The hospital walls were blank and sterile, white tile with an occasional dark blue addition to cut the monotony. The nurses were a class of their own, they seemed to flit between corridors, on a whim, their overall purpose as mysterious to him as his colleague's fate. He had been ordered to guard her room, from seven in the morning to five in the afternoon. Dobson and Fryer would take over then, and he would be free to leave and do his damnedest to shut her memory from his mind. The doctors said they would know more about her chances on Friday, two days' time. But they were already pessimistic. He knew firsthand how professionals acted when confronted with death, a sort of qualified sadness, mixed with a well-hidden lack of care. He had deployed the same technique many times over the last year and a half. He recalled his first traffic accident. A car carrying the MP for a rural northern county had hit a drunk who had stumbled into traffic. He'd been on the scene and had dashed over to help. To his credit the MP, a former army medical officer, had done as much as he could to help the man. But even their combined efforts hadn't been enough to save him. He had perished in front of them, the light leaving his eyes even as they had tried to resuscitate him. The driver had stood wearily by, his hand on his mouth, too shocked and horrified to do anything. Afterwards he had informed the widow. She had sobbed uncontrollably, while Malfoy had stood there, ashamed that all he could think of was his own hunger.
Constable Longbottom, his fellow guard, was asleep. Snoring softly in the upright wooden chair the spartan hospital room came with. He had been patrolling the East End docks last night, this was a double shift. Constable Malfoy would ordinarily have enjoyed waking him and pointing out his failure, but something stopped him. He didn't want Longbottom's company now, a good enough chap, but no one's first choice when confronted with the sort of emotion which now tormented him. A man had committed strong arm robbery against a corner shop in hackney, emptying the till at knifepoint before doing a runner. Malfoy had been on his beat when the shop girl, white facing and trembling, had flagged him down. He had considered giving chase but she informed him that the heister was by all accounts long gone, having fled quickly in the direction of the Browning estate a full five minutes before. Malfoy told her to close the door and lock it, and that he would get help. She had done as he had asked, and within a half an hour the corner had been cordoned off by men in blue. After an official interview, and a hasty sketch, the shop girl had been sent home, and Malfoy had been ordered to return to his beat.
He couldn't get the incident of it out of his head though. He had wandered into the Browning estate, a block past his little jurisdiction. He had begun to question the few residents that were outside. At first they were hesitant to talk to him, but at last, one spinster had told him, at great length, that there was a mum's group which had been outside with their children earlier that day, about the same time the robbery had taken place. She had given a list of names, nosey old woman, and he had thanked her, vowing to return tomorrow for a full interview. He wanted to get them done in one session, and he needed a WPC to interview the children. She might also be a help with the mums. That afternoon he reported his findings, with much trepidation, to his Sgt. He was pleasantly surprised to find him amenable to his request. The Sgt. had informed PC Malfoy that a WPC would meet him the next morning at the bus station outside the estate.
Freed for the day of his patrol duties he had awoken early in a state of great excitement, bordering on agitation. He decided to take the bus directly to the meeting place, that way he could get off and wait without walking. Most commuters were heading in the opposite direction, so he found himself relatively alone, or at least as alone as one can be in the city. At each stop he would glace up expectantly, on the off chance his companion was to join him early. He wanted to let her know the details of the robbery himself, he had a feeling her briefing had probably been minimal, and he didn't want to discuss the details of the case in front of the estate's residents, in case one of them knew the perpetrator. He had almost given up hope that she would appear when, two stops before the destination, he saw the tell tale blue uniform of a WPC. He lifted his helmet to signal her, a move that proved unnecessary, for she had spotted him as the bus had pulled to a stop. She descended down the aisle, and he didn't get a clear look at her face until she was only a yard away. He'd been expecting a matronly woman in her 40's. Instead appeared an angel.
She was in appearance and bearing swanlike. While her eyes betrayed an unabashed intelligence, perhaps even an arrogance. He rose within the cramped seat in order to shake her hand, an offer which she accepted with grace and alacrity. Although he expected from her appearance a certain standoffish attitude, he was instead greeted by a warm and cheery introduction, which matched her well suppressed cockney accent. She sat down next to him, and suddenly feeling the silence like a mosquito bite he at once launched into his brief. She listened with her eyes closed, and her head back, pointed at the ceiling. He couldn't help but notice again how beautiful she looked, in the light of a rare sunny day in February, which filtered in through the bus window. After completing his spiel she opened her eyes, but before she could return with any critique the bus stopped, and in unison they rose and exited.
They headed towards the central tower, an imposing brick edifice. Once a symbol of progress, a rejection of the squalor of the tenements, it's contemporary reputation was ugly. He reached into his pocket to read her first name, written hastily by the desk sergeant, but she interrupted him. Pointing upwards she noted one of the windows, "double glazing". It was then he realized that he knew her. They had gone to school together. He had always watched her, the way she walked, the way she talked was so confident and powerful. He had lacked the courage then. She was the object of his fantasy come to life before him, it had been fate, it had been predetermined, yet still she hadn't noted him. She was rifling through her pockets when she suddenly produced a pad of paper and began to read from it quietly, yet authoritatively. He vaguely noted her speech, she was saying something about a pattern of robberies, but mostly he couldn't focus. She finished, noting her belief that behind the double glazing layed they culprit. He didn't care how she'd come to that conclusion. All he wanted now was to prove himself to her, perhaps to prove himself to himself. She moved towards a phonebox to call it in but her stopped her. After a few minutes of debate he had convinced to reluctantly follow him up the flights of stairs and confront their man together.
He regretted it now, of course he did, but at the time he didn't know what would happen. This would be his chance, and besides, it was her chance too. Once they had seen her reasoning, they would recognize her genius. And if she was wrong he was sparing her the humiliation. But now she lay, probably a vegetable, there was no genius in her near lifeless form now. Tears streamed down his face, and he was not ashamed. The suspect must have seen them on their approach, because he was lying in wait for them at the top of the stairs. In an instant Granger had fallen over the railing, three stories. It had been done in a flash. Malfoy had spent time, considerable time, learning hand to hand combat, and it served him well now. Still, it was only by the grace of God, and a steady hand that he lived. He heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway and rose. It was Dobson and Fryer here to trade places. He nodded them in without a word and dashed past them down the steps, out of the hospital, with its wretched trade. It was snowing, the flakes were grey, from the soot. They fell on his helmet, and his neck, down his shirt. They chilled him.
He continued along without giving thought to his own discomfort. Till at last he found himself completely lost. This wasn't an area he was familiar with as a policeman, still, he thought, it was embarrassing and unprofessional to ask a passerby while still in his uniform. His eyes settled on a bum, lying rough in gutter near the alley. If there was anyone whose trust in the police was far gone, and who knew the streets well, it would be him. He approached him, and shook him awake. The man opened his eyes, and for an instant Malfoy thought he recognized him. "I need to be moving along then?", the bum asked. "No", said Malfoy "I have a job for you, there's a shilling in it". The mans face perked up, "aye?". Malfoy pressed his lips in embarrassment "do you know the way out of here?", the bum laughed "more then you know". The realization hit him squarely in the jaw. The bum smiled up at him "know me now don't ya". It was the man from the car accident, the man who had died before him, whose death rattle still haunted him, alive, and sleeping rough. "I know your troubles, your real troubles, with the girl, I can fix her, bring her back". Malfoy was stunned, but part of his brain was already considering the offer, this man had brought himself back from the dead somehow, he could do the same for her. The man held out an object, it was a stone triangle, obviously ancient. Malfoy held it, and felt a tingling.
"I'll be leaving soon", said the man. "She isn't waking up, we both know that, and besides, the faster you use that the better it will be for the both of ya". "What does it do?", "It will take you somewhere, I don't rightfully know where exactly, but she'll be alive, and awake". Malfoy looked down at him, "can we come back?", "no, but there won't be anything left for you here anyway, it'll be like you'd never lived". Malfoy gaped in shock, but he didn't waver. "I'll explain this as best I can", "you'll come out the other side children, you won't remember anything until you turn 20, then the amulet will come back to you somehow, along with your memory". He paused, perhaps he expected Malfoy to doubt him, but the face the man saw was captivated. "You'll always come across her, can't promise she'll always be yours, but you can jump whenever you like". "Will she know?", asked Malfoy. "No", said the man, "only you will, no one you bring along with you will ever know". He drew himself up to his full height, "good luck". And like that, he was gone. Malfoy was left standing with the thing in his hands. And he knew, what was before him, and behind him.