I do not own any of the Ashes to Ashes series. If I did, do you think I'd be writing fanfic about it?
Fifteen year old Raven Black stepped back, and her back hit the alley wall. There was no escaping now. No way to evade the tall, threatening man that was coming closer and closer to her. She cursed that her mother was in the police force. The only reason he was cornering her was that her mother had got him put in prison. Now that he was out, he wanted revenge. Something that would hurt the woman for a long, long time. The death of her only child.
As he advanced, Raven panicked, her mind sprinting as fast as she wished that she could run. She wanted to scream, but her voice had stopped working. The man's hand went into his pocket, pulling out something that glinted in the alleyway's murky half-light. A knife. Raven gulped. There was no way that she could see that she would survive this encounter unscathed.
"Please, please...don't kill me." She begged, her voice barely above a whisper. Her chestnut eyes turning hazel as she stared at the knife. The man chuckled, the noise grating against Raven's ears.
"Why shouldn' I? Your bitch of a muvva wrecked my life. So I'm gunna wreck 'ers. See ya in 'ell." With that he plunged the knife deep into Raven's stomach. He twisted it round, then tugged it out. Pain like nothing Raven had ever experienced before seared through her stomach. Her brain forgot how to function, her vocal chords lost, so she couldn't even gasp. Her hands, twitching slightly, made their unsteady way to her abdomen, and came back sticky and wet, covered in a hot, red liquid. Blood. She stared at the filthy man in front of her, eyes wide, mouth open slightly. She staggered, and crumpled onto the pavement.
They say that you're life flashes in front of your eyes as you die. That you see a bright light. Or you see all your dead relatives, welcoming you to the afterlife. It's a load of bull. All I remember is a silent, terrible darkness, and obliterating pain. Then the pain stops suddenly, and I start to be able to hear again. Distant footsteps, cars, everyday stuff. Then I see colours. So many, like a technicolour parade, just for me. Then the colours fade away, and it's dark again. I can feel something underneath me, a hard, cold surface. What happened to me comes flooding back. I was stabbed. Was I in a morgue? Then I remember, there are no cars in a morgue. My eyes flicker open, and then I realise I'm lying on paving slabs. The ones I collapsed on. I stand up, unsteady on my feet. I look down at myself. There is no stab wound. Not even a rip in the fabric of my t-shirt. I'm still wearing all my clothes, pumps, jeans, t-shirt, all black. The only colour on me is the emerald ring on the middle finger of my right hand. The ring my mother brought on my birthday. One emerald, with a small black gem each side, on a silver band. The only item of clothing that I am not wearing is my jacket. I remember that I dropped it when I started to run from the man. I wonder where the man went. I glance around. Something is different about the alleyway. It's cleaner, newer. Where am I? I walk out of the alley and look around, still dizzy and unsteady on my feet. I thank fate that I wore pumps today. I look around, careful to move my head slowly to avoid feeling any more dizzy. Then I see a woman I recognise, which is impossible. Alex Drake, who was shot in the head a few months ago, pronounced dead at the scene. For a dead woman, she looks very alive. She has a perm, and is wearing things that I have only associated with the Eighties. So, Sam Tyler wasn't mad. He did go back. She spots me, and gasps, recognising me from the last time we met. The man that is with her swivels his head to see what she is looking at. I stagger my way over, only recognising him when we are standing two feet apart.
"DCI Gene Hunt..." I know I am swaying as if drunk, but my head hurts so much I do not care. "Alex...Alex, I was stabbed..." My world starts to go dark.
"Raven, Raven, come on, stay with me..." My vision goes dark, and she is the last person I see.
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