Chapter 2

Living in someone else's head can lead to some interesting experiences, as Keats was finding out. It had been a long and difficult night, in complete contrast to the night before. Every second of the night that passed was filled with nightmarish thoughts, half-reconstructed memories from the mind of Layton that were floating around and allowing him to access them somehow.

There were terrible flashbacks and hallucinations, the images of a rooftop somewhere, surrounded by people. It looked like… looked like Alex, somehow. And others. There was a man… definitely familiar but the memory was unclear. His features were distorted. And a woman, who he was certain he knew but he couldn't see her face well enough to identify her. There were a couple of others as well… one seemed to be a beard who was sobbing its heart out. He assumed there must have been a person attached to the beard but he couldn't be certain of that.

There was a feeling of absolute desperation. A terrifying feeling of guilt so strong that he could hardly breathe. There was a blur…. Running… a need to get away. A shot fired, a car, spinning – over and over the images played and every time he awoke he'd fall back to sleep and the same nightmares would go around again.

As it got to morning he became increasingly aware that his time was running out. He knew he was on a countdown. He was desperate, he had a strength and urgency that came from the twisted desire to venture into the world and cause as much suffering as he was able in whatever time he had in the land of the living.

He tried to focus on what he knew for certain. There were positives. Most of the equipment had been disconnected now. He was thriving. No wonder they were ready to move him out of ICU.

"Good morning, Arthur."

The smiley, pretty, petite blonde nurse entered the room with a trolley of tablets and equipment.

"Good morning," Keats tried to flash a charming smile but it was hard when he only had Layton's features to do it with.

"How are we feeling today?" she asked as the thermometer loomed large. Keats opened his mouth to reply that he was feeling just fine but at the last moment something stopped him and he hesitated. The nurse looked at him a little anxiously as he finally said.

"I'm feeling a little faint… a little dizzy."

"Hmm, sorry to hear that Arthur," the nurse pulled down his eyelids which disturbed him a little, then said, "put your tongue out."

Keats felt a little alarmed by the instruction but followed it anyway with a little gag and a splutter.

"You might be anaemic," the nurse told him, "I'll go and speak with your consultant. She might want to check your iron levels." She jammed the thermometer under his arm as expected and left the room.

As he awaited her return he began to look around the room, taking in every single detail. There had to be something he could use. Something to get him out of that room before someone came to take him away to somewhere wholly more secure. A few ideas began to formulate in his head, accompanied by a desperate rage that seemed to be growing stronger with every moment that passed. He could feel himself getting stronger, almost incrementally with every second he watched on the clock. It wasn't just his own rage that he was brewing but the anger and fury of the man known as Arthur Layton that was slowly creeping into him too.

Just as he'd been dwelling on his feelings of anger and desperation for what seemed like an eternity a rather stuffy and professional-looking doctor entered the room.

"Now, Mister Layton, I hear you're feeling a little unwell today, is that right?" she asked, adjusting her spectacles and throwing her black ponytail over her shoulder.

"Yes," Keats began, weakening his voice as much as he dared, "just faint and dizzy, like the room is spinning."

"I'll take some bloods," the doctor told him, "we'll run your iron levels to check for anaemia and run a few more tests to be on the safe side, although after all you've been through it's not that surprising you feel the way you do." She drew out a needle and reached for the crusty, rotting hand that Keats hated to call his own, at least for now, "I'll use the cannula, you won't feel a thing."

As she aimed the needle towards the port, all that anger and rage built up inside of him with an explosion of power and terror that almost shook the walls. He turned to her, his eyes flashing with fury as he hissed,

"No, but you might," grabbed the needle from her hand and as fast as anything plunged it into her throat. The gagging and gasping of the doctor brought Keats to close his eyes just momentarily, absorbing the sounds of agony from another human being. He relished it. Oh, he loved that sound. He had forgotten just how vibrant that sound was in the land of the living.

Alerted by the commotion the two guards on the door turned to peer into the room. Seeing the doctor's pain, they raced in but Keats had every move planned out. Throwing his covers back with one hand he grasped the drip stand with the other and took an almighty swing at the head of one of the guards, sending him flying, before jamming the end if the stand into the stomach of the second guard. It stalled them for long enough for Keats to run to the door and, in a slightly unnecessary and showy move, he took the time to grab the sharps bin from the side of the doorway and slam it upside down over the guard's head as he ran towards him before racing from the room and down the nearest corridor.

Freedom… freedom… freedom…

That one word played through his head again and again as his legs took him along the smooth, shiny floor. He knew he had but moments to make his escape. Every second would count beyond belief. His heart beat faster as he spotted a 'fire escape' sign and followed the illuminated man. The man on the sign looked like he was running from something too. Keats wondered who was after him.

Sure enough, around the corner there was a fire escape and he quickly threw open the alarmed door. As a shrill bell rang out he raced down the staircase in the open air. The feeling of the wind against his skin was strange and stirring. So funny how going from the real world to Gene's world made you marvel at how real everything felt – but going back the other way after you breathed your last felt like such a revelation.

His desperation spurred him on and although his body was frail and aching from head to toe he wouldn't slow down, not for anything. There, right before him in the car park was a slightly tubby gentleman just locking up his car. Under one arm was a briefcase, under the other was a newspaper turned to the crossword. The crossword was half-dine, and mostly incorrect, but that wasn't the part that interested Keats.

Arriving at the bottom of the staircase his elbow made sharp contact with the gentleman's head and knocked him sideways where his head struck a wall and he fell to the ground, unconscious. His eyes darted from side to side and the dumpsters right behind them were an ideal cover. As quick as a flash he pulled the man behind them and stripped him of his jumper, which he pulled on over his unflattering hospital gown, then pulled down his trousers and dressed in those too. They were loose and even with the belt they wouldn't stay up properly, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Finally he took the car keys from the ground, unlocked the car and dived in almost before he realised what he was doing.

As he started the engine and absorbed the beautiful sound of it roaring away he pressed his foot to the accelerator and made his exit from the hospital grounds just as security and doctors began to filter from every exit, on the hunt for the escaped patient.

The whoop of joy he gave was born of a deeply intense elation, the kind of which he had rarely felt in his life – or his death. His eyes shone with ecstasy and a shower of relief washed over him from head to toe. However, that moment of bliss was short-lived as the truth began to dawn upon him that soon his image – well, Layton's image - would be all over the news and a description of the car would soon follow.

He needed a plan. He had to find a way to propel him straight to the revenge he ached to carry out. He felt lost suddenly and a little alone. He had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. It wasn't as though he had any friends in the first place, let alone anyone who would buy the "Surprise! I'm just lodging here!" excuse for arriving in Layton's body.

There was one place that he knew well. One place he felt safe and reassured. One place with such familiarity that, even though he knew it could be in any kind of condition, he felt drawn to with such vigour that he couldn't bring himself to do anything else. Not until he'd been there for himself.

With a deep breath to steady his nerves he made a sharp left and began to drive at speed toward The Falcon Building. It was time to go home.

~xXx~

Robin was doing his best to concentrate but work really wasn't happening. He couldn't get him mind away from two contrasting areas; Layton's awakening and Kim's 'favour'.

He gave a deep sigh as he returned the file to the top of one stack and picked up another file from the pile beside it. He shook his head slightly as he opened the folder and tried to concentrate. All he could think about were a garbled mix of things. The concept of Layton once again being awake and coherent made him feel somewhat uncomfortable. The last time he'd seen his face, he saw him aiming a gun in his direction.

Thoughts of Kim's proposal were plaguing him too. He couldn't seem to get it off his mind. He knew he wasn't likely to have children through any other way and his family line would die with him. Even though he wouldn't be involved, the thought of leaving his mark on the wold genetically did give him a sense of interest in her plan.

But it was such a huge concept. He couldn't wrap his head around it, no matter how hard he tried – and he'd been trying since the day before. He sighed and tried to process the concept of even… making the donation. He had to admit he was a bit of a prude and having some quality moments alone with a jar of some kind didn't fill him with joy.

"Sir?"

The door opened and a rather anxious sergeant arrived.

Robin looked up. He was glad of the distraction, whatever it was.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The sergeant looked a little awkward.

"Sir, they've asked you to go to CID, there's an urgent matter arising."

Robin's interest was caught.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"The dogs are needed for a man hunt," the sergeant told him, "it's Arthur Layton."

That was it. That was the moment, right there, where Robin felt as though his stomach dropped right out of his body and his head exploded.

"Layton?" he breathed, almost unaware that he'd spoken.

The sergeant nodded.

"Escaped from hospital," he said, "he attacked a doctor and two guards. They found a man unconscious in the car park too."

All of a sudden everything else that had been going round in Robin's head just disappeared. He was left to focus on one thing and one thing only; the fear of Arthur Layton on the loose, what a man with that much inner guilt mixed with manic evil could do, especially together with the desperation of a man on the run.

He was already up on his feet. He didn't even remember standing up. It was some in-built impulse within him that he couldn't override. Before he knew it he was out of the door and halfway to CID. To say he had a bad feeling about this was the understatement of the century. Something dark began to brew inside of him and he couldn't fight the feeling that things were about to go seriously in a direction that scared him witless.