy down in the water, sitting on his capsized boat. I went down and righted the boat for him, and warmed him up with a little heat vision; then I asked if I could give him a tow somewhere. He just looked funny, and said, 'No, Superman, my guardian angel has already done more for me today than I deserve.' When I left him, he was determinedly trying to get his engine started. Hmm," he added, "It looks like he's re-painted the boat. I don't blame him; the hull was so slick he was nearly sliding off it when I first saw him." Clark continued to stare absently at the picture.
This gave Lois a clear view of the rear of the photo; and she suddenly snatched it out of Clark's hand. He raised an eyebrow at her; but she was intently studying three small characters typed on the back of the print. She remembered having noticed them when she had first opened the envelope. They were typed in a group, but not at the center of the print, nor particularly near any one side of it.
She studied them more closely. At first she thought she was looking at a Smiley from an e-mail. But this one was slightly different; it had a semicolon instead of the usual colon for the eyes.
A semi-colon, a hyphen, and a close-parenthesis. A wink and a grin.
A thoughtful expression on her face, she placed her thumb over the little triplet of letters, and her forefinger in the corresponding spot on the other side of the photo. Turning the print over, she removed her finger, and found that it had been covering the name on the little boat.
Clark was intently watching her progress.
She squinted, and carefully studied the scrollwork and curlicues of the boat's monogram. And it suddenly popped out at her.
The Lara.
Two pairs of wide eyes met, and then narrowed, turning in unison toward the stairs; and two strident voices called out in perfect synchrony, "Emma Lara Kent, you get down here RIGHT NOW!"
* * * * * *
