Authors Note: Hiya :) I'm really sorry for being AWOL for like ages, but I've been so busy...you know the drill, exams, revision...real life! *sighs* never mind - enough babble, here's the next instalment!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Ashes, apart from the characters I made up
Destined To Follow In Her Footsteps
Chapter Three-Bullet Wounds Are Back And The Turmoil Begins Again
"Ma'am? Would you like a cup of tea?"
Almost child - like in her posture, Molly Lewis was sat cross – legged on a sofa chair in her office. Head bowed, she refused to speak to anybody or even ask what happened to him. Her brown hair had hues of auburn entwined into it as Shelby – Ann Thomas stood over her. Parts of Molly's hair were ruffled from where she'd been running her fingers through it. Occasionally she sniffed and muffled a sob before reaching out for another tissue. She's been like this for almost an hour.
Nobody at Fenchurch had ever seen DCI Molly Lewis behave in this manner before. Yet again, nobody knew her past. When her mother had been cruelly stolen from her thirteen years ago, Molly had pulled herself violently away from society. Evan had suggested counselling or a psychologist, but Molly knew she had to deal with it on her own. Just like Alex had done when she was little.
Molly had found the perfect way to deal with the heartbreak and anger at the injustice. Over a course of several months, she'd learned to conceal her emotions from other people. Putting up a mask was a brilliant idea because nobody ever knew what she was really feeling and, not even Evan attempted to notice when something was wrong. At just twelve and half years old, Molly found herself lost in the persona she'd created. Nobody could find her.
When she was sixteen, Molly fell pregnant with Sally. Strangely enough, both Matt and Molly were very pleased and two years later they were married. Underneath her mask, Molly knew that changing her name felt like betraying her mother, as if she didn't belong to Alex any more. But Matt understood. Completely. While they were home, Molly could remove her mask and show real feelings. He was perfect for her, and Molly loved him for it.
But now...she couldn't even think. Almost straight away the mask had come back again, and Molly made a conscious decision to only talk to somebody who understood. Shelby.
Lifting her head, Molly looked her in the eye. "Yes. Yes I think I will." There were no tear stains streaking her face and no blotches to ruin her beauty. Suddenly, Molly excepted the facts: Their lives were dangerous.
It hadn't struck her how to tell her daughter; all she was concerned with was finding the killer. And returning to work. Some people thought it was heartless, but in 2021, parents had a different job to do, and sometimes it meant forgetting about their children.
A sigh escaped her delicate pink lips. She was turning into Alex. Alex.
Her mother. That bloody Lexus. Papers over the backseat.
"Schizo? Delusional? What's the German one? Is he going in 'The Book'?"
The Book.
The Book. These new thoughts and connections running wild in her head were forcing her to run on adrenaline. The answer had been staring her in the face.
Tantalizingly, in case she changed her mind, Molly started to uncross her legs. When she stood up, she threw a glance around the dull, rigid and orderly Squad Room and nodded to herself.
Calling into the kitchenette to Shelby, Molly marched out of the room. "I'll see you later, Shelbs. I've got something I need to look into." Her voice travelled back to the kitchen and by the time Shelby came to look, Molly was already long gone.
Three hours later, Molly's house was unrecognisable.
Paperwork was scattered everywhere. The plain dark lino flooring was now covered in a disorganised ice white pattern. On the dark sliver three piece sofa, sat Molly's two iPads when they should have been placed on the sideboard. However, the sideboard was covered in medical information for both Alex Drake and Sam Tyler, along with brain scans, coma statistics and their private patient files.
Dispersed over the remaining floor between the white wooden table and the beginning of the kitchen area were Alex's notes for her book on Sam Tyler. Molly remembered mocking at Sam's recordings when she was younger – "Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?" – But now they seemed to hold the answer to everything she valued.
Molly liked to think that she was an analytical person as well as logical, and so she started by re-listening to Sam's psychological evaluation notes.
My name is Sam Tyler. I had an accident and I woke in 1973. Am I mad, in a coma or back in time? Whatever's happened, it's like I've landed on a different planet. Now maybe if I can work out the reason, I can get home.
But it's funny, now that I am home, it doesn't feel right. When you walk around the local parks or even town, how many people do you see actually talking to each other? It's all fake. Everything revolves around technology and nobody really listens. The colour has been drained from clothing, the buildings...and even life.
1973 was...well, it was unbelievable. I didn't like it at first; some of the characters were slightly unsavoury. And the policing was awful. But in a strange way, it was better. All the coppers were out on the streets catching scum – I mean, criminals and they got better results. They weren't bogged down with rules and regulations or health and safety.
I became fond of these people. They were no longer constructs of a dying brain. They were real people. Ray Carling was a woman's worst nightmare. Misogynistic, pig-headed and a lung full of tar, he seemed to hate me the most. However, soon he appeared to change and soften slightly. Chris Skelton was as nervous as a virgin in a brothel! I mean...oh shit. Wait, no! Sorry Chris, not nervous, just cautious. And finally, Gene Hunt. Well, here's how I usually describe him... overweight, over-the-hill, nicotine-stained, borderline alcoholic homophobe with a superiority complex and an unhealthy obsession with male bonding. But, he had some amazing qualities about him too, but you'd have to meet him to understand.
And I made a promise to somebody there that I care about very much. Annie Cartwright. I need to fulfil it. And to do so, I need to get back.
This is DI...No, DCI Sam Tyler of the Greater Manchester Police.
Ray Carling. Chris Skelton. Gene Hunt.
Gene...Gene.
Without warning and haunted at an impossible idea, Molly's eyes snapped open. Thirteen years ago when Alex had been in her coma, it wasn't Jean she'd said, it was Gene. Gene Hunt.
But how...How could Alex have possibly known that, unless she'd met him? If so, where had she met him?
But the question was Molly should have asked, was not where or how, it was when.
Deciding that this was too much to comprehend without checking the extensive personnel file department at CID, Molly started to gather up all her paperwork. After filling two boxes and placing a pile aimlessly on the backseat of her dreary looking car, Molly set off back to CID.
However, questions still ran through her head about how Alex knew Gene Hunt. As a child, she was sure he'd never been mentioned. Whether it was her mind playing tricks on her or not, Molly swore blind that the clouds were gathering overhead. But that wasn't all either; something in the atmosphere and something in her heart was stirring. It felt like the end, but maybe it was just the beginning.
Cutting the engine to the Audi, Molly paused for a minute, listening to a song that had started on her MP3 Player. So I drink in the shadows. Molly knew that most of the technology she chose to use was fairly old, but yet again, technological advances could only go so far. The stars look so special. The first verse of the song had already passed her by, but it was only now she started to listen properly. The words didn't really seem to make much sense to begin with. Time to question the mountain. What was this song? Molly asked herself. She'd never heard it before, yet it felt significant.
On the passenger side of dashboard there was a touch screen. Now that every car was fitted with Wi-Fi as standard, it was easy to answer any question using the internet. Bringing up Google Mystic – the latest search engine – Molly began to touch type. Lyrics – so I drink in the shadows; the stars look so special; time to question the mountain.
Seconds later, she had only one result. Tapping on the link, it took her to a 'Golden Oldies' page of music Pre-Millennium. This caused a frown to appear across her beautiful features and questions to dance in her hazel eyes. Scanning the page, she soon found the song information.
The song was entitled 'Seven Years in Tibet'. It had been written, composed and sang by David Bowie, a famous singer from the era. It had been great hit at the time, and his lyrics were some of the best. The release year, 1997, puzzled Molly since it meant nothing to her. Why should she be getting concerned about a song? As she scanned the lyrics, only one line stood out.
Nothing ever goes away.
A familiar sense of dread filled Molly, and in a blink of an eye, she'd grabbed her handbag, shut off the internet and was scrambling out the car. This was too close to home; it was too close for comfort.
"Mum, why have you got this?"
"It's for my research, Molls."
"But it's a name of a song...a very old song at that; it was released in 1971."
"Yes, but remember honey, everything is significant."
"Ma'am?" Shelby called out as she rounded the corner of the Human Resource Department. She'd noticed that Molly had disappeared about half an hour ago, and finally, Shelby had tracked her down.
The layout of Human Resources was unique. Upon entering the door, you must scan your badge and state what you're looking for. Then the internal door opens. There are twenty rows of shelves and each can hold at least two thousand manila files. The majority of things here were Pre-Millennium, but there were a dozen Police Constables working around the clock to transfer them all onto the main computer. From there, all personnel can access the files from their iPads, Azotics or Siennas. The latter two were the latest in technology.
However, Molly was sitting in the furthermost corner of the room – a space that Shelby had never even seen since she'd been in the force. This was because the oldest files were kept there – the ones from the late nineteen sixties, seventies and eighties. Approaching slowly, but cautiously, the sight that greeted Shelby was quite shocking.
Surrounding Molly on the floor were case files, personnel files and suspect evidence dating back fifty years. There was picture after picture of various famous coppers – mostly DCIs and DIs – in Molly's lap, but still she was searching frantically.
"Ma'am, what ya lookin' for?" Shelby asked tentatively, tapping her friend, and superior office, on the shoulder.
"Him." Molly said bluntly, her eyes not leaving the files. "I want to find out if he was real or whether my mother and I are mad."
"Yer not mad, Molls." Shelby sat down next to Molly, and started to tidy away a few files. "What's all this about?"
"It doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand."
Shelby raised her eyebrows and started to reorganise all the files into chronological order. "Yer been through all the files, now wha'? Ya wanna start on the nineties?"
Shelby had meant it as a joke, but Molly turned to face her solemnly. "No, there's no mention of the nineties that I know of. Which means...it means that he wasn't real. What how is that possible? Did mum create him in his head as a side effect of her coma? A few dying brain cells trying to piece together a puzzle left by Sam Tyler? Sam bloody Tyler! I almost forgot about him. He made accounts of Gene Hunt; they described him in perfect detail. Then...then a few years before my mother died, I found her diary." Suddenly Molly's eyes looked tired, sleepy and distant. Shelby perked up her ears; Molly never talked about her mother.
"She described the day her parents died. The bomb, the upset and...Her hero. There was a man in a long black coat that came and comforted her. He took her hand...and the pain went away. Then he scooped her up and took her back to a police station. When she arrived, the ceiling was like a chess board and she remembered hearing somebody complain that it was giving them a headache.
"Then she was picked up a perched on a desk. She remembered looking at the name plate. It was a familiar name – she'd heard her mother talk about this lady before. The name was DI Drake. From her position on the desk, Evan, her godfather was running his hands through his hair. He looked upset and undecided. There was another police officer – DCI Hunt – who said that if she had any problems all she had to do was "call the Gene Genie."
"Several years later there was something extra added to the diary entry. It was quite strange. The entry talked about how there had been another police officer in the office with DCI in 1981. But it wasn't a man, it was a woman. She had tightly permed hair, blue demin jeans and satin off - the- shoulder top. My mother wrote that she didn't know her name, but, at the time of this entry, she recognised her. Apparently, she and DCI Hunt had come knocking on her door asking to see Pete. The entry was dated January 1997."
As Molly wiped away the few tears that had escaped, Shelby was mulling over the story. There didn't seem to be much wrong with it – apart from the fact there is no mention of a DCI Hunt or DI Drake in the entire records system. Molly started to talk again, her delicate lips struggling for words.
"I know now that it wasn't Evan who rescued her, like mum thought. It was DCI Hunt, and for some reason, she mentioned his name during her coma."
Shelby was about to ask why Molly wanted answers now, over thirteen years later, but they were interrupted by a voice behind them. "DCI Lewis, DS Thomas, there's a girl in reception who is requesting to see you."
Shelby snapped back into professionalism, "Can't one of the Police Constables see t' it, we're a bit busy at the moment."
"No...Not really. She's panicked. And...She asked for DCI Lewis specifically."
"Sounds like association syndrome and adult reliance to me. We'll be along in a few minutes – take her to Suite One."
As Molly sat at her heavy black desk, she started to type out the interview tape. When she and Shelby had entered the Suite, the sight of the girl had been shocking. She had pushed herself as far into the corner at possible and her back and shoulders were hunched in an awkward position. Dangling limply from her head were strands of greasy and knotted brown hair. Hollow eyes had met Molly's with an expression of relief, fear and helplessness.
Shaking the image of the girl from her head, Molly pressed play on the digital recorder.
"This interview was conducted in Suite One. Present are DCI Molly Lewis of CID and DS Shelby-Ann Thomas of CID. We are interviewing a possible attack or rape victim. Interview commenced on Tuesday 11th November at fifteen thirty-seven."
"Hey, it's okay, we're not going to hurt you. My name is DCI Lewis, but you can call me Molly. This is DS Shelby Thomas. What's your name?"
"My name is Annie. I'm not afraid anymore, how do you do that?"
"It's called relaxation therapy. It helps to calm down suspects mostly, but it is a nice feeling for people who are full of fear."
"Thanks, Molly."
"No problem. Now, why have you come to see us?"
There was rustling on the tape, and in the camera view, Molly remembered the girl took off her hoodie.
"I was attacked. It was a man. He was about your height with dark brown hair. He had a husky voice, but all he said were names. Like a chant."
"What names did he say, Annie?"
"Umm...Alex, I think. Yeah, that was it. Alex and Molly."
At this point Molly turned off the recorder. This was too much for her.
"Ma'am, you're not going t' believe this," Shelby said as they strolled through the CID Squad Room. "There's been another attack; the girl is waiting in Suite Two."
When they arrived at Suite Two, Molly honestly thought it was Annie. They two girls were the same height, had the same hair colour, and even had the same eye colour. Additionally, they had the same wounds on their bodies and both claimed the guy had said the names "Alex" and "Molly".
Piecing together the information on this case was hard, despite the technology. It appeared that the man had worn gloves, used a clean knife and worn a balaclava. Great.
"Right then!" Molly called out to CID. "This has become one of our toughest cases yet. I want results! These attacks have been planned and carefully followed through. Myself and DS Thomas will be going to assess the crime scenes while the rest of you can divide the following tasks between you: searching for suspects with previous, revisiting old case files for similarities and keeping an eye on forensics. Shelby – lets go."
Reaching over to the backseat, Shelby continued to brainstorm about the case "It appears to follow a standard pattern – killing girls that look like each other. Maybe he had a bad relationship?" Her aqua blue eyes scanned the piece of paper that she'd retrieved from the backseat, "What's this?"
Molly glanced quickly as they continued to drive, "Oh...It's nothing."
"My name is Sam Tyler. I had an accident and I woke in 1973. Am I mad, in a coma or back in time? Whatever's happened, it's like I've landed on a different planet. Now maybe if I can work out the reason, I can get home." Shelby smirked. "Yeah, whatever. That is so...Lame!"
"Shelbs, return my classified documents, thank you. You don't have clearance." Slightly sulkily, Shelby threw them on the backseat. Naturally, the pesky things wouldn't stay in the manila folder and so, using her internal mirrors, Molly watched as they spilt all over the leather seats.
"So then...this guy, Tyler..." Shelby started, looking out the window. Her delicate painted nails tapped on the bottom of the window. She hated car journeys.
"He died." Molly replied bluntly. "A long time ago; April 2007."
"So then, what you thinking? Schizo? Delusional? What's the German one? Is he going in 'The Book'?"
"What book?" Molly enquired suspiciously. "I'm not writing a book. Not like Alex." Molly started shaking her head frantically, "No. Never like Alex!"
Suddenly the car screeched to halt outside a red brick house. Shelby instantly slammed her hands on the dashboard for support and glared at Molly. "What was that for?"
But Molly didn't hear her. A gut wrenching feeling was spreading through her body. It was indescribable, but it shook her – mentally and physically. Head reeling, Molly rubbed her hands violently over her face. The feeling wasn't guilt or surprise, sorrow or anger.
It was familiarity.
Dreaded familiarity.
"Molly?" Shelby enquired, "We're here Ma'am. This is where Annie was attacked."
Slowly and silently, they both stepped out of the car and walked towards the alley. It was nestled between two beautiful red brick houses. They were pre-Millennium, obviously, but still...Molly wouldn't have minded living there. The area had a very good reputation – something like these attacks just didn't happen here.
"I'll check the alleyway; you go and interview the neighbours."
And so they diverged from each other to pursue the different paths. Molly set about down the alleyway. It wasn't particularly long or narrow, but it was very dark. At the other end, illuminated by a streak of sunlight, stood a hunched over man. "Hello?" Molly called out, but received no reply.
The figure started to walk closer to her, but still he didn't say anything. Molly felt slightly disturbed and in all honesty, a little scared. Eventually he was in evaluation distance, and so Molly built up a quick profile.
His stance was suspicious and protective – what was he hiding? Molly estimated his age at late fifties to early sixties. Greasy grey hair fell limply around is wrinkled face. There were large dark circles around his hollow eyes - a mark of alcoholism.
"I've been waiting for you." Sleaziness crept into his voice; it was already tinted with expectancy.
"My name is DCI Molly Lewis, who are you?"
"I know who you are, love. Me name's Arthur Layton." He smiled crookedly straight at Molly and took another step towards her. Then he started mumbling and reached into his pocket. "Nothing ever goes away...How's your mother, Molly?"
"Who are you? What you know about me? How do you know my name?"
"I know everything about you Molly Drake, and how your mother died."
"My mother's been dead for a very long time...What's that got to do with anything?"
Slowly his hand moved out of his left pocket as he put on a pair of dark, reflective sunglasses. A crooked smile was playing on his lips and he continued to mutter. One line stood out to Molly, a in a brief second she realised what was going to happen, "You'll find out soon..." he replied.
"Ma'am? Hello? Ma'am?" Shelby walked slowly towards the alleyway. Molly had been gone for over half an hour, and Shelby was starting to get worried. Although Molly made a good DCI, Shelby still saw her as a little sister, one she should protect. Rounding the corner to the alleyway, no amount of police training could prepare her for the scene laid out in front of Shelby's eyes.
Surrounded in a pool of scarlet liquid from a head wound led a mid-twenties brown haired woman. She was led flat out on the cold concrete with a puzzled expression on her face. The blood had tinged her white shirt and seeped into the tidy creases of her trousers. The blood was still pouring from a bullet wound in her forehead. Sorrow and fear invaded Shelby as she gazed upon the body.
It was Molly.
Authors Note: A big thankyou to everybody who has stuck with it - especial those few that have reviewed - you're great! Apologies for the cliffhanger! Hope you liked it, and please leave your thoughts and feedback :)
Finding Answers xx