Chapter 20
She wakes with a start, as though electric currents have been shot through her chest. Lying down, feeling a slight swaying beneath her.
This can't be right. I'm in hospital.
It was the only way to explain the agonising pain that her body was in; she had been shocked back to life, out of a near-comatose state.
It had been so dark, shadows everywhere. As she blinks she notices the light, hurting her eyes. Her head rears up slowly and she looks down at herself, sees the vivid red of the skin-tight skirt, the fishnet stockings and killer heels.
Her hand moves to her face, checking that she's not bleeding. It feels like a hole has ripped right through her.
She checks to see that she's still there, real and tangible.
Red and white all around, laughter and loud chatter filling her ears, as well as music. A song that seems rather out of place given the atmosphere, too melancholy for a party. She feels the beat of drums in her veins, coursing through her blood.
The rhythm is calling
Alone in the night as the daylight brings
A cool empty silence
She staggers upwards, unsure whether her legs will hold her for longer than two seconds. So many people, it's almost impossible for her to move forward, but she pushes her way against the throng. A pair of hands fall upon her, sliding up from her waist, and she shoves the faceless man away before he can get any further, hearing jeering behind her.
The swelling of the music drowns it out, submerges everything.
The image has gone, only you and I
It means nothing to me
She's dizzy and confused but the music pulls her along, brings her onto the deck of the boat with the sunlight piercing her eyes. Her hands on the clothes she's wearing, which definitely don't belong to her.
I look like a prostitute.
She's knocked slightly on her feet by an officer in uniform, one of several who push past her. She has the mind to run towards the last of them as a couple of seconds pass, grasping out towards the black, the silver of the epaulettes shining bright in the daylight.
Help me. I've been shot.
No, that's not right. I was in a car accident. A bomb…
Help me…you've got to help me.
They pay no attention to her, leave her behind. She moves forward, walking before she starts to run. When she does she runs as fast as she can, off the deck and onto land. Dazzled by the colours and sights that confront her at every turn. Runs into the arms of a man.
Gene?
Her mind betrays her as she looks into his face.
"Come here, you stupid tart! You called the police!"
She shakes her head, tries to wrench herself free of his grasp. His breath soaked with alcohol as he spits words into her face.
"We've been busted! You called them in, you evil bitch! Didn't you?"
Before she can argue she is pushed hard, hands clawing at her.
"Oh, you're going to regret this, sweet cheeks."
The sound of tyres screeching sharply echoes upon the air; the entire world seems to stop and flip over. She's too scared to kick out against the arms that hold her tight, wanting things to rewind.
I want to go back where I was. I want to go back home.
The car is as vivid red as the scraps of clothing and heels she is wearing, a streak against the washed-out scene. Three men dart out of the vehicle, brandishing weapons that Freud would have a field day with.
The largest of the three charges forward, raising his gun in gloved hands.
"Today, my friend, your diary entry will read, 'took a prozzie hostage and was shot by three armed bastards'."
Her heart freezes in the cage of her chest.
She wants to run towards him; seeing him alive and in front of her again is almost too much for her to handle.
She should be saying other things, engaging her brain in order to placate the situation. Save her own life, potentially.
Instead all she can do is stare at him as he moves closer. She catches him glancing at her – specifically at her breasts, and then her legs – and the air slowly seeps from her lungs.
"Blimey, if that skirt was any 'igher I could see what you 'ad for breakfast. Ray, cuff this nancy berk. Chris, look after the lady. She's the classiest pro I've seen all week."
Her eyes flutter along with the stuttering of her breath, her brain unable to keep up.
She feels an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu, swears that she's lived this very moment before.
"DC Chris Skelton?" she utters.
He removes his sunglasses.
"Roger that."
She turns her head a little to the other side. "DS Ray Carling?"
He gives a quick nod of his head, and her gaze trains itself forward, to the man who haunts all of her thoughts.
"Gene…"
It's the only thing she can say, not even finishing his name in full before the world whirls to black once more, her knees giving way beneath her.
Before she can hit the ground she is caught, sinking against the arms that have held her so many times that she's almost lost all recognition.
He's tried every trick in the book – not the one that he has written, the one he feels familiar and comfortable with – and he's fast running out of the last remnants of patience that he possesses.
He hates this. Not doing things his way. Not being in control.
With every different method he employs he can feel the eyes of them all upon him, the laughs and the whispers, that he must be out of his bloody mind.
Either that, or lost it completely.
Before he can lose grip he tells himself that the pay-off will come eventually. All these mad, crackpot ideas – one of them will come to fruition, have what it takes to make Layton crack and admit to everything, every sadistic and twisted little plan he's brewed up in that evil brain of his. Then it'll be worth it. He'll have the satisfaction of seeing the scrawny git being thrown into a cell, never to see the light of day again, with the added bonus of the rest of them falling to his feet, saying sorry, Guv and we never doubted you, Guv, clamouring to fetch him the finest cigars and malt whisky.
He snapped himself out of the reverie, a welcome relief for the brief time that it lasted.
Reverse psychology hadn't worked – sorry Bols, love, I did me best but I'm not a patch on you – and neither had sitting back, giving Layton the opportunity to spout off his faux-intellectual nonsense. He thought that would have been the winner, if someone had asked him to place a bet.
As he made his way to Room 1, retracing the same steps, he still hadn't come to a concrete decision about what it was going to be today.
He thought he'd finally gone round the twist when he opened the door to find the room empty, the two chairs on the opposite side of the table unoccupied.
"Would someone care to inform me why the bloody hell Arthur Layton is not plonked on his arse, waiting for my presence?"
"Guv, I thought DI Keats had already told you."
"Well, Parker, he bloody well has not."
Speaking of the primary thorn in his derriere, Keats was nowhere to be seen. So much for being one of the team; they were lucky if he decided to show his face for an hour each day, at most.
But Keats' disappearance wasn't the one he was concerned about.
"Will you all stop staring at me like I'm soft bleedin' Joe and tell me what is goin' on?" His bellow reverberated from the walls of CID. "More to the point, would one of you – I don't care who – let me know why our number one suspect has apparently vanished into thin air?"
After a few more seconds of infuriating silence, Parker stood from behind his desk.
"It's been 48 hours, as of one minute past nine this morning," the DI explained, as though Gene was a simpleton with no concept of standard police procedure. "With no confession and no solid evidence, there was nothing that we could do…"
Gene felt it like a swift and hard blow to his gut. He hadn't slept for more than an hour in the past two days, but he hadn't needed it – all he needed to do was get that bastard to confess and in jail before anything else could be blown to bits.
Every pair of eyes was on him, expecting him to snap, throw Parker across the room or something similar in a fit of temper.
"Guv," the DI said softly, "we're not going to stop. Chris has got a really good lead, but it'll take a couple of days."
Chris passed a file over, containing the information, but it all blurred in front of Gene's eyes.
"Fan-bloody-tastic…you all get on with that and I'll…make a few…yeah."
He retreated back to his office for as long as he wasn't needed to go and bash the heads of some wannabe scumbags, smoking his way through several packets of cigarettes until a veil of smoke became another barrier separating him from the rest of the team.
Perhaps he was losing his touch. If he couldn't nail an obvious waster like Layton, then what good was he?
A knock on the door roused him, and glancing to the clock coming out of his stupor he could see that it had gone six.
"We're off to Luigi's now, Guv, if you want to join us." Parker's voice blared against his ears, though he wasn't speaking particularly loudly. "I know it's been a rougher day than most."
"Who let 'im go?"
He saw Parker's gaze fall, his shoulders drop as he exhaled a breath.
"If it was you, and you're lyin' to me…"
They'd just managed to build something of a bond, but he wouldn't hesitate to shatter it if it turned out that he was the culprit.
"He was gone before I'd got in," Parker replied, and with all the suspicion in the world Gene could see that he was telling the truth. "I'm as gutted about it as you are."
It all made perfect sense. There he was, telling him that he needed to take a different approach, pretending to give a hoot and feeding him advice that had as much credibility as a bloke in a dress at a mother's meeting. Keats had probably slunk off to some private club with that wanker White; they'd probably been in cahoots all along, having likely gone to the same posh-knob school.
"Well, he could have given me a bloody clue…not made me look like a pillock…" he muttered into his glass, forgetting that he had emptied it some time ago.
"Look, Guv. This lead of Chris's is going to come good. And if it doesn't…then we'll find another."
The DI's eyes were wide and hopeful. Naïve, too bloody simplistic.
At least he was on his side.
"First round's on me. The first two." He waved his wallet in the air. "I've remembered it today, there's the evidence."
Gene cracked a small smile, thoughts of getting absolutely hammered already filling his head.
"Fancy a change of scenery this evening," he said, the authority creeping back into his tone. "You ever been in a proper boozer, Parker?"
Music hummed in the room, though hardly anyone occupied the makeshift dancefloor. They weren't really the crowd for it. She hadn't persuaded Gene to take part in tradition past a somewhat awkward shuffle to the second chorus of Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic; it probably wasn't the finest choice she'd made and she could sense that he was riled, long before he muttered "Bollocks to this" and went head-long in the direction of the bar.
She didn't want to change him in any way; he was never going to be one for grand, romantic gestures and she was fine with that. She didn't marry him for anything other than the man he was. Rough not only at the edges, brash, unsubtle. Definitely not everyone's cup of tea, and perhaps not even hers at first. She felt privileged to know him in a way that many others didn't, to know about all of his hidden aspects and the parts of himself he was too scared to show to the world, for the fear that the mighty legend of Gene Hunt would be dismantled piece by piece.
So she didn't mind that he spent most of the afternoon sitting in the usual corner, on the seat that had become his second throne, accepting pats on the back and handshakes, as well as a cigar or two; the thick clouds of smoke that went up temporarily cloaking him from view. She couldn't overhear what was being said, thanks to the music, other than the occasional bursts of raucous laughter. She knew she was the subject of the laddish uproar, and in a way she was strangely flattered by it. Very strangely.
It didn't matter what kind of indecent insinuations were being made about her or their volume; she had long since been able to shrug that kind of talk off. It was Gene, and Gene only, who would be able to live out all of their dirty little fantasies combined with her, and the thought brought a sly smile to her lips.
Excluding Gene, they also didn't have the first clue of the filth that she was capable of bringing to mind.
Absolute sewer.
A hand landed on her right arm, pulling her gaze away from the soft glow of the fairy lights that Luigi had pinned up to give the place more of a suitable aura for a wedding reception.
"You look so beautiful, ma'am," Shaz said again, smiling up at her with rosy cheeks and eyes that were ever-so-slightly glossy.
She had a fair inkling that the younger woman was more than a bit tipsy, entering into the celebrations of the day with unbridled enthusiasm, but the alcohol that she had consumed didn't detract from the compliment that was offered.
"Thank you, Shaz," she replied with a full-cheeked smile, still wearing the dress that she had got married in; she'd promised Gene that he'd be the one to take it off her, something he was so insistent upon she'd been half-surprised that he hadn't written it into their vows.
Looking round the room she had to wonder whether, for once – and perhaps the only instance - herself and Gene were the least intoxicated of everyone assembled. She'd had a glass or two – or even three – of Bollinger, made available upon Gene's request, but she didn't really have a taste for drink today. Probably because she didn't need or want to mask the feeling that she'd woken up with as the day had dawned, fluttering in every single fibre of her body.
Gene had also made the promise to her – with the proviso that nobody else should be any the wiser – that he wouldn't end up blind drunk, no matter how many pints were bought on his behalf and passed eagerly into his hands throughout the course of the day. He'd said something about making sure that Sergeant Rock was primed for duty, which had caused her to laugh in delight.
If there was one thing that could be guaranteed, amongst many others, it was that their passion for one another could never be diminished.
"Is it…" Shaz couldn't last more than two words before she collapsed into giggles, hunching over the drink she held in her hand, "…funny now that you're married to the Guv?"
She couldn't help but chuckle herself at Shaz's hushed words, as though she'd be chastised by Gene if he was privy to them.
"It doesn't feel different so far," she confided, pushing her weight down into the soles of her heels so that she was more level with Shaz's height, "but it has only been…what…three and a half hours?"
Shaz seemed to find that hysterical, her laughter getting louder as she stumbled forward and Alex had to put out both hands to catch her.
"Are you alright?" she asked the younger woman, who was still giggling uncontrollably, "I think I should probably fetch Chris."
"No, I'm good. I promise," Shaz assured, placing a good deal of effort in stamping both feet upon the floor, smiling blearily up at her. "Can I say something, ma'am?"
"Of course."
Shaz's smile edged up to one side of her mouth before she pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "If I wasn't with Chris, and you hadn't just got married to the Guv, then I'd ask you to marry me. I'm not even joking."
Alex smiled, patting both her hands against Shaz's shoulders, righting her on her feet again.
"That is definitely the nicest thing anyone's said to me today. Aside from Gene, that is."
Shaz grinned, swaying from side to side to the music that was floating in the room. When the first few bars of Modern Love by David Bowie kicked in she perked up, grabbing hold of Alex's hand.
"Oh, I love this song! Come and dance, ma'am."
She glanced towards Gene, still surrounded at every angle by his captive audience.
"I'd love to," she answered.
She was out of breath before the song finished, willing it to end quickly so that she could make her excuses and slink away. Shaz was lethal on the dancefloor, it was enough just to watch her and feel every second of her thirty seven years and two months. She gave the younger woman a round of applause and a hug before departing to the bar, thinking that a fourth glass of champagne wouldn't go amiss.
"I wanted to offer my congratulations."
It took her a few seconds to register that the voice speaking was addressing her, though it wouldn't have made sense for it to be talking to anyone else, and Gene hadn't moved an inch from where he was surrounded by admiration.
"Thank you," she replied, turning her gaze away from her new husband from the distance he was at from her and taking in the unfamiliar face. She could feel herself frowning as she stared at the man, becoming self-conscious. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before."
His mouth twitched in recognition, eyes dark behind the spectacles he wore.
"Friend of the groom," he offered, if the fact perplexed her all the more. She was quite certain that she knew everyone that Gene could call a friend, but she also knew how much he valued his privacy and she had no desire to pry, trusting him completely. "We go way back, though it has been quite a while."
"Well, I'm glad you could make it. I'm sure that Gene will be too, once he knows that you're here. I can go and…"
"Oh, no," he quickly interrupted, "I wouldn't want to…well, we didn't exactly part on good terms. Unless you count his fist in my eye as a friendly farewell gesture. I don't expect he'd hesitate to give the other a dusting if he sees me."
She tipped her head to the side, feeling a certain empathy towards the stranger. Then again, Gene would have good reasons for doing that to someone he considered a friend, she was sure.
"Drink?" His spectacles slipped down his nose as he held the glass out towards her, his free hand rising to push them back into place.
Feeling uneasy she shook her head, her hesitation barely concealed.
"I'm fine, but thank you."
He didn't seem offended by her refusal, holding the glass up in the air beside him.
"More for me, then."
He tipped the glass back in one go, her gaze held in fascination as she watched him, the satisfied rasp of sound he made on finishing echoing against her ears.
"I'd best be on my way. But it was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Hunt."
He leaned forward towards her, hand brushing her elbow and lips against her cheek, stinging upon her skin where they very briefly lingered. She felt dizzy, uncomfortable for long after the exchange ended.
"Tell Gene that I hope to see him soon, on better terms. I'm sure that being married to you will soften him. Not too much, though." He smirked as he backed away, walking on the edges of his heels. "All the very best for the future."
She steadied herself with her hand against the bar once the stranger was out of sight, allaying Luigi's concerned calls of her names and insisting that she was quite well, despite the way lights twirled before her eyes and the whole room began to spin wildly about her.
Her knees were hit by a heavy weakness, but she was able to move towards the entrance before she could fall, the music that was playing burrowed into her brain as she went in pursuit of some fresh air.
It played so loudly that it felt as though it was seeping into her bloodstream.
Young loving may be
Oh so mean
Trying to revive
The same old scene
Young loving may be
So extreme
Maybe we should try
The same old scene
"Alex!"
She turned sharply at the sound of her name, unable to determine where it was coming from.
"Come back to us, Alex…come back to where you belong…"
A pain surged against the right side of her head; she crouched to her knees, hands against her temples trying to make it go away.
Still the music boomed in her ears and all around, submerging the world around her.
Nothing lasts forever
Of that I'm sure
Now you've made an offer
I'll take some more
Gene watched as Parker swallowed down the bitter in the glass, slowly, eyes pinched as he did so.
"Don't feel compelled to finish it on my behalf."
He hadn't fully expected the younger man to accept his offer of the drink in the first place, and when he did was quite aware that he was doing so out of courtesy. It wasn't the creeping kind that Keats would have shown, and for that he felt appeased. Give him his due, he was making a good go of it.
"No," Parker replied, shaking his head and taking a breath before valiantly facing down the remainder. He tipped the glass almost vertical as his neck craned, causing Gene to give a small smile.
He refrained however from giving the DI a round of applause.
"It's…er…an acquired taste. But I'm sure I could get used to it in time."
"Manchester's finest," Gene noted, an air of wistfulness in his tone. He wasn't sure whether he'd ever get to see the old city again; the chance seemed to narrow with each day that passed. "The only place that serves it round 'ere. I'm probably the only bastard that bothers to drink it."
"Until now."
Parker smiled at him over the small table. The worse side of him would tell him that the DI was only snivelling and sucking up to him because he had to, to save his own skin. He still didn't really believe in affinity and all that crap about fate, not even after Tyler. Not after Bolly, either. He supposed he was a quarter of the way converted. Maybe he just wanted to be assured that he wasn't pissing in the wind; that there were still people on his side, fighting for his cause.
Good people, at that.
"I'm sorry."
Gene grimaced slightly at the words that slipped from Parker's mouth.
"I…I misunderstood you. I've never had a boss that's…"
"As much of a pain in the arse as I am?"
"No," Parker said quickly, though Gene wouldn't have minded at this point in time if he had agreed. "I was going for dedicated."
Gene snorted. "Well, that's one way of puttin' it."
He stared up from the bottom of his glass to see that the DI was contrite, expectant.
"Water under the bridge," he said firmly, waving a hand in the air. "Life's too short for us to be pissed off at each other. Too many other tossers to deal with."
"Like DI Keats?"
Gene laughed harder. " 'e is technically your superior." He wondered again which pillock saw fit to give Jimbo the rank of DCI; whatever they were on at the time must have been some mind-altering stuff. "But seein' as it's just the two of us, I'll let it slide."
He reached into his pocket for the near-empty packet of cigarettes, relieved when Parker politely refused.
"What made you want to join the force, then?"
Parker shrugged his shoulders, though the look in his eyes spoke of something greater. "I failed most of my O Levels. Didn't want to be stuck in a dead-end job all of my life, and the army sounded too much like hard work. One of the ones I failed was PE, so I would have been snookered."
"Yeah, I'm not buyin' that."
He wouldn't have ended up here if he didn't believe in the cause.
The DI bowed his head, mulling over Gene's accusation. His deep exhale was audible over the tinny music that came rattling from the jukebox before he spoke again.
"I suppose I wanted to make a difference. Do something that mattered. It's not about some stupid fantasy, feeling like a hero. I've never claimed to be that…just to, I don't know, make things better where and how I can. It's such a massive thing to me."
Gene nodded solemnly. He could well identify, his mind racing back past the years, seeing himself looking in the mirror as that nineteen year old in a pristine uniform, absolutely shitting himself.
"I want to make things better," Parker repeated, an edge to his tone that Gene had never perceived before. "Bring losers like Arthur Layton to justice."
"You've got a bee in yer bonnet about Layton," Gene remarked, unconsciously leaning forward in his seat. "Don't get me wrong, it's a good thing. I'd just like to know why it's this particular piece of scum who's got you so rattled."
Parker stared ahead of him, past his shoulder. He could swear he saw the younger man's heart beating hard against his throat as he remained silent. Perhaps this had been the wrong thing to do and he should have just let them get on with the job, no questions asked.
"Sorry Guv, I need a drink."
"I'll get them," Gene offered, getting to his feet before Parker could throw the table over. He lingered for a moment, checking that the DI was alright, his head pounding as he went to the bar.
Parker seemed calmer when he returned, uttering a quiet 'thanks' as he took the pint and sipped, steadily at first but then downing a little more than half in one go.
"Steady on, there's a while 'til closin' time," Gene warned, taking a sup of his own.
With some still left Parker put down his glass, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Look, I think we're on the same page here, at last, and I don't want you to think…what I'm going to say is going to sound so out there, that I don't think I should…"
Gene sighed inwardly, thinking he definitely wasn't as pissed as he should be.
"I know," he said, watching Parker's face shadow with confusion, his own stomach sinking towards his soles before he dared to continue, "I know yer from the future."
The DI opened and then closed his mouth, repeating the action so that he looked as though he was doing a first-class impression of a goldfish pressed against a bowl, especially when Gene looked at him through the lens of his pint glass.
"How…?"
"I 'aven't got the foggiest, and I don't know if I want to know either," Gene answered. I've gone loony, he thought, it's the only explanation. "Some days I wonder whether I'm Captain bloody Kirk."
Parker laughed at that, masking their mutual bafflement.
"I'm still trying to figure it out. I mean, how does anyone go from living and working in 2008 and then find themselves transported to the early '80s? I must have taken one hell of a bump to the head."
You're not the first, he wanted to say, if it didn't hurt so bloody much simply to breathe.
He probably wouldn't be the last, either.
"It was late, I was working overtime. Someone mentioned they'd be at the pub, and I wasn't going to bother, was going to go straight home. But I'd been on a shitty case so I thought, sod it, I deserve to let off some steam. If I would have known, I'd have told myself not to bother."
A cold shiver ran through Gene; he felt a daft sod for dragging Parker along here when the last time he'd been on his way to a pub had ended the way it had. Still, he hadn't been to know.
"I was about five minutes away when two blokes jumped me. I mean, I assume they were blokes. And maybe there were more of them. Once they'd taken my wallet and watch, kicked me fifty times or so for good measure, I thought that was it. Just lie there for a while and wait until they'd gone off into the night." He paused, causing Gene to seize up. "The knife in my stomach told me differently though. It wasn't what I expected. I mean, not that I'd given a lot of thought to what it'd be like to be stabbed, but it's part of the job, isn't it? Your mind wanders from time to time."
"Jesus," Gene muttered, "I'm sorry."
"C'est la vie, I suppose." Parker slumped back, almost as if in a daze, contemplating the cruel and unseen twist of fate. "I'm going to say that I'm in hospital, where I really am. Stay optimistic that somebody saw me in time."
"Let's 'ope so."
It didn't explain what the bloody hell was going on here, or what his role was in the whole palaver. It didn't really seem important in that moment.
"I know why I'm in 1983, though," Parker said after a few minutes silence, Gene assuming that he needed the time to 'process' or whatever. "I remember the summer of '83 like it was yesterday. I was just about to leave junior school. Thought I could take on the entire world."
He knew something bad was coming; only had to look at Parker's ashen face to know.
"My little sister, Lydia. She was murdered on a school trip. She'd gone back onto the bus, forgotten her packed lunch. A bomb was on board, blew it to pieces."
"Fuckin' hell," was the only thing Gene could think to say.
"It tore our family apart. We were never the same afterwards. Mum blamed herself, never let me or my brother out of her sight for longer than a few minutes at a time. Dad became obsessed with trying to get to the bottom of something so senseless. He died in the early '90s, it ended him."
He'd seen too much of it in the time he'd been part of the force. Grieving parents, having to endure something that went against all the laws of nature. He wondered how many more times he'd have to say the words that chipped away at his heart in every instance. You didn't need to have kids yourself to understand that it was the worst crime that there could be.
"I became a police officer for Lydia. I had to see to it that her death wouldn't be in vain. There's not a day that goes by where I don't think about her, think what she would be doing now...well, in the future...if she was still alive. Don't ask myself the question 'why?'."
His expression went from hopeless to hardened, in the smallest of seconds.
"They told us – well, told my mother and father – that the bomb was so small, so sophisticated that the likelihood of detecting it before it went off was slim enough to be impossible. I started to look into it. Surely there couldn't be that many terrorist masterminds in London in 1983, not many capable of doing something like that. I trawled databases, tracked down people who might have a good chance of knowing. Time after time there was only ever one name that came back."
Layton.
Shit.
He gave Parker some time to decompress; he wasn't a completely heartless bastard. With each long second that ticked by he could feel the pieces start to fit into place, metaphorically speaking.
"How do you know Alex Drake?"
The question echoed hard against his ears, the look of surprise upon Parker's face quickly dissipating. Perhaps he'd learn to keep things better hidden in future.
"I know of her. I never knew her personally, God as my witness."
Gene decided that it wasn't the time to say that he wasn't a believer of the man upstairs, least of all in the midst of this almighty mess.
"It was the only thing that people talked about. One of the best female DIs in London, being shot in cold blood. The shooter's description fit Layton's profile, so perhaps I took a little more interest than most."
Parker's words started to fade away, as did most of the hope Gene had. It had been wishful thinking he realised now, to place faith in believing that Parker had been close to Alex, perhaps part of the same force or even the same division.
Still, there was an established link between them. The prime suspect who had slipped through their fingers.
"Do you know…"
"If she lived?" Parker interjected, finishing his question for him. "The last I heard was she was in a deep coma, and Layton had gone on the run. I was hoping to use some time on leave tracking him down, but then…well, you know what happened."
It was still a load of bollocks; fate, the stars being in alignment. Whatever other rubbish people wanted to believe in to make their lives seem less bleak. But he was glad to have Parker here, perhaps for the first time since he'd blustered in, shouting his mouth off about his phone.
He never would have thought it would be him but there was someone else on his side, someone else who had as much motivation as he did to lock that scumbag Layton away for the rest of his days, so nobody else would have to suffer at his hands.
Parker's sister could be saved yet, if they acted fast and kept their eyes open, every hour of the day if it was necessary.
Bolly would be safe too.
Perhaps he'd never see her again, or if he did there would be no chance for them. He'd mope about it for a while, but it wouldn't matter, not in the grand scheme of things.
He'd live the rest of his days happy, just to know that she was alive and living the way she deserved to.
"Bet you wish you'd just gone home now, hey Guv?" Parker quipped, pulling him back.
He looked at his DI, feeling a sense of renewal flood him as swift as the pint that he polished off in the space of seconds.
"You're jokin', Dozy," he retorted, the maligned nickname bringing a smile to the younger man's face, "this is shapin' up to be the best night I've 'ad in a long time."
She arrived at the scene to the sound of crying and screaming; sounds that pierced at her heart, especially as she could hear children's screams amongst them. Smoke clouded the surrounding area, with only vague shadows of the wreckage of the vehicles distinguishable.
It was the height of summer but ice knifed through her, cutting her to her soul.
In her whole career she had never seen something so utterly horrific.
Calls of "Ma'am" reached her ears and she told herself to be strong; as the most senior officer there she had to set an example, not let her feelings be compromised. She dealt with the questions of her colleagues, offered comfort where she could, directed them to where they would be most useful.
It was such a cold way of thinking, when the world seemed to be all but splitting at the seams.
She felt a tap upon her shoulder.
"DI Drake."
"Yes?"
She reeled back on her heels as she turned to face the voice saying her name.
"Sorry," Ray replied, his face blackened with ash, "Ma'am."
"It's okay," she responded, too paralysed by confusion to say anything more. She knew that she was in her own time; if the fog of smoke wasn't so heavy she would have been able to make out the London Eye set within the skyline, as well as other more modern landmarks. "DS Carling?"
"Once you've done what you can here, we need you back at the station. It's urgent, and I can't do it on my own."
"I don't…" she faltered. Too many things were calling for her attention, and she was at a loss for where to turn.
She wasn't even sure of what was real anymore.
"The Guv won't listen to me. He won't listen to any of us." Ray's voice was becoming increasingly desperate. "The only one he'll take any notice of is you, and you just disappeared."
I didn't mean to, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't leave her throat. I never meant to leave like that.
"Ma'am," another voice called to her, one of her officers running over, "there's someone…"
"Alive?" she asked.
The wide-eyed officer nodded, stunned into silence.
"Let the paramedics know. Quickly!"
She scrambled amidst the wreckage, her heart stopping momentarily as she lost her footing. Making her way closer to the burnt-out car she steeled herself for what was to come; the person that had been found against all the odds could not have possibly been in a good way.
"Hello?" she ventured, her voice shaking as she spoke, "My name is Alex, I'm here to help. If you can hold on until we can get someone who can get you out…"
"Alex," she heard a broken voice say.
"That's right." She reached her hand out tentatively, remaining crouched in place, unable to see into the vehicle.
She could have dissolved completely when a hand emerged to take hers, the touch instantly familiar, searing into her bloodstream.
Gene?
She pushed herself forward, desperate to see his face.
Alarms and high-pitched sounds filled her ears, blinding white light flashing into her eyes, making her wince and recoil back, her whole body feeling like it was going into shock.
"Wake up, Alex," a faceless voice called out, getting louder and louder even as she strove to block it out.
She was so close.
"Alex," she heard the man in the car gasp again, sounding as though he was dangerously short of breath.
"I'm sorry. So sorry," she managed to say.
Her fingers slipped from his grasp, and everything fell into darkness once more.
A/N: Vienna written by Warren Cann, Chris Cross, Billy Currie and Midge Ure, performed by Ultravox.
Same Old Scene written by Bryan Ferry, performed by Roxy Music.
Dialogue from A2A 1.1 written by Matthew Graham.
I'm confused by what's going on, and I'm the one writing the bloody thing.