Sometimes Alex thought she could see her daughter, but then she realised that she could never see clearly whilst in this world. Everything here was clouded by the silhouette of Gene Hunt, the omnipotent protector of this world, making the past and the future both hazy and distant. Living here was like wiping chalk from a blackboard; her memories being slowly smudged away and then finally, the ashes of her previous life scattered along the pavements of this alternate existence. Just as the chalked up history of her life was being smudged, so she could see the untouchable and intangible chalkdust of her memories floating around her in the air thick with the longings of her heart; taunting her with its substanceless importance in this world which she could neither understand nor appreciate.
Everywhere she went she could see the trail of black soot that her pillar-box red heels left on the already soiled pavements; the ashes that seemed to fall off her as she walked. And that coldness, that pervading awful coldness that seemed to swallow up her very being. In her happier moments she felt like Dorothy; the young girl longing for her home, but enjoying the magic of her life in limbo. But Dorothy never felt the seeping of her soul from her body, the way Alex sometimes did. Dorothy didn't cry herself to sleep at night, thinking about what was lost and could never be found. And Dorothy, of course, had the tin man and the scarecrow and the lion to accompany her throughout this strange world. Alex had no one.
That was why she wore the red heels, of course. They represented hope; the delicious possibility, that if she only clicked the backs of her ruby red shoes together she would be back home with Molly, safe and comfortable in the unanimity of modern life. Lately, she felt as though her carefully constructed life was falling apart; it had toppled like a house of cards in the face of Gene Hunt's glittering kingdom. And it was glittering. His bravado lit the stage of CID like a thousand spotlights; his presence dazzling her in a strange and yet delicious way. She loved him. She loved just to look at him, and to watch him go about his work.
They danced around each other, like players in a strange game; never quite reaching crisis point, but always hovering dangerously around the point of no return. For Alex, this was no longer a game, but a fight. In the real world, she'd probably have slept with him by now. Real world? Was she really still calling her old life that? It was hard to believe that there could be any world other than this anachronistic haven. And anyway, she always felt strange when she thought about Gene and sex in close succession. It made their connection seem base, as if they were just another man and woman.
And yet when she was with him that was just how she felt; breathless with the excitement of being just a girl. Like she was fifteen again. Night would bring a different reality, one in which every second was like the firing of a shot in a pivotal battle. When she had first arrived here she had believed that this world truly was her oyster. If she was in a coma then who was to know if she shagged a Thatcherite yuppie against the wall of her kitchen? If she spent her nights putting away bottle after bottle of Luigi's house rubbish, did it really matter? After all, surely one can't damage one's liver in a parallel reality?
Yet damage, she had realised, was all too prevalent in Gene's kingdom. The hourglass of this world was draining more quickly than she had dared to imagine, than she had ever wanted. Each shimmering particle of sand signified a breakthrough, a step closer to going home. A move towards a home for which her steadfast affection and longing was waning. Sometimes Alex thought she could see her daughter, but then she realised that she could never see clearly whilst in this world. Everything here was clouded by the silhouette of Gene Hunt, the omnipotent protector of this world, making the past and the future both hazy and distant.