Portrait In Flesh an Ashes To Ashes continuation

by blueswoman

Molly Taylor is a young policewoman with a troubled past. She is thrown into Gene Hunt's world. She seems to know too much about him & his colleagues. Why?

PORTRAIT IN FLESH

New Characters

Molly Taylor is a young woman with a troubled past.

DCI Terry Gillan is an old-style cop.

DI Gary Davies is his colleague, who has turned his back on the old style of policing completely.

Pairing: Gene H./OFC [Molly Taylor]

Music

Music was important to both programmes and part of the reason why they were so popular. If this was on TV said music would be running through the programme so I have done the same here.

'Fireflies' is by Owl City.

'Karma Police' is by Radiohead.

'Personal Jesus' is originally by Depeche Mode

'Stormbringer' is by Deep Purple.

'Danny Boy' is traditional.

'Tainted Love' is by Soft Cell.

'Jean Genie' is by David Bowie.

*´¨)

(¸.•´ (¸.•´

A nurse."Her poor family."

A doctor: "Molly?"

No response.

Getting desperate. "Molly, can you hear me?"

A song still in her ears; her favourite.

"Molly?"

*´¨)

(¸.•´ (¸.•´

"Look at her! I would."

"She wouldn't if she could see you!"

"Er, Chris, I get the feeling she won't fancy either of us. Any woman with hair as short as that..."

"Doesn't bother me, I've got Shaz. Why would I want to go out for a beefburger when I've got steak at home?"

"She's useless to you now, though, Chris."

"Don't say that about her! I love her!"

"Div."

Molly looked around groggily, trying to focus.

Chris? She didn't know anyone called Chris...did she?

Blurry faces came into view.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" said a Northern voice. The man held his palm up.

"Five."

"She's fine,"said the other man.

"Where am I? You two don't half look familiar."

"Fenchurch East CID. We do?"

Fenchurch East.

Where had she heard that name before?

Realisation slammed into her.

No!

Fenchurch.

"DC Skelton?"

A shy nod.

"Oh no..."DS Carling?

"The very same. And your name is...?"

"Molly Taylor."

"Oh, no, you're not a distant relation to ihim,/i are you – Sam Tyler? What a little..." He looked at her and stopped. "Sorry," he said.

"No," she said. "I'm not."

"Thank God for that."

"I can't think straight." Molly said.

It all came back; she'd been playing a Robert Plant CD in her car. She loved him. She'd just got up to her favourite track. The next minute, there'd been nothing and everything had hurt.

"The Guv makes a lot of women feel that way," said Chris.

Molly's eyes went huge.

"If I – if I'm seeing you two something's obviously wrong."

"We're fine. We're imore/i than fine actually."

"I'll be put away for life," she cried. "I just wish I was dead."

"We're glad you're not. Chris, go and get the Guv."

"I wish I was dead!" she repeated. "This is not happening!" she screamed again and again, arms flailing about. "I can't see you. I can't see you! I can't see either of you!"

"Now, Chris. She's gone off her head."

Strong arms held her tightly. She twisted. "Get off me! Get off!" She scratched at the figure holding her blindly.

"Bloody hell, what a racket you're making!"said a loud voice. "I wish Iwas dead, so I wouldn't have to hear you. Stop shouting!"

Molly stopped screaming. "I must be mad."

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Can you see me?"

"Yes. I wish I couldn't."

"There's not many women that would say that!" said Ray under his breath.

Chris sniggered.

"I heard that. I am bloody real." said Gene. "I'm as real as you are. I'm not having that nonsense again. "Now," - his voice went dangerously calm -"calm down."

He released her. "Do you always yell like that when something doesn't suit you?"

Molly looked embarrassed. "I...I'm sorry..."

"Should I call the men in the white coats now, or wait till later when you really get going?"

"I feel like I'm dying," she said. She tried to stand up and almost fell over. "And all you can do is tell me off." Tears came to her eyes . "I want my mum."

"You're not dying," Gene said crossly. "If you turn up to work, you're fit enough to do it; and you do it without question or you go home."

"Gonna be sick..."

"Not on my coat you're not!" he said.

She turned her head away, swallowing her nausea.

Gene continued. "I respect people who respect me. We'll get you put in one of the flats."

Chris said: "She's not feeling herself, is she ?"

Ray replied "No, that's when she thinks of the Guv!"

Molly glared at him, going red.

"Will you two shut up?"

"Look at her face. I love it when I'm right!"

Gene shook his head and said "you lot need your heads testing".

*´¨)

(¸.•´ (¸.•´

While at work, investigating a case with the codename "Operation Amethyst," – a case involving stolen jewellery - Molly heard foreign voices and 'Fireflies', a song she'd hated since its release. It made her cry, which she'd always hated people seeing her do, and did the same then.

'…...You would not believe your eyes
If ten million fireflies
Lit up the world as I fell asleep...'

"What's up with you?" asked Gene.

" 'Cause they'd fill the open air
And leave teardrops everywhere
You'd think me rude
But I would just stand and stare...' "/i

"This song..." she gasped. 'Fireflies'. "No..."

iI'd like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly

It's hard to say but I'd rather stay

Awake when I'm asleep
'Cause everything is never as it seems….' "

She buried her head in his coat, crying hysterically.

"Gene!" she gasped.

He stiffened. "What are you talking about? What song? I can't hear a thing."

Molly continued to cry. Her knee folded.

"Ouch!" she cried. "My knee...my leg..."

"Sit down." Gene ordered. Molly sat.

He looked at it.

"Can't see anything wrong." His large hand kneaded the tight muscles.

Chris put his head round the door.

"Guv?"

"Haven't you got anything useful to do, Chris?" Gene snapped. "Can't you see I'm doing something?"

Chris looked nervous. "I'll come back later, Guv..."

The pain in Molly's leg was like a spike up the back of her knee.

"Do something!" she howled.

"Come on..." Gene said under his breath, still kneading. Something clicked. "That better? Has it gone?"

Molly nodded.

He helped her to her feet.

"Can you stand?"

She nodded again.

"You'll be fine. Can't see any fireflies either," Gene said. "And it's 'Guv' unless we're off duty."

"Thanks, Guv," Molly said.

"No problem," Gene said. "Now pull yourself together - we need to find who's behind this, which we won't do if you can't see the suspects through your tears."

He opened the door to his silver Koenigsegg. Molly got in and they roared off.

"This is biblically fast!" she said. "It's better than the -"

She cut herself off.

"You act like you haven't been in a car for years." Gene said. "I love this one. I still haven't got over the Quattro. I don't think I will. Don't look at me like that; you get attached to things you liked."

He cleared his throat.

"There's our man. Tony Harris. Hardman Harris. Come on, my little sunbeam."

"I didn't do anything..."

Gene dragged him into the station and pushed him against the wall. He screamed in his face. "Talk! NOW!" Harris was crying onto his knees, not so hard now.

"I didn't do anything. I - I didn't."

Gene said sarcastically, "No! Of course you didn't." He laughed humourlessly. "People I pull in have never done anything, have they?" He hit him, continuing, "Say "I'm a dirty, snivelling, four-eyed waste of oxygen..."

"I'm telling you I didn't do anything," Harris said ."I'm not saying that!"

"…..and I get a bit too excited when I drive past police stations." Gene continued. He gave the other man an evil smile.

"Oh, do you?" said Harris. "Good thing you're in the right job then!"

The breath was knocked out of him by Gene's fist, stopping further comments. Harris's screams and the crack of bone on bone could be heard down the corridor, even with the door closed.

"Look at your girlfriend!" he gasped.

"Colleague!" Gene barked, punching him again. Blood poured down Harris's face; stars clouded his vision and nausea rose in his stomach.

"Look at her!" he choked out.

Gene turned his head.

Molly's eyes were shining.

" 'Karma police, arrest this man...' she sang under her breath.

"'This is what you'll get...' "

Gene looked at her for a moment, concern flicking across his face, then turned back to Harris.

"You're looking at a good couple of years, Serious assault, robbery. A list of convictions as long as my arm; probably as long as something else of mine. Still, prison'll suit you down to the ground with a nickname like that."

Later Molly was disciplined and asked why she failed to step in.

"Hunt's behaviour got him suspended before." Nick Steele, the boss, said. "If this carries on, you'll be heading the same way, or even for a transfer."

Far away someone screamed.

"No," she said. "No." She shook her head vehemently. "You just don't like him. That's what the problem is here."

"Whether I like or dislike Hunt is immaterial, DI Taylor." Steele continued. "He is good at his job, I'll give him that. He has been since he started; but we just don't treat people in this way now. "

"If you transfer me I shall have no alternative but to leave the force," Molly said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. "This job is all I've got."

"DI Taylor, are you threatening me?" Steele asked. "Mr Harris's family have made a complaint; his life has been ruined."

"Well, he shouldn't have ruined someone else's then!" Molly snapped. "Then he wouldn't have had to be here in the first place."

"He can hardly walk, he's too afraid to leave his house now."

"Good!" Molly said.

"Why did you let this carry on?"

Molly had no answer.

"You didn't intervene; you looked – if I may be so bold – pleased ."

Molly shifted in her seat. She wanted to run away, to be anywhere but where she was.

"Tell me, are you and Hunt ….."

Molly fiddled with her bracelet. "No!" she snapped. "Of course not!"

"No need to be so defensive, DI Taylor," Steele said calmly.

"Sorry. I just don't see why that's any of your business." said Molly. "Unless you fancy him yourself, of course."

"I have to say, you sound scarily like him."

"Am I in a police station or a courtroom?" Molly said.

"I'll ignore that. You appear to be out of your depth to me anyway."

"I started here two weeks ago." Molly said. "I'm just finding my way around.Of course I'm going to be unsure. Anyone would be a bit nervous."

"You keep getting things wrong," Steele said. "Not just little things that could be forgiven. I'm talking about basic things; things that you should have known. To be honest, DI Taylor, you look unsure of what you're meant to be doing or whether you truly want to be here or not."

"I do!" she nearly shouted.

Steele sighed. "This isn't an episode of a cop show, no matter how much you might want it to be; this is real life, not The Sweeney', and if you can't hack it you really should get out now."

Molly walked out shakily.

"Gene? I mean 'Guv'?"

"What now?" he said impatiently.

"I'm being transferred."

"No you're not," he said. "Not if I have anything to do with it." He stormed off.

There was the sound of a door crashing open.

"The Guv's on the warpath," Ray said. He whistled. "Someone's in for it now!"

"How dareyou?"

"What? Don't shout, Gene," Steele said. "I've got a headache."

"How dareyou try to transfer my officers without telling me!" Gene bellowed. "I've a good idea who might have complained."

"Don't start accusing my officers without any proof, Gene." Steele said.

"I wish you were a suspect," Gene spat. "I'd really show you what I think of you then!"

"That's always your first reaction isn't it?" said Steele. "You rage and you shout and you hit in the hope you'll get your own way; you're just like a spoilt child."

"I am not!"

"It might be forgiven – even expected if you were actually a child, but for a man in his late forties..."

"This is better than the telly," Chris said. "Guess what. I saw the Guv with DI Taylor!"

"They do work together, Chris."

"But he was... then she..."

"Shut up, Chris," said Ray. "I'm trying to listen."

"She's only just started and you want to suspend her?" Gene said. "She seems to have her problems but show me someone who doesn't! I'm looking after her; nobody else. She needs me."

"Perhaps she'd benefit more with someone else as her mentor." Steele said. "Does she need you – or do you need her? Are you sure you weren't playing up to her, trying to impress her with how tough you think you are?"

"I'm showing her how to be a decent copper, not a cardboard cut-out of one!" Gene stormed.

"Not in the best way, it seems. I suggest you calm down..."

"I am calm!"

"If this is you being calm I'd hate to see you when you're angry."

"Please don't transfer my DI," Gene said, trying to keep the threatening tone out of his voice and the glint out of his eyes. .

"I'll keep her on, but don't let there be a next time."

*´¨)

(¸.•´ (¸.•´

"'Oh, Danny boy,"Ray sang at work one day, i"the pipes, the pipes are calling, from glen to glen, and down the mountain side…'

Molly looked horrified. "How can you sing that?"

He carried on. " 'Tis you, tis you, must go and I must bide..."

"Please don't!"

"What's wrong with you?" he said. "It's only a song. Everything seems to set you off. Are you walking down the red carpet or what?"

"Oh, not again!" snapped Gene. "Ray, if you sing that to my DI again the only job you'll be able to get is as a eunuch."

"I'm sorry, Guv. I'm sorry, DI Taylor. I've never needed a drink more than I do now." he said.

"Why can't you go after work?" Molly said.

"Thrown out, wasn't I! So was Chris."

"I'll take you somewhere else. Somewhere I go -went. You never know, you might like it better than the pub." Molly said.

"Doubt it." Ray muttered.

"What's it do?"

"Chicken. Spicy Peri Peri sauce."

"Peri Peri? Sounds like a disease," said Gene. "Why would anyone want to eat that? What's wrong with steak and chips?"

"It's not. " Molly said. "It's seasoning. I love it."

Gene took a massive bite. "Ugh, it's horrible." He pushed it away.

He looked at her, amused; she was tearing into her chicken as if she hadn't eaten properly for weeks. "Looks like you needed that."

"Yeah, I did! Mum used to make stuff like this when I still lived at home. She does – I mean did –- it better than this. My dad loved cop shows. Got me into them, taught me all the special terms. Made me want to be a copper myself. He'd be so proud if he could see me now. We all fell out a couple of years ago; we haven't spoken for years." She sipped her drink. "Life goes on."

"You only get one set of parents," Chris said.

"And the Mummy's Boy of the Year Award goes to DS Chris Skelton..." Ray muttered.

Molly kicked him under the table. Hard.

"Oh, you...!" Ray's face twisted in pain. "Guv, did you see what she just did to me?"

"Chris is right," said Gene.

"Right! That is it!" Ray snapped. He started singing again, under his breath.

" 'Come ye back when summer's in the meadow

or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,

Tis I'll be here, in sunshine or in shadow...'."

"Make him stop, Chris!" Molly said.

"Ray, she's upset, don't..."

"Bad leg, my arse!" Ray said. "Suppose I'm lucky she didn't go any higher!"

Everyone turned to look at them.

Molly ignored him. "I thought you'd like it here, Guv. Didn't you want to try somewhere different? Somewhere that's not the station canteen?"

Chris took a bite of his chicken. "Too hot!" he gasped . "Water..."

"Chris, that chicken was plain."

"What's the date today?" Molly asked. "Just out of interest."

"May twenty-first, why?"

"No! " Molly nearly gagged on her chicken. "Can't be!"

"What?" said Ray. "Somebody died then or something?"

"Someone did – someone I loved very much." Molly's eyes swam as she struggled not to cry.

Gene smiled at her. "I'm sure they'll be looking down on you, checking you're all right. Proud of you, like."

"Thanks, Guv," Molly said.

"How's your mouth, Chris?" said Molly.

He downed a whole bottle of water in one go.

"Better now thanks. Won't be going there again, though. Nearly killed me."

Molly felt a smile come to her face in spite of herself. "Can I ask you something?"

"Course."

"When I was coming to I heard you and Ray talking about Shaz."

"It's wrong to listen in on conversations."

"Yes, but he said she was 'useless to you now'. If you don't mind me asking –- is everything OK with you and her?" Molly asked.

"As well as can be expected," Chris said sadly.

"What do you mean?"

"She's had to stop working. She wakes up in the night sobbing, screaming about this pain in her stomach." He put his hand to his own to show her. "Can't be what women get," he continued, "she gets it most nights. I don't know what's wrong with her. I took her to the doctor's twice – just to be sure –- but he couldn't find anything. I just have to hold her hand until it goes," Chris said.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm knackered," he said sadly. "I'll tell her about you though, tell her what you're like."

"Poor you." Molly said.

"I'm worried about her," he said, looking about nervously. "Don't tell Ray, will you? Or the Guv."

"The Guv might be more understanding than you think," said Molly.

Chris nodded.

"I know Ray's your friend," Molly said, "but real friends don't tease you, especially about things like that."

"Thanks." Chris blinked and wandered off.

Gene lit a cigarette. Molly struggled to breathe properly, coughing and spluttering.

He said, "I'll blow it away from you then!"

"Good."

"I've been meaning to ask you," he said, "why do songs upset you so much?"

."They remind me of certain times in my life," Molly said.

"Bloody hell, you must have a lot of bad memories."

"I do." That was true. She remembered years of violent rages blighting her life from her school days onwards, classmates mostly avoiding her; seeing psychiatrists every few months; everything being the same when she left their offices. Now here was a man who seemed to understand. She wanted to hold onto him and never let go.

"So do I," said Gene. "You just have to learn how to cope with them."

She wanted to drown in his voice. Every syllable was clipped and harsh but somehow more comforting because of it.

"Thanks."

"Bit of advice. When you have a bad memory," said Gene, "push it deep down. Bury it."

Molly felt a shiver go through her at his last words. She pulled at her necklace, as if she was checking she'd still got it on.

Gene noticed it was strikingly similar to the medallion he kept at his flat, where none of his colleagues would ever see it.

Tyler.

Bloody Tyler.

French bender Man United supporting poof!

He composed himself before he continued.

"Push it so deep down you couldn't remember it if you tried to. What you can't remember can't hurt you."

It can, he thought sadly.

"You mean "what you don't know can't hurt you" ". Molly corrected him, feeling ill.

"That and all," he said. "Then, when you have to, well, you know – do what everyone does - imagine whatever was wrong coming out the other end, exploding right out of your...".

Molly creased up laughing.

"There. Little talk with the Gene Genie and things feel better, don't they?"

He was right; a hundred thousand people telling her they knew how she felt would never sound as good as him. He must have had some idea, but she thought it best to keep quiet anyway.

"I love the way you do that," Molly said.

"Do what?"

How long have you got? she thought, but said nothing.

"Talk about yourself in the third person. As if you're talking about somebody different. Like you're not Gene Hunt."

"I'm not. My real name's Nigel Perkins." He paused. "Only joking!"

"The things you come out with," Molly said. "Where did you learn to talk like that?"

"Morrison –- mentor –- did it all the time, it's just something you pick up."

"I wish I could bottle you," Molly said.

She remembered her mum telling her there were people who had all sorts of bad things happen to them.

"... but they don't all react like you, Molly."

In the end she'd said she was fine, so she no longer had to go. The psychiatrists she'd been to knew nothing anyway; they didn't know her or what she was going through personally, so what was the point?

"Never liked modern stuff really."

Molly jumped.

"Sorry. You probably love it," said Gene.

"You'd be surprised..." Molly said.

"Who do you like then?"

"Robert Plant," Molly said truthfully. "Rock singer. I like blues, too. Stack Waddy – they're a bit loud, I mean they werea bit loud, they've split up as far as I know; but you might like them, they're from -"

"You've just reminded me of something talking about music." Gene interrupted.

" Ray and I nicked this scrote once, Steve Glass, who said he was the lead singer of this band called –- the name's so bloody daft I can remember it – Egg Custard."

Molly laughed. "Egg Custard?"

"He looked like a girl," said Gene. "More like a girl than you do. Well, he had long hair, you don't. Do you know, when I first saw you I could've sworn you were a... that you …..."

"I know. I heard Ray telling Chris the same thing. I just keep my hair this way because it's easier."

"Anyway," Gene continued. "He'd attacked someone. Blow to the back of the skull. When we brought him in he insisted people had been writing stuff about him, about what he liked to do in his spare time –- you know the sort, you don't need me to tell you - I'll just say it rhymed with his name –- and how crap his band was. He said the man he attacked was behind it all. He said Egg Custard never got anywhere. I said if they'd been worth listening to and hadn't had such a daft name they would have."

"Then what happened?" Molly asked.

"He started screaming at me and said, "I want to kill myself". Ray told him the rumours about him were probably true and we'd all be happier if he did. He cut his wrists right in front of us."

Molly felt sick. "Didn't he get any help?"

" Oh, he was beyond it," said Gene. "He bled everywhere. He was taken away then and there. He's in a mental home now. I wouldn't have listened to his stuff if you paid me. I'm a Johnny Cash man myself."

" I knew it! 'Personal Jesus' " ? Someone to hear your prayers, someone who cares...' "she sang.

"Flattery'll get you everywhere," Gene said, "but I've never heard of it."

"It's the only one I like of his really. Heard it on something on the telly."

He nodded. "Well, I suppose you're not the first DI I've had to hear things others don't. Come on, it'll be a long while before we knock off."

*´¨)

(¸.•´ (¸.•´

Molly saw they were heading to the Railway Arms after their shift.

"Don't go in there..." she said.

"I'm gasping," Gene said. "What's wrong with you woman ? You sound like my missus. Well, she sounded like that before..." His voice trailed off, leaving his thoughts unfinished.

"Before she left you?" Molly asked.

"Don't want to talk about it."

"What was wrong with her eyes?"

"I said," I don't want to talk about it!" Gene snapped.

"I was joking."

"Well, don't!"" he snapped.

Molly cringed.

Keats interrupted, having appeared unnoticed.

" 'Comin' out of nowhere
Drivin' like rain
Stormbringer dance
On the thunder again
Dark cloud gathering
Breaking the day
No point running
'Cause it's coming your way '"

He held sheets of paper bearing the legend THE RAILWAY ARMS with a picture of none other than Gene Hunt himself scowling.

Molly felt like throwing up.

Keats put on a high-pitched, mocking voice.

" 'Ooh, I love him!' " he squealed. " 'My Manc Lion! What a sexy accent he's got! Ooh, Gene, I've been bad, come and arrest me!' "

He rolled his eyes.

"Just look at this. Pages and pages of this crap. Do you do anything else? Evidently not. Just how much have you written on here?"

Molly went red. "Oh, Christ, no…"

Keats put his mocking voice on again."' I've never believed in God before, but He must be up there now!' "Lyrics to 'Hallelujah' too. " He started to sing it.

"Piss off!" snapped Gene, moving protectively closer to her.

He gazed at Keats, his stare like a laser beam.

"Why do you insist on upsetting my officers and making their lives a misery?" he roared. "How dare you sully Leonard Cohen's name? I really don't know which is worse!"

Molly put a hand on his shoulder. "Guv, no."

Keats continued to address Molly. "If you could hear yourself! If it wasn't for "him" – he spat the word out -, "you could do so much more. But your love for him won't let you. It's pathetic, to be perfectly honest. Surely you want more out of your life than that?"

Molly felt herself wavering.

"He's so angry all the time." Keats shook his head sadly. "The slightest thing sets him off. Do or say one wrong thing and he turns."

Molly looked at Keats.

Then she looked at the rest of her colleagues.

"He makes me happy," she said.

"Does he?" Keats said. "Does he? Really?"

He walked away.

Molly continued to beg Gene not to enter the Railway Arms.

She was standing so close to him that she could see every pore in his lived-in face. He smelt of Old Spice, whisky and sweat. She breathed his scent in, closing her eyes.

"I wish I could take you home. You're like a huge glass of water when someone's been in the desert for years."

"Feeling parched, are you?" Gene said, his eyes burning into hers. He leaned closer.

Someone shouted, i"What happened?"/i"

Keats stepped out of the shadows, unheard.

" 'Ride the rainbow

Crack the sky

Stormbringer coming

Time to die

Got to keep running

Stormbringer coming...'"/i

He'd got a cassette player with him, which he put a tape into then pressed PLAY.

He looked at Gene.

"Are you still wondering who reported you?" he sneered.

"Bloody knew it!" Gene spat.

"I reported you too, DI Taylor!"

"Bastard!" Molly hissed.

"Molly, Molly, Molly. Poor little vulnerable Molly," Keats crooned. "Can't run away from things, no matter how hard she tries. The real world isn't going to go away just because you choose to pretend it isn't there."

"I'll..." Gene growled.

"A cassette player?" Molly said, undaunted. "Haven't you moved on yet? Even I threw all my tapes away! No one uses them any more."

She stopped talking when she heard a familiar song that she would have preferred to forget.

" ' And I've lost my light

I toss and turn I can't sleep at night

Once I ran to you (I ran)

Now I run from you '"

She saw the number 6620 on Gene's shoulder. He was no longer a DCI but a PC.

She couldn't move.

He seemed to look younger. The left half of his face was covered with a sticky, shocking-red stain.

" 'Tainted love…' "

"Get away from me!" she screamed. She backed away from him, petrified. "Don't touch me!"

"Look at your Guv!" Keats taunted, laughing madly. "Look at him! See who the man you love really is! Bet you don't want to do what you've written about now!"

"No! No!" she screamed.

As quickly as the change had happened, it was reversed; Molly couldn't be sure whether it had happened at all. Her head hurt.

"I'm coming for you, Hunt!" Keats said.

"Didn't know you felt that way," Gene replied. "Explains a lot. There are some things in life that you just wish you'd never found out; that's one of them."

"I'll ignore that. How can you love that man so much?" Keats screamed, his face florid with rage. "What does he do for you?"

"I look up to him," Ray said. "He's our Guv. End of."

"How many times has he drummed that into you?" asked Keats. "Probably literally as well!"

"He's a good man," said Chris. "I like him – in a manly way. I mean ..." He stopped talking hurriedly.

"He makes me laugh until the tears run down my face –- and some other things, but I'll bypass them," said Molly. "Do you know what it means to laugh until you cry ? Probably not. I bet the last time you were happy was in the cradle. Now if you don't leave me and my colleagues alone, I will shove your glasses where you'll never find them again."

Keats scurried away.

"What happened just then?" Gene asked her, looking concerned. "You were screaming your head off. Did you hear one of your songs that make you go funny again?"

"Something like that…"

"Tell me what just happened!" he said forcefully, his green eyes flashing.

"I..."

She couldn't look away from his steely gaze, she felt like her throat was closing up.

"He's so angry all the time."

Keats had been right.

"Guv, promise me you won't …." she stammered.

She put her hand up to his face, relieved to find it was OK.

"Promise you I won't what?" he asked, his voice soft again, the flash of anger gone.

"Do or say one wrong thing and he turns."

"Nothing," Molly stammered.It would take too long to explain, she thought.

"I love you," she said, hugging him.

"No you don't," Gene said," you think you do." He sighed. "In 10 years' time, you'll look back and be embarrassed when you think of me."

"I won't!" Molly said.

"You will. Look how embarrassed you were when Jimbo read that stuff out. It probably won't even take a year," he said. " Somebody else will come along soon and I'll be wiped out of your mind. I'm used to it."

Molly burst into tears. "No, you won't," she sniffed, kissing him. "I'll never forget you. Never. Any of you."

"Now look," Gene said, his voice dropping low and soft. Molly's skin prickled at the sound of it.

"Don't -" she started.

"I know, but you've got to live your life without me." Gene said. "You did it before, you can do it again."

"But there's nothing for me to live my life for." she sobbed. "I can't."

"Oh come on!" Gene said.

"I want to go in the Railway Arms with you." Molly was so upset that she was shivering.

"Well, that's no problem," Gene said. "Nothing to cry over. Come on, my throat's drier than a camel's balls."

"I don't mean just go in there, Guv; I mean I want to stay..." She retched and tried again. "I want to stay with you."

"Really?" Gene said, looking at her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You do know when you're my age, I'll be about 77 –- that is if I'm not dead?"

No you won't, she thought sadly, but she didn't say it.

"Yeah! With a Zimmer frame, and a bag hanging off him that's full of his…" said Chris.

"Don't you ever think before you speak, Christopher?" snapped Gene. "You'd make the Pope support abortion!"

Molly was still weeping.

"I can't let this happen," Gene said, almost in a growl. "Come here," he said. He lifted her chin up and wiped her tears away with his gloved hands.

Her eyes had black shadows underneath them, as if she hadn't slept in weeks.

"So tired..." she gasped. "Gene, I..."

"Shhh...shhh. I let another woman go once." he said.

Molly nodded.

"She loved me just like you do. She worshipped me. I loved her," Gene said, his voice almost cracking. " She didn't want to leave me either, but I told her she had to. I've regretted it ever since. It is not happening again," he vowed. "Ever."

He smiled kindly and said, "the Gene Genie will always be with you. Whether you want him there or not!"

His smile was blinding. He put his arm round her and rubbed her back. His hand felt heavy and rough. Her shivering stopped; she'd never felt warmth like it, tingling, burning and spreading right through her body, as if she had drunk some of his single malt. She gasped and cried out in surprise, curling her toes up inside her shoes.

"What's up with her?" asked Chris, looking worried.

"I think I know!" said Ray. "She sounds just like this bird I met last night!"

The warmth dissipated; Molly couldn't hide her disappointment.

"Let's hope so." she said.

"Now come on," Gene said, "your round, Raymondo. Packet of pork scratchings for me. Same for my DI."

"Can't have them." Molly said. "I love them but they make my heart pound."

"Thought I made it do that," Gene said.

"I can't..." Chris and Ray said at the same time.

"Come on, I'll get you two back in!" Gene said. "Ray, the band that poofter we arrested was in –- Egg Custard …..."

"I've got their album." Chris interrupted.

"You would have, Chris." Ray said.

"It's great." Chris enthused. "Speak Up, I'm A Trifle Deaf."

"THE BAND THAT POOFTER WAS IN..." Ray shouted in his ear.

"No, Ray, that's what it's called..."

"I've heard they're re-forming, Chris," Ray said to him. "They need a new vocalist, so I put a good word in for you."

"Ignore them." Gene said.

"I try to."

" Did you really write all that cr…. all that stuff about me?" Gene asked her. "About my "sexy" accent?"

"Yes, but that's different! How did I know you'd see it?"

"Did you mean it? Is it sexy?"

"Is the grass green?"

"Let's see if the Gene Genie can work his magic then." he said.

"Sounds good."

"Your wish is my command!" he joked.

Taking his thick gold chain off, he put it round her neck, lightly tracing where it rested on her throat near her St Christopher; his touch was almost too light to really be his. The metal chain felt hot against her cold skin.

Molly closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

"You like that?" Gene asked.

Molly nodded.

"Don't really need to ask that, do I?" Gene asked, smiling at her.

She shook her head.

"You know, that actually suits you," Gene said. He stopped his tracing. "Never thought a bloke's chain would suit a woman."

Molly sighed, content and steady on her feet at last. She looked down.

"Gene?" she asked.

"What?"

"I didn't... I'm not..." she stammered. "My leg...it doesn't hurt any more. How on earth...?"

Gene still had his arm round her, but loosely.

"You're limping," she said. He was.

"Oh, I'll be fine." he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Never let something like that stop me before. I won't now."

"Good."

"How does this sound?" he asked. "About six, my flat,that song done properly" – he emphasised the last two words - "then I'll hear some of your favourites; as long as you promise not to cry. Make sure you've eaten though. I don't want to poison you."

"Do I hear the great Gene Genie admitting to something he can't do?" Molly joked.

"When you come home to an empty house there's no need." he said. "I'm good at other things, though!"

"You've got a filthier mind than I have." Molly said.

They went into the Railway Arms.

"What'll you have, Mr. Hunt?"

As they went in Molly thought she could hear a harmonica wailing in the distance – and a voice taunting, "the real world isn't going to go away..."

"Guv?" said a woman's voice from inside.

Gene turned around and his mouth dropped open. "Bloody Hell ….."

*´¨)

(¸.•´ (¸.•´

Molly looked at the clock; not that she had to be somewhere. Time dragged when you lived somewhere like Amethyst House. The radio was on, so was the TV. Of course they were both on. People who lived here could barely move; they needed the distraction. Often it was all they could do. Somebody had eventually put what she wanted to watch on but it didn't make things any better.

My dad loved cop shows. Got me into them. Taught me all the special terms. Made me want to be...

Unfortunately a lot of the time, what you wanted wasn't what you got.

That song again! 'Fireflies', seeming louder and louder.

One day she had really listened to the words – unavoidable when you were hearing it for the tenth time. It had made her cry until she struggled to breathe. Why did nobody come to switch it off?

"...Leave my door open just a crack
(Please take me away from here)
'Cause I feel like such an insomniac
(Please take me away from here)
Why do I tire of counting sheep
(Please take me away from here)
When I'm far too tired to fall asleep..."

What a relief; a different song this time, more her type of music.

"The Jean Genie lives on his back
The Jean Genie loves chimney stacks
He's outrageous, he screams and he bawls
Jean Genie let yourself go oh..."

A man with blond hair sat near her. When the song changed to Bowie, he grunted and lifted his finger.

"You can hear it too! You like this song?"

The man grunted again, louder.

"Does it remind you of someone?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

"Who?"

He scowled and punched his fist into his other hand over and over again.

The manager, James, looked at him. "Stuart, stop that! " he said firmly. "You're not the only person here; you'll have to go to your room if this continues."

James turned to leave. He failed to see Stuart stick two fingers up at him behind his back.

Molly said, "I've been ringing for ages," knowing it was more than likely to be useless. Her wheelchair clicked as she looked about anxiously.

'Please take me away from here...'

Stuart looked cross.

"I want to go home," she sobbed to one of the nurses. "I really miss it."

She pulled at her St. Christopher medal, the '70s-style one she'd insisted on having - bought for her before she moved away.

Moved away!

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. That was the wrong term to use; it implied someone was going to make a life for himself or herself, which couldn't have applied to her any less.

"I want to get out of here...,"

"Push it deep down."

"Me too," the nurse said with a trace of Jamaican accent. "Good job my shift's over soon, eh?" he smiled. "I'll tell the others you need help."

"No, I mean, really go home. Go back to where I really come from –- I mean where I lived before."

"Of course you do; it's quite normal." He lowered his voice. "I don't like that man one bit."

"Do you mean James?"

"He's a snake in the grass," said the nurse, his accent thickening with his fury. "I hope he ends up here! He'll know what it's like then!"

"Of all the places I've been, this is the worst," she said. "I hate it. I really hate it."

"The real world isn't going to go away."

"Where else would you go, mon brave?" he said, pushing his dreadlocks out of his eyes.

"What did you say?" Molly gasped.

He continued. "It's always a struggle when folks realise what has happened, but they all get used to it after a while."

"There's getting used to somewhere because you have to and liking it. I shouldn't have to get used to somewhere. Nobody should."

"You have to make the best of things. I was always told, if a branch don't bend, it breaks."

Molly tried to hide her smile at his last comment. "Thank you."

A buzzer rang and he walked off.

She shook her head, confused.

The next day she knocked on James' office door with the intent of complaining about the way Amethyst House was run.

"You're really not making yourself look that good behaving in this way," James said. "There are thirty-six people here; they all need help too."

"Which would make sense if they got it." Molly snapped.

"Six-year-olds cry if they don't get things they want instantly; not people your age. The others have complained to me."

"It's not things we want." Molly said. "It's things we need. "

James sighed. "Nobody needs something every five minutes, Molly."

"Then why are they living here?" Molly asked him. She couldn't believe the nerve of the man. "People don't live somewhere like this if they can manage by themselves, do they?"

"I'm trying to help you, you know." James said.

Molly nearly laughed. "No, you're not," she said.

James wiped his thick-rimmed glasses. He blinked. "Molly, I know you're cross," he said, "but this behaviour will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me." He emphasised "a lot".

"Someday," Molly said too loudly, "you'll be living somewhere like this. Then I hope you get treated the way you treat us all now!"

James recoiled.

Her efforts didn't change a thing.

"Oh no..." said one of the nurses the next morning.

Her poor family.

What will we say?

Molly was sprawled on the floor, legs twisted to the right, her skin grey. Her smile was frozen on her face.

St Christopher necklace still on; moonstone bracelet on her arm; huge star earrings in her ears. No little girl to pass any jewellery she was wearing onto. A crime novel was by her side, with a bookmark stuck in it halfway through.

Her file said:

MOLLY SAMANTHA TAYLOR.

DECEASED.

WHEELCHAIR USER, BEHAVIOURAL DIFFICULTIES.

Stuart looked at the place where she usually sat. His eyes glittered as he slammed his fist on the arm of his wheelchair.

*´¨)

(¸.•´ (¸.•´

"Poor woman," said DCI Terry Gillan in his broad Yorkshire accent, slurping his coffee. "Especially living in there. You expect it in some cases but not at her age. It was probably a relief for her when she died."

He scratched at his shaven head; when his sandy hair had started thinning he'd decided it was easier to shave it off and have done. "That smell from her room..."

"I know." DI Gary Davies said. "Made me feel sick."

"I'd shoot myself if I had to live somewhere like that," Gillan said. "Or get someone to shoot me if I couldn't. " His voice got louder. "If they'd just put her bloody ventilator back on when it came off that could've been avoided. Why didn't they get to her more quickly?"

Some other officers turned to see what was wrong.

"Guv," Davies said warningly.

"They seemed to be more bothered whether the home would be closed, the bastards. " 'Home From Home' " my backside," Gillan ranted.

What will we say?

"Where were her parents?" Davies asked. "Why weren't they visiting her? Wouldn't they have been worried, not hearing from their daughter for a while? I would've been."

"Too ill to visit apparently," sneered Gillan. "We all know what that means."

"You seem to be taking this a bit personally, mate," said Davies. "You all right?" He looked worriedly at the stouter man.

"My daughter's in one of these places. She never recognises me when I visit, " Gillan sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if there's any point, to be honest." He opened his wallet and took a photo out. "That's her. Her name's Kirsty."

The girl in the photo looked to be about sixteen. She was dressed in pink and she was smiling as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"Such a shame. I didn't know. I'm sorry, Terry."

"No need to be. It is." Gillan rubbed his tired eyes. "Wonder who this 'Jean' Molly mentioned is – or was ?" he asked.

"Don't know," Davies said. "Friend, family member, could even be partner. We'll have to let her know."

"I was thinking – that picture she had on her wall – did you see it?" asked Gillan.

"Yes, I did. Hard to miss it, it was huge. Lots of pictures of the same man from what I could see. That copper you think is great. She must've really loved him." Davies looked sad.

"Did you ever see Life On Marswhen it was on? " asked Gillan.

"No, I didn't."

"You don't know what you missed mate."Gillan said. "I'll have to lend it to you. It was great." he enthused. "I bloody loved it. Best thing I've ever seen. She had the DVDs in her room. The sequelwas still in its cellophane, so she obviously hadn't had a chance to see it, or didn't like it very much …..."

His voice trailed off.

"Don't need to see it. I know all I need to from you going on. I'veworked with people like that." Davies said.

"So have I," said Gillan.

"I'm glad I don't have to any more," said Davies. His thin frame seemed to fold in on itself as he cringed. "Why on Earth would I want to see that? It's like looking at a sack of coal after you've worked down a mine for years."

" 'It's a god-awful small affair, to the girl with the mousy hair... ' " Gillan sang. "But her mummy is yelling no..."

"Stop singing that! I can't stand Bowie!"

"That's where you and I differ, my friend." Gillan thought a moment. "Molly looked happy when we found her, didn't she?" he said.

"Yeah, she did." Davies said.

"Almost as if ….no. that's daft," said Gillan, catching himself.

"If what ?" said Davies.

"As if she'd seen something wonderful before she died." he said. "It can't have been...she can't have..." he said under his breath, shaking his head.

"Terry, it's just a case, like thousands of others we have to deal with," said Davies. He sighed loudly. "You're a good cop, but try not to take your work home with you. It won't do any good."

"Right. I won't," Gillan said.

"Well, I'm gonna clock off. See you," Davies said to his friend.

"See you, then."

*´¨)

(¸.•´ (¸.•´

Gillan walked out of the station.

He'd visit his daughter tomorrow.

Poor Kirsty.

Lost in thought, he didn't see the car, and the car didn't see him coming – until the very last moment.

It was too late by then.

THE END