I was sinking slowly. I saw no point fighting it. I'd failed. The river could swallow me up. I would hit the bottom soon and lay there and that would be the end of my short, miserable life. She was gone. There was no point trying to keep going.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the end.

It didn't come.

Instead, a hand reached down, grabbing my shoulder, hauling me upwards. I fought it. I didn't want to be rescued. I didn't want to be saved. It was too late, I deserved this.

I tried to unpeel the fingers holding me tight but my broken arm stopped my hand from working properly. All I did was flail wildly, trying to kick downwards, doing my best to squirm away from them.

Then my head was above the surface. My body rebelled against my wish for this to be over, gasping and taking in a deep breath of air, air that I didn't want in my lungs. I wanted death, I sought it out, I needed it like I'd needed her. She was gone.

The hand was pulling me over the side of a boat, a searchlight trained on me, burning my eyes. I fought one last time to get away, shaking loose enough for the grip on me to slacken. They wouldn't let go. The hand caught hold of me again and it was then joined by another. This time, when I squirmed, my head slammed into the painted wood on the side of the boat. Before I lost consciousness, I noticed the wood was green, like her eyes.

When I came to I was laid flat in the bottom of the boat, shivering uncontrollably. A blanket was over my face. Did they think I was dead? I took a deep breath and then spat out water. It hit the blanket and dripped back into my mouth. I tried to turn over, wanting to find the water again, wanting the embrace of its icy hands to draw me downwards. There was no point to staying in this world, not now I'd failed her.

Hands on me again. "Quiet," a gruff voice said. "Don't try to move."

The blanket slid down and I could see a figure leaning down over me, their face barely visible in the darkness. I faded out of consciousness again.

Voices. Voices talking.

"It looks like a bullet wound."

"Keep pressure on it. We're nearly there."

"What the hell happened to him?"

"I thought he was dead."

"What's that in his hand?"

The voices faded in and out like a radio station that needed better tuning. I heard a siren far away and then nothing.

In the darkness, I relived it all, her hand outstretched towards mine, those eyes sparkling in the light of the penthouse, pleading with me to save her. The movements were slowed down, torturous, agony to relive, like a broken record they went around my head over and over. Then darkness once more. I was glad of it. A break from the guilt of my failure.

More voices.

"Skin burned."

"No fingerprints."

"No I.D."

"He's coming around."

"Another five."

"Someone page Dr Sanchez."

"Can you hear me?"

Darkness again. Then I woke up, my eyelids slowly parting to let in the half darkness of a hospital at night. I blinked, looking up at the ceiling. I tried to move my head but there was an immense pain in my shoulder. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out, my throat was too dry. Beeping sounds around me, the noises of quiet talking not too far away. Then nothing.

I woke up again. It was daylight. I turned my head and this time was able to will my neck to move. There was a nurse to one side of the bed, writing something on a chart. "My God," she muttered before shouting, "Dr Porter, get in here." Back to me. "Don't try and speak. Just take it easy."

My vision blurred, I blinked and focus returned. Another woman standing next to her. "Hi, can you hear me?"

I nodded, opening my mouth to try and reply.

"You're in St Jude's Hospital. My name is Dr Porter. Can you remember what happened to you?"

I shook my head slowly, the bones in my shoulder grating together, making me wince with the excruciating pain.

I tuned in and out as she talked at length. "You've been out for three weeks. I'm not going to lie, we didn't think you were coming back. You lost a lot of blood. Just rest for now and then we'll talk a little more." She turned to the nurse, lowering her voice. I heard her say morphine and the nurse agreeing but then I sank back into nothing until I saw her face, her hand outstretched towards me as I fell from the window.

"Rebecca!"

I screamed her name, jolting awake. She was there beside me, her hand reaching. Then as my eyes opened, she faded away to nothing. I was alone.

"Ssh," a voice said. Another nurse by my side. This one was smiling gently. "You were having a nightmare."

A cool cloth on my forehead, easing my pounding headache just a little.

"Can you remember what happened to you?"

"Hey." Another voice. "How did you get in here?"

The nurse was gone, bolting away out of the door.

"Security!"

Then someone else next to the bed. An older man, neat white beard, tired eyes. "Journalists," he said by way of explanation. "Dressing up as a nurse is a new one on me."

The man sat next to the bed, leaning towards me. "Anything for a story and you're an intriguing one and no mistake. Hi there. My name's Dr Milton. Can you speak?"

I tried. The sound was weak, like me. "Yes."

"Good, that's really good. What's your name? Can you remember?"

I shook my head.

"Never mind. It'll come in time. Now let me explain a few things, see if it jogs that brainbox of yours. You were found in the Thames a little after midnight two days ago. You were wearing a grey pair of jogging trousers and a white tee-shirt. Ring any bells?"

"No." The voice coming out of my mouth was grating. It didn't sound like mine.

"You've suffered a number of injuries. I'll keep it simple for you. You'd been shot in the shoulder. Another bullet grazed your cheek. You had a broken arm, two broken ribs and a fractured ankle. You've several vertabrae out of place. What parts of you weren't bruised or sliced open were burned but worst are your hands. It looks like they were in a flame for some time. Did you jump in the water to put the fire out? Is that what happened? Do you know who shot you?"

"Don't remember."

"What's the tower?"

"Why?"

"Because you've been saying it in your sleep. That and Rebecca. Do you know a Rebecca?"

"No," I lied. I closed my eyes, letting him think I'd drifted off again. I couldn't tell him the truth.

I hadn't forgotten anything. It was the cruellest trick my brain ever played on me. It put holes through my memory but held onto her and what had happened. I knew everything that had taken place, all the way up to me plummeting into the Thames. I would never tell anyone though. I would get my own revenge when I was well enough. If I was alive it was for a reason and that reason had to be to avenge her death.

I maintained my silence throughout his questions. Even when the police turned up to talk to me about the bullet wounds, I said nothing more than I already had. I couldn't remember. They told me they'd been unable to work out who I was. Could I help them? No, I couldn't.

I was in that bed for a long time. Weeks. Maybe months. Each day blurred into the next. Sometimes, someone would open a window further down the corridor. When it was really quiet, if the wind was blowing the right way, I could hear the river. It's call was mocking. It had taken me and spat me back out into the world I wanted nothing to do with.

I had a visitor. I recognised his face but didn't know why.

"You probably don't remember me," he said when he sat down by the side of the bed.

I turned to look at him. It was the first time I'd been able to turn my head without pain since I arrived here. He was a man in his fifties, woollen jumper, thinning hair, grey straggly beard, Roman nose, dark skin. "I'm guessing not a doctor."

"Fisherman," he replied. "Hooked you out of the river."

He held something out towards me. "You had this in your hand when I pulled you in. I thought it had fallen off the boat but I was cleaning it this morning and found it under the nets. Thought you might want it back."

My anger vanished and I had to swallow a sob. It was her necklace. I held out my bandage covered palm and he laid it gently down. "I'm glad you made it," he said, getting to his feet again. "I'll visit again, if you like?"

I didn't respond. I was staring at the necklace. Silver, cheap, the only thing they'd let her keep from before she was taken.

I wrapped my fingers around the necklace, ignoring the pain. I thought about her, about that night when it all went wrong.

Bumping into her father was fate. I'd thought it would bring me good luck. Him so desperate for a fix that he gave up his one worthwhile secret. Who he'd sold her to. An address. At last, I had the address I'd been waiting for. I knew where she was. I knew who had bought her.

Then my mind jolted forwards. The sound of the shot as I was falling into the river, looking back up at the window I'd been thrown from. The flare of light in the room far above, seeing it just before I hit the icy deep. He shot her. She was dead. All that was left of her was in my hand.

I heard the river that night after he visited. It was no longer calling to me. The siren song of the waves had no impact. I didn't want to die anymore. I wanted to live. I wanted to get well. I wanted to go back and finish what I started. I might not have been able to save her but I would avenge her. As God was my witness, those who had hurt her would pay the most terrible price imaginable.