"How are you feeling?" Janeece took the cup that Chris had finished with. She was glad to see it was empty. "You must be feeling better if you drank all of that."

"I needed waking up," he replied blankly.

She disposed of the empty cups before dropping next to him. "Want anything else?"

"Anything else like what?"

She shrugged. "If you were hungry at all I can always go out and get something…" Her voice tailed off a little. "…Although I don't like the idea of leaving you here by yourself."

"Janeece, I'm not a cripple," he pointed out, "I'm a big boy."

She smirked to herself. "It isn't that. I'm getting the strange feeling that by the time I come back you might've gone."

"I'm not going anywhere," he sat back and threw the blanket back over himself, "I promise you."

"So are you going to promise me that you won't leave here and go off on some form of search for Clara?"

He looked to her carefully. "Not if you want me to stay put." He noticed she went out of the room to get her coat on. "You won't be long though, right?"

She gave him a firm look. "No more talking." She folded the blanket in more so he was warm enough. "Now sleep."

XXXX

"I didn't wanna overload you," Janeece admitted once both of them had finished their portions from the chippie she went to, "I didn't even know what you wanted but you hadn't eaten anything since you came here."

"It wasn't as though I needed it," Chris replied, "but I guess I should thank you for your concern."

"What do you mean, it wasn't as though you needed it?" She laughed a little. "Have you not looked in the mirror lately? There's nothing to you."

"But you don't see what's underneath this t-shirt," he explained.

She came over more sombre and looked to him more intently. "Do you remember much else about what happened?" Her question prompted a wide-eyed look from him and she rather hoped she hadn't triggered another reaction from him. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to…"

"Only getting mowed down," he stated. "Everything else is still a blur."
He felt a small stab just above his navel at the memory of what went on during his time in theatre and he felt a wave of nausea sink back down into the pit of his stomach. He scrunched his eyes shut, allowing the fear to make him see things he didn't want to see.

Flashes of light blinded him and the only things blocking the worst of it out were several dark, tall silhouettes. Then…darkness hit him again.

"…Chris?" The young girl had taken hold of one his hands and placed it between hers, allowing them to alternate their caresses. "You still with me?"

He snapped to, his eyes becoming less glassy. "Sorry."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't do that again…you looked a little spaced out. Unless…did you remember something?"

"Nothing important," he lied.

"You're a habitually bad liar," she smirked.

He drew in a small sigh, feeling his bottom ribs ache. "Something just struck a nerve. I remembered something when I was under – or at least when they thought I was."

"Mr Clarkson told me that something went wrong in theatre," Janeece admitted, "and you're saying that he was right?"

He looked to her slowly. He didn't ever think he'd end up confiding in her, but he was starting to realise that she wasn't a complete big mouth. "I woke up partway through. I didn't feel any pain and I didn't even know how far into the operation they'd gotten, but I could see them. I even heard them talking. I haven't put much thought into what they were saying, but…after a few seconds they must've realised I was awake and then they put me out again."

She nodded in acknowledgement.

"I mean what did they even do to me?" He asked, his voice dripping with confusion. "If I can remember being awake partway through the op you would think I would remember what they did."

"The recall will probably happen in pieces, so don't worry." She reassured him. "If you feel any better I can try and help you remember now. These thoughts and feelings," she took his hands with hers, "are what you're blocking out. And I'm only right here if you start feeling odd or that you wanna stop. You don't wanna keep avoiding having to talk about it, do you?"

XXXX

The doctor came into the ward after a nurse had helped Clara into some bedclothes. "Feel any better now, sweetheart?"

"A lot better," she saw the nurse link her up to an IV line that started to get a good flow of fluids into her.

"Now Clara," he stood by the head of the bed and placed a hand over her forehead, "the people who were taking care of you said you wanted to talk to someone. Who was it you wanted to talk to?"

"I-I don't know," she squirmed a little under the blankets as she felt the aching in her joints come back, "just someone."

"Another doctor, like a counsellor?" He suggested. She shook her head. "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

She whimpered a little from the hot feeling that was still overtaking her. It wasn't as strong but it still made her feel awful.

"The medications are still going to take time in getting to you," he explained, "you had missed a few doses, but don't worry. You won't feel rough for much longer."

"Dad…" She mumbled thickly. "I want my dad…"

"We can't get hold of him right now, but we're still trying to."

"I-I have to tell him," Clara clutched her stomach, "I have to tell him about what I saw."

XXXX

Tom came by Janeece's flat after he finished work. "How is he?" He was taken to the lounge where Chris had stayed since he got there.

"He's getting better, I guess." She shrugged. "He's still worried about what's happened to Clara."

"I know but the last thing I would want is for him to go out there. Janeece, he's sick. He'd only end up with another chill and the next time he does it might finish him off."

"Try telling that to him," she dropped down next to the younger male, who was sleeping deeply on the sofa in a curled up position. She slid her fingertips through his dark bangs but he hardly stirred. "He's remembered a little bit more about what had gone on."

"So that's good," he sat down on the unoccupied sofa not too far away from them, "staying here has helped him, then."

He shifted about under the blanket, allowing his eyelids to open despite them feeling so heavy. "T-Tom…" He dimly mumbled.

"Hey, mate," Tom leant closer forward, "feel any better?"

"A bit," Chris sat up into a better position, "what'd make me feel even better would be if I went out and looked for her…"

"No, not yet." After seeing Janeece get up he took her spot next to him and placed a hand on his back. "I know you must think I'm doing the worst possible thing ever by suggesting you stay put, but you don't even know where she is. And it's ice cold out there. You could catch a worse chill."

He said nothing but peered disappointedly at the floor.

"Maybe talking about what you remembered might help," he went on. "You feel up for that?"

"I don't know how ready I feel. And the furthest back I can remember was when I woke up in theatre, partway through," he reiterated, beat, "everything else is just…I don't know. Blank, I guess."

"So you can remember waking up partway through theatre," Tom wanted to recap. "Can you remember…waking up when the girls were there?"

"Pretty much."

"What about when I came by?" He nodded. "We want you to guide us, mate. Is there any time you don't remember?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, that's ok." The stocky male reassured him. "The main thing is your memory is ok up to now. You haven't lost any part in particular, but talking more about it might help you to forget about it. That's how some forms of counselling help."

"But Tom, I don't need a counsellor."

"I'm not saying you do," Tom replied, "but talking about what had happened might help you to move on. And that's what you want, isn't it?"

Chris sat back, finding that he and Janeece, who had taken up the space at his other side, had both taken each of his hands and caressed them softly. "It's going to hurt, isn't it?"

The stockier male lowered an eyebrow questioningly.

"Trying to remember," he clarified, "it isn't going to be pleasant."

"No, these type of things usually aren't," he clarified, "but you've got us here with you. And we won't let anything happen to you."

"Just try and relax, Chris," Janeece spoke softly, "you might find it easier to remember if you do that."

"Not that I'm a coward, but I don't think I can deal with this." He shrank against the sofa. They continued to stroke his hands comfortingly.

"You're afraid of the unknown, and that's ok." The stocky male inched closer to him. "It's normal, mate…you're not a coward, I can safely tell you that. Just relax, ok? No one's out to get you."

"All you've got to bear in mind is that both of us love you," she piped up, "and that's why we're doing this. We're not doing it to hurt you, we wanna help you."

Tom looked to the girl slowly, realising that her words were working in getting him to settle.

"So close your eyes and take some deep breaths."

Chris reluctantly sank into a better position, swiftly closing his eyes and drawing in a sharp breath before taking much deeper, slower ones. He didn't see what benefit any of it was going to be.

"Feel relaxed now?"

There came a noise at Janeece's door and it startled the younger male so much that he jumped from in amongst the blanket. His eyes flew open and took on a startled, wide-eyed look.

"Probably some door-to-door people," she assumed as she got up to see who it was, "don't worry, I'll tell them to come back later."
She was more than a little surprised to see two police officers standing on her threshold.

She swallowed hard. "Is this about Clara?"

"May we come in?"

She shakily let them through into the hallway, darting her gaze to the two males as they sat together and then back at them. "I-is she dead?" She wanted to know. "She didn't suffer…did she?"

"We're looking for someone you may know about," one of them started to explain, "his name is Tom Clarkson."

"Sure I know him. He's only through there…" Janeece pointed to the lounge in which prompted both of them to enter.

"…You will find it easier to talk, mate, believe me." Tom had finished giving the younger of the two more friendly reassurances before realising they were both not alone.

"Are you Tom Clarkson?"

"Yeah," he peered up at them, dubiously raising an eyebrow, "what's this about?"

"We have reason to believe you were involved in the murder of a young woman. We'd like to take you for questioning."

"Tom," Chris started weakly, not believing what he was hearing. "You didn't do it, did you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what any of this is about." He placed a hand on his back and rubbed him there before getting up and straightening out the creases in his jacket. "But I have to do what they say."

"I know that," he replied, "but what if what Clara told me was true?"

"Clara?" He frowned. "What has she told you?" He swallowed hard. "Has she been making up lies about me?"

He looked to him with a strange expression. It was one of disbelief, shock, denial and disappointment.

Janeece showed them out, and once they had gone went back to where he was sitting. "I didn't expect that," was all she could say.