Chapter 13

The morning was bitterly cold, a surprise that it hadn't started to snow. She had wrapped herself up with a scarf, wearing her rainbow-striped jumper underneath the white jacket. It wasn't the heaviest one she owned and she started to regret her choice now. She hadn't wanted to look too bulky.

Her gaze dropped to her middle, unnoticeable and unchanged to the eye, yet she already felt different. Really, the intuition of her body should have told her sooner.

Directly behind her Ray was alternating between complaining about being up so early on a Saturday and taking the piss out of Chris who was sleeping in the seat next to him, head craned back and snores escaping his mouth, bouncing against the car's interior. He remained completely oblivious, even when Ray started to balance coins and other foreign objects upon his face, providing an inherently childish form of entertainment.

And then there was Gene. He was as he often was now, largely silent aside from the odd word of rebuke to the two detectives in the back. Even then his volume didn't reach even a gentle roar, the sound of the Quattro's humming engine as he brought its speed a little faster outdoing him. His gloved hands gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed upon the road. Considerate, careful, almost contemplative in a way that she had only encountered a handful of times, though they had all happened fairly recently.

Guilt washed over her with equal intensity as the nausea she was battling. It had been a week and she hadn't yet figured out how she was going to tell him. Even the way she was going to phrase it was causing her untold trouble. Half of her was hoping that it would be enough for him to notice that she had turned almost teetotal, which surely was the biggest alarm bell given the quantities of alcohol she was so used to consuming.

There's something you should know.

You know all that throwing up I've been doing lately?

Something's going to change for us.

She thought back to how she had broken the same news to a different man, years past, years that were still to come.

You're going to be a father. I'm pregnant.

She had begun to mourn Molly properly in the last seven days, though she was aware she was only scratching the surface, picking at the edges. The infrequent illusions had been a comfort to her, kept the fading memories vivid in her mind. Now it hurt more than any other pain she had experienced to be as certain as she could be that those blurry images and uncertain remembrances were all that remained of her daughter. Because this meant that there was no turning back; her connection to this world had become too strong, ties well and truly binded by what her and Gene had created.

There were options, she had considered briefly, but they had never been tangible ones. It was unthinkable for her to get rid of a child as though it were nothing more than an inconvenience or mistake. Her head might have framed it in that manner but her heart was soft. Molly had made it that way since the day she arrived.

Having a child with the man you love was a blessing. She had loved Pete and remembered the elation she felt, not made any less by how everything ended up turning out. She was certain that she loved Gene even more. If it wasn't for Molly she would call him the love of her life. It didn't help to keep the same thought in her mind but she also couldn't get past it, tortured herself relentlessly with the impossibility. If only the circumstances were different.

You can't have everything you want. It doesn't work like that.

She felt like building some kind of shrine for Molly. A memorial. More than anything she wanted to let her know that she would never forget her, would always love and cherish her. She was her first born and that would never change, even if the mechanics were out of sequence.

At the same time it was possible for her to have just as much love for this child – who for the time being looked just like Molly did when she was born in her mind's eye. Not a replacement, never that. Someone entirely new, with just as much of her heart in their ownership.

The car came to a sharp halt, causing her to grab out for the dashboard with one hand and shield her stomach with the other, entirely instinctively.

"Urgh," Chris garbled, his head jerking swiftly up and an array of items falling from his face onto the seat and floor, "what the 'ell...where am I?"

"Twonk," Ray struggled to hold back his laughter. "D'you know you talk in yer sleep? 'Ooh, Shazza...just there...do it harder.'

"Shut up, I don't!" Chris said quickly, his flushed face reflected in the rear-view mirror.

"Mate, that's gunna keep me goin' for a week. I'll struggle to get out of 'ere as it is."

"Shaz is right. You are a bloody pervert."

"Do you know, I think I'd be better off employin' a pair of twelve year olds on the verge of puberty than you two," Gene broke his lengthy silence, craning his head to the gap between the front and back seats, "they'd be a damn sight more bloody sensible!"

They moved in a procession from the car to the building, Gene leading the charge to where they would find the pathologist.

"Ladies first," he said, stepping aside to let Alex enter.

"You 'eard the Guv," Ray quipped, holding out an arm to gesture that Chris should go ahead of him.

"You're not funny, Ray," Chris answered sulkily.

The room had a strange blue tinge that she could never get used to and was several degrees colder than it was outside. She folded her arms tight against herself in a feeble attempt to stave off the chill, feeling her teeth chattering hard against her jaw.

"What was so important that it couldn't wait until at least midday, then?" Gene questioned the pathologist, an unimpressed pout firmly in place.

"I hope that you all had breakfast a while ago," the pathologist answered with grim foresight.

There was a delay before he pulled back the sheet that covered the body to the waist, which did not succeed in preparing them.

"Sodding Christ," Ray muttered in disbelief.

Alex's hand shot up to her mouth, the urge to retch almost overwhelming. Thankfully the sensation passed quicker than she expected it to, leaving her with the underlying nausea and shockwaves that settled upon the surface of her skin.

The woman before them was pale, but not in the unnatural way that most corpses appeared; her lips and cheeks still seemed to hold a tinge of colour. What was unmissable were the gaping wounds that sliced across her chest, the blood long since dried but still evidencing the rage and pain that had been inflicted.

"I'd estimate that she was stabbed at least seventy or eighty times. It could be anything up to two hundred, realistically."

Gene and the pathologist entered into a short volley of questions and answers, although there wasn't really that much to establish, the truth of the matter being plain to see. She'd spent her fair share of time stood in rooms like this, doing her best to separate the analytical and emotional sides of herself as she looked upon body after body, life after life that had been needlessly snuffed out. The sheer violence of this particular instance shocked them all into silence.

As he went on the pathologist lowered the sheet to indicate a couple of smaller injuries further down the body, nothing compared to the mess that had been made of the victim's chest. Alex honed in on the faint scar that run across the lower abdomen, denoting a previous Caesarean section.

"Who would want to do that?" Chris asked to nobody in particular as they made their way back outside, "so close to Christmas an' all."

"There are a lot of sick bastards in the world, Christopher," Gene said in reply, "and it's our job to catch them. Old Saint Nick doesn't know 'e's born, the jammy sod, working one night of the year. Meanwhile 'ere we are, freezing our respective bits and bobs off while it's still bloody dark outside to see some poor cow get turned into a pin cushion."

Alex was still too shaken by what she had seen to say anything, not that the conversation progressed all that much. She was somewhat thrown off by how it could quickly become so trivial after the horror of what they had just witnessed.

"It's so hard now that Shazza's my fiancée."

"Ey, I bet it is."

"I'm talkin' about presents," Chris went on to clarify, dismissing Ray's smutty comment. "I dunno what I'm gunna get 'er. Everythin' I think of...well, it just doesn't seem good enough."

"An iron and an ironing board," Ray supplied, "there you go, two for the price of one."

"Nah, I was goin' to get those as wedding presents."

There was a bit of blessed silence – a break from the inanity – but not for long enough.

"You know what the problem is? You're thinkin' about what she wants. We all know that women are never satisfied, no matter how much you spend on them. You should get 'er somethin' you'll want." Ray sounded incredibly proud of his suggestion. "A nice skimpy nightie. One of those peek-a-boo things. She'd look just the ticket in that."

"Yeah..." Chris said dreamily, before he twigged that it wasn't the most appropriate thing for his friend to say. " 'ang on a minute."

"Ey, Ma'am," Ray went on, ignoring the look that Chris was fixing him with, "what're you gettin' the Guv for Christmas? Somethin' big, I hope."

A fresh wave of nausea washed over Alex as she considered. If only you had any idea. She wasn't going to wait that long to tell Gene about the baby, she promised herself. She did still need to get used to the idea first, though.

"I can't tell you, Ray. That would spoil the surprise."

Her attempts to sound flippant felt wrong, when she was grappling with something so serious.

The retort silenced the Detective Sergeant for all of a few meagre seconds. "Or rather somethin' small, ey? I think he'd much prefer that. Somethin' barely there, in fact...I s'pose the thing we really need to know, Ma'am, is 'ave you been naughty or nice?"

Gene, who had thus far opted to be voluntarily deaf, decided it was high time to chip in.

"Raymondo, if you don't shut up pronto I'll 'ave it seen to that your balls are replaced with lumps of coal."

He gave a sideways glance to her, taking his eyes off the road momentarily. His foot slammed harder upon the accelerator pedal, no doubt with the hope of getting to their destination sooner. The speed did nothing to help the jittering in her stomach.

"Gene," she said low, resisting the urge to reach her hand out towards his arm, "can you...slow down, please?"

His eyes were upon her again, briefly, and with that addition he acquiesced to her request without further delay. From the backseat she was waiting for another crude remark to come from Ray but instead he said nothing.

Chris and Ray were dropped off at their respective houses, Gene coming to the conclusion that getting them up at six o'clock of a Saturday morning had been quite enough overtime. Shaz was waiting at the door in her dressing gown for Chris, waving towards Alex with a smile before her fiancé made it inside, pinning a kiss to his cheek. The picture was one that made her sentimental and filled with sorrow all at once, knowing that life could never be that simple.

"Bols," she heard Gene's voice through the echoing that populated her mind. Turning her head towards him and seeing the look in his eyes she had the feeling it wasn't the first time he had called for her. "You've been quiet. Do I 'ave reason to be worried?"

Her heart contracted at his words of concern.

"No," she replied with a murmur, unable to raise her voice much louder. "I'm just missing Molly."

Which was the truth, she always did. But from now she would miss her all the more, knowing it was incredibly likely that she would never see her again.

"I'm sorry, love," he offered, enough of a comfort for her. "S'pose she likes all this Christmas malarkey?"

"Yes," a smile lifted her lips at the memory of Molly's giddy excitement at the particular time of year, "she loves it. Once I stopped believing in Father Christmas I didn't really care too much, but Molly got me back into the feeling of it all."

"It was always crap for us," he replied, the return of unhappy memories furrowing his brow. "My old man took 'eat, drink and be merry' too literally, except he drank more instead of eatin' and instead of bein' merry he was even more of a miserable, violent bugger than on any other day of the year. There was sod all in our stockings but we did get a few belts, instead."

"Oh, Gene," she said, her heart aching for him, "I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have had to go through that."

His head hung low for a couple of seconds, and then he shook off the darkness as quickly as it had encroached.

"S'alright, Bolly. Lot's 'appened since then." He paused for a moment further. "Stu topped 'imself the day after Bonfire Night. Everyone reckoned he was so off his 'ead that it was a coincidence, but I'm sure it's 'cause 'e wanted to be out of it before bloody Christmas came around again."

Part of her was starting to rethink her previous intentions. She didn't want to tempt fate – if such a thing existed – but it was clear that he needed a reason to see the festive season in a better light. Perhaps giving him the news that she fervently hoped he would find happy would do just that.

"I know what I'm gettin' you, anyway."

She met his eyes again, her curiosity sparked. A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth seeing her expression shift.

"A decent bloody coat, instead of that thing. Got a feelin' it's gunna be a long, hard winter, Bollykecks."

It was like déjà vu. Being in the same room, sitting opposite a man in his thirties with a vaguely downtrodden, despondent look about him. Gene occupied the chair next to her, reliably. The last two times he had taken the lead but she felt different today. Strong and assured. She was going to head the charge, had enough control to do so.

Gene was leaning back against his chair, angled away from the heavy table. Clearing the way for her.

"Robbery gone wrong. You could have walked away." She paused, for effect or real meaning she wasn't sure. "Why didn't you?"

The man in front of her – or more accurately, positioned between her and Gene – gave a singular shrug of his shoulders, bobbed his chin.

"I dunno," he said, half mumbling. "It wouldn't 'ave felt right."

Interesting choice of words.

"It wasn't your idea, was it? To go to that house in particular. You'd never been to the area before. Had to get the bus twice beforehand to get your bearings." She stared hard towards him – not the main suspect but more than just a stooge. "You would have preferred to stay closer to what you knew."

"It's not my choice. Jimmy said it would be worth it. Do somethin' different. He knows what 'e's about. I don't."

He had dropped his head, examining his lap intently, his hands fidgeting and picking off bits of skin. Alex watched intently, cataloguing the movements, looking for things that other people wouldn't notice.

In a split second he jolted, his gaze meeting hers unexpectedly, staring back with just as much intensity as she had shown. It would have been natural to have been thrown off guard but she clung on, fingers digging against the denim of her jeans, hard enough to pierce through to skin.

"But that's alright, though. 'e told me that. It's the way you're born. You can't 'elp it."

She leant back a little as she processed the information he had given, subconsciously. Gene's eyes were upon her; she felt the weight of his gaze.

"Is it your instinct to defer? To him, in particular. Do you never think about using your own agency?"

There was a stretch of silence, making the room a vacuum.

"What she's sayin'," Gene moved to intervene, "is when Saint Jimmy says jump, do you get a ruler out to measure 'ow bloody high?"

"I do what I'm told," he replied, looking now at Gene, ignoring her completely. "It's what I'm good at."

"Are you scared of him?" she asked, needing to get his attention back, feeling somewhat envious of Gene that he could command such power with a single question.

He was mumbling again, an answer that she couldn't make out.

"Are you in awe of him? Do you love him?"

"Jesus Christ, no!" The desired effect. "I'm not a poofter."

Alex restrained a smile, kept her composure in place. "There's something between you, though. He holds a power over you and you let him rule you."

Another bout of deafening silence before he shifted within his chair, looked between the both of them. "I don't mind. He picked me up from the gutter, let me along side 'im. I dunno what else I can do to say I'm grateful."

Ah, obvious. Well, this is going to be easy from here.

"You handed him the knife. You're aware that makes you an accessory. Eligible for manslaughter."

He nodded. Even though she understood on a psychological level the notion was still baffling to her.

"Did you know he was going to kill Miriam Kennedy? Not just kill, but mutilate her. One hundred and ninety two separate wounds. They've been counted."

"I didn't."

She surged forward, one of the legs of the chair wobbling slightly beneath her.

"I don't believe you."

His voice raised, creating an echo that bounced from the walls. "I didn't, I swear. Look, Jimmy 'as these plans. Everythin' down to the last little detail, it's really important to 'im. But then sometimes 'e swerves off them, without tellin' anyone. It's like somethin' just snaps. And I s'pose that's what 'appened."

She expected nothing further from this unfailingly loyal foot-soldier, willing to give over his own life to honour that of his leader. His pause had been to merely gather breath.

"It was horrible. She was dead after the first twenty or thirty, but 'e wouldn't stop. As 'e was doin' it, 'e was sayin' this stuff. Chantin' it."

"What stuff?" she questioned. "A prayer? Do you remember any of it?"

"I dunno, I'd never 'eard it before...it sounded like poetry or somethin' but I dunno for sure. 'e's the well-to-do one, I don't understand all that."

"I know the feelin'," Gene interjected wryly.

She couldn't stop herself from getting to her feet, her body physically compelling her.

"Can you remember any of it at all? Even a couple of words?"

It must be important. Everything is significant.

"I dunno..."

God, it's like listening to a broken record.

"Come on!" Her shout echoed around her own head as she slammed a palm down upon the table top. "Think. It has to be in there."

"Er..." he fumbled for the memory, she could almost see the cogs turning within his brain, his eyes flickering as they tried to keep up. "Somethin' about a tide...and innocence, maybe...I can't remember."

She knew that, remembered studying it at school. Keats, wasn't it? Everything felt fuzzy suddenly, like all of her thoughts had been picked apart at the seams.

It felt as though someone was chipping away at her brain with a chisel, getting closer and closer...

"Eh, Missis, are you alright? You don't look too good."

Whirring, whirring and so much noise. So loud and high, like it was piercing straight into her frontal lobe.

"That's DI Drake to you, sunshine. Show a bit of bloody respect. Or is that reserved for your sorry excuse of a leader?"

She tried to focus with everything she had but she couldn't hear above the sounds that screamed into her ears and her head, which was also rapidly causing her vision to blur and the whole room to spin. In the next second her knees buckled, the floor being pulled from beneath her.

Before she could crash down Gene's arms were around her, one at her waist and the other at her shoulder, propping her up against him.

"Bolly," he whispered into her ear, hardly comprehensible against the screeching that reverberated.

Still clutching onto her he leaned over, finger poised to press down upon the tape recorder.

"Interview suspended, seven minutes past twelve. You don't move a muscle, not even to break wind, you 'ear me?"

She felt heavy and weightless at once, aware of Gene dragging her out of the interview room and into the corridor, walking until reaching a chair and kneeling in front of her as he righted her in place upon the seat.

"Bloody hell, Bols. I'm pretty sure that the bloke just crapped 'imself, and I wasn't too far behind. What's goin' on?"

It took her some effort to speak, her hand fumbling against his wrist as his hand cupped her face, the sense of touch a substitution for stolen words.

"It's my head...oh God, Gene, it hurts!"

She winced as the pain hit her full force, worse than she had experienced for a long time. His other hand followed the first, cradling her head in an attempt to make the pain go away.

"I'm takin' you home."

"No...no," she managed to mumble as his arm slipped to her waist, "give me a few moments, I'll be okay..."

"Alex, are you' jokin'? Yer not okay, love."

In a swift movement he gathered her to him, held her tight to his frame. Though she was disorientated, apparently not in control of either her limbs or senses and more frightened than she had ever been she also felt undeniably safe in his arms, comforted by his enduring touch.

"Come on, let's get you out of 'ere."

She managed a few faltering steps for herself but Gene carried her most of the way, taking her easily up the stairs. She murmured against his neck, short sighs she hoped might dispel the pain, clinging onto him and reluctant to let go even when he lowered her to the bed. It still seemed to feel warm from where they had lain together only hours previously.

"You just lie there, alright?" His hands brushed against her as he gathered the sheets over her body. "Get some sleep. Yer workin' yerself too hard, you know."

She shook her head against the pillow, as much as she could stand against the waves that pulsed against her brain. Her hand reached out for him where he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm fine...I will be..."

"Alex," he said, his tone cautious. His fingers slipped into the spaces between hers, thumb rubbing over the curve of her hand. "Somethin's not right...you know as well as I do, love."

She was only half-listening, dipping in and out. The pillow cool and soothing against her temple, Gene's hand warm against hers. She felt herself slipping, a little further which each second that passed.

"Shaz...she told me that you fainted. I dunno why you felt you had to 'ide it."

"That's not to do with this," she murmured in reply, turning over onto her back. A smile crept onto her lips. "It's okay. I'm okay."

His hand let go of hers but he stayed stroking the sleeve of her blouse, the action soothing the pain much more than anything she could achieve on her own.

"You need a break. I'm not takin' no for an answer anymore."

She wanted to argue, tell him that was the last thing she needed, but she could not muster the energy, certainly not in her current state.

He moved away from her eventually; she could hear his footsteps faint upon the floor, recognised the loss of his touch. She turned back onto her side, pressing the side of her head that hurt the most into the soft pillow.

"Gene..." she called out his name, not knowing whether he was still there or not.

"Yes, Bols."

"You are happy, aren't you?" The smile poised to take up residence once more on her face, even though she felt wretched.

The silence draining the sound from her mind as she waited for his answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm 'appy."

A beacon of light shimmered against her closed eyes.

"Good," she murmured, her voice almost completely muffled. "Because I'm happy too."

She was groggy when she woke up, uncertain of where she was at first. The pain against her head – within her head – remained, though it had certainly lessened in its intensity. Now it was only a dull ache stretching across her forehead.

The red figures on the alarm clock pulsated before her eyes. 14.33. It felt as though she had slept much longer than that.

There had been a dream, which she had not expected in her agonised state. It had been wonderful. Molly was with her, and so was Gene, and the three of them were beside themselves with joy staring down at the baby swaddled in her arms. The baby had her lips and Gene's eyes, and somehow she could see Molly in their cherubic face too. Molly couldn't stop smiling, reaching her hands into the bundle of blankets, giggling as a tiny hand poked at her own. She was going to make the best big sister and Alex could not have been prouder. Gene kissed the crown of her head as she lay in the hospital bed, the warmth of sunshine spilling in through the window.

A perfect vision of a life that could not possibly be, the two halves of her heart unable to fit together.

She lay on her back, blinking slowly towards the ceiling. Her hand naturally rested upon her abdomen, fingers inching beneath the hem of her blouse and stroking against her skin. She tried to remember how long it took for her to show before. She wasn't even sure how far gone she was; nine or ten weeks, perhaps? Another child born in the summer.

Her eyes closed briefly, fumbling in the dark for an image buried somewhere she could not seem to reach far enough for.

I promise, Molls, nothing will ever take your place.

The knock on the door roused her back to the here and now, getting to her feet slowly. She took longer than she would do normally, still hazy from sleep and disorientated by the time of day. The measured knocking persisted and she felt like telling it to hush as she was quite unable to hurry her pace along.

The one thing she could distinguish is that it wasn't Gene, unless he had altered his usual style to take her current temperament into account.

"Just a moment," she uttered as she fumbled with the handle.

When she opened the door she was certain that her heart stopped momentarily in her chest.

"Hello, Alex," the voice addressed her calmly. "We meet again."

A/N: Gah - cliffhangers. Sorry.