My thanks to Sylvain for the beta work
Spectre
Part 20
Jackson wasn't in the room when he woke up, but his jacket was on the chair so he knew he hadn't gone far. It gave him a chance to compose himself, to get his thoughts in order. He didn't like the feeling the dream, and it had to be a dream, left him with, and that was a sense of dread, of guilt!
When Jackson had returned a little while later, he was carrying a plastic cup in his hand, he'd been to get himself a hot drink. Things still weren't right between them, and he didn't want either one of them carrying that extra burden right now, so he'd got in quick with his apology, they'd talked then, cleared the air. Jackson had remained in 'no nonsense' mode though, and so when he'd asked him how he was feeling, he'd resisted the urge to lie and say 'fine' and had been honest, admitting to feeling lousy. He kept wanting to cough but knew his ribs would give him hell if he did. Jackson had decided he didn't look well, that he had too much colour in his cheeks, and despite his protests had again gone in search of a nurse. They would think him a right whinger the way things were going!
Half an hour later, he'd been seen first by a nurse, then a doctor, and told he had a chest infection brewing, which meant IV antibiotic and chest physio... even more fuss and attention. He hated it. Still, if he was to go home on Monday, he was going to have to grin and bear it.
When finally left alone again, he'd realised Jackson wasn't looking too good himself. He looked tired and pale, his eyes lacking their usual sparkle, he needed to go home and get some proper sleep. He'd been about to try and talk him into doing just that when Jackson's phone had started to ring, it had been Paddy with some news. David Smith, their solicitor, was calling to see him later that afternoon, and had arranged for the police to speak to him after he had; he would also be present for the police interview.
That was all a good few hours away and, pointing out that fact, Aaron had managed to persuade Jackson to go home... well to Paddy's, grab a shower and, after putting his head down for a few hours, come back with some clothes for him. He'd feel a lot more comfortable talking to the police in a tee-shirt and trackies rather than in a hospital gown.
Jackson had reluctantly left him, and in the hours he was gone, he had tried to remember what had happened between him and Chris, tried and failed. He couldn't get his head around that fact; he could remember every detail about Joel, but after going to bed, nothing!
He had tried not to think about the dream, it had unnerved him, sickened him, but having realised it might be of some help, he'd gone over what had happened in it. All these hours later, it was still so vivid, so real. They were in the kitchen, the back door open, he was backing away from Chris, he'd been scared, he could still feel that sense of fear now. The older man's blue eyes were dark with rage, his face contorted in anger, and he was shouting at him, like he had down the phone earlier that day. Chris was accusing him of sleeping with Joel, and he was denying it, trying to reason with him. The scene jumped then, they were in the living room, Chris still raging at him, then suddenly it all went quiet, his attention on the knife in his hand, he'd stared at it, strangely fascinated by it, then he'd remembered Chris, had looked around the room for him. Then he'd seen him, lying on the floor, eyes open, a strange gurgling sound coming from his mouth. He'd woken up then, and the clarity of the dream had left him shaking, nausea threatening to overwhelm him.
Then, like now, one thing about the dream stood out, and that was the fact that Joel wasn't in it... it had just been him and Chris...so what did that tell him? Well, if he took it at face value, it meant that it was him who had stabbed Chris! Why hadn't he dreamt about that part though? Why?
A physiotherapist had arrived then, saving him from one kind of torture only to introduce him to another. She'd told him that, because of his broken ribs, he wasn't breathing properly; she'd soon put that right, and had him coughing too. He'd felt worse after, not better! Yeah, he was turning into a whinger alright.
He'd fallen asleep in the chair, exhausted from his efforts, waking up on hearing the door open, pleased to see it was Jackson, and that he was looking a lot better than when he'd left. He hadn't come empty-handed either, he'd brought with him half a dozen or so Get Well cards and some tasty treats from Pearl.
They still had some stuff stored at Paddy's and Jackson had managed to find them both some clothes. Oak Cottage was still out of bounds, but the police had released both Jackson's van and their car, that was something he supposed.
He might have told himself he didn't care what people thought, but he did, and asked Jackson what was being said in the village, what was being said about him. It wasn't the first murder to have taken place in Emmerdale, and for such a small village, it had had more than its fair share of scandals and tragedies, this being the latest in a long and shocking list. He knew who the gossip mongers were, knew they'd be having a field day, so, did they think he'd done it?
It seemed everyone was concerned about him, the cards adding credence to that. He'd tried to keep Chris' trial and the events leading to it quiet, but even though the Courier hadn't printed his name when reporting it, it was soon common knowledge that he had been the one involved with Chris. There had been plenty of understanding and support in its wake, it seemed that was continuing now.
Half an hour after Jackson had arrived, David Smith had walked through the door. Aaron was suddenly nervous, scared, his solicitor's presence made it all official, this was where the fight to clear his name began... only he wasn't so sure he was innocent... he was beginning to think he had killed Chris!
TBC