Chapter 9

Simon hardly recognised himself. He couldn't believe he was pouring another drink. It wasn't as though he hadn't thrown up already. He felt as though he was out of control and it was more than his encounter with Malcolm's mother that morning.

What was it? The whole thing? The realisation that at least one person he met in his coma was real? Or was this still because he was adjusting to the real world and struggling with it? He really though he was doing so well until the previous day, too.

"Or maybe this stuff is just a temptress," Simon considered, staring blearily at the bottle on the table and tracing a finger up and down the label. He had never done the teenage rebellion thing. Never felt the need. He'd never taken up smoking or drinking and his most rebellious act was probably nipping in the ladies' toilets when he was really desperate and there was someone in the gents'.

"What's happening to me?" Simon whispered. He could hardly see straight by now and wasn't even sure which of the three glasses rotating in his field of vision to pour the liquid into. He looked at the clock and tried to make out what the time was. He wasn't sure, but he figured it was at least half past Robin. Robin should have been home by now. Where on earth was he?

In all honestly, Simon was torn about whether he wanted Robin to find him in such a state. He didn't want a lecture or any kind of disapproval but he felt like he needed help. He needed someone to hold his hand and tell him everything was OK. There was a part of him that wanted Robin to see him like this and realise that he needed something more than a shoulder to cry on - and to help him figure out what he did need instead.

He got to his feet and the room spun several times. Holding onto every piece of furniture on the way, he entered the hall and fished for his iPhone from his jacket pocket. It was strange; before the accident he was practically glued to the device. Now he couldn't face checking it more than once a day.

Simon couldn't decipher anything on the screen so he checked his voicemail and found a message from Robin.

"Hi Si, I'm sorry I'm going to be late. It could be a few hours until I'm back. Drugs raid… they needed the dogs down there. I'll be home as soon as I can. Love you."

"Damn it," Simon cursed at his phone. He was about to hang up when another message began to play. For a moment he froze, startled. There was only supposed to be one message, wasn't there? That's what the voice had said. What on earth was -

"Simon!"

Simon gasped. Half a bottle of brandy threatened to escape from his mouth.

"Oh God, no, not this again," he whispered.

"Simon… FIND me… please, Simon… I'm closer than you think… before it's too late…"

"No, no, no… Alex," Simon cried into the air, "don't do this to me! I don't know how to help you!"

The message continued.

"Look for me," her voice pleased through static, "he's getting closer."

"Who is?" cried Simon, even though he knew Alex couldn't hear him, "Is it Keats? Is it…" but the phone died in his hands. He stared at it, aghast, the battery suddenly empty of charge. It had been half full a few minutes previously.

He felt his heart pounding and his legs gave way from under him. He gripped the door frame to stay upright. \His breathing became fast and erratic and his palms were sweating.

"I can't help you!" he screamed, "Stop asking me, Alex! I can't… I can't do a thing!"

For the briefest moment he thought he could see a glimpse of her, standing beside him, but the moment he turned around she was gone.

That was as much as he could take. He grabbed his keys and stumbled out the door, fleeing the flat and walking as far as his legs would take him. He Didn't know where he was going and he didn't even care. He just needed to get as far away from there as possible.

"Robin," he whispered. That was who he needed. All he needed to do was to find Robin and everything would be alright. He trudged to the station on autopilot, his vision blurred and his co-ordination non-existent. He was vaguely aware of an old lady shaking her fist at him when he fell into her shopping trolley and some youths taking the piss out of him for being a drunk. He didn't even care.

His head was growing ever fuzzier as he reached the station. By now he could hardly walk, he couldn't see and he couldn't string two words together. He felt his way along the walls to edge inside and began to call for the man who could make everything alright.

"Robin?" he cried, stumbling against the wall, "Robin? I need you!"

He was vaguely aware of someone catching his arm as he fell and someone else trying to help him back into an upright position.

"Are you alright, sir?" a female voice asked, but he couldn't even locate which face the voice belonged to, let alone focus.

"I need t'see Robin," he slurred, slumping against the wall again.

"Robin who, Sir?"

"Robin! My boyfriend Robin!"

"That's DCI Shoebury!" a male voice cried in surprise.

"Christ, he's had a tankful!" the first voice said in surprise, "are you sure it's him?"

"Sir?" someone spoke close to his face as though he was crazy or half deaf, "can you hear me?"

"Course I can bloody hear you," Simon swung and arm around and narrowly avoided clobbering him.

"Right, I think we'd better get him in the cells," the female voice said crossly.

"Do you think we should call his Super?" someone else piped up.

"No need," another voice came closer, "I'll deal with this. I'll take him home."

"Do you know him?"

"I work under his Superintendent. I know of him."

Simon felt himself being shoved.

"He's all yours," the female voice said crossly, "it'll save us the paperwork."

"And the hassle," someone else added.

Simon had lost control of his legs and forgotten how to speak by now. He closed his eyes so that the blurs around him would become a little less threatening and allowed himself to be half-dragged out of the building and across the car park. After a few moments he opened his eyes and tried desperately to focus but couldn't see much beyond a dark coat.

"Who th'ell are you?" he slurred.

"Your guardian angel," the man spoke with a voice he felt sure he recognised but couldn't quite place, "how did you get into this state, son?"

"Saw too much of the world," Simon murmured.

He felt the dragging come to a sudden halt and found himself propped against the side of something large and metallic, presumably a car.

"Just hold on, I'll get you in the back," the man told him.

"Ugh, might not get that far," Simon doubled over and regurgitated half a bottle of booze onto the tarmac. He coughed and spluttered, slightly aware of a hand on his back.

"Better out than in," the man commented, then seemed to give a short laugh that Simon couldn't quite understand. He retched again but nothing came out. He closed his eyes and rubbed his head. Nothing seemed any clearer for being purged of the alcohol. In fact, his head was just spinning more.

"I… I think I'm OK now," he gulped, wiping his face and trying to stand. He found the stranger helping him to his feet and gently but firmly pushing him into the back of his car.

"Lay down if you want," he said, "close your eyes. Might help you stop the world spinning."

Simon heard the door slam, then a few vague footsteps followed by the driver's door opening and the stranger climbing in. He still couldn't focus enough to see the stranger, nor string a sentence together to either say thank-you or to voice his fears about what was going on. He laid down and pulled his knees up to his chest for comfort.

"D'you know where I live?" he muttered.

"I know where Robin lives," the man told him, "will that do?

Simon mumbled something and nodded.

"Good," the stranger said and started the engine, "I'll get you home safely."

The last thing Simon remembered was hearing the opening bars of Fast Love and the stranger muttering something about it not being 'like the old days' before he passed out and a blessed darkness took him over for the rest of the journey.