Chapter 2

"Could really do without this, today of all days."

"Like there's ever a good day for it."

"But today! In the bloody squirrel suit!"

"Don't you think this is probably the best time for someone to see you in a squirrel suit?" Kim asked Simon, "when they're in seven shades of shock and probably won't even remember it tomorrow?"

Simon glanced around where Em was sitting in the back of the car, staring blankly ahead, then looked back at Kim.

"Are we taking her with us?" he asked.

"We cant leave her in the midday heat with nowhere to go," Kim hissed.

"She isn't even a copper!"

"Yeah, and you're a squirrel," Kim felt the need to remind him.

Simon scowled angrily.

"Only on a very temporary basis," he seethed.

"Can you just pull your tail in so I can get on the road please?" Kim sighed as Simon tried to haul his fluffy appendage in the car.

"Fine," he mumbled, "just make it quick."

"Yeah, yeah," Kim sighed as she turned the key in the ignition.

"And I'm talking Gene Hunt-speed driving," Simon warned, "it's sweltering in this bloody car."

"You can always walk," Kim threatened.

"While rowdy art students point, laugh and attempt to fashion a collage out of my tail?" Simon cried, "No thanks,"he tried to fold his arms but in the suit it was near impossible. "Just go."

Kim sighed again and pulled out of the car park. The little police station was somewhat smaller than Fenchurch East and had a far more understated entrance. The shade of the trees had been greatly appreciated and the little garden had given them something to look at but it was all a little too quaint and sleepy for their liking. The most severe crime reported whilst they were attending the briefing about local schools and colleges wad the woman who attended to have her girlfriend arrested for refusing to buy her a singing Sharon Osbourne toy.

"This is ridiculous anyway," Kim told him, "we'll get there, no one will turn up because they're all watching the match, we'll have an awkward conversation with some arty prat in a cravat and a tweed jacket for five minutes and then we can bugger off to watch the rest in the pub."

"You can watch it at the college."

Kim and Simon exchanged a surprised glance as Em finally spoke. She'd been silent for so long that they'd assumed she was either half-unconscious or in a state of severe shock.

"Sorry?" Simon frowned.

Em's stare turned to him but she didn't quite look him in the eye.

"At the college," her voice was low, barely heard above the engine of the Fiat, "you can watch the match." She swallowed and closed her eyes, a chilling sensation passing through her limb by limb, "just don't…" she looked away as her words became quieter and she spoke more to herself than to anybody else, "don't watch it in the fine art hut. They've got the bigger telly, but," she flinched, "it's packed in there, it's… baking, so you'll want to go to cultural studies. You won't find anyone really in there, except for a couple of girls at the back. And the cultural studies tutor." She shook her head slightly and stared at her knees, "and the harbinger of doom comes in at one point, but –"

Kim and Simon frowned as she trailed away.

"Thanks… for that," Simon wasn't sure what else to say.

Silence decided for most of the short journey to the art college, filed only by quiet mutterings about Simon's sudden hatred for squirrels and Kim trying and failing not to laugh at his plight. Eventually they arrived and pulled up outside of the crumbling main building.

"I'll go in and tell them we're here," Kim told them, "Em, get your bag and wait in the car."

Em drew her knees to her chest, the heels of her boots resting in the edge of the back seat.

"I think I'll just stay here," she said quiet;y. The surroundings were choking her, the familiar buildings taping her on the shoulder with reminders of their existence. She could smell them; the paints, the glue, the printing ink, her past. The scent made her choke.

"If she's staying here then I'm staying too," Simon folded his arms.

"You cant stay here, you're squirrel extraordinaire," Kim sighed, folding hers.

"I don't want to be seen!"

"This place is dead!" Kim cried, pointing around as Em shuddered at her words, "look at it! There's no one in sight because they're all watching the match."

"So why don't we skip out on this, head off and do the same?" Simon begged, "come on, Kim, there was a pub on the corner. We could go there!"

"I thought you didn't want to be seen as a squirrel!"

"By now they're probably too pissed to realize," Simon commented. He sighed, "I could pretend I'm a bloody mascot."

Kim stepped out of the car, shaking her head.

"I'm going to reception ," she said, "I want you out of the car by the time I get back. And Em," she looked at the scared, lost stranger in the back, "get that bag." She noticed the girl stayed right where she was, "get the bag before someone mistakes it for a bloody art installation."

She slammed the door and stomped away to the main building, the door creaking a little as she stepped inside. Em stayed still in the back of the car, staring at the back of Simon's head as it poked out of the costume, beads of sweat rolling down thes back of his neck. Her eyes slowly moved from side to side, taking in the grounds that she never thought she would see again; the shade from the cherry trees, the woodchips lining the garden, the telltale splatters of paint, or blood, where someone's fine art project had gone wrong. She shuddered even though the day was hot.

"This place hasn't even existed for ten years," she whispered.

Simon tried to glance around but he couldn't move that far in his squirrel costume, so he had to settle for looking at her in the rear view mirror.

"You'd better get your bag unless you want DCI Stringer to make it so that you don't exist any more," he said

Em swallowed as she looked at his reflection in the mirror, the bright blue eyes and the dark blonde curls. He looked familiar, really familiar. She'd seen him somewhere. Was it on TV? She bit the inside of her cheek as she slowly worked out where it was.

"A-are you Simon Shoebury?" she whispered.

Simon hesitated.

"Yes," he said, "DCI Simon Shoebury.

Em shook her head, a little more violently with every turn.

"But you're dead," she whispered.

Simon's first instinct was to ask how she knew, the second was to comment that he must be in hell if the damn squirrel suit was anything to go by. But he knew the drill and neither of those comments were appropriate.

"I'm sitting right here, breathing sweating and feeling like I want to disappear down a manhole so no one sees me in this stupid costume," he said, "I think I'm pretty much alive."

"I saw you," Em whispered, "on the news."

Simon tensed up.

"Sometimes we have to handle press conferences –"

"The Jim Keats thing."

That did it. Squirrel suit or no squirrel suit, Simon turned his head around.

"What?"

Just hearing the name sent a clash of emotions through his soul; the horror and the fear of the monster who'd tried to destroy him and the burning feeling of desire for the man who was trying to fight his way out from under that evil shadow. It caused him to squirm around in his suit, glad that the furry body hid the more unwanted effects.

"Dispatches," Em said quietly, "It is you, isn't it?" she paused, realizing that she was starting to shake again. What if she was wrong? She'd feel so stupid. God, she hated feeling so uncertain. "That twisted man… Jim Keats. The hospital, the stalking… it is you, isn't it?"

Simon swallowed and turned to face the front again.

"Yes," he whispered, "yes, it's me."

Em shook her head again.

"But you're dead," she insisted. This time Simon didn't reply as she watched his eyes turn downward in the mirror. He didn't know what to say to her any more than she knew what to say to anyone in this strange place. Slowly she reached out and very softly poked him in the back of the neck. His skin felt hot and clammy to the touch and slightly prickly where part of it had been shaven at his last haircut. He spun around crossly, reaching up to grab the spot.

"Ow!" he cried and she shrunk back in her seat guiltily.

"Sorry," she said apologetically. She stared at her hands, breathing deeply. Her stomach churned and she felt like she wanted to throw up. Fucking anxiety, it was overtaking every inch of her body. She didn't deal well with the unexpected. All she wanted was to curl up, close her eyes, fall asleep and wake up back in her own home. She glanced out of the window, just about catching a glimpse of Kim's jeans through the double doors as she stood at the reception window, talking to someone about the road safety lecture.

"Is that Kimberley Stringer?" she asked quietly.

"Kim," Simon said quickly, "don't even think about calling her Kimberley, shell have your head off quicker than you can blink."

Em's eyes widened as she sank down lower in her seat. This was all a bit too much for her.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "they just called her Kimberley in the book."

Simon seemed to bristle.

"There is no book," he said a little flatly.

"Yes there is," Em rubbed her hands together to give herself a distraction. "I've been reading it, over and over, stupidly." She rolled her eyes, angrily cursing herself for doing it "Been a long time since I've been obsessed with something. Not this much, anyway." She was jabbering but she couldn't help it. When she was nervous she tended to do that. "So fascinating. The reports. The near death experience. The suicides. Everyone linked up." She shook her head, "shit, it was the fan fiction, wasn't it?"

"What fan fiction?" Simon didn't know who the stranger was but he was starting to wish she'd shut up.

"The splatfics," Em explained, "an off-shoot of the beard fics. I mean. I can't stand the beard modeling stuff but then when I heard about the book it was just so fascinating, I got really into the fandom."

"The what?" Simon's expression grew more bewildered with every moment.

"Is this my punishment?" Em whispered, "for treating it like some kind of…" she shook her head, "TV show? Shipping real people?"

"Shipping people where?" Simon frowned, for a moment wondering whether there was some human trafficking going on until he realized what she meant. "What, relationships?" he cried, shuddering at the thought of anyone writing fiction about him in the first place, much less fiction of a certain nature.

"I suppose it was inevitable," she said quietly to herself rather than to anyone else, "I've been writing so much splatfic and watching the documentaries on repeat. Now that I must be in some sort of –" she began to randomly poke the ceiling of the car, "- coma myself I'm dreaming about the kind of place that I've been writing and reading about." She shook her head. "Shit, I'm lucid dreaming. I'm no good at this. Even when I know I'm in a dream I can't make stuff happen."

"I can make violence happen if you don't get out the car and pick up your bag," Simon threatened, then realized he sounded more like Kim. "Shit, I've been spending far too much time with certain members of the team." He shifted himself round as far as he could in his seat and looked at Em seriously. He knew that she was confused and scared, but he also knew she wasn't like the others. He didn't know how to handle this, but he had to try to take control. "Look," he began a little more calmly, "nether of us want to go in there, but we both have to. If you find your bag and find out where you live then you can go home, get changed, take a nice long shower and get an early night, and tomorrow you'll feel much better." It was crappy advice and he knew it but he also knew he had to act as naturally as possible. He opened the door and managed to force one of his furry legs out of the car. "Come on," he said, "if I can walk through a college as a squirrel then you can go and pick up a bag."

Em stared at him incredulously but realized he was serious. She breathed in deeply, her anxiety still high, and let her breath out slow;y. She felt bewildered, trapped and scared but she didn't see she had an alternative. Follow instructions. Maybe that was all she could do. She steeled herself and took another deep breath in.

"OK," she said quietly.

Simon looked back at her.

"OK?" he repeated and she nodded.

Slowly she opened the door and stepped out of the Fiat, the sun beating down on her shoulders. She inhaled a deep lungful of air and myriad familiar scents send spasms of nostalgia through her body. She could smell the pollen from the trees, the scent of friction on wood from the 3D building, the various paints and glue being used to prepare the show, even the 'creamy' vegetable soup from the machine in the refectory. Her senses were overwhelmed, even more so as her eyes took in every detail; the Chiltern House sign above the main entrance, the long grasses blowing in the soft breeze, two poorly marked parking spaces and the green fence posts, the only part of the complex that still remained a decade and a half on. She flinched and swallowed as nausea churned and swirled in her chest and the memories of a place she'd loved and hated in equal measures overwhelmed her, taking her legs from under her with one long, anguished cry that left her crashing to the floor at the same moment Kim emerged from the building. She stared first at the fallen woman, then at Simon.

"I hope you didn't kill her with too many comments about nuts," she accused.

"She just flaked out on me!" Simon protested, "not like it's the first time it's happened!"

Kim rolled her eyes as Simon made a vague attempt at picking Em up from the floor.

"Here," she mumbled, "if you want a job done properly…" she crossed to them both and bent down, "don't leave it to a giant squirrel."

Together they loaded Em into the back of the car and stepped back, closing the door,

"Do you think she'll be OK in there?" Simon asked.

"She'll have to be," said Kim, "we've got a talk to give."

"Shit," Simon sighed, "I was hoping they'd canceled it."

"No such luck," Kim told him. She unfolded the sheet of paper she'd been given and studied the map upon it. "Woman behind the window said they're all waiting there already. A hut round the back called Spartan One."

"Let's get this over with then," Simon mumbled, fluffy arms crossed, "so death by humiliation can stop me dying from heat stroke instead."

~xXx~

"Is… this… it?"

Simon scowled through his Squirrel head as he and Kim stood at the front of the hut. Many chairs were stood opposite them but of the hundred or so the hut comfortably seated only five of them were filled; three by tutors, one by a skull and one by a boy called Martin Weikop who, despite being the star prodigy of every tutor in the college, was destined for a life doing great things redesigning the price tickets in B&Q.

"I think it is," Kim glowered. Apparently football was more important to art students than road safety. Whoever would have thought it?

"Right," Simon began, his tail wobbling as he spoke, "let's get this over with."

Kim sighed internally. This was a nightmare.

"Fine," she said. As she opened her mouth to invite the audience to guess how many road traffic accidents occurred in surrey caused by pieces of artwork falling out of portfolios and covering up windscreens, an almighty cheer came from a building nearby as the first goal of the match occurred.

Simon and Kim turned to stare at each other, or as well as they possibly could when one of them was a giant squirrel. The sound of elation wore away the last of their resolve.

"Right," Kim turned to the miniscule audience and said, "Don't get run over, kids." Then she turned back to Simon. "Leg it!"

The sight of a small blonde woman with a body full of art and a lanky squirrel with a body full of fur fleeing the room and following the sound of the cheers was one that those present – even the skull – would ever forget.

~xXx~

Cupping their hands against the glass and peering through, neither Kim nor Simon could see a thing.

"It's too crowded!" Simon complained, "there are too many people in there already! We can't even see through the window, let alone get in."

"Where did the new weird one recommend watching it?" Kim ashed him, "Culture and something?"

Simon tried to snap his fingers but ended up only rustling some fur.

"Cultural studies," he said quickly, "I saw a sign – come on." He beckoned Kim as he started to hurry away, "We can catch the replay if we're quick!"

Lucky for both of them the Cultural Studies room wasn't far away and they made it just in time to see the last replay through the doors at the back of the room.

"Why don't we go in?" Kim hissed, "it's practically empty."

"Yeah, practically," Simon agreed, "look. Do you want to walk in there and be laughed out the place by a couple of teenage girls and a man who looks like…" he frowned, "John Peel in a revolting orange jumper."

Kim raised her eyebrow.

"When it comes to dishing out fashion advice you're a fine one to talk," she commented.

"Oh, hang on," Simon hissed, "who's that?"

As they watched another tutor entered the room from the far end, walked into the centre of the room and announced grimly,

"We're going to lose, you know," before turning and leaving again.

Simon and Kim glanced at one another.

"Harbinger of doom," the said in unison.

It wasn't long before the end of the first half and Simon and Kim started to wander away.

"Let's just get back to the car and find another place to watch the second half," Simon suggested "a decent place. One where I can change back into a human being." He paused. "This costume's driving me nuts,"

Kim scowled.

"You just had to say it, didn't you?" she accused.

~xXx~

"Get the bag... just get the bag."

Em trembled as she walked slowly up the staircase. What if she was stopped? What if they thought she was trespassing? How was she supposed to explain her presence? "Shit, I don't want to do this."

There was a nasty feeling inside her, grinding at her nerves. She couldn't breathe, could barely put one foot in front of the other, but she knew there was no escape from getting the bag. She remembered the things she'd learnt from reading the book, how all those officers had tried to glean any information they could from the few belongings they owned. Maybe there was something useful inside it? She couldn't deny that.

She shook her head as she climbed the familiar staircase. Her legs trembled with every step but she had to keep going. In the empty corridor her footsteps echoed all the way to the Graphics studio she'd fled less than an hour ago. The paint fumes made her feel heady and sick and the situation only added to that.

"Just get the bag," she whispered.

It was still there, the large red and white carrier with the small handbag tucked within. She slipped across the room and scooped it up, her heart racing. Why did she feel like she was stealing something that was apparently hers?

There were footsteps coming closer accompanied by female voices and Em didn't particularly want to encounter the girls, so she dashed through the walkway into the room next door, her hear pounding as she leaned against the wall for a moment to catch her breath.

"One of my flags is chipping," she heard one of the girls say.

"It'll still last longer than we will."

"Don't say that! We're playing well!"

Em's legs felt weak and she struggled to stay upright. She had to leave, she couldn't stay. Just dash through the other doorway. Run. They'll never even notice.

She heard the radio click on in the room next door and Stayin' Alive began to play.

"You're such a swot, why are we painting?"

"I just want to finish the last board during half time so we can leave after the match."

"No one else is staying."

"Someone's got to paint the boards." There was a pause. "You don't have to stay."

Another pause.

"Nah. I might as well."

Em stared at her shoes as she heard the sound of paint transferring from roller to wall amongst the sound of the BeeGees warbling away. She knew she was going to regret it. She knew that more completely than she'd ever known anything else in her life, but she had to look. She had to see them.

Very slowly, tiptoeing a few centimetres at a time, she peered into the walkway and through to the room beyond. The two teenagers stood with their backs to her; the blonde in the red dress and the brunette in the jeans and the England shirt, side by side. They sang along to the music, pointing their rollers diagonally up and down with each note, laughing and messing around. There were as many splatters of paint in their hair as there were on the boards. They didn't care. They were happy.

That's what hurt most of all.

Em hung her head and left through the door of the second room. The teens didn't hear her. They didn't see her. They didn't know that she was there. And as for Em, she'd have done anything not to be.