London

If Spencer had been wrong, then why had Rossi brought him to London?

If he'd not been telling the truth as he knew it, why had Sam done a smash and grab at a museum?

Spencer was also very sure now that whatever was causing this blinding pain in his head was very much to do with Floyd. He'd never been afraid of flying before. It just had never bothered him. The chances of dying whilst travelling by air were so slim, as to be discounted. He personally discounted it. Whatever it was in his head went into a blind panic... which travelled through Spencer and into his muscles which suddenly gave up and made him fall flat on his face in the airport departure lounge.

Rossi put it down to stress. Spencer wasn't drunk and didn't seem high, he just seemed... strange... that would be how Dave would describe it. It was almost as though it wasn't Spencer.

'I'm not sure about this now... yet I am, but you know?' Spencer had muttered as he got back up off the floor. 'I could... maybe get a boat, but I'm in a hurry! Don't be silly... I will fly.'

It was as though he was talking to someone and answering for them. Dave led Spencer to a chair as they waited. They were flying business class. Not quite the jet, but still very good.

'You seem nervous.' Dave said as he handed Spencer a drink of orange juice. 'I've never seen you nervous of flying before.'

'Might be... might just be because...' Spencer snapped his teeth together... 'I know! I know the statistics... of course I do, but have you ever thought that if something does go wrong, then you are helpless. You cannot drive to avoid, you cannot run to the life boats... you can't jump out of the way. When those things drop from the ceiling to give you the air that's being sucked out of your lungs, then your life may as well be over. It's just a thought. But I'm in a hurry! Sam... I have to get to Sam. I have to talk to him and ask what the fuck he thinks he's playing at!' Spencer clapped his hand over his mouth – eyes wide... he never spoke like that! Even When he was at his most angry, he just never used that word. 'I'm sorry.' He muttered and his head started to pound. 'I'm sorry... because... I'm sorry because I don't like to use that sort of language. And I will attempt not to do so again... it's not the sort of sorry you give someone after you've beaten them bloody and stamped the sh – sh – and stamped on them. And... again... I'm just concerned that Sam is in England alone and has no one to help him.'

Dave gave Spencer a curious look. 'Just chill Spencer. We'll get to Sam as quickly as we can. They're keeping him safe for us.'

'And then you'll lock him up again. You'll bring him back and send him away... you'll...' Spencer stopped and started to sip on the drink again. The voice in his head was taking over... and the voice in his head was in a panic... Floyd was in a panic... 'HA! You silly thing.' Spencer said to his voice.

Spencer spent much of the first part of the flight, pacing up and down, until he was requested to sit down by a pretty young lady in uniform. Spencer wanted to just do as he was asked, but the thing in his head had to firstly tell her that she'd look better if she didn't over pluck her eyebrows. Spencer apologised... Said it was stress. Told her that he's not afraid of flying and then told her that actually the people in cattle class, at the rear... they stood a better chance of survival if something deadly went wrong... Again he was asked to sit down and Rossi hunkered down next to Spencer, talking quietly to him in an attempt to keep Spencer calm. Dave had never seen Spencer react like this before and he'd never heard him insult someone in the way he had, even if he had been right and the woman had over done the eyebrow plucking. Reid wanted whiskey to drink. Not his usual tipple, Rossi pointed out. Spencer replied that actually it was. 'Shows how little you know about me.' Spencer snapped out at Dave... Again calming words.

'Why don't you try to sleep?'

He would have loved that but the more the thing in his head became angry at this forced situation, the less likely that would happen. 'I don't want to spend the last moments of my life dreaming of pygmies and rainbows. Not that I would...' He added quickly. 'I think you're right though.'

'I hope so, or they're going to have you arrested the other end for scaring the other passengers. Just calm down. Is it Sam? Is that what's bothering you?' It seemed likely. It was where they were going and Spencer seemed in two minds whether he wanted to see Sam or not. Dave just wasn't aware how accurate his thoughts were.

'Not Sam... Floyd.' Reid told him. 'I need a drink.'

Drinks were available and it seemed silly not to let Spencer have one. Not that it was Dave's job to stop Spencer from having a drink if that's what he wanted. He was a grown man. A very grown man. Not that strange creature who had followed him as though he was Dave's biggest fan. No, this Spencer was not that person at all. In the end Spencer only sipped on the drink before falling asleep. Dave covered him with a blanket and went back to reading the book he'd brought with him, keeping half an eye on Spencer as he did so.

It was with great relief from everyone that Spencer didn't wake up until the seat belt sign came on and they were told they were approaching Heathrow and they hoped they had a happy flight.

'Happy?' Spencer hissed as he righted his seat and strapped himself in. 'I can think of more appropriate words.' But he was not talking to Dave, nor to anyone else... maybe not even to himself, but to that voice spitting and hissing in his head, telling him that he was very far from happy about anything.

And now standing the other side of the window, looking at Sam sitting there... Spencer wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands... But yet had never been so pleased to see something he loathed with all his heart.

'We need to talk to him.' Rossi told the detective standing with them.

'Not here.' Spencer replied. 'You need to remember who and what he is. He'll not react favourably to questioning in that environment. Have you got somewhere more suited to interviews, maybe for with a child?' Spencer gestured lazily towards the room the other side of the window. 'How has he been?' He decided to add.

'Erratic.' The detective let them know. 'He's unstable. Immature. Violent. A prolific liar.'

Dave nodded. 'We know that already, but if he's going to talk to anyone, it will be Dr Reid and he's right. Sam needs to feel as though we are thinking of him. He's a selfish being... he wants to be loved and pampered.'

'Cheese sandwich. Sliced cheese, not grated. Two of them. White bread. No crusts and cut into triangles.' Spencer said. 'Nothing extra. I suspect he's been refusing food and claiming he's been poisoned? Get a fizzy drink in a can so he can hear the pop as he pulls the ring. He needs to feel safe and he needs to know that we're on his side or he'll tell us nothing.'

'Cheese sandwich?' The detective asked. 'Why will he eat that and nothing else we offer him?'

Spencer shrugged. 'I doubt he will eat it, but he will be able to pull it apart and check it for substances which shouldn't be there. I know him. I know what he will eat and what he won't eat and drink when he feels trapped. And he's a caged animal right now. Change the environment and let me talk to him somewhere with pictures on the walls, a rug on the floor maybe and a couch?'

'What else?' The detective asked in his best sarcastic voice which was lost on Spencer completely.

'He needs to feel completely safe and unthreatened. He's only sixteen and sometimes his immaturity clouds his understanding. He might seem older in some respects, but he's got his problems and needs to be handled correctly. So maybe you need to ask him what it is he would like and what would make him feel more comfortable.'

The detective – who was Green, snorted... 'Sixteen? No... he might look young but that's because he's not – well – I assume if you know him that you know he's been castrated?'

Spencer hissed between his teeth and Rossi raised his eyebrows... Now... Spencer had seen Sam naked in his apartment, but he'd kept his eyes firmly off the lower half of him. Surely he'd not have missed a thing like that, though. 'He's what?' Spencer asked.

'He's been castrated. He has no balls. His testicles have been removed via surgery at some point in the distant past. I'd not want to put an age on that boy... he's older than sixteen though. I even had the doctor look at his teeth, but it seems he's filed them. You'd not want to get bitten by it. However, he's not as young as you think. I'll get sorted what you want. When will you be back?'

'Tomorrow.' Dave said. 'I want to see the cemetery and the museum first. And the security footage you have.'

'What little there is. Tomorrow then. I'll let Sam know you'll be back. I suppose you want to see what he had on him when we caught him digging around in the cemetery?' Was that a smug grin on Green's face. Probably. He wanted to see shock on these interlopers... He didn't like having his weird case handed over to these smug yanks... waltzing in... taking control... telling him what to do.

'Oh I wouldn't let him know just yet.' Spencer said. 'But he knows we are here... he can sense it.' He then added. 'I need a smoke.' Spencer then turned on his heel and left the building.

Dave found Spencer sitting on a low brick wall out side of the building puffing on a cigarette. He was holding a slightly crumpled pack in his hand and was staring out across the parked cars in their bays. He sighed when he looked up at Dave.

'We have a few things to do.' Rossi sat on the wall next to Spencer. 'You know Sam pretty well. He's in a strange city. Where would he have hidden that skull?'

Reid shook his head and gestured out towards the cars with his right hand and stuffed the cigarettes into his bag with his left. 'It's not a strange city to Sam. That's the problem. We don't know where he's put it... even if it's still around. And I don't think he's going to tell us either. We can't just expect him to hand over his treasure. He's got all the Aces here, Dave and he's probably got a good few cards he's not played yet. If we're going to play the game with him, we're going to have to cheat.' Another puff on the cigarette. 'And I can cheat along with the best of them.'

'The museum first then; not that there will be much to see. But to get a feel.' Dave stood up and pulled his jacket straight. 'Spencer?'

'There's nothing at the museum to see. What's the point in that? I think a cemetery visit before it gets dark is a better option. Spencer stood now. Or we could split up?'

Dave felt that trust was important. He had trusted Spencer with his life in the past, so why should today feel so different. It was maybe because it didn't feel as though it was Spencer he was talking to, but some shadow standing just behind him... an invisible shadow as it happened. He didn't fully trust that Spencer wouldn't disappear, somehow with Sam in tow... yet he had to. He had no option but to show Spencer total trust.

'I'll meet you back at the hotel in a couple of hours then.' Dave said. That seemed to be enough time to do what they needed and yet not get into too much trouble. 'And keep your phone switched on. I might need to contact you.' Dave was aware of Spencer's odd habit of turning off his phone when it was most needed. He watched Reid pull the slim black phone out of his pocket and indeed turn it on.

'Two hours then.' Spencer gave the police station a backwards glance and then walked off towards a busy road with a stream of black cabs meandering down it.

Spencer got a guide to point out what he wanted to see. It was a short but peaceful walk through the huge cemetery. Graves stood surrounded by wild flowers, birds sung in the trees... it was a sanctuary and Spencer could understand the peace of this place. It was beautiful.

However the area he'd been directed to was slightly apart from the main part. There was a small hill and a copse of trees. A few graves scattered amongst the trees. If Floyd had to be buried in this place then this was the perfect place. He knelt next to the stone with the FFF engraved upon it and ran his fingers over the letters. They were old... the dark grey stone was covered in lichen and moss. This had been here a lot longer than a year. A quick look at the other graves up here showed that they had been here for just over a hundred years... they all had smart head stones, beautiful carved angels... elaborate wording from an also long dead loved one. They were all on the same alignment, Spencer noted, except for the FFF one. He walked back to it and knelt down again... touching where Sam had hacked at the earth, trying to find a way down there. A gentle buzzing travelled through his fingers, up his arm and into his face. He sneezed.

'Is this really you?' Spencer muttered... Logic stated that it wasn't. It couldn't be. It had been here too long. Yet his heart told him that it was. For a moment he wondered how Sam had tracked it down and then he laughed at his own stupidity... Sam had put it here in the first place. Of course he knew where it was... and somewhere around here was the skull. He stood again. 'I'll sort this. We will sort this... all of us.' There was a large patch of brambles not far away. It was towards those that Spencer wandered now. Maybe Sam had thrown it. Maybe Sam didn't have it with him in the first place... or maybe... just maybe, Sam had buried it in the grave. Perhaps he wasn't digging something up when he was found, but burying the bit of Floyd which was missing. There was only one way to find out, at least only one way to find out without asking Sam and that was to dig and see what was there. Again Spencer returned to the marker and the dying grass surrounding it. 'So... what now?'

Talk to Sam.

The answer came to Spencer so clearly that he spun around expecting to see Floyd standing there behind him. But there was nothing. Of course there was nothing.

'Sam twisted time and buried you before you were even dead.' Spencer moaned. 'Had he not done that... had he not buried you here, then you maybe wouldn't have died.'

Go and have a drink for me, Babes.

And that reply was a good idea and Spencer smiled at himself. Was there a voice? Was he imagining it? Was he just wishing it was there? It was time to leave anyway and get back to the hotel. And he did fancy a drink and maybe something to eat.

'What do you fancy to eat?' Spencer asked his voice.

There was no reply this time. Maybe because he'd walked too far from the grave? Maybe because there had been not previous replies. He didn't know... but it didn't matter now. He had to get Sam out of that police station, find the skull, and reunite Floyd with whatever it was he was carrying around in his head... if indeed there was something... and on that happy though the headache came pounding back.

He didn't sleep that night in his economy room at the economy hotel. He spent most of his evening pacing the small strip of land between the hotel steps and the road, smoking, muttering to himself and wishing the time would pass faster. There was just so much he needed to talk to Sam about and he had no idea if Sam would be willing. He'd been harsh last time they'd met...

No... not harsh at all... not really. You just don't expect to wake up and find a naked person in the tub with you. That's reason enough to be angry, without all the extras Sam threw in. The bar was open late so he did spend a small amount of time in there drinking... too much drink... and he could smell the whiskey on his own breath as he ordered his next drink. However, he didn't seem to be feeling the effects of it at all. He'd practised this by walking on the lines in the parking lot... he could walk a straight line... legal to drive? He doubted it.

He forwent breakfast. Feeling sick. Feeling like his head was going to explode. Feeling as though he'd been smoking tar. Feeling as though he'd never sleep again... A constant whoosh whoosh whoosh in his ears... blinking too much. Twitching too much. A need to kneel in front of a toilet bowl and throw up. That irritating flashing light he kept seeing out of the corner of his eye... He wanted to curl up in a dark, damp place and cry... scream... and end it all. Yes... he wanted it to end.

Spencer looked around the small cheap restaurant he was sitting in as Dave ate a full English breakfast and wondered if there were any knives sharp enough to hack into his own flesh with. Was that what was needed? Floyd needed him to die so he could rise again like some beautiful but yet vile and vengeful zombie?

'Spencer?' Dave tapped the handle of his knife on the table. 'What's wrong?'

'Oh... nothing. I'll see you outside.' Maybe there'd be a car to run in front of, or a random drive by shooting. He had to live in some sort of hope. That overwhelming need to talk to Sam had died off too. What would Sam tell him? Nothing... that's what. Sam wouldn't want to share what he was seeing as the prize. Sam wouldn't want to share Floyd.

Dave thought Spencer looked done in... or hung over... he didn't smell all that good either and wondered if he'd even used the room he'd been given for the night. Not the most comfortable of rooms. Very basic... but a bed is a bed and they'd all slept in much worse when on duty.

Before they saw Sam again, they were told how he'd spent the night crying and tearing at his bedding. They needed him to be moved. They didn't want him here. They legally couldn't keep him here either. Not without charging him for the theft, and apart from the initial security footage, they had nothing... absolutely nothing.

They were shown the grainy images of Sam smashing the glass with what looked to be a metal hammer. They saw him grab the skull... and that was all there was.

'Security cameras seemed to cut out.' The detective said. 'We have no idea where he went after he grabbed it. He doesn't show up anywhere and the door security didn't see him. It's a mystery. We've even wondered if it's still in the museum somewhere, but as of yet, nothing. That aside... there's this we could have him held for.' A pile of photos were placed on the table. 'I warn you. They're not nice to look at.'

Spencer felt his face twitch as he flipped through them. He hated to say, but he had seem Sam in more provocative poses... and dressed as a girl. What made his stomach hitch slightly was how dreadfully young he looked in some of them. The way he was standing, what he had on... the way he had his hair... he could have been as young as twelve.

'He'll not say where they came from.' Green told them, 'but if you can find out. And he needs to know that he's not in trouble for this. It's child abuse... if you say he's sixteen... under age in every respect.'

'We will ask.' Rossi sighed. 'Is there evidence of anything else he's been up to?'

'Digging in the cemetery...' Green started.

'He means... has Sam been whoring.' Spencer snapped. 'Just say what you mean. This is Sam we're talking about. He was actually being held in a secure unit at a specialist school... he absconded. We all know of Sam's problems, this is nothing.' Spencer pushed the photos aside.

'Nothing?' Green slapped them back into a folder. 'If this is nothing, I'd hate to see what your version of something is.'

'No you'd not want to know that.' Spencer stood. 'I'd like to see him alone to start with. Did you sort out an interview room? Somewhere comfortable?'

Sam had been given sweatpants and a Tshirt. Apparently his dungarees fell apart in the wash. His bottom lip had done a small wobble of protest, but he'd changed out of the grubby things he'd been given and then escorted down the same fucking corridor again! … to a different room. He stood in the doorway looking around the room and making small keening noises.

'What the fuck is going on now?' He asked the man in the uniform. Sam could feel a trap about to spring. He spun and looked at the officer standing there. 'Why don't you just shoot me and get it over with?'

'Because I don't carry a gun.' He smirked at Sam.

'Well why don't you just fuck me and get it over with.'

'Just wait in the room, Sam. Someone is coming to see you... I'll bring you something to eat.'

Seemed that the paintings on the walls – woodlands and coastal prints – were screwed in place and Sam couldn't get them off the wall to throw at the first person who came through the door. And though the room looked nice... the table was nailed down, the cushions squeaked with their plastic coverings and the carpet was glued down. There were a few magazines which Sam was going to shred, but couldn't he decided that he just couldn't be bothered. He needed clocks. He wanted a couple of watches, or wall clocks... a small alarm clock or two... just two things, that was all... and there was nothing! Not a bloody thing to use! Floyd was pounding around in his skull, giving him nose bleeds at one moment and then making places inside his sweat pants tingle like crazy... he wanted a bath, he could smell that he'd been sleeping on a wet mattress. He stank of stale piss and arm pits and he wanted to smell of bubble bath and hair products... and hand crème and luxury gels and he wanted just a bit of something nice! And what do they give him?

'A cheese sandwich and a coke.' They were placed on the table for him.

So there he was, pulling the sandwich apart as Spencer had predicted. The coke was a puddle on the floor and a stain on the wall. Sam's eyes looked as though he'd been crying, his hands were shaking and there was a small smear of blood up the side of his face. He was sitting on a the floor in front of the couch with this legs crossed and bits of sandwich surrounding him when Spencer walked in. Sam looked up at him through his dark eyelashes and then back down at the bits of bread and cheese.

'Should have guessed this was your idea?' Slowly Sam got to his feet. 'Can we go now?'

The door closed behind Spencer, both of them heard the click of the lock and Spencer shook his head. 'We have things to talk about first.' Spencer sat down on the couch and patted the area next to him. 'Sit and talk.'

'You told me to fuck off last time you saw me?'

'I don't think I used those words. Sit.'

'Don't fucking tell me what to do, I'm not your dog. I'll stand.'

Spencer nodded and sighed. 'So... I've a list of questions which the police here need answered. Firstly – how did you get into England from America?'

Sam frowned. 'How do you think I did? You have a theory?' Sam moved closer to Spencer. 'Truth is that I stink of piss and so I'll just sit here on the coffee table if that's OK with you. I stowed away in the wheel housing of an air craft. I know it's highly unlikely for someone to survive doing that, but it was fine. I had thermal underwear on and ear muffs.' Sam sat, pushing the magazines out of the way. 'What else do you want to know?'

'Truth?'

'I used magic. There, truth better than fiction? You decide.'

Spencer smiled at Sam. 'You know... I know... I – I know how much...' Spencer stopped talking and stood up, moving over to Sam he sat down next to him. An arm wrapped around Sam and Spencer spoke directly into his ear... it felt oddly like something Floyd would do. Floyd loved spitting his words directly into the ear of his victim... you really didn't want any words to go astray. 'They're listening to us, so just say what needs to be said and I'll try to get you out.' Spencer ruffled Sam's hair and stood again. 'The photos... where did they come from?'

Sam shrugged. 'Someone offered me money to do some photos, then I got a few copies. People will pay a lot of money for filth. And they're genuine disgusting filth... don't you think? Anyway, a boy has to earn a living and... and the pigeons sort of encouraged me... and that niggling voice... it enjoyed it too. I'd not do something Floyd didn't approve of and I was just posing, not doing anything with anyone else... it's not illegal to pose naked for photos... you know that don't you? And I said it was OK... he paid me. He didn't want my cock... just the images. That said, Londoners are no less inclined to want to stick things up my arse than any other nationality. You're going to ask where the skull is... I know that's what you're really here for. It was in a display of fakes... can you believe that? A Fake Floyd Flanders... wonderful... My hands tingled when I touched it. It felt like a bad case of static. It even made my teeth tingle. Spencer, they're not having it back again. They can cry and stamp their feet all they want... they can't have it back.'

'You're in the country illegally...'

'No... let them check on that. I actually have a British passport. I'm a British citizen... it's in America that I'm illegal... so you can forget getting me sent back because I'm not fucking going. Understood? I'm staying here and I'm going to resurrect Floyd and we... we... you and me and Floyd are going to live happily ever after in some lonely wood cabin on a lonely road and there will be chickens in the yard for me to stamp on and sheep for Floyd and you... you can have books... and we'll be so happy! I'll maybe get Levin over here... I can do that and Spencer... don't you want that too? Just us? Happy and not bothered about what the world thinks of us? Not caring a shit about them? But to do that I need clocks and I need your help and I have to get out of here. And before you think otherwise... I hate you still. I still hate you for doing what you did to Lev... and I'll never forgive you for that and maybe that's partly why I'd be so happy to see you and Floyd together, because I know that he'll be mashing your pretty face at least once a week... and that, just that... that knowledge that you'll be caught and not able to escape... that Floyd will have you again as his little cunt boy... and I'll...'

'No.' Spencer snapped.

'No what?' Sam asked... his face flushed with happiness.

'Leave Levin out of this. This mess is yours and mine and Floyd's.'

'Well fuck you! Fuck you mister fucking perfect arsehole! I'm not telling you where the skull is.'

Spencer shook his head. 'You don't have to. I think I already know... which is a shame for you, Sam because if it's me who finishes this off, then you'll be locked away for the production of pornographic material and for theft... oh and... and... for selling your body.' Spencer nodded towards the doorway. 'I told them you are sixteen. They don't believe me. They think you're older. You'll be tried as an adult, Sam. Think about it... British boy.'

'You cunt.' Sam spat. 'You can't just leave me here!'

'Watch me.' Spencer walked to the door and knocked... it clicked open and before Sam could reach him the door was closed and locked. Spencer stood there looking at it for a while, listening to Sam screaming and throwing himself at the door.

He ground his teeth, licked his lips and looked at Rossi. 'He's destroyed it.' He lied. 'I need some fresh air.' Spencer looked again at the door, the noises had died back a bit. Could he really leave Sam here and go off and do this himself? Right now he thought he could do that. Would Floyd need Sam though... for whatever it was he had in his head, Sam had some in his head too. Therefore maybe Floyd would need them both. He needed space, fresh air and peace... he wasn't going to get that at this police station with Rossi looking at him in that way. As long as they made sure Sam had no access to a pair of clocks then everything should work out. 'Just k – k - keep him away fr – fr - from clocks.' Spencer said to Rossi. 'I've g - got my phone.' He made a phone gesture at his ear. 'I need to do something.' Spencer then left without letting them know where he was planning on going. And the stutter was forming again. He had no patience to shout at his brain and try to get it to work properly for him.

Spencer caught a cab back to Highgate Cemetery. He would dig with his hands if needs be, but Sam said he felt a tingle when he grabbed the skull, and Spencer felt a tingle when he touched the ground, his guess was that Sam had hidden it under the loose earth at the FFF marker. Floyd Flanders Franks... his full title. The triple F. The sixth letter of the alphabet. 666... a bit of a laugh really.

It was winter. The nights arrived suddenly and early. Spencer had slid himself into the undergrowth at the top of the hill and stayed there until all he could hear was the distant sound of traffic and the night creatures. He'd turned off his phone for now. But had every intention of switching it back on as soon as he knew for sure what he suspected. There was a moon, small help that it was as it glared down at him through the twisted branches of the leafless trees. He was damp and stiff as he pulled himself out of the bushes and brambles, scratches over the side of his face and across the back of his left hand. No matter. This was going to be over one way or the other, very soon. He pulled back the cuff of his jacket to check the time and for the first time realised that he'd not put his watch on that day. Strange. He was sure he had. It's a habitual thing. And now trying to think back to the morning, couldn't remember if he'd put it on or not... He'd not gone to bed that night... he'd spent it pacing and drinking, so it should, by rights, still be there, but there was no mistaking the distinct lack of it. He pulled out the phone and quickly turned it on, set it to silent and checked for messages and for the time. It was six in the evening... early yet. Too early he thought, but glancing through messages he could see Rossi had left a few... Spencer flicked through the messages with one hand, and keeping to the darkness of the trees, brushed his hair out of his face.

"Contact me." Rossi had said. "Spencer where are you?" The next said. "There is a problem. Contact me as soon as you get this."

Spencer gritted his teeth. He really didn't want to talk to Dave. Didn't want him guessing where he was... so Spencer sent a message back. "What is wrong?" He asked. That was simple. That gave nothing away.

"Sam has gone missing." The reply came quickly. Spencer looked down at his bare wrist and swore lightly under his breath.

'Sam took my watch.' He said with only a small bit of dismay and surprise. He probably had Dave's too.

"How?" He asked in reply.

Immediately back. "He just seemed to disappear. Do you know where he is?"

And although Spencer couldn't hear Dave's voice, he could hear that accusation. If Sam had once again twisted time, he could be anywhere and at any time! Yet... Spencer didn't think he was far. He sat with his head in his hands and wondered... If Sam had altered time then they'd not know. Everything which had happened before he did it would be shifted as though nothing had happened. If he changed things so he'd not taken the skull then they'd not be here. If he'd not been pulled in for trying to dig up Floyd, again they'd not be here, so those two things must have still happened... Then... maybe something else had happened and this is the result of it? Perhaps originally he was sitting here in a cemetery at night, without his watch, for a different reason.

You're over thinking the problem.

A voice told him.

'I'm not. I have to dig and see if I'm right.'

And if you are? What then?

'I expect you to be telling me what to do next.'

You need Sam.

'Oh I think I can handle this alone.'

But something was wrong. Oh the grave marker was still there and he could still see where Sam had been digging... or maybe it wasn't Sam. Now in this early evening darkness it looked more as though an animal had been scrabbling around here. Something had changed. A small change for sure and if he'd not inspected it so closely before then maybe he'd not notice the difference now, but this was different. Spencer gently touched the cold earth.

'It's s – s – s so cold.' Spencer said.

'Don't let my brilliance forestall your lofty aspirations, but I should inform you, begrudgingly... that Floyd's not there. Though I'd never doubt your genius stature and your ability to remember shit no one else can... I think right now, that my personal intelligence and my wondrous abilities leave you as a worm was to Galileo.'

The sudden voice behind Spencer ripped a yelp out of him as he spun around, half on his knees and feeling as though he was falling backwards. 'Wh – What?'

'I'm not comparing myself to the great Galileo. No... no... but have you ever wondered where great people like that got their knowledge? I mean, surely it didn't just pop into their heads one day. That just can't be right can it? Why did he think so differently... Spencer are you all right?'

'How... how did... how did you...'

'Hush – you're going to take all fucking night adding one word at a time. I took your watch. I then took Rossi's fucking gold Rolex... I mean, really, what sort of cunt wears a gold Rolex when I'm in the same room. Worth a bloody fortune! Fortune though is a fickle thing and the watch broke. I've still got yours.'

'How? When?'

'You think I'd let an arsehole like you sit and put his arm around me if I didn't have a reason? Spencer... Floyd isn't here, but I can take us to where he is and I can show you where the skull is, but because I spilt the... well... the food... we have to be there together to finish this off. But don't you for one fucking minute think that you're going to walk off into the sunset and leave me behind because it's me who is run ragged with the work I've been doing whilst you've been mooching around following up on cold clues. Got it? I'm not your dog any more. I've given up a lot for this and I'm not going to let you trample me down now.'

Spencer slowly got to his feet and walked away from the grave, deeper into the shadow of the trees. He didn't want to stand there and argue with Sam over what he'd done. The loss of his own watch was not too much for Spencer to deal with, but Dave would be going spare with angst over the loss of his. He would be howling for its return. 'K – keep your v – voice d – d...'

'… down?' Sam asked. 'Fine... but you know we don't have forever to do this. He's actually not in the east Cemetery at all... I moved him to the west... and then dug a tunnel from here to there. Took me fucking for sodding ever to do it and only because I knew that was the only way to get you there too... because I don't think you're going to be able to climb fences and such as you're such a worthless mother fucking lame head who can't even talk properly half of the time. I've got a torch... a flash light to you, not a flame... a battery operated thing.'

'I know what a t – t - torch is. How did you mmmove him? When?'

'Oh... about fifty years ago.' Sam shrugged. 'Time is really complex, Spencer, when you can alter it and turn it to your own advantage. But I can only do so much and then they start asking for things in return... and I'm all out of testicles... and have you ever given a ten foot demon a blow job? No... don't even bother answering because I know you'd drown in what came out of that hungry cock... I could feel it... wiggling... all the way down... it was like the most fucking horrible thing ever. Apart from having needles stuck in my eye or my teeth pulled... that was horrible too. And so was being mauled by dogs and being... ah... well it was close to the top anyway and I don't want to have to do it again and they've said I'm all out of moves for the season and so whatever we do now we have to do right and then we have to wait. But, before you go off on some rant about waiting... well you might age, but I won't so waiting is what I offered to do and we can get the cabin ready and maybe you can get a job here, digging graves?'

'Where is he?'

'Floyd would be so, so proud of you! A full sentence! Oh my fucking god! I stand here struck with awe and wonder. It is a day which should be marked down in the scrolls and read back to children as a lesson in... in something.'

'Where is he?' Spencer repeated. Sam slapped a flashlight into his hands and warned him not to turn it on yet. 'We don't want to get caught at this delicate stage of our, no – my hard work. As far as I can tell, all you've done to assist was to be daft enough to put your arm around me and thus donate you watch.'

Spencer crouched down next to a tree and indicated for Sam to do likewise. Sam annoyed him generally, but tonight the irritation was reaching a point where he wanted that gun again... the three bullets in the head would suit Spencer just fine. He wanted to ask questions, but when he opened his mouth to ask, the brain blocked all activity. He squeezed his eyes shut and just sighed.

'What? What now?' Sam demanded. 'We have to get this sorted before it's too late. This way.' Sam jumped back to his feet when Spencer still didn't say anything and keeping to the blackest of the darkness walked down the small hill and around the side where there stood a row of graves. Big things standing almost chest high. Elaborate patterns and angelic forms covered them. Inscriptions wound their way along the ends, telling of love and more love and a little bit of sorrow. Spencer didn't spend too much time trying to make out what it all said. The early evening light wasn't good enough and neither he or Sam dared turn on the flashlights yet.

Sam moved to a certain grave and ran fingers over the edge. 'Along here... push.' Sam told Spencer who walked quickly to join him.

'You intend pushing the lid off?' This was not something Spencer had in mind to do. Not at all. Push that off and Sam would try to get him in there and trap him. Not the way Spencer wanted to die.

Sam muttered a curse under his breath and prodded Spencer on the arm. 'It's not what it looks to be. There's a stairway under it and a tunnel leading to the other part of the cemetery. We can't reach it otherwise. I thought I'd explained all of that.' He then shoved the top of the altar-tomb again. 'Some help would be nice. Once it's back there's a thing inside to winch it back into place, but I didn't have time to create secret unlocking buttons and levers on the outside. Come on!'

Spencer prodded the top of the tomb and sighed. If there was nothing there he'd hit Sam around the head with his torch and walk away. If there really were steps going down – and he had strong doubts... no... maybe it wasn't a doubt he was feeling here. It was some other feeling. An emotion. Mistrust? No... He stood staring at Sam for a while trying to understand exactly what it was he was feeling here and he thought it might have been akin to jealousy which was absolutely ridiculous! What did he have to be jealous of?

The fact that Sam had done all of this and he'd sat back and done nothing?

The fact that it would be Sam, Floyd would want if this worked?

The matter that he's done nothing but follow Sam around like a sick dog and not contributed... apart from the watch and that was accidental.

Had it been left to him he would certainly have grieved and mourned and then... then he would have slowly moved on. It would have taken years. It would have been painful, but there would have been a chance to heal. And as so many people had said to him in that understanding voice... "You really are lucky. His death was your only escape." and of course... "It was you or him." And in a way they were right. Yes he'd been mourning. Yes he'd felt the pain of loss and the nightmares and... and he knew that he'd not wake up with a black eye or with his ribs hurting or blood dried under his nose. He knew that he could leave the apartment with a cell phone in his pocket and he could chew gum... eat at the wrong time of the day. Sleep on the couch... and not use a coaster. He was in that respect free... and it was a good feeling! It was!

Yet night after night alone. No one to read to; though oddly he still read aloud... no one to make coffee for. No need one to fold towels for or change bedding for. No one to sit and wait for... no one.

And he missed that ache in his chest. And he missed the sore throats and that odd feeling of waking up on the floor in a sticky mess. He missed Floyd... and it didn't matter if his obsession for the man would end up killing him, because Spencer knew that he'd be dead before the year was out either way. He thought of the morphine Sam had provided and then looked at the skinny dark haired lad standing there waiting for Spencer to do something. If this was going to be a fight between them, if only one of them could have the prize, then Spencer was not going to stand by and watch Sam snatch it from him. He gave Sam a small smile and nodded, licked his lips and asked where the top stone needed to be pushed from.