"Let's go then," Cal tries to usher Gillian out of her office but she deftly steps around him and he thinks she's gotten too good at handling him.

"Let me get my purse," she tells him, going to her desk and reaching beneath it. If Cal was standing over there by the wall, he'd have a perfect view of her ass. He's tempted a look anyway, but glances away when Gillian straightens up. He pretends to be bored but she doesn't hurry for him. It amuses him, all the ways she pushes back against him; slows him down again when he gets too manic.

He drives and Gillian looks out the window. This is meant to be a routine interview, if they can find the person they're looking for, but it's nice to spend time with her again. For a while, she had them split on almost every case. Something about spending time with his protégé. But that passed and then it seemed like a good idea to work separate cases to get more done, and therefore more money. And then they went back to working with each other. That's how he likes it best.

"You went past it," Gillian notes from the passenger seat.

Cal has to turn and go back. He parks in front of the house next door and they both get out. It's sunny but not really warm; they're heading into winter (Gillian's kind of like barometer for the weather, and she's not yet in a coat, so it can't be that cold). He steps up onto the sidewalk, where she's waiting for him; then they walk past the hedge together to the house next door. It's a typical suburban home; two storeys, weatherboard, manicured lawn and smooth concrete driveway. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary.

As they walk up the driveway, Cal thinks he smells something strange, but it's probably just some pungent flower he doesn't recognise. He knocks loudly on the door and it pops the catch to swing open a few inches. He looks to Gillian who hooks back her sunglasses to the top of her head. She is surprised for a second and turns to look out at the street. Cal calls out, asks if anyone is home. He pushes the door a little more.

"We shouldn't go in," Gillian cautions.

"Doors open," Cal points out.

"It's still... trespass."

"Well," Cal turns back to her, his mind made up. In two seconds, he's just going to do what he wants anyway. "What if someone's in there and they're hurt?"

Gillian gives a sigh but she doesn't argue with that and he knows that curiosity gets the better of her, and that she won't refuse to go in with him; she doesn't like to leave him to his own devices.

So they go in.

Cal pushes the door all the way back. It smells strange inside the house too but he still can't place it. Kind of chemically, like someone likes a lot of bleach (he half thinks they might walk in on a blood bath). The furniture seems normal, if a little sparse and they don't come across anyone immediately. "Quick look around," Cal suggests, eager to get into the back, to get all the information.

"Quick," Gillian agrees and Cal can tell without even looking at her that she's apprehensive. "You smell that?" She asks.

"Someone might have needed to do some serious cleaning."

"If we find that, we're calling the police."

Cal grumbles a noncommittal response (but agrees in his head; of course he does) and moves across the open living room, which is opposite the kitchen, to the hallway leading into the back of the house. The door to the toilet is open and the seat is up. Gillian brushes past him to a spare bedroom on the right and pushes the door in. Cal goes further down, following. He thinks about calling out again, but figures that's only going to scare the crap out of his partner. Which could be funny.

"What's in there?" Cal turns to look over Gillian's shoulder.

"A mess," she answers with disdain. He catches a glimpse of rubbish, large black industrial plastic bags, clothes or rags, empty plastic containers, boxes, shredded (or just crumpled) papers, glass bulbs, a trestle table leaning under the window. The weird chemical smell is getting stronger and he really is starting to think someone is trying to cover up the stench of a rotting body.

He tries the next door on the other side of the hall and opens up on a bathroom. The window is taped over with more black plastic, buckets of clear and brown liquids, more rags, more plastic containers, painter's masks strewn on the floor and big plastic sheeting draped inside the tub. No body. But some seriously suspicious items; the picture is getting weirder. He hears Gillian try the next door, probably another bedroom, and he suddenly clicks as to what it all is. He turns to warn her, to tell her to leave it alone, to get out, but he only manages her name and then there's a bright flash, an almost simultaneous obnoxious roar of heat and noise and he's thrown back aggressively. His head thumps back as he lands and it takes him a long time to realise he's looking up at the sky.

The sky.

Like he's actually outside now, somehow. His ears are ringing and his face feels tingly and he can't feel his legs. After that, there's nothing.

PJ

Cal couldn't say how long he was unconscious for, though he definitely knows he loses it for a moment either way. It could have been minutes but it was probably more like seconds. That's the only way he can explain what he sees next. He comes around and gains his vision back (he knows by experience that when people black out their eyes stay open, even though they're staring blankly out of them). As he turns his head to the side, trying to get a grip on the situation, he notices that there is a car in the driveway. It's black, one of those big GMC sports vehicles that the government tends to drive around in. Which almost straight away makes him think he's looking at a governmental vehicle. And it gives him a little spark of hope. He thinks it's a rescue.

He's wrong though.

He starts to take stock of his body, his awareness of position and injury come in. His right leg is an absolute mess of pain, stretched out away from him (his left leg is actually tucked under his right knee). The agony is so bad, he can't actually tell which part of his leg is damaged. It feels lower down, around his ankle somewhere, but the pain is radiating up to his groin in bursts of sharp and regular electrical rivers that starts to make him feel nauseous. His right wrist aches, his head on the same side, and he's not sure, but it feels as though he's lying under a blanket of building material. He raises his head a little to look (he's glad that he can at least move that much of himself; he's not completely paralysed) and he's not entirely off the mark. The side of the house has blown out around him and grey smoke is licking around the top of the hole to escape up into a flawless blue sky.

Cal hears the muffled sound of voices and turns his head to the drive again. He makes out the identification plate on the car and focuses in on the letters and numbers. Then two men come into view from around the corner of the house (what's left of the house). Neck tired, Cal puts his head down again, still repeating the plate number of the car. He's not sure he expects a rescue, but he's half tempted to give in to relief. Until the two men get into the car, doors slamming quickly. The engine starts, the car backs away.

That's definitely not a sign of help.

Cal thinks of his cell phone, tries to shift to reach it, but even that tiny movement sends more fiery agony up his leg from his foot and it makes spots appear in front of his vision. They take too long to disappear. His head starts throbbing and he's not sure he can hear properly. He's not sure what he should be hearing. Sirens? Something, he supposes. The smell of burning wood is thick around him and he gets a grip on himself. The house is on fire and last time he looked, Gillian was in there. She was closer to the explosion, right opposite the room with the meth lab that would have gone up. Those things were volatile; any little thing could set them off and the chemicals involved were highly explosive and flammable.

The panic Cal feels makes everything hurt a little more and struggling to get free really doesn't help. But Gillian is in there somewhere, amongst the mess, and it doesn't seem as though help is on its way. Or it could be, but Cal doesn't know how far away it is. And she was right there in front of the explosion. There's a raging fire in the house now, and Cal could guarantee that the epicentre was only a few meters away from Gillian.

Cal struggles a little more, but it's futile; he's in too much pain, has too much damage, is covered by too much heavy crap, and is essentially useless. He does hear sirens though and even though he can't free himself he can make it clear that he's there. A fire engine pulls up in front of the house and flame retardant uniforms descend. They find him easily enough. He tells them about his friend inside and there's a buzz of energy as the fire professionals go about their jobs.

Cal just about cries when they pull him roughly out from beneath some plaster board (they did check his neck first and he made sure they knew he could feel his damn toes). They transfer him to a brace board, then a gurney, then an ambulance. As paramedic's work on him, taking his blood pressure, giving him oxygen, splinting his broken bones (with that much pain, his leg has to be broken), Cal suddenly realises who the two men were who left the house. And it sends a different kind of jolt through him.

That was Jerome Willis and his personal aid.

PJ

The door isn't actually closed when Gillian grabs the knob. So she doesn't have to turn it or anything elaborate, barely shoves against it; doesn't give her presence away. She pushes the door open a little and comes face to face with a man. He's in white protective coveralls but without the hood up over his head, and has a white cotton breathing mask over his nose and mouth. He's across the room, but she recognises him easily and it surprises her to find him here. Her existence startles him just as equally. She quickly clocks his outfit, the stench of chemicals, the large industrial sheets of clear plastic hung from the walls and the roar of a Bunsen burner on a work table against the wall. The windows are covered over with black plastic (she doesn't think it's to keep the light out, more like keep prying eyes from looking in).

It's a meth lab. She just walked into a meth lab. That's why it smells so weird. And why there is so much junk and trash everywhere. Even more of the case makes sense now; the vast amounts of cash and the dodgy associates.

In mere seconds she realises what all of this means, the far reaching implications when it makes the news, but mostly that she and Cal are in danger. Not just because of the noxious concoction of chemicals being cooked in the room she stands on the threshold of (completely unprotected too), but because of the people involved. They need to get out of there right now. And they need to start contacting other people, with jurisdiction and authority; someone with some actual power that can make arrests and make official inquiries.

But as she turns to yell at Cal to leave immediately, the man she stumbled upon drops the box in his hands and rushes for the window, tearing back the plastic and yanking it open. He's fast. Like he's practiced this. Gillian hears her name called from behind her but she barely has time to register it or respond. She's just starting to turn back when there's a massive flash of light and a wave of roiling heat. Her hand is still on the edge of the door and she pulls it towards her without thinking, partially protecting herself; the blast does the rest in swinging it towards her. She closes her eyes against the light and the heat and turns her head away. She does it on instinct. And she does it simultaneously; in an instant.

She's being shoved back next, hard, the shock wave of the explosion hitting her. She knows the meth lab just exploded, all those chemicals... but doesn't think about much after that. She suspects she's on the floor of the hallway (or at least somewhere in the house) but her ears are ringing and her eyes are still shut and she's dazed; she can't form a coherent response to anything. She doesn't know which way is up or down, left or right. She's not sure if Cal is near her or far; no idea if he's hurt or needs her help. She's not sure if she's injured herself, unconscious, or if this is all a dream. She has a thought about the man getting away through the window; wonders if he got out in time.

She has half a thought about getting out of the house; knows with an explosion like that, with all the flammable chemicals around, that there will be a fire.

But she's not sure if this is all really happening and whether she's conscious or not. She doesn't feel the warmth creeping towards her. Doesn't feel pain in any way. Can't detect light. She doesn't notice a smell or a taste.

She starts to see colours behind her eyes and isn't sure if she's awake, or if this is just a dream.