Chapter One


 For the first time in the past four months, I was happy. I was with the one person I'd fought my subconscious to get back to- Molly. Ever since my return, I'd been working as hard as possible- I needed to forget about all the people I'd grown so attached to. They didn't exist, after all- the strange visions I had soon died away, and I was sure that they didn't matter. So sure, that I hadn't even mentioned it to any of the psychologists and psychiatrists that people had been throwing at me from mid-July all the way to September. In actual fact, I hadn't mentioned anything about those people to anyone. In the glass and steel maze, which made up modern-day London, it was easy to dismiss it all as a silly dream which wasn't worth any fuss. However, it had still been hard to settle in again. I wanted to show everyone at work that I was strong enough to do what I'd always done best- policing. However, at the same time, I knew from experience that working that hard would mean seeing less of Molly, and ever since my mind had come up with that stupid story about why my parents had died, I couldn't bring myself to ask Evan to take care of her. That was why I'd been delighted to wake up on the 24th of December and find that the modern world was covered in a thick blanket of snow.

People at work still didn't trust me behind the wheel in a traffic jam at rush hour; there was no way they'd ever expect me to try driving through snow. So I got to spend the day with my lovely daughter; the two of us curled up on the sofa, both wrapped in the large duvet from my double bed. I had to admit, I missed my tacky little flat above Luigi's, with all its red and grey, and that oh-so-80's sofa, but there was nothing better for me right now than a day in with Molly. I was enjoying the silence- as usual, I was tired, although for a change I didn't have a headache building up, waiting to hit me when I least needed it. I rested my head back, staring absent-mindedly at the ceiling.

Molly broke the silence. It was so quiet that I heard her opening her mouth to speak, and turned to look at her. Her face looked different- older, somehow. She appeared to be worried, although I decided against asking her what was wrong- she was about to tell me.
"Mum, I need to ask you something." Her voice sounded older too. It didn't sound like my little girl's voice any more. There was something about it that reminded me of my mother, although I couldn't tell exactly what it was.
"What, sweet?" Meeting Caroline, and being reminded of her just seconds before, had made me realise quite how much I loved Molly, and how cold I'd been towards her before what I now referred to as the 'Layton incident'.

She didn't answer me immediately- I could tell that she had no idea how to word her question, whatever it may be. It felt like hours before she actually opened her mouth to speak- although the time displayed on my DVD player made it quite clear that it was only a matter of seconds.
"Who's Gene?" The name was enough to make my heart skip a beat, before it started pounding in my chest, almost as if it wanted to tell me something. Of all the questions she could have asked, why this one? "How do you know that name?" I could hear the confusion and fear in my voice, although I couldn't explain the latter. Why was I afraid of a child- my child- asking me a two-word question? Perhaps it wasn't the question I dreaded- it was the answer. It was the 'I don't know', which would be the simplest thing to say, but I knew it wouldn't work. I remembered what it was about Molly that reminded me of Mum- her determination. She wasn't going to take 'I don't know' for an answer, even if it was, partly, the truth. Who was Gene Hunt?

My thoughts were interrupted by Molly's reply, "You said it when you were at the hospital. I was there." My daughter's answer was so... I didn't know how to explain it... it was so articulate. Each simple word was pronounced clearly, it sounded more like broken, textbook English than part of an actual conversation. In actual fact, it helped. It sunk in quicker than I think it would have otherwise.
"Where was Evan?" I asked- actually, it was more of a demand for knowledge than a question. Ever since the visions of Gene had faded, I'd been sure it had just been a dream, but I still couldn't trust Evan, and perhaps he would have spoken to Molly about Hunt, if the two men had really met in the months preceding my parents' deaths.
"He was there." The reply hit me like the car bomb which had killed Tim and Caroline Price, and a million questions rushed through my mind simultaneously, although they were all centred around one; What did he say?
As if she'd read my thoughts, Molly added, "After you said it he told me he had a meeting and disappeared." I nodded as if I understood, although I didn't. I could feel bile rising up, I could taste it- the taste of my fear.

"You haven't answered my question." Molly pointed out primly. That did it. I snapped. I don't know why, but it was too much for me to bear. I had enough on my mind, didn't I? Why was this stupid child asking for answers, which I couldn't give? Did it look like I had a crystal ball? Calm down Alex. I had to repeat those three words over and over again in my head while looking away for almost a whole minute before I could turn around and face my daughter again.
"I can't." I repeated simply. The second the words were out, I regretted it. The look on Molly's face almost shattered my heart- she looked like a small child again, someone who nobody would let into the game, someone who nobody wanted or loved. But I did love her, a lot, and I wasn't sure whether she knew that. Judging by her expression, she didn't. Quickly, I set out to repair the damage. "I mean-"
"I know what you mean- you don't want to tell me!" It was so unlike Molly to interrupt that I almost jumped when she cut me off. This sort of behaviour was so unlike Molly- it was so childish.
"Of course I do, it's ju-"
"Then why don't you?" The voice was so unlike Molly's now, it was becoming more and more Caroline with every sentence. I fought to keep calm, and surprisingly I didn't have to fight hard at all. My daughter, on the other hand, didn't even try. Before I knew it, she'd leapt to her feet and was storming up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door, shouting something which I couldn't quite make out. It happened so quickly. One minute we were there, curled up on the sofa, enjoying a quiet mother-daughter morning in, and the next she was gone.

My head started to spin, and followed my daughter up the stairs, although instead of entering her room I ran into mine, through to my en-suite bathroom. My sight blurred, I staggered to the sink, supporting myself on it as I bent down, retching. That was when I did a double take. I'd caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but I looked wrong. I looked up and, surely enough, it wasn't my face looking back at me, but it was one I'd grown to know almost as well as my own- though I still had no idea what was going on behind those mesmerising grey-blue eyes.

That was when I slipped, and fell into a sea of peaceful blackness.