Chapter 20

Keats swore blind that he could feel the blood pumping through his heart and veins. Every breath he took stung his lungs as the smoke and dust-filled air from Layton's explosion were drawn deeply into them. His mouth hung slightly open as he stood before a bloodied Redlake, panting with anticipation; a billion combinations of words flowing through his mind all at once, yet none of them really portrayed the depth of his anguished fury or the hatred he felt for the man he'd finally brought to his knees.

"You don't even recognise me," Keats's voice filled with frustration and anger. He could see it from the blank look on Redlake's face. "You have no idea who I am, have you?

"You need to get the fuck away fro-" Redlake began but an angry foot stamped on his hand, causing him to break away into a howl.

"You didn't care on that night and you still don't care now," Keats trembled as he spoke, every word jumping furiously from his tongue. He wasn't sure why but that made him angrier than anything. He wasn't sure what else he had expected. A tearful realisation and emotional apology? Tea and sympathy? Adequate compensation and a lucrative record contract?! He hadn't expected any kind of remorse or recompense but still the fact that the man had no memory of him caused a wave of fury to rise inside of him. "I was twenty years old!" he spat, staring Redlake in the eye, "twenty. Young, naïve, barely into the uniform. You gave the word. You made me put my life on the line. And when I told you it was against procedure you not only let the rest of the team rip into me you lit their pitchforks!"

"If you've got any complaints about my -" Redlake's words were rushed and cut off again by Keats.

"I was a vegetable!" Keats's fury raged. For the first time the man and the monster stood side by side; a lifetime of anger standing as the platform for their union, the man needing justice and the monster seeking revenge. "For four years I was in a coma! I spent those years in," he choked, "another place. But you'd already made me so... so misanthropic and so cynical... so worn... that I became something I didn't even recognise. And by the time I woke up -" he could see Redlake's hand stretching out in the direction of his dropped gun which he was quick so kick out of anyone's reach, "the damage was permanent. Years I spent in therapy, years trying to gain back any kind of a normal life. Except," He stooped down and spat in Redlake's face, "I wasn't normal. I didn't have the ability to be normal. I had nothing. I was a fucking pen-pusher. I couldn't deal with people. I couldn't deal with my anger. And there were people... people who deserved all my wrath, believe me... I became obsessed and let months... years... life pass me by. Never had friends. Never had a relationship. Never had any job satisfaction. What kind of a life do you think that was for me?"

Redlake's lips parted and moved almost imperceptibly. He tried over and over to respond, desperate to throw a put-down or bark a demand in Keats's direction but he couldn't. Something about Keats's manner stopped him. He didn't even know the man, even if he'd remembered the young Keats he'd sent into danger that night the older, withered man before him bore little resemblance to him.

"I don't know who you are," he finally forced out but Keats didn't care.

"You will," he spat, "You'll know who I am when you're begging me to stop."

"Stop what?"

Redlake regretted the question as soon as it had slipped out. He stared at the dark eyes before him as they seemed to change colour, from black to a fiery orange, flashing with flame. Redlake could do little but to gasp and tried to scramble backward as a wave of fire engulfed them momentarily. He felt its' heat but it neither burned nor scalded him. It crackled and roared, sending a jolt of fear down his spine but it did no damage as though it was some kind of illusion brought upon the moment by the fury built up inside of Keats where the monster awoke and sent him forward in one swift motion, his hands grabbing for the throat of the man who'd robbed him of life after life.

"Keats, no!"

A frantic scream was accompanied by a flurry of thunderous footsteps and stopped Keats in his tracks, stalling him just long enough for Redlake to take the opportunity to thrust his fist out randomly in Keats's direction, catching him against his cheek which knocked him off course a little. Barely remembering the voice, Keats dived upon Redlake again, his thumbs homing in on the centre of his throat.

"Die," He spat, taking great delight in the sight of Redlake's eyeballs bulging .

"Keats, stop!" The voice cried out again and this time something about it caused a strange sensation to grow inside Keats's chest. It made him loosen his grip momentarily and turn his head far enough to catch the slightest glimpse of a familiar figure stumbling frantically toward them.

It was the strangest thing; in the blink of an eye the flame hissed and died, like the fire was extinguished by the blue eyes that caught Keats's stare for a moment and involuntarily he breathed one word;

"Simon?"

But almost as soon as the fire died out it rose again with one swift movement from Redlake. He grunted as he tried to throw a punch towards Keats's face, managing only a faint slap but it was enough to drag the monster forward again. Feeling like his soul tore in two, Keats growled and turned back to face him, his features contorted with the deepest of hatred. His fingers twitched, moving again for the neck despite another desperate scream from behind. With so much happening and the moment already wrecked with confusion, Layton saw the chance he'd been waiting for and praying for. With shaking, sweating hands he pushed himself to his feet and with every ounce of strength left in his gnarly body he forced himself past the tangled angry mess of men on the ground, zeroing in on the fire escape.

"What?!" The fleeing Layton was the last thing Simon expected. His eyes darted from Keats to Redlake to Layton and his brain scrambled to process what was happening. In the panic and confusion something clicked into place in his head as Simon went into autopilot and although he needed to stop Keats from committing a murder he also couldn't let Layton flee. His body turned and sprinted in the dealer's direction, declaring superfluously, "Oh no you don't -" but Layton found a burst of strength and determination he didn't even know he had within him. A moment earlier he'd been facing death at the hands of a corrupt and crazy officer. Now he had a second chance, maybe his final chance for freedom and he wasn't going to give it up that easily.

With a pained scream he pushed at Simon as Simon's hands made an attempt at grabbing his bony form. Dodging his grasp, he ducked to one side and almost made it all the way around him but a hand grabbed at the material of the shirt on his back. Layton couldn't let Simon end his last bid for freedom. It wasn't an option. Using every last ounce of strength he could muster he spun around and ripped his way from Simon's grip. One long stride. Two. He just needed another to reach the metal stairs and then he'd be away, When he felt Simon grabbing him one more time his determination rose and he lashed out with one swift movement; an elbow to Simon's guts which left him doubled over for a moment. He heard Simon splutter and choke. That sound felt like the soundtrack to his freedom. He was almost there and Simon couldn't stop him. Almost there. Almost. His hand grasped the cold, flaky black paint that lined the handrail and his foot came closer to the first step but like a puppy chasing a bone Simon wasn't giving up and his hand grabbed for Layton's clothing again.

It all happened so fast.

No one was sure how it happened. Layton could only guess from the dull pain in his head that he'd thrust it into Simon's chest and used his whole force to push the lumbering DCI against the barrier. The tinkling of a bolt and the metallic creaking of the bar coming lose at the force were the last sounds Simon heard before he found himself hurtling over the side. It was pure instinct, desperate for survival that forced him to reach out and grab on, grab on to anything he could. One hand clung to the rough concrete, his legs scrambling helplessly against the side of the building. A terrible sense of fear stung every inch of his skin as he felt his mortality staring him in the face.

He only had one word on his mind.

"Keats."

~x~

Keats couldn't have imagined stopping for anything. His hands had found their place around Redlake's neck again, pressing and squeezing and sapping his life little by little. Every chocking sound from the man's tortured face sounded like a beautiful aria to Keats's ears. The end was coming. He could feel it. Redlake's life was coming to a close and justice was simply moments away. He didn't think anything could deter him, nothing could cause him to lapse in concentration from exacting the revenge he'd waited a whole lifetime for.

But then he heard it; the voice.

"Keats."

He stopped. He didn't want to. He tried not to. He couldn't imagine anything was worth halting his revenge but yet something inside him made Keats turn around.

One hand. One grip loosening with each passing moment. One desperate voice.

"Keats... Keats, Help... please... please, Keats, help me..."

Keats felt his head jerking back and forth, his eyes skipping from Redlake to Simon; from the man he despised most in the world to the only one he gave a damn about. A terrible churning feeling began inside his chest as his grasp upon Redlake's throat wavered and while fire and flame flickered inside his mind every terrified plea from Simon's lips pushed it further away.

"Simon," Keats shuddered as he realised how scared his voice sounded. The thought of Simon losing his life brought him a dread he never imagined he was capable of feeling, but in the same moment the struggling Redlake in his grasp brought back the feelings of fury and the need to dole out the justice he'd never received.

Torn between two polar opposites; life and death, salvation and revenge, love and hate; the two polar opposites of Keats rose to the surface and with one long, agonising scream from his lips they began the ultimate battle.

Man and monster faced one another inside Keats's ravaged mind .There could only be one winner and never had two sides of a fight been so evenly matched.

~xXx~

A/N: So yeah... surprise! I had secretly planned that I would post another chapter today and – fingers crossed – tomorrow, but I wasn't sure I would be able to write enough. I'm so glad that I did because in its own right today has an important meaning to me. It was 5 years ago today I planned out my whole 'one-shot' – the story that turned out to be the first chapter of Out of the Window – on the way to the fish and chip shop! After spending the day unhappy at Alex's fate my mind tried to find a way to put it right. I welcomed back my muse that night.

He's been taking a bit of a holiday since Lucy and I fell in love, and it's a well deserved break because he'd been flat-out making me write for three and a half years before that! 2 and a half million words. And that doesn't include the fictionpress spin-offs. It's insane.

Thank you so much for the reviews, Charlotte and Sillivan, and to all of you for following the latest instalments of this long-running tale. It seems fitting that tomorrow will see – all going to plan – Keats's final battle against the darkness; to be a man or a monster. Five years ago I was fighting a battle with my muse to get the words from my head into the word document. And lest we forget that 3 years ago tomorrow we lost Robin to the cause (I actually got hate for that!)

See you tomorrow... sleep tight, don't let Layton bite... :P