Chapter Two
Alex Pace jumped out of his skin when the radio on his belt crackled to life. His cup of coffee spilled onto his hand and Alex yelped, dropping the cup onto his desk and spilling the rest of it.
Major accident off of North-West highway, Sir
"Crap." Alex muttered, mopping up the brown mess with some papers he hoped weren't important. He sighed and unclipped the radio from his belt. "Casualties?"
Not sure yet- we're still trying to get down there. You know the hill off the side of North West?
Alex groaned, holding the radio with his shoulder while he attempted to clean up. "Good grief. Off the side?"
Yup. And it's a semi.
Muttering profanity under his breath, Alex gave up with the coffee mess and snagged his jacket off its hook on the door leading out of his newly- acquired office. "George!" Alex shouted to his good-for-nothing DI, weaving in and out the maze of desks. Several police officers had received a radio call already and were busy rushing out the door. George stood up, ran a shaking hand through his oily hair, and snapped to attention. Alex sighed. "I told you, you don't have to salute me. It wastes time."
"Oh." George blushed. He couldn't seem to concentrate on anything for a long amount of time, and his eyes were constantly bouncing around the room. Alex shook his head. As soon as a suitable candidate arose, he would replace the man in a heartbeat.
"There's a massive road crash on North West. I'm gonna go down there and try to help."
George's eyes widened. "Do- do you want me to-?"
Alex placed a hand on the stick-like man's shoulder. "I want you to clean up the coffee in my office."
George visibly showed his relief. He hated conflict of any sort, which made Alex wonder why he became a police officer at all.
Over the course of the three months he had been DCI, Alex asked several of the other officers if they would take George's job, but for a reason Alex could not understand, they all politely declined. Truthfully, they didn't fancy working with someone like Alex Pace.
He was a hard worker, and consistent when it suited him, but most of the time, Alex was hardly the sort of man one wanted to work under. He had a tendency to throw the nasty business at his deputy so he could spend his time doing the 'important stuff'. None of the officers wanted to be in that position.
Quickly, Alex replaced the radio on his belt and shoved open the glass doors of the small-town police station. They were no less than ten miles from London, but any car accidents within their stretch of highway was the responsibility of the Tolemac police. And that meant it was Alex's problem. After his father was deemed mentally unstable and unable to continue as the detective chief inspector, it was logical for Alex, his assistant, to take up the position. He was young, but pretty dang good at his job, if he said so himself.
The day was stuffed with fog and uncomfortably wet. Hopefully that would keep any sort of fire from breaking out. Alex ran a hand through his blonde hair and jumped into the nearest squad car. He didn't check to see if it was his, and soon three officers came out only to realize that their ride was currently unavailable.
Alex's thought of himself to be a lone-wolf sort of man. He did his job and he went home. He worked, ate, slept, and enjoyed life while he could. Socializing was not apart of the schedule now that he was DCI. He was too wrapped up in solving other people's lives to work on his own. Also, not having a halfway-decent DI to lessen the load didn't help.
Jeeze. George was an idiot.
The road became less populated as he veered away from the main highways to a small mountain highway that clambered down a hill. It wasn't too steep, but a fall off the side of the road would be anything but pleasant. He used to play here as a boy. He and his friends would come and shoot… something. He frowned. They had shot something, but at the moment he couldn't remember what. It had been so long ago, he couldn't even recall the faces of those friends. Where were they now? He had no idea.
Shaking away the odd feeling that came over him, he veered to the side of the road and stuck his hand out the window to wave at the police officers blocking the road. Jimmy and Mike were their names, if he remembered correctly, and they stepped aside immediately so that he could drive his car past them.
Quickly parking, Alex undid his seatbelt and jumped out of the car.
Instantly he evaluated the situation. The paramedics were already here, trying to drag the driver out of the crushed front seat and rushing about agitatedly. Several police officers were talking to bystanders who wandered on to the scene, and the truck lay on its side, the right hand side cabin crushed under the weight of its trailer when it fell.
No one could possibly survive that.
Hissing angrily, Alex stuck his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, slid under the police tape and skidded down the grassy hill. The hill was torn up by the crashing car and it would take weeks for the foliage to grow back. But Alex could care less about the plants. He jogged up to the truck, looking for the medical examiner. The medical examiner was a kind man who always seemed to know what to do in situations like this. Besides, he was intelligent and didn't babble on aimlessly.
"There you are, Gordon!" Alex shouted, seeing the man bend over the driver as they extracted him. It was a bloody sight and Alex cringed. He walked up to Gordon, waiting as the man placed a finger on the burly man's neck and shook his head.
"He's dead," Alex murmured. He'd expected as much, but it was always a shock to see a dead body in person. The medical assistants quickly covered the man's face and hurried him off toward the ambulance. Not to save him. Just to get him to the funeral home. Alex's stomach turned.
Gordon finally looked up now. He was tired, that much was obvious. His long, grey hair was pulled into a braid down his neck and he grunted when he stood up, hand on his hip. Gordon was a tireless worker, totally reliable and completely competent despite his age, but Alex knew that he felt his father's absence. Criminals were taking advantage of Urban Pace's absence, believing Alex to be less capable than his father. Alex showed them that they were wrong, but there were still more bodies to deal with than usual and that meant long hours for everyone, especially the head medical examiner.
He gave Alex an emotionless look, neither angry nor entirely pleased. "About time you showed but," Gordon muttered. Bags hung under his eyes and he scowled angrily.
Alex frowned, indignant. "I came as soon as I got the call!"
"And a man is still dead," Gordon answered. Then he shook his head, closed his eyes. He opened them again slowly. "I apologize, Alex. I've had a long day. None of that is your fault."
Of course it isn't, old man. Alex wanted to say. But he didn't. He'd learned in the past few months that keeping his mouth shut was usually the best course of action in situations like this. Nodding curtly, he glanced behind Gordon to look at the truck. It was a massive wreck and it would take ages to move it to the junkyard. Arthur sighed inwardly. "What happened?" he asked.
"It was unintentional, I assume," Gordon replied, turning to look at the truck along with Alex and crossing his arms over his chest. "It's a foggy day. The road scuffs suggest another car was driving on the wrong side of the road. They swerved and managed to miss each other, but the truck was too close to the edge and flew off."
Alex cringed. He bent down on his haunches to look inside the crushed cab. He could only see the left side of the cab, where the driver sat. The other side was crushed shut. The mirrors were all shattered and blood was drying on sharp edges. Quickly he took out a notebook and began jotting down what he saw so he could write it out in the official report. They'd need to identify the driver. That would be a pain unless they could get a driver's licence.
Which was likely, since he was driving a car. Slowly, Alex bend forward and felt under the vanity mirror. There was no dust on the mirror that he could feel, which implied that the man flipped down the mirror often. That was odd. Not many truck drivers spent a lot of time checking out their hairdo's... Then a collection of pages met his fingers. Bingo.
The truck driver wasn't spending time looking at himself in the mirror, but placing information, licenses to drive, and other bits of important information in the vanity mirror was something that would require him flipping down the mirror on occasion. Therefore, no dust.
Alex took ahold of the pages and unfolded them. He nodded to himself and handed the pages off to Gordon, whose eyebrows were up. "This is probably the driver's identification and stuff," he said, ignoring the man's impressed look. It took conscious effort for Alex to inwardly keep from gloating, and he found that ignoring other people's praise made it easier.
Gordon read it quickly and nodded quickly before scurrying off. "See what else you can find, Alex. I'll be back."
Alex waved a hand to show that he'd heard him, and then dove back into the truck. It was a good thing it was so wet today. Nothing was in danger of exploding and any fires that had caught quickly died down.
He inspected the rest of the un-crushed cabin, looking it up and down, but there wasn't much else to be seen. Then his eyes caught onto a sweatshirt sleeve, buried under glass. Carefully, he extracted the sleeve and frowned at it. It had been ripped off during the crash.
It wasn't the right size. For the driver, that is. Why would a burly driver like that man have the sweater of a skinny teen in his car?
Unless there was-
Suddenly a sound lit his ears. A cry. From the other side of the cab. The side that was crushed. Utterly demolished.
"Oh no way," he breathed, and then louder, "No way- GORDON! GORDON GET OVER HERE!"
"What is it?"
Alex's heart was thumping and he knocked on the ceiling of the cabin, which was bent down over the right side of the cabin, crushed downward. "Hello?" he shouted, "Can you hear me? Is someone in there?"
Gordon shuffled over. "What are you saying, Ale-?"
"Say something so I know you're alive!" Alex cried. He listened intently.
After a moment he heard a thump, a muffled cry.
Absolute shock coursed through him like fire. How could someone possibly be alive in there? No time to worry about that. "Gordon! Where are you?"
Gordon rushed over, confused. "Alex. What's the matter with you-?"
"There's someone else inside!" Alex interrupted breathlessly, hardly believing it, " Behind there!" He pointed at the fallen ceiling.
Gordon's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. And he's alive!"
"That's impossib-"
A muffled thump suddenly punctuated the air, followed by shout.
"Goodness gracious," Gordon croaked, eyes wide as saucers. "You're right!" Instantly Gordon rounded to the other side of the crushed cabin of the truck and knocked on the metal. "Are you hurt? Tell me where you are so we can cut you out!"
"I- I don't know. I think I'm okay!" a voice cried, barely heard from under the metal. It was male. Younger that Alex, but not by much.
"How can he not be hurt?" Alex murmured.
"GET OVER HERE!" Gordon shouted to his team. "Bring the scissors!" Then he turned to Alex and spoke in a low voice. "If he's got a spinal fracture then he wouldn't be able to feel anything."
"If he was paralyzed then he wouldn't be able to knock on the walls," Alex countered.
Gordon nodded. "Good point."
Right then the medical team rushed up, confusion on their faces. "Well, come on then," Gordon cried, "There's someone alive in there!"
"What!"
"Ask later!" Gordon shouted over their replies. "Act now! Did you bring the scissors?"
The scissors were not the normal size. It was a massive, hydraulic tool that clamped down mightily, intending to cut through metal. It took a matter of seconds, tense seconds though they were, to cut through the ceiling of the crushed cabin. Alex paced back and forth, out of the way, but still close enough that he could see what was happening.
Ren woke up to complete and utter darkness. I'm dead, he thought. Then he shook away the notion. That was ridiculous. He could still feel the metal around him, jagged edges and cold slices all folded up underneath and around him.
Not dead. Then what?
Stuck.
Where?
Suddenly the memory of the crash came flooding back and he gasped. Maybe he really was dead. The probability of his being so was much higher than survival.
Slowly, he sat up. The metal curved around him, like he was imprisoned in a hollow marble. He could just barely sit without the ceiling hitting the top of his head.
The truck driver. Ren's eyes suddenly widened. Where was he? Was he okay? He opened his mouth to shout for him and then realized he didn't know the man's name. Pausing, he felt panic spark in his heart. What was he going to do? There was no way out, as far as he could see. He ran his hands around him just to make sure. Totally encased. In a perfect sphere.
Ren was too worried to wonder about that. Instead, he slammed the butt of his palm against the metal ceiling and began shouting. Hopefully the driver would hear him and shout back.
"HEY!" he screamed, his voice sounding scratched in his ears. His entire body ached with exhaustion and he knew several bruises had to be forming everywhere. "HEY! SOMEONE GET ME OUT!"
Then again, maybe he shouldn't shout. What if someone evil came?
He shook the thought away. That was ridiculous. It's not like there were monsters outside.
Vaguely, Ren knew he should be more afraid. Not to say he wasn't afraid. He was terrified, but not in a way he thought he would be. It was as if this had happened before in one way or another… Had he been in a situation like this? Not in real life, surely.
He didn't know.
A memory from three months before came rushing to his mind and he sighed inwardly. He woke up twelve miles away from any sort of civilization, terrified and alone. The moors were harsh, the wind cut through his thin shirt and he shivered as he walked up and down the hills, hungry and tired and lost.
Ren had no idea how he'd gotten there, or anything that had happened before he'd woken up. All he knew was his name and a dream. But then again, it couldn't be his name. It was ridiculous. It was a figment of his imagination, surely. And the dream? Well, it couldn't be anything more than a dream.
Because this was the twenty-first century. Magic wasn't real, he knew that. Dragons, trolls, witches. All fake.
So this dream of his that he could only recall in snippets, it wasn't much help.
Slamming his fist against the metal, he cried out in pain as an edge sliced through the side of his palm.
"Daggonit!" he screamed, "I did not travel all this way just to die in a blooming car crash!"
Then he thought he heard something.
Was that a voice?
Instantly hope kick-started his heart and he began shouting again. "I'M IN HERE!" he yelled, slamming his fist against the metal and then shrieking in pain. He'd forgotten his injured hand in his excitement.
Then he heard another voice, different this time. "...hurt…?" he heard. "...Where... you?"
Ren shouted his reply and then waited when he heard the man yelling for scissors.
There was a smashing, crunching sound and blade of some sort pushed its way through the metal encasement. Watery light stabbed the darkness and Ren exhaled in relief. They were going to get him out!
"Can you hear me?" An elderly, male voice called. "Back away if you can!"
Ren did so, cradling his injured hand, which was bleeding profusely. The jaw-like tool ate deeper into the metal until there was a large enough hole for Ren to see faces staring in through it.
He blinked at them, quiet as a mouse. A sudden scene from his dream flashed through his mind.
Trust no one. You need to be more careful. If he was to find out what you can do, Uther would kill you.
Ren brushed it away and accepted the hands stretched out to help him out. They tugged at his clothes, arms, and back- gentle but firm. It didn't take long and soon a breath of fresh air filled his lungs and Ren tumbled out of the wreckage and into the arms of the medical examiner.
"Dear me!" the man cried, "You really are alive!"
Ren stood quickly, wobbled, fell into the man's arms. The man was elderly, but warm and Ren only caught the slightest glimpse of his face before Ren was rushed away and piled onto a stretcher.
He insisted his wasn't hurt, that his only injury was his hand, but the medical team would hear none of it. "I'm fine! Really! Where's the driver?"
"Don't move."
"He was with me! Have you found him?"
"Just stay still. We're trying to help you!"
"I'm FINE!" Ren protested, angry now. he swatted the hand of the nearest medic away. "You need to help the DRIVER!"
At that moment a young man in a leather jacket stepped up behind the medical team, hands in the belt loops of his jeans and stared at Ren in shock. He had a handsome face with sharp blue eyes, but the way he looked down over his nose that made Ren think he was probably a prat. There was something- something just at the edge of Ren's consciousness that was bugging him, demanding to be noticed, but he couldn't catch it.
Something familiar.
Can't place it.
Drat it.
"Did you see the driver?" Ren asked the young man, desperate. "Is he okay?"
The young man's face fell, pity filling his eyes, and Ren's heart sunk to the soles of his converse. The young man didn't need to say it. Ren already knew. The driver was dead. And Ren didn't even know his name.
AN: Exciting, isn't it? I'm really in love with this idea, but I've got so many stories I'm working on, that this one got pushed to the side for a bit. Any-who, if you wish to read some of my other stories while you're waiting for an update, I've got several Doctor Who crossovers and straight DW stuff, if you guys are into that sort of thing;) PLEASE leave a REVIEW! So are you starting to understand how they're memories are working? So fun :)