A/N The lyrics used are from 'View from A Bridge' written by Ricky and Martin Wilde.

I guess it all began about a year ago

Like a cheap love magazine

You know the kind you read about and have to laugh

At the pages in between.

April 1982.

Nothing had changed.

Music drifted through the flat. Downstairs, the boys from CID were having a spot of lunch. Pouring another glass of wine, Alex tried to ignore the noise from the restaurant below. She guessed that Chris had been the one to persuade Luigi to swap Italian opera for Kim Wilde.

A calendar still dominated the walls of the flat, augmented with details of the life Alex Drake had been living and the connections she had made. Not that her analysis had made any difference. She hadn't been able to stop her father blowing her mother to kingdom come. Alex had spent weeks afterwards trying to work out what she had done wrong, but deep down she knew that her father had been the one piece of the equation that she had failed to account for. She had made contact with her mother but had neglected the quiet man who wanted to hold his family together. His image, dressed as the clown still haunted her.

Every night she stared at the wall, trying to make sense of this world, trying to find a way out... until the wine ran out and she passed into merciful unconciousness.

A2A2A2

"Molly!"

It wasn't the first time that Alex Drake had woken up screaming and she was sure that it wouldn't be the last. In this world, trapped by her own psyche, she was prone to nightmares. But this one... this one had been more intense than any of the others.

Crawling out of the sweat sodden sheets, she staggered through to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Instinctively, she glanced towards the television, but there was nothing on the screen apart from static. She'd taken to leaving it on a night, just in case... This time she felt that the nightmares had another source. Ever since she had witnessed a child's body being pulled out of the Thames, Alex's dreams had been haunted by visions of Molly. The killer would go before a jury in a week and she was hoping that his conviction would give her some form of closure.

She certainly couldn't go on this way. Her colleagues were starting to notice that her mind wasn't on her work. Although the Guv had been uncharacteristically understanding, his patience was wearing thin. It wasn't just her work that was suffering, she was starting to spend less time in Luigi's, preferring her own company and a solitary bottle of wine. She'd spend hours staring at the television set, hoping for some kind of message but the clown hadn't made an appearance. Were her dreams caused by the impending court case, or was there a more sinister reason?

Molly. She was safe in Evan's care. Or at least that was what Alex kept telling herself. If her theory was right... if she was that one second away from life or death ... then nothing could happen to Molly in that second. When Alex got home it would still be Molly's birthday. There would still be time to blow out the candles on the cake.

But a small worried voice at the back of her mind kept asking the question, What if she were wrong? If everything here was important then her dreams had to have meaning. And if they did there was nothing she could do to help her daughter.

Screaming with frustration, Alex hurled her glass against the wall, watching as it shattered. Time froze. The pieces of glass hung in mid air. Walking forward, Alex brushed one with her fingertips, hissing with pain as the shard dug into her flesh. Fascinated she watched a drop of blood form.

Moving to the window, Alex looked out across London. Nothing moved. The city was silent. London was never quiet. Even at two AM there was always the faint roar of passing traffic, the occasional yell and laughter from the street outside. Then she saw it, the child standing outside, looking up at her window.

"Molly!" Alex gasped.

Molly's eyes met hers chilling her very soul with their contempt. Then she turned, as if she thought that Alex wasn't worth haunting, and walked away down the street. Alex couldn't have said why she decided to go after it but one moment she was staring out of the window and the next she was pulling on her boots and running out into the road.

"Wait!" she yelled, knowing that the frozen city couldn't hear her shouting.

But Molly didn't stop, she didn't even pause, just kept on walking. And Alex followed not getting any closer, not lagging any further behind. Molly's measured pace seemed to eat up the ground, never slowing, never tiring. However fast Alex ran, she couldn't catch her. She wanted to give up, to go back to bed but somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that this was important and that Molly was actually going to show her something useful. Alex couldn't say how far they walked and she was too busy concentrating on keeping her daughter in sight to recognise the darkened streets. Her feet were starting to hurt and the night time chill was starting to seep through the thin silk of her night-shirt. This was crazy, she realised. She wasn't even sure that she could find her way back.

As the thought crossed her mind Molly vanished and the sounds of the city returned. Alex Drake found herself alone, standing on a bridge in the centre of London, wearing nothing other than a night shirt and a pair of heeled boots. She could still hear the song that had been playing in Luigi's

You know the kind you read about and have to laugh

At the pages in between.

Now I can't believe that fool inside is me

'cos I just can't face the world I've grown to see.