Title: Threads Of A Life
Author: hexicode aka illman
Fandom/pairing (if appropriate): The Bill, no pairing
Summary: How do you pick up the pieces of an old life when you've lost the things that made you who you are? Who can you rely on to find yourself again?
Rating: no 'adult content' in this story, but probably a bit too violent for the kiddies
Warnings character death, violence, AU
Disclaimers: The characters and settings aren't mine. No profit is being made, this is for entertainment only.
A/N: This story takes place just before the events in the episodes …And Nothing But The Truth and Day of Reckoning and takes a fairly sharp turn into AU-territory from there on. And now that the author's notes are almost as long as the prologue, I might as well put in the story. Enjoy!
ETA: Now beta-read by the lovely DianeM. Thanks so much for all your hard work!
Prologue
Emma normally wasn't a light sleeper. Matt always joked that she slept the sleep of the just, given how almost nothing could wake her once she was soundly asleep. But that night, she kept startling awake, woken by nothing more tangible than a feeling of dread and foreboding.
Once again driven from sleep, Emma stared into the darkness for a moment, until her eyes found the green glowing digits of her alarm clock. The time was 3.43 a.m. Emma thought she heard a noise coming from beyond the bedroom door. Alarmed at first, she turned to see that Matt wasn't there beside her. He'd probably gone to the bathroom, Emma thought groggily, her senses and mind still dulled from the painkillers she had been given at the hospital. She sighed and turned back, taking care not to jar her arm, where she had received a stab wound the previous day at work. She closed her eyes, willing to let herself drift off once again. She was already half asleep, but despite fatigue and drugs, she knew instantly what the faint popping sound coming from downstairs meant. Emma was out of bed in a flash. She ran down the stairs, her path illuminated by a thin ray of light coming from the kitchen. Her heart was pounding painfully hard against the inside of her chest when she used her good arm to push open the door. In the glaringly bright light from overhead, the scene looked almost grotesque and unreal. Matt, in his pyjamas was slumped on the stone floor about three feet from the kitchen counter. The crimson halo of blood spreading out around his head looked like paint, but the smell of gunpowder and blood in the still night air confirmed that the scene in front of her was very real indeed. Emma didn't have to check for a pulse to know that Matt was dead. She did it anyways, crouching down next to him, brushing her fingers gently over his neck. He was dead, there was no doubt. Emma couldn't take her eyes off him, and no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't move. It was if her body was reacting where her mind wasn't. She didn't feel anything - no shock, no grief, not even fear. It was as if she was looking at any dead body, not at that of her husband of six months.
It was a noise, coming from the hallway, that finally shook her from her daze. In an instant, she realized there was someone else in the house, most likely someone with a gun. Her body now tense, she listened. The voices were too hushed for her to make out any words, but she could tell that there were at least two people. Were they looking for her? Emma didn't dare to move. Her mind was suddenly crystal clear, her senses sharper than ever.
"I'm telling you, I heard something," a male voice came from beyond the kitchen doorway. He sounded young, but not like a teenager. Older. "There's someone else here."
"What if they saw us?" a thin voice asked. It was a woman's voice, younger and she sounded panicked, even close to tears. That wasn't a good sign, Emma thought. The more they panicked, the less were her chances of getting out of this alive.
"Wait in the car!" an authoritative female voice commanded, presumably talking to the other woman. "We'll handle this."
Emma heard footsteps, then the sound of the front door opening and closing a second later. Then, silence. Had they all left? Emma looked around as she listened. There was no door leading to the outside from the kitchen. But there was a window she might be able to climb through. But it faced the street and most likely the car of the intruders. Still, it seemed like a far better bet than staying hidden or trying to make it out the front door. Emma got to her feet, forcing herself not to look at Matt's body again. This wasn't the time, she reminded herself. She needed to think clearly if she wanted to live. Emma moved across the room as silently as possible. She heard footfalls approach from behind. Someone was coming; had they seen her already? Run or hide? In the split second it took for her to make the decision, a hand landed on her shoulder from behind. Emma didn't dare to breathe as she felt the person's hot breath against her neck.
"Don't move!" It was just a hoarse whisper, but the point was driven home when the still warm barrel of a gun made contact with the base of her skull.
"What are you doing?" the man's voice from earlier called out, followed by a rapid series of footfalls. All Emma could see of the intruders were two warped reflections in the kitchen window. They were both white - the man medium built with close-cropped dark hair, the woman petite with long dark hair. Emma stared at the reflections, trying to memorize as many details as she could. If she did get out of this alive, she wanted Matt's killer caught.
"This wasn't part of the plan!" the man protested. "Let's just get out of here!"
Emma prayed the woman would listen to him.
"What if she's seen us?! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison? What about Nina, then? You know it would kill her!" the woman argued. Emma could only see a vague outline of her features in the reflection in the window, but the voice was enough to tell her that the woman was serious and not about to back down.
"Please, don't do this," Emma didn't think pleading would be of any use, but she didn't care. She didn't want to die. "I won't be able to identify you, you don't have to do this," her voice cracked.
"Shut up!" The woman's grip on her shoulder tightened.
"She is right you know," the man began. "She couldn't have seen us."
"Are you willing to take that chance?!" the woman challenged him.
"No," he whispered dejectedly. Emma could feel the woman behind her stiffen and that was when she knew that she was going to die.
What happened next wasn't borne out of any conscious decision, rather out of the innate instinct to fight for her life until her last breath. Emma rammed her elbow backwards with all her strength. The woman let out a primal scream, at the same time as a shot exploded from the gun.
TBC