Dawdling inside her house, the radio turned right up mainly for comfort, Annie danced around amongst the heaps of tops and piles of trousers, clothes flying everywhere; she was really struggling to find a clean outfit for the day ahead. The problem was, the A Division had all been working such long hours over the past week, working over time for any shred of hope in finding the killers in the city, she'd been finding it near enough impossible to get the washing and ironing done; by the time she'd gotten back most nights, she'd just wanted to get straight to bed, hoping to push the day's events out of her fragile head.
Finally finding something respectable yet cool, Annie bundled all of the trousers, skirts, shirts and waistcoats back onto hangers or semi neatly folded up back into drawers; She was glad now that Sam had said ten minutes for her to get ready as opposed to five.
She glanced at her watch, her eyes widening in shock. "Shit! We can't be any later!" The both of them now had precisely seven and a half minutes to get to CID before being officially classed as late which would not look good for either of them.
She scampered down the stairs, doing her best not to trip and fall in her rather clunky, heavy Cuban heels (perhaps not the most practical form of footwear, Annie later realised); that was all the department needed, another casualty.
In her unarguable haste, trying her best to juggle a handbag and hefty coat whilst re-arranging her hair that was being bashed about by the winds, her eyes were out of focus with the copper's car.
Until she got a little closer.
She squinted, the dazzling morning light distracting her somewhat. She could just make out glass and clay shattered along the road, dashes of blood everywhere. And - more importantly - the motor missing it's driver.
"Sam?" she called out, getting closer to the car. There was no sign of him there, everything belonging to him gone. "Sam?" she cried once again, spinning, scanning the surrounding area. "SAM?" she yelped, darting up and down the street. There was no trace of him what so ever.
She paced sharply, her breath wheezing in a dangerous brew of shock and panic; what the heck had happened? Why the hell was the car all beaten up? Where the fuck was Sam?
"SAM?!" Annie shrieked, her bottom lip quivering in horror, she didn't know how to handle this situation. At least not entirely on her own. Realising how utterly stupid it would be of her to walk around for ages, praying that maybe, just maybe, he'd come back alright, able to explain to her exactly what had just happened, she jumped into the car, speeding down the road like lightening; she had no time to waste.
Nearly knocking over so many pensioners and little kids that the DCI would be proud, Annie swerved, the journey coming to an abrupt end. As she was driving, she'd done her best in solitude to look out for him. Nothing. She just anticipated that she'd wonder into CID, fiercely over reacting and that - for what ever reason - he'd be there waiting to greet her with open arms.
"SAM? DI TYLER?"
"Ay, ay, steady on, luv!" another female voice entered the atmosphere, her tone harsh, commanding yet with actually no sense of authority within the place; just a big gob, as one member of the team had chosen to put it once.
"Phyllis, has Sa- DI Tyler been in?" Annie spoke, correcting her slack turn of phrase as he hands rattled against each other, her eyes welling up.
"No, I assumed he was with you - five minutes bloomin' late! Why? What's happened?"
DC Cartwright stuttered, barely comprehending the words lingering in her mouth. "He's...he's gone."
- - - - - - - - - -
The white light became brighter, more oppressive, his sense of sight knocked for six. He used his hand, a desperate attempt to block the blinding rays away from him.
"Wh-what's going on?"
"I told you before Sam - I am your answer."
"Who? Who are you?"
He cackled, his voice winding on like a cassette player, stuck in time. "You know who I am! The quicker we get this over with, the quicker you can resolve the case once and for all."
His eyes shifted, still blinded. "Case? What, about the women who've been murdered?"
"Arh, that would be telling, huh?"
He panicked, startled. "Who the bloody hell are you? What do you want with me?!"
"Oh I think you know exactly what, Sam..."
"Sam? DOROTHY! Oi, bloody Tyler, do you want another pair of ribs breaking and all?"
The voice that greeted him was blunt, impatient and agitated. Sam Tyler awoke from his criminally induced sleep, feeling a heavy, tall form tower over him. His eyes flickered, stumbling open after a few moments of trying. The light was darker, a lot darker than in the 'dream', certainly more appealing than an overbearing white light colliding directly with his pupils.
He groaned groggily, his head pounding. What the bloody hell had happened? Where was he? Who was he with?
He knew the answer to the latter question. For a few minutes, he chose to blatantly ignore the imperiously loud voice, his back lying flatly against the cold, untilled or carpeted ground. He closed his eyes for a minute, wanting this to just be another figment of his imagination and to wake up in the arms of Annie, safe and sound.
Alas, it certainly wasn't going to be like that.
Suddenly, he felt an empty cigarette packet fly past him, tapping him on his rounded nose. He screwed his face up, slinging the cardboard back into the direction it came from. He took a moment to twist his neck round, to get a better look of his room buddy. Really, he knew who it was already.
"Gov?" he gasped, clutching the back of his head, sitting up gingerly. "What the bloody hell's going on?"
Gene, by this time, body propped against the wall, one elbow leaning on a bent knee as a cigarette dangled from his mouth. He took a deep, deep drag, exhaling gradually, as if he wasn't entirely sure how to approach the situation. "I don't really know, Sammy Boy." he replied, all of a sudden very downcast.
Sam sat up, slouching himself opposite to Gene against the other side of the wall. His head felt damp, his finger tips stained with tipples of blood, at least what he expected to be that of the crimson liquid. His arms felt scratched and a little bloody too.He wasn't entirely sure what had happened either; he just remembered sitting in the car, waiting for Annie, and then it all went black.
"Shit." he muttered, his head collapsing in between his knees. "Annie."
"What? Was she with you when you got brought 'ere?"
Sam's un-tempted nod and solemn expression brought Gene closer to another fag. This was insane.
"How did you get here?" the Detective Inspector questioned, still in the right frame of mind to be out on the job rather than cooped up in a stuffy room with one Gene Hunt.
"The same way they did you. I left your flat when we came back from the 'ospital and they were outside, waiting. Well, one of them was. The other one jumped me from behind, 'it me in the back of the 'ead." he pouted sadly.
Gene's sulking was certainly nothing new to the vast majority of CID, especially not to his DI. Yet, it was just the way he spoke this time; like he had truly been robbed of pride, defeated in such a backhanded way. That pissed him off. Big time.
"Gov, did you see who did it?"
"Oh, too right, I know the two fuckers who did this."
Sam paused. "Who?"
Without further ado, one of the two men walked in, larger than life, like the cat who'd got the double cream.
- - - - - - - - - -
Walking nervously into CID as if it was her first day there again, Annie dabbed at her eyes with a square of tissue paper, Phyllis rubbing her back and shoulders reassuringly. As soon as she got into the room, many crowded around her, wanting to know exactly what had happened.
Being surprisingly sensitive and over protective, Chris demanded that everyone backed off, receiving a chorus of 'OOOOHHS!' for his trouble. She sat down, coiling her bag strap around her fingers as she stared at the floor, shell shocked.
"Are you alright, Annie?" Chris pestered kindly, standing beside Phyllis as Ray perched on the end of her desk.
She shook her head, Phyllis making it her duty to explain on her behalf what was going on. "Annie went home to get changed after spending the night at her boyfriend's house and when she got back to the car DI Tyler was in, he was gone."
"Did anything look, or seem, suspicious?" DC Skelton inquired, grabbing a pen and paper from his desk in front of Annie's.
"I-I...I don't know what happened. I was in me flat for about fifteen minutes, getting sorted out like, and when I got back to the car, there was broken glass and everything everywhere! Sa- DI Tyler was gone."
As she began to sob more freely, Chris offered a comforting, disciplined look; nothing too moody, enough to offer support.
DS Carling on the other hand continued to puff away at his cigarette like a chimney top, shaking his head. "Plonks." he mumbled inconsiderately, Chris shooting daggers; it certainly wasn't Annie's fault that all of this had transpired. He wanted nothing to do with the accusations from those who claimed her responsible for all of this.
Slight sniffles accompanied DC Cartwright's next thoughts, breaking away a little from Phyllis' unusually patient grasps. "Wh-who's in charge now?"
Practically the whole station turned to face an unsuspecting Ray. He nearly shot out of his skin. "ME? I don't wanna be the next bugger to go missing!"
"Pity." Chris scowled openly, re-reading his notes as if they were from DI Tyler's own personal collection.
"God 'elp us!" Phyllis moaned, slapping her forehead with her available hand.
Everyone's, except for one man's, eyes were focused on the present Detective Sergeant. He continued to concentrate on the ground below him, jiggling his tie around as if it held the key's to all of his problems.
It seemed as if a light bulb just went off over Chris' head. "Annie, was there anything else at the crime scene other than the broken glass?"
Annie contemplated that inquiry for just a split second, her face wrinkling a little. "Yeah - like clay, broken plant pots."
She need not say anymore; Chris and Annie's minds were in perfect sync with each other. They raced out of the door quicker than Red Rum, leaving Ray to saunter after them, looking as dopily perplexed as ever.
- - - - - - - - - -
"Arh, Sam, we meet again."
That voice. It was so similar to the one in his twisted dreams.
The darkness of the room prevented him from spying the man fully; there were no light sources. No windows. No means of escape.
The lanky, bald shadow of a man sauntered into the room, his hands dug deep in his suave trouser pockets; the trousers with the pretentious pale blue stripes blaring out of the navy background. Sam could only just make that out, the door swinging open a little more, light flooding the room in stages, like a steep stair case.
"Morgan." He growled, his voice still bleary.
"So glad you could join us." he chuckled mockingly; DI Tyler could just see the perversely smug grin affixed to his lips. How much he wanted to rip them off right now, watching a river of blood escape from his face.
The door slammed shut, startling both members of Manchester's A Division, as the click of a key turning in the lock became known. A bright torch shone in Sam's hazel eyes, his pupils shrivelling like a dying flower. His hand blocked the majority of the rays, his eyes tapering in intimidation as the aging DCI crept closer and closer to him.
"Wh-what do you want with us?"
Morgan stepped back a few paces, the jangling of his keys in his purple waistcoat pocket could be made out. "Oh, nothing too much, Mr. Williams."
Sam's eyes opened, barely seeing the shocked expression on the Gov's face. "Mr. Williams?"
Sam gulped; how the heck was he meant to respond to that?
"Oh dear, have we not been completely honest with our DCI, Sammy?" Morgan guffawed, glancing over his shoulder as DCI Hunt became blinded by the torch.
"Sam - what's this bastard going on about?"
Gene's voice was low, consciously jittery. By now, he was fatigued and very hungry, starved of oxygen and alcohol, only managing to take pleasure in his last few cigarettes.
Sam's eyes darted from man to man; it was his turn to have his vision stunted by the torch. His eyes pleaded to Morgan, appealing to his softer side (if he had one). Yet, the DCI from 'Hyde' was enjoying this too much for his own good. He chortled a bit more, sneaking closer to the Detective Inspector. "I'll be back soon - you'd better start talking to him." his whispers faded even further, his body leaving the air tight room, the faint tittering could still be heard.
Gene sat up a little straighter, his body language sending out signals of distaste and anger. "Yes 'Mr. William's'. You'd better bloody start talkin' - now!"
- - - - - - - - - -
DS Carling was pretending to be the Gov; it was plain for the members of the department to see. The way he loosely clung to a cigarette end, the way he made the car swerve, missing houses by inches and his proud, determined posture were all signatures of DCI Gene Hunt.
Annie, perched between two other DC's from the office felt her breathing become rigid, diminutive; she didn't want to return to the street where she lived, not ever again. Every time she would return, day after day, night after night, she would only be able to see patterns of blood, glass and clay. She spied her fidgeting hands nervously; she really needed to keep it together, for the sake of the team.
Chris, with a new burst of energy, wasted little time when the car finally came to a screeching halt; as well as wanting to be one of the leaders in solving this dastardly case, he wanted it to be the time when he proved his worth to his colleagues; everyone except for Sam and Annie considered him to be a complete div; the bloke at the back of the room who was just there for a good laugh, someone you could push around quite easily without retaliation, the class clown, almost.
Yet, DC Skelton was determined to prove everyone wrong.
Having no time to fully prepare for such an outing, he hadn't got time to grab any gloves for forensic purposes; some of the shards of glass and clay had crimson stains on them.
"Annie - can you run up to your flat and get us some kitchen roll, please?" Chris asked, squatting down near where the car had been parked previously; you could still see it's outline where the glass and clay had fallen in a rough sketch around the vehicle. It had seemed that not many people had been out either since then, possibly through fear. Either that or they were busy at work or school.
DC Cartwright hesitated, her arms shaking a little. Chris could see the pain and trauma in her eyes. Cartwright may have balls of steel but sometimes they became melted and disfigured, proving herself not to be as tough a cookie as everyone first expected.
Chris knew how much she looked up to Sam; he really was her tower of strength in the office, motivating her, showing her to be better than most males in CID. Yet everyone had their weakness'; Annie's were her warm heart and her desire for one man who she obviously cared about very much.
"Annie, luv, I really need you to do this. Be strong, for us." he pleaded, gazing up at her. He noticed that her eyes, although tearful, were narrowing, showing great might and willpower.
She nodded directly to Chris, bounding up to her flat; perhaps, if she kept moving, she'd be able to carry on, function effectively.
Perhaps even solve the case?
DS Carling on the other hand was losing his Gene Hunt like facade rather quickly; so far, he'd spent half of his time moping around the scene hopelessly, wishing silently that the Gov was there (he wouldn't admit that in a hurry nor the fact that he was cracking; he had no idea what to do. Hell, he almost wish Sam Tyler was in attendance! Almost...). The other portion of his time was spent taking unfathomably concentrated drags from his cigarette; his nerves were beginning to show, even though no one really had the guts to confront him about it. Ray could be a pretty fierce opponent when need be, as the Detective Inspector had established many a time.
Chris and another Constable were deep within conversation; there was little to no doubt in the young man's mind now who was to blame for the demise of many ladies of Manchester. The problem was going to be thinking of a suitable plan to truly catch him in the act, to make sure there were absolutely no loop holes or escape routes for the bastard to get out of this.
The surly, pretentiously hypocritical eyes of Carling sneered over at Chris; what the bloody 'ell was 'e playing at? This should be Ray's collar, not his. This should have been Carling's definitive step in proving that he deserved to be the Inspector in Manchester's A Division, not Tyler. Now, that tosser's protégé was out to ruin all of this for him - how utterly preposterous!
Ray continued to snarl openly as Annie made her way back to the scene. She ripped reams of kitchen roll off as Chris took great care in collecting all of the pieces up, placing them carefully in a carrier bag that she had brought with her.
"Ay, what do you think you're doin'?"
Chris and Annie glanced up casually; Ray's bellowing distracted them only momentarily before they both decided to carry on realising that their efforts would be beneficial to their investigation.
Ray - moving faster than many had ever seen him before - darted over to them, shoving Chris who had no time to defend himself adequately.
"What was that for?"
"Why the bloody 'ell are you - of all people - trying to show up a superior officer?"
Chris considered the question, only briefly. He stood, shrugging. "Coz at least I know the job will get done - maybe not as well as the Boss or the Gov, but better than you would do it."
Ray couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You jumped up little prick!"
He was about to take a swing for Skelton. Annie - alert - put her way between them, preventing the assault as her hands wavered against their chests; their heartbeats rapid, fierce. "You guys - come on! Please, we need to stick together 'ere... We are already two good coppers down, lets not make it two more, ay?"
After a few tense moments, the anger subsided between the two. No eye contact was made, which was probably for the best; at least they weren't ripping shreds out of each other.
The team worked in silence for the rest of the time on site, making sure they dusted the area appropriately before heading back to the station.
Little did any of them know who or what was waiting for them when they got there.
Next time in 'Blimey, it's a baby!'
Will Ray and Chris bury the hatchet in favour of fighting a much bigger enemy? Will Sam tell Gene anything about his hazy past?
To be continued...
Hey! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Major thanks goes out to JudasFm, Emmylou, ineybeanybaby, Iaveina, losttimelady and Mindless Image for all taking the time to review Chapter 12. I'm glad to hear that you are all still enjoying the story, even at this point where it may be easy to end it any chapter (not!).
Thanks once again and, if you've been kind enough to read this time, please review!