Chapter 19

"You know, you could probably steer better of you unchained our wrists," Robin told Keats angrily as his arm waved ridiculously in the air according to Keats's driving.

"And leave you free to do what?" Keats sneered, "try to strangle me again? Grab the wheel? Pick your nose?"

"Why not? I've had nothing to eat all day, a bogie might go down well," Robin snapped. Something about Keats and his sneering wit brought out a very childish side in him, full of playground retorts that seemed to have a far stronger effect than anything else did. He noted quite proudly that Keats seemed to turn a little green at the thought of eating bogies but felt less please with himself when Keats switched on the radio in time to find Freedom blasting out.

While Keats's spiteful tongue was out of action for a moment Robin took the opportunity to focus on the grim task ahead. He could feel his palms sweating at the thought of it as the realisation of what he was about to do started to finally sink in. he had been over and over the options in his mind and there really seemed no other way to end this situation than to kill Keats. It was a thought that terrified Robin beyond words. He didn't feel able to take another man's life. It wasn't within him to do so. But, as he told himself again and again, this was no man. Keats was a monster through and through.

He stared out of the window as the headlights illuminated the road ahead of them. He remembered commenting to Alex that it always seemed that Simon was two steps ahead of him in life with everything; every promotion, every experience - and now it seemed he had to follow in his footsteps yet again, with taking Keats's life.

He tried to find another way out but everything he thought of had a flaw. Try to alert someone to the situation and Keats could kill him instantly. If the bomb on the boat really existed then even if Keats was arrested he only had to keep quiet about it and within a couple of hours both Kim and Molly would be dead. Robin needed to ensure that he would survive to get to them in time.

And besides, even if he tried to alert someone to what was happening, Keats had morphed. He was no longer in Layton's skin. Layton was the man everyone was looking for. They'd see Keats and… what? Just look past him. He wasn't the face on the news at every bulletin.

Leaving Keats alive in 2011 wasn't an option. That was a fact. Robin knew that. He was too dangerous. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he knew that he had to, somehow. He felt nausea bubbling inside of him as he thought about it. He could quite see himself ending up in prison for life over this, too. But if it was a choice of that or Alex, Kim and himself all ending up in Keats's dominion for eternity then prison was the easier option.

He took several deep breaths as he steeled himself for what lay ahead. As they stopped at a red light he became aware of a pair of eyes that were staring at him and he turned to see Keats with a glare fixed upon his face.

"What are you looking it?" he snapped angrily.

Keats didn't reply. He left his glare where it was for some time, as though studying Robin's features like he was about to make a critical analysis of a piece of art, then silently turned his stare back to the road as the traffic light changed back to green. Robin shuddered. Keats's behaviour had been getting ever stranger and more bizarre. He shook his head slightly as he realised more than ever that Keats simply couldn't be allowed to continue to live and breathe.

The drive to the hospital seemed to pass far too quickly and before he knew it they were parked outside of the main doors.

"Remember what you have to lose if you screw this up for me," Keats hissed, tucking the bread knife down the side of his trousers and underneath his shirt. Robin could only hope he'd accidentally stab himself with it at some point.

"Don't you think someone's going to notice the handcuffs?" he said crossly.

"No," said Keats. He reached over the back of the seat and pulled Robin's jacket over to their side. "Not when I'll be holding this over that arm."

He dragged Robin awkwardly over the driver's seat from the passenger side and soon they were both standing outside of the hospital entrance. Keats closed and locked the door with a bleep of the key, then turned to Robin, his dark eyes sending him a very serious message. Just that stare made Robin shake but he pulled his courage together as quickly as he could. Too much was riding on this to fail. Too many lives were at risk.

"Aren't you forgetting the grapes?" he hissed as Keats bypassed the gift shop.

"Seem to be out of cash," said Keats.

Robin's heart was beating so hard and so fast as Keats marched him through the corridors of the hospital that he thought it was about to explode. Had he ever felt such fear before in his life? He didn't think so. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down, but that wasn't possible. He focused firmly on watching for opportunities as they walked. Something had to come up. It just had to. How about that plant? Could he grab it and whack Keats over the head? Probably not since the plant looked about three times the size of Robin. What about the vending machine? Maybe he could overload it and send life-threatening amounts of Mars Bars shooting out at high speed to knock him unconscious. Don't be ridiculous, Robin he admonished himself.

There was a yellow warning cone telling of cleaning in progress. Maybe Keats would slip on the wet floor? Or perhaps the trolley full of clean sheets would start spewing blankets at him and smother him to death? His imagination was running away with him now and he knew it. He needed to focus, needed to concentrate on real possibilities.

As they turned another corner Robin finally saw an opportunity opening up ahead of him; a trolley full of medical bits and pieces was standing outside of a ward, a nurse standing beside it collecting up a few items in a metal bowl. Robin tried to scan the trolley as quickly as he could with his eyes, taking in everything there. Surely there had to be something he could use. There were some bandages – maybe he could bandage Keats to death? But it was one of the items that the nurse had collected into the bowl that caught his eye; an extremely sharp pair of medical scissors. It looked as though some stitches were on the cards for some unlucky person. Robin knew this could be his only chance. The scissors felt like fate. As they reached the nurse and she stood back a little to let them pass Robin made a deliberate trip over the wheel of the trolley, falling headlong into the tray and knocking the contents over the floor.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" he cried as the nurse gave a little gasp of shock.

"Stupid bloody clumsy…" Keats began, "Oof!" he gasped as he found himself tugged down to the floor by Robin who was busy helping the nurse to collect up some of the items. Keats was seriously regretting the whole handcuff idea. He was already certain his wrist was dislocated. His elbow was coming a close second. "When you've quite finished!" he hissed, puling Robin back to his feet.

Robin gave the nurse an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that," he said, his pulse growing even faster as he walked away, scissors in pocket. That was actually the easy part, as far as Robin was concerned. Secreting them in his pocket unnoticed was fairly simple. Robin was pretty skilled in sleight of hand. He'd learnt the technique during his short-lived phase of wishing to become a magician and join the magic circle, a wish that he soon changed his mind about when an incident involving a rabbit-in-a-hat trick left him trying to find homes for 26 baby rabbits and cleaning droppings out of the hat for weeks.

He swallowed as Keats led him crossly through the corridor, muttering things about dislocated wrists. Now he had a weapon the plan seemed so much more real all of a sudden. They were getting closer to Alex's room now. It was a route Robin had walked many times before. There was an officer on the door. His hat seemed too big for his head. Robin was surprised he could even see well enough to stop anyone from entering the room. As they approached Keats hissed,

"This is it, Robin. Mess this up and you're all dead."

"And if I don't mess it up, then what happens?" Robin asked.

Keats gave him a sideways sneer.

"Then I get to visit a dear old friend," he said sarcastically.

Robin's blood began to boil. He could see this alleged visit going one of two ways, either with some general touching up of a comatose Alex or with the breadknife taking Alex's life and therefore most likely giving her an instant transfer to Fenchurch West back in the nineties. Neither was going to happen if Robin had anything to do with it. His old nervous and placid persona had all but died by now. It hadn't been a fast transition; the changes had started from his time in '95 and accelerated quickly during the last couple of months, beginning with Alex seeking his help and with Kim's friendship as a continuing catalyst. But if ever there was a test of strength, then surely this had to be the definitive one.

The officer outside the door looked up at Robin, even though all Robin could see was the man's nose peeping out from under his hat.

"Evening," he said awkwardly, "Just visiting Alex."

"I don't think she'd going to be answering any questionns," the officer said, a little confused.

"No, it's a social visit," Robin said nervously.

"I don't think she's feeling very sociable either," the officer commented but Keats wasn't in the mood for wit and sneered,

"Are you going to let us pass or are you going to find yourself reported to your superior officer for insubordination?"

The officer was a little taken aback by his tone and stood back nervously.

"Go right ahead, sir," he said with a gulp.

Robin hesitated as he thought about his plan. Having an officer outside of the door wasn't exactly going to help when at the first sound of trouble he would be pushing his way into the room and – most likely – pulling Robin away from Keats before he had a chance to ensure he met his end. He coughed a little.

"Listen, take a five minute break" he said, "there are two of us here. No one's going to try anything."

The officer looked nervous.

"I don't go off duty until seven," he said.

"Just trying to do you a favour," Robin shrugged.

The officer thought about his offer for a moment before finally he nodded slowly.

"Cheers," he said, "I mean, thank you sir. Sirs."

He trotted down the corridor jangling the change in his pocket as he went. Keats raised an eyebrow at Robin.

"Well well, what was that about?" he asked.

Robin felt himself reddening. He wasn't very good at lying.

"Just trying to protect myself and Kim," he swallowed, "whatever you're going to do, it's probably not going to be all that silent. I didn't want him coming in and me getting a bread knife through the guts."

"I was planning to slit your throat, actually," Keats said matter of factly. He turned the door handle and stepped inside the room, the chained Robin in tow, and found himself with a quickening heartbeat. There in the bed lay Alex; still, silent, motionless. Her mind and her soul were many years away. Keats felt himself turn breathless as he slowly walked toward her. His mouth grew dry suddenly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to the handcuffs. He had to free himself from Robin to get what he wanted from the visit. He quickly unfastened the cuff around his wrist and, before Robin could react, he chained him to the adjustable light beside the hospital bed. Robin gave a sigh of frustration and looked from the light to Keats with a scowl. This wasn't part of the plan!

"There," said Keats, "you've found yourself a new post in light entertainment." He laughed at his own stupid joke and encroached upon Alex's bed. Her face was so still and pale, her eyes gently closed and her soul so far away but on her lips there was a peaceful smile. A happiness that lurked deep within her. Her soul was happy and thriving. Not for long, Keats told himself.

He peeled back the covers of her bed, leaving her covered only by her hospital smock. God, the temptation. Keats had still not satisfied his other hunger and the thought of taking her right there and then was almost crippling, but before he could give in to his urges a strange dark shape beneath the smock caught his eye. With a frown he parted the smock and moved it to one side where he found, low down on Alex's stomach, a complete circle with a letter 'G' in the centre. He turned to Robin with wide, horrified eyes, clearly thinking that Alex, Robin and Kim had formed some kind of strange, tattooing cult that they were all a part of.

"What… the fuck… is that?" he demanded.

Robin swallowed.

"It's called a tattoo, Keats," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "it's a process by which ink is deposited under the skin by a needle."

"I know what one is" Keats spat, practically foaming at the mouth, "I want to know why she's got one!"

Robin shrugged.

"She's over eighteen," he said, boldly.

"Why would someone like Alex get a…" he looked back at the tattoo and felt deeply, horribly sick. He knew why she had the tattoo. There was no doubt in his mind what that letter represented. He felt his blood boiling as his fingers reached out, trembling slightly, and brushed over the inked skin. Robin couldn't stand to see him touch her, he couldn't bear the sight of Keats's fingers daring to sully Alex's skin while she slept so peacefully. He took a deep breath, his pulse thundering in his ears and hissed,

"Hey, Keats?"

Keats glanced around.

"This is a private moment," he sneered but found himself getting more than he bargained for as Robin took a few lunges forward, dragging the adjustable lamp across to the bed with him, striking Keats square in the forhead with the metal shade of the light. Despite the comedy 'clang' noise it made and the moment of senselessness Keats just shook his head a little and cried, "stupid little bastard," reaching for the breadknife but Robin's scissors were easier to fish out quickly and, holding them firmly in his hand, he aimed the pointed side at Keats' neck like a knife. With a forceful push he jammed them through his skin, the horrific feeling of plunging metal through flesh and the sickening squelching sound they made bringing Robin to gag horribly. He wasn't sure if the squelching sound was real or in his head but either way he feared he was about to spill bile across the hospital floor.

A scream came from deep within Keats that was as terrifying as anything else that day. It was becoming clear to Robin the one stab wasn't going to do it and he wrenched the blood-stained scissors from his neck ready for another go. With one hand Keats clung to the side of his neck, covering the wound, while with the other he pulled forth the breadknife and sent its blade towards Robin's stomach and chest but a large, jagged bread knife – it seemed – was far better at sawing through ropes than at stabbing someone. The attack left Robin with several nasty, painful slashes across his torso but nothing as deadly as Keats had been anticipating. Robin tried to grit his teeth and push through the pain as he thrust the scissors at Keats again but this time Keats expected it and grasped his wrist.

"You stupid little boy," he spat, mere inches from his face, "you think I'm going to lose my life twice in the same room? Think again."

He grabbed the scissors from him and turned toward Alex leaving Robin with the terrible realisation that he was about to offer her that transfer. Blocking out his pain, he pulled at his wrist, trying to get away from the lamp but all that happened was that the lamp followed him back and forth across the room.

"Gah!" he cried in frustration, pulling harder and faster until one part if the metal made a horrible groaning noise and finally a screw flew out and the heavy head of the lamp fell from the joint, dragging Robin's wrist down with it. He groaned and took a moment to compose himself before he stood up, clutched the lamp with both hands and used it to strike Keats hard in the head. For a second his eyes rolled back in his sockets and he tumbled backwards, knocked out just long enough for Robin to reach into his pocket and grab the key. As he freed his hand from the lamp he saw Keats's eyes opening again and knew he had to act quickly. He grasped the breadknife and tried to bring it towards his throat but Keats reached out with both hands to block it and held it at bay. For some time control of the knife hung in the balance, one pushing it downwards, the other pushing it away; a battle of strength and a battle of wills that it seemed no one would ever win. The strain showed on Robin's face as he grimaced, pushing the blade with as much strength as he could muster. The blade cut into Keats's hands but he somehow seemed to override the pain. Until finally he could stand it no longer and he rolled out for underneath it, leaving Robin and the knife to fall to the ground.

"For fuck's sake, just die will you?" Robin cried. He began to pick himself up from the ground, knife still in hand but turned to see Keats coming towards him with the scissor. "Shit!"

The scissors grazed Robin's cheek but he scrambled out of the way before they could reach their intended target and he lashed out with the knife, using it like some kind of sword. It struck Keats in the face which caused him to scream and recoil, clutching his cheek and yelling a string of obscenities as the scissors flew from his hand. This was it, Robin realised. This was surely the last chance he had. He threw the knife away and scrambled for the scissors as Keats threw himself on top of Robin with his pull force and punched his face so hard that the back of his head struck the hard floor. Robin wasn't sure how he stayed conscious – he felt certain he was about to see stars circling his head, but he was still wide awake and coherent enough to see Keats's malevolent sneer lowering towards his face.

"Waste of blood and waste of space," he spat at Robin as his hands reached around his neck but Robin still had the scissors firmly in his grasp and this time as he jammed them into Keats's neck there was a power, a fight and a rage inside of him that gave him the strength to keep on going, pushing them deeper, thrusting them again and again. Has the grasp on his neck began to loosen and his own actions became more forceful he heard a strange gurgling noise emanating from Keats's throat. When he finally opened his eyes he saw Keats's own eyes were wide, terrified and gaping like his open mouth. His features flickered. For just a moment, the crusty skin of Layton took over once again, like a TV switching between stations. One last, hard thrust of the scissors and Keats gave a strangled gasp before collapsing on top of Robin's blood-stained body. He pushed the man away and scrambled to his feet, watching the blood pouring from his wound while a chocking splutter came from his mouth. His features flickered again as the gasping began to slow and Robin took another step backwards. His heart was pounding and his whole body trembling. He gasped for air, his lungs unable to give him all that his body screamed for, as he watched the twitching body before him slowly become still and silent.

He stared. His eyes were fixed upon Keats's motionless form. He swallowed and trembled as he knelt beside him and felt, nervously, for a pulse. The moment he realised there was none was the strongest moment of relief he'd felt in his life. He swallowed, closed his eyes and turned his head to the ceiling, as though thanking some non-existent hospital god for supplying the scissors and for bringing the end to his fight but as he did so he began to feel something. To his horror, the pulse was slowly returning. It was weak but it was there.

"No," he whispered, "no, you're dead, I…" his eyes turned to Keats on the ground and a gasp emerged from his lips. As he watched, the defined features faded before him and crumbling, crusty ones took their place. He swallowed and felt his heart racing even faster as the wound on the side of his neck began to heal before him, the blood disappearing and his neck complete and whole once again. In shock, he scrambled backwards, panting anxiously as he tried to process what was happening. It took him several moments to figure out what was happening and how it was even possible until the truth struck him with the force of a ten ton weight. Yes, he had killed Keats. He'd killed the devil who'd found his way back to the real world. But he hadn't killed Layton.

Keats had taken over his body completely. Now that Keats was dead, Layton had taken control again. He was still, silent and unconscious, but he had none of the wounds that Robin had inflicted – because he had inflicted them upon Keats.

Robin had killed a man who no longer existed; a man who had no rightful claim to a flesh and blood body.

The realisation shocked him deeply. He shook for a moment, unsure what to do next, until eventually he pulled together his strength and realised that there was another leg of the journey still ahead.

Grabbing his car keys from Keats's pocket he threw open the door and ran into the corridor where the officer with the very large hat was walking back in his direction, three large coffees and a ton of mars bars in his hands.

"Quick!" Robin yelled at him, "get help. Arthur Layton is in that room!"

"What?" the officer couldn't have been more confused if he tried.

Robin tossed him the key to the handcuffs.

"There are some cuffs already in there," he breathed, "chain him the fuck up and get him some medical attention." He began to race away, his legs like jelly and barely supporting him.

"Wait!" the officer cried, "sir, where are you going? What's going on?"

Robin didn't have time to explain.

"I need back up!" he cried, "radio for assistance. Send cars to the barge that Alex Drake was found in. And possibly an ambulance." He paused. "Better send the bomb squad too."

"The…. Wait!" the officer cried. He glanced from Robin to the state of the hospital room through the door and almost had a heart attack. "Oh bloody hell!" he shook his head. "How the hell am I going to explain this to my sergeant?" he wondered and reached for his radio. Not for the first time he wished he'd taken a different career path. Travel agent maybe? Or flower arranging. That seemed like a nice, safe career. You encounter fewer mad men that way. Still it was too late now. It was time to make the strangest call for back up he'd ever made in his life.