Chapter 11

"So here's what we're going to do," His voice was as calm and measured as Kim had ever heard it, "I'm going to walk you slowly to the other end of this alley where my car is waiting, you are not going to scream and you're not going to struggle. Because if you do, do you know what will happen?"

Kim flinched as the blade pressed against the skin of her neck.

"The knife is giving me a fairly good idea, she hissed boldly.

"That's only half the story, Kimberley," hissed Keats, "because the second I take your life you know where you'll be going?" he paused for effect. "Straight to Fenchurch West CID. Because look who's right here to take you."

"Fucking bastard, let me go," hissed Kim.

"You're not sticking to the plan," Keats reminded her, "it's walking quietly out of the alleyway or going to hell. Choice is yours."

Kim found herself being pushed forcefully along the alley. It looked as though Keats was very certain that she was going to follow his instructions. But Kim had already had enough of doing as Keats told her back in 1995 and biding her time she chose the moment his blade eased up just slightly to grasp his wrist and pull it back, yanking herself from his grasp and swinging a powerful punch into the side of his face. The Oof! noise he made as he tumbled backwards a little was a satisfying sound indeed to hear but unfortunately for Kim the power of her punch had knocked her a little off-balance herself. She wasn't in the best of condition that morning, running on little sleep and nothing but toast in the last 24 hours. As she stumbled a little Keats gathered all of his strength and fury to lean forward and grasp her arms.

"No!" she cried.

"Didn't I warn you not to scream?" he hissed, throwing her to the ground and pulling her hands behind her back. He sat on her in a style reminiscent of Simon's trapping of Nailer in '95 and pulled a thin, silk scarf from his pocket. He'd found it in the car. Must have belonged to the pissed-off woman, he thought. Or the other woman he was banging.

"Fuck off!" Kim spat as he tied her wrists tightly behind her.

"You're forgetting your transfer," he hissed into her ear, "try anything else and you're going straight to Fenchurch West."

"I'm not a cop!" cried Kim, "you can't take me."

"Who left you in charge of the Police Do Not Cross tape then?"

"I've not been on the force for eight years!" Kim cried, "I'm not officially re-joining until next week. Kill me now, you have nothing."

Keats stared at her. Glared, even. Was she right? Did you still have to be a cop at the exact moment you died to end up in that world? That was one point he wasn't clear on. But the fact she was joining in a man hunt to track him down was enough for him.

"If it looks like a cop and smells like a cop then it is a cop," he spat against her ear. "Come on, up."

He dragged her to her feet and held his knife to her throat again, pushing her towards the car. The closer they came to the end of the alleyway the more she screamed so he put his hand firmly over his mouth long enough to silence her while he opened the back door of the car and pushed her inside. She lay across the floor, unable to get up with her hands tied securely behind her. Her screams increased but as he slammed the door and ran around to the driver's seat he could see there was no one around in the quiet backstreet.

"Oh shush now," he said as he closed the door behind him and started the engine, "it's not like anyone's going to hear. Don't you want to save your voice for insulting me?" He heard her spit angrily. "Now, that's not very ladylike."

"I'm not very ladylike," her angry voice came from behind him.

"You're certainly more ladylike than the Kim I know so well.," he said, raising an eyebrow. "What's happened to you? The long dark hair? The clothes?"

"I grew up," Kim said crossly, "while you just grew more twisted."

"Ooh, meow," Keats laughed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kim cried, "And how… I mean, I don't even… can't understand…?"

Keats leaned back nonchalantly as he drove along.

"Mystery, isn't it? Frankly I have no idea either, Kimberley. Caught a lift on some sort of energy. Woke up here. Crappy little bedsit of a body but beggars can';t be choosers."

Kim closed her eyes. Her heart was going at a rate of knots and she tried to think her way out of the situation.

"Look," she began quietly, "why don't you let me go? Turn yourself in now. Tell them where Molly is. They'll go easy on you if you give yourself up. You might be able to get a deal."

Keats's laughter was strong and wild.

"Oh my word, that is one of the funniest…" he trailed off, "Listen to yourself Kimberley. Give myself up?"

"Alright then," Kim swallowed, "Alright. Tell me where Molly is, let me go, I'll get her and you disappear off into the sunset. Start a whole new life in two thousand and eleven. No one to stop you. No one to hold you back. What do you say?"

"Oh please, I'm not intending to stay in this body for much longer," Keats sighed.

That surprised Kim. Why would he not? He'd received his free ticket back to the real world. What sort of fool would pass that up?

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

Keats glanced over his shoulder.

"Look at me, Kim," he said, "well… you can't look at me from down there, obviously…" he laughed again, "but you've seen this body. Not really me, is it?" he stared ahead a little distantly as he drove on. "And I know you know me, Kimberley. You know me better than anyone else ever has.

"I know the hazy version of you that you pumped into my head along with the gas and air," Kim spat.

"It was more than that," Keats told her, "I know that."

"You don't know a thing," Kim hissed.

Keats raised an eyebrow.

"Getting tetchy, Kimberley?" he asked.

"It's Kim!" she cried, "It's fucking Kim!"

"That's what Robin calls you when you're out on the town together, is it?" Keats asked.

Kim froze. There was a strange note in Keats's voice. It was a hint of… something. Jealousy? Resentment?

"What are you even talking about now?" she cried.

"When you're out keeping the streets clean of beards," Keats spat.

"What?"

"Simon know you're cosying up to his bum-boy, does he?" Keats hissed.

"Robin's my friend, don't even think about starting on him."

"A friend who frames your picture, Keats spat.

Kim hesitated. She felt herself starting to shake.

"It was you who broke into his flat," she whispered.

"Well done, Kimberley, you should be a detective," Keats sneered.

Kim closed her eyes. This was all becoming so hard to follow.

"Why did you do that?" she cried, "to eat his leftovers and take a crap?"

"I had fond memories of that flat," Keats sighed happily.

Kim swallowed. It seemed as though she was getting nowhere fast with her questioning. Eventually she whispered,

"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see very soon," hissed Keats.

That was the last thing he said on the journey. Kim didn't bother to reply. She wasn't interested in making small talk with him. She tried to wriggle her hands free from the scarf but the knots were too tight and too secure. She tried to slip out of them but she was held tightly by them. It seemed as though there was no hope. None at all. As she lay there she longed for a miracle but didn't believe for one moment that one would come her way. She didn't have that kind of luck.

After what seemed like an eternity of laying on the floor the car finally stopped. She could hear the sound of water nearby. She heard Keats opening and closing the car door and then the sound of the boot opening. Now what? She waited in fear as the boot closed again and footsteps edged closer until the door in the back of the car opened and Keats reached towards her. He dragged her onto the backseat, unimpressed by her cries for help.

"Stop that," he spat, giving her a rather pathetic slap. The fact that it held such little power shocked her more than the slap itself. She looked at him, surprised. What the hell was that supposed to be? Still, it did the trick for his purpose as she went silent. "Right," he began as he held her ankles together and began to tie a rope around them, "some extra insurance."

"Get off my fucking legs!" cried Kim, struggling and writhing but his hold was firm and he wasn't intending to let her go. He tied the rope nice and firmly, then pulled a second scarf from behind him. This one was thicker and woollen and reeked of stale aftershave.

"That's enough of your lip," he spat as he reached forward to tie it around her mouth but as he tried to hold her neck still the sight of a scar made him freeze in shock. His eyes fixed upon her bullet wound. He hadn't seen it earlier. Now it was as clear as day. He reached towards it, let his fingers grace the surface of her skin.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Kim cried, "get off me!"

Keats turned to her, his eyes wide.

"But…" he whispered, his mouth dry suddenly, "but how? Scars… they don't come back with you…"

Visions of his own bullet burying itself into her neck in 1995 came to him. They filled his mind and blinded him for a moment. It was all he could see. It was one of the last things he remembered before he woke up in Layton's body.

"It wasn't your bullet," Kim hissed.

"What?"

"Your landlord did that to me," Kim spat, still struggling beneath her binds.

Keats stared at Kim for a moment. Something was starting to overcome him. There was a sense of guilt welling up inside of him that he was finding it impossible to understand. He looked back at the scar. The exact place… the very same place… how could that be?

Suddenly the sense of guilt faded and the malevolence took over again. He looked back at Kim.

"Perhaps this is a fitting body to find myself in after all," he said flatly and pulled her out of the car by her feet. His shock at seeing the bullet wound right where his own gun had left her scarred completely threw him for a moment and he forgot about the gag completely. It seemed a little unnecessary anyway, there was no one around to hear, except for Molly and what was she going to do?

He hoisted Kim over his shoulder and took her to the barge, every scream from her lips threatening to burst his eardrum and every swing from her tied legs coming closer and closer to hitting him somewhere that was going to really hurt. It didn't matter though, he just needed to get her onto the barge and from there his plans could really start to steam on ahead.

Now he had Molly for blackmail purposes and Kim for his own enjoyment. But there was still one further person he needed to seek revenge upon while he was here, in flesh and bone. A man for whom he was finding more and more reasons to hate with every passing moment, so it seemed. Once number three was in the bag, from there his plans could only go in one direction – the direction he deserved. The lower his actions grew, the higher he felt. Forget Layton's kind of high, he thought – his own base emotions brought him all the satisfaction her needed.