Choose Life Part 2
Notes/warnings: as per Part One. Bonus pairing - Sam/Nelson. But gen! GEN! Gracious me. (although...hmm)
Part One here
Chapter 5 - In which Nelson gives Sam something to think about, in a big way!
He stayed like that for the rest of the evening, lifting his head occasionally to gulp down whisky from a glass that magically seemed to stay full, then retreating again into his disturbed thoughts. At one point he was dimly aware of Gene coming up next to him to order a round, pausing for a moment or two, but Sam didn’t feel up to responding and eventually Gene went away.
One by one, as the hour grew later, the other occupants of the bar drifted away to whatever lives they had waiting for them. Sam was grateful for the encroaching silence - keeping his eyes shut, he could imagine himself alone in the universe, which, in his current mood, suited him just fine.
"Sam?"
The soft query jerked him abruptly out of his semi-stupor. Reluctantly, he forced open his eyes, to find Nelson gazing back at him from the other side of the bar, the slightest shade of wariness underscoring the cheerful neutrality.
"Yeah. Look - sorry about the mess." What the hell, he’d apologised to everyone else. Might as well get the set.
"No problem, mon brave. Time you were headed home now, though."
"Home?" The word lanced through Sam. "That’s just it, Nelson. I thought I was home. Now - I just don’t know anything any more." A tide of sheer frustration crashed through Sam, and he slammed his clenched fist onto the counter. "Fuck, Nelson. Is this ever going to get any easier? Because I’ve fucking had enough."
Nelson didn’t flinch. "I’ve told you before, Sam. You are where you are. You’ve got to learn to make the best of things. Here is all that matters now - accept that and you’ll be fine. Reject it, and you’ll never find peace."
Sam leaned forward. He could hear in his own voice the earnest precision of the very drunk, although his mind felt clear and sober. "I did accept that. I do. I went away and I chose to come back. I rejected my real life, but it just won’t let me go."
"You’re wrong, Sam." Nelson’s words were soft, the dark eyes solemn, with a hint of pity that set Sam’s teeth on edge. "You’ve got it all backwards. You didn’t choose anything. And it’s you that won’t let go."
Sam listened to this little speech with growing indignation. Suddenly, he’d had enough of being on the back foot, of having to apologise for his existence to anyone who stood still long enough.
"Oh, is that right?" he bit back. "Well, thank you so much for your little pearls of wisdom." He swung away from the bar, unable to stand still any longer. "You think you’re so bloody smart, don’t you? Got the answers to everything? What the fuck do you know about how it feels to be me?"
"Oh, I know plenty, believe me, Sam. Do you really think you’re the only one who’s ever gone through this?"
It took a second for Nelson’s bitter retort to filter into Sam’s drink-fogged brain, but it stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he turned his head, gaping at Nelson, a million questions all streaming through his tangled mind at once, unable to find words to express any of them.
Nelson spoke again, his tone once more calm, solemn. "We’ve all been there, Sam. Every single one of us. Sooner or later, everybody does."
Sam blinked, swallowed. Made his unsteady way to the nearest chair and collapsed heavily onto it, a chill of premonition rippling through him like seasickness. He was sure he didn’t want to hear what Nelson had to say.
"I…what…you’re not…" Come ON! "Tell me." Damn.
Nelson took his time, coming round the bar, pulling up a chair opposite Sam. "Sure?" Sam nodded mutely. He’d come this far.
"All right. Let me tell you a story, my friend."
Chapter 6 - Nelson’s story.
"It’s 2002. Remember 2002, Sam? Silly question, of course you do. Anyway, there I am, having the time of my life. I’m an IT consultant for a chain of hotels, with some freelance work on the side and a reputation to die for. Coining it in like you wouldn’t believe.
"Funny how it came about. Back in the 90s, I was at university, no money, bar job in the evening, usual story. Anyway, the bar I was working at was expanding, the owner wanted to go into accommodation and that sort of stuff, so I set him up a website. Easy if you know how, but he didn’t. You with me?"
Sam was. He didn’t answer, but the wide eyes, the rigid stance as he leant urgently towards Nelson as if to lose one word of this incredible speech would mean catastrophe, were response enough.
"OK. He was made up with it, especially when the customers started rolling in. He had to hire more staff. I worked over his accounts, he was still writing everything down in little books, never heard of Excel. As time went on, I stopped working the bar, became a partner in the company. We opened another one, in Solihull of all places, and it went from strength to strength. A couple of years later I left him to it and moved to a more established company, hotels all over, international reputation."
He paused, head tilted, a wistful smile playing around his mouth, looking suddenly younger and more open. He shook his head slightly.
"Christ, Sam, life was bloody fantastic. Work hard, spend hard, you know? I had the bling, the flash car, hot and cold running girls - I was a walking cliché, and proud of it."
Silence. Sam watched the dust motes dance in the half-light as Nelson headed over to the bar, returning with a bottle and two glasses, pouring a generous measure for them both. The glasses clinked together in salute. Sam met Nelson’s eyes, captivated by this tale of a world he thought he’d left behind forever. "So? What happened?" he asked softly.
Nelson sighed. "Turn of the Millennium, I was at a party in Manhattan. I met this girl - Christobel. British, dripping with money, stunning. Totally out of my league, but she didn’t see it that way. Cut a long story short, we were married before the year was out. She changed me, settled me."
He finished his drink, poured another. "You remember where you were when you heard about 9/11?" Sam nodded, waiting. "Course you do. Everyone does, right? Such a momentous moment, terrible, sticks in the mind." He laughed, a short, bitter sound more like a sob. "Me, I’ve no idea. Day before, Chrissie told me I was going to be a dad. I was in a haze. September 11th, happiest day of my life. And, I don’t know, maybe I was punished for that.
"In the end, it was all so mundane. Few months later, crossing the road, some maniac ran the lights. Took me out of the game. I never stood a chance.
"I woke up here - right here, in this bar. Well, out back actually. No bloody clue what the hell was going on. Staggered in through the door, asked the nearest person where the manager was. Turned out to be your DC Skelton. He looked at me like I was a nutter, told me I was the manager, this was my pub. Well, I thought I must be dreaming, so I just settled in and got on with it. And here we are."
Chapter 7 - Requiescat
The room fell silent again. Idly Sam noticed a change in the light, as the deep shadows gave way to the monochrome lightness of the pre-dawn. Everything looked different. Nelson’s garish, dated clothes appeared suddenly incongruous on a man who clearly wasn’t of this time. Sam couldn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed before - it was so obvious now.
He frowned, deep furrows of concentration etching themselves into his forehead as he thought it through. "It’s not the same though," he said slowly, wanting to believe, not quite able to. "I hear things, see things - voices telling me to be strong, telling me to come back. Doctors and nurses talking about my condition. I’m in a coma - was in a coma. I went back."
Nelson smiled, a weary humourless grimace. "Who told you that, Sam? How do you know?"
"I - the voices. The television, radio. The phone." He shrugged. "I know, it sounds mad. But I know what I heard. You don’t have to believe me - God knows, no-one else does."
"Oh, I believe you. You just don’t understand. That’s part of it. When you understand, when you accept this, all that will stop."
"No." Sam’s mind was racing, desperate to make sense of the incredible revelations Nelson had shared. "No, you don’t understand. You see, I woke up. I WOKE UP, Nelson, back in 2006. I went back to work. I tried to carry on where I’d left off. But I couldn’t ever forget what you said to me, about knowing you’re alive when you can feel, you know? It haunted me. I felt nothing there, I tried so hard but I felt nothing. So I came back. I chose to come back."
Nelson’s eyes sparked with uncharacteristic anger. "Jesus, Sam, don’t you ever listen? Why do you think you couldn’t feel anything?" He slumped back, taking a deep breath, the anger vanishing as quickly as it had begun. "Look, I used to think like you do. When I first got here, I heard voices too. Usually Chrissie, begging me to come back. Crying, screaming, saying she needed me, the baby needed me. She said I was just being selfish, and I believed her."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. Meeting his eyes, Sam was rocked by the depths of misery he encountered. An uncomfortable sensation of shame stirred somewhere deep within him, forcing him to look away.
Nelson went on, painfully. "In the end I did the only thing I could think of. I made a choice. I was going back, whatever it took. I sank a full bottle of scotch, then smashed the bottle and got to work. As the blood flowed, I could hear Chrissie laughing, louder and louder. I could hear my baby. I started to fade out - I remember wondering if I’d be found dead here, or if I’d just disappear.
"Next thing I knew, I was in agony. DC Skelton had smashed the door down, found me lying there. How he figured out what was going on, I’ll never know. Anyway, he tipped a whole load of gin or something over the cuts on my arms. Said it was to clean them up, but it brought me round fast, I can tell you. He bandaged me up, put me to bed. I asked him, shouldn’t I be going to hospital or something, but he said what was the point in that. Then he told me. He told me it’d been the same for him. Well, in his case he was a copper, got shot on duty. But that’s not the point. The point is, the details may change, but in the end we all get here the same way."
The first shaft of daylight forced its way through the grimy window, piercing the fug and dust of the darkened bar, early promise of another glorious day. Nelson sighed, heaving himself to his feet, collecting up the glasses and half-empty bottle. He turned towards the bar, speaking without looking back.
"You didn’t choose this place, Sam. Whatever you might think. The choice was made for you before you ever got here. All you can do now is understand that and learn to live with it. Just like the rest of us."
Sam nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall behind him. Automatically his mind replayed, over and over, everything Nelson had said. He felt - well, that was the thing. Rationally, he supposed he should feel - oh, horrified, despairing maybe, even afraid. The sheer magnitude of what he had been told should surely have overwhelmed him. Instead, he was suffused with an emotion so utterly alien that he couldn’t instantly put a name to it. Maybe it was just exhaustion, the onset of the mother of all hangovers.
Nelson clattered around him, clearing away the detritus of the night, preparing the pub for the arrival of the new day’s customers. The Railway Arms kept unconventional hours, and it was far from unknown for Gene or other closet alcoholics to roll in first thing demanding a liquid breakfast to offset the evening’s excesses. The thought of having to face Gene on no sleep finally forced Sam to his feet. He creaked towards the door, turning with his hand on the handle, catching Nelson’s eye.
"Thanks," he said simply.
Nelson smiled back, white teeth gleaming, the familiar persona firmly back in place. "Peace, my friend."
And finally Sam recognised the foreign emotion for what it was, a feeling he couldn’t with certainty remember ever having encountered before. Peace. For the first time in his life, he was at peace. Flinging the door wide, he strode out to face the dawn.
EPILOGUE:
Time passes. Sam goes back to work, knows he’s on probation, takes extra care. In the end, Gene slams him up by the throat against the office wall, Gary Cooper wobbling in alarm, tells him to quit pussyfooting about like a daft bird and give them back the cocky irritating Tyler they’ve come to know and loathe. Sam, rightly, takes this as a sign that he’s forgiven.
Tentatively, he tries to draw Chris out on his former life, but Chris clearly has no idea what he’s talking about and the reference to shooting on the job starts to make him nervous, so Sam drops it. Nelson talks a bit, on late nights after closing when the two of them are alone, but over time the details get more sketchy, till eventually Sam feels he’s forcing Nelson to cling on to memories he’d rather let go. Tacitly they agree not to mention it again. Sam knows this is right, but it’s a tiny cloud on his otherwise unblemished horizon that now he’s the only one with a past.
On the plus side, there are no more phone calls. No more creepy visitors haunting his dreams from the television. No more analysis of the condition of his brain. After a while, he even forgets to get freaked out every time static noises emanate from the radio.
And then one day, relaxing in the Arms with the crew after a less-than-hectic day, he sees a young man with terrified eyes slam the phone, the bright red phone that hasn’t rung in so long, into its cradle. Sees him collapse into a chair, head buried in hands, shoulders slumped, and the last piece of the puzzle clicks into place as Sam realises what he has to do. He makes his way over to the disturbed young man, sits down next to him. "You all right, mate? Looks like you’ve had a shock."
The man stares at him, eyes wild and red-rimmed. "I’m lost."
Sam knows what to say. "You're not lost. You're where you are. And you have to make the best of it. It's all you can do."
FIN
Part One here
Chapter 5 - In which Nelson gives Sam something to think about, in a big way!
He stayed like that for the rest of the evening, lifting his head occasionally to gulp down whisky from a glass that magically seemed to stay full, then retreating again into his disturbed thoughts. At one point he was dimly aware of Gene coming up next to him to order a round, pausing for a moment or two, but Sam didn’t feel up to responding and eventually Gene went away.
One by one, as the hour grew later, the other occupants of the bar drifted away to whatever lives they had waiting for them. Sam was grateful for the encroaching silence - keeping his eyes shut, he could imagine himself alone in the universe, which, in his current mood, suited him just fine.
"Sam?"
The soft query jerked him abruptly out of his semi-stupor. Reluctantly, he forced open his eyes, to find Nelson gazing back at him from the other side of the bar, the slightest shade of wariness underscoring the cheerful neutrality.
"Yeah. Look - sorry about the mess." What the hell, he’d apologised to everyone else. Might as well get the set.
"No problem, mon brave. Time you were headed home now, though."
"Home?" The word lanced through Sam. "That’s just it, Nelson. I thought I was home. Now - I just don’t know anything any more." A tide of sheer frustration crashed through Sam, and he slammed his clenched fist onto the counter. "Fuck, Nelson. Is this ever going to get any easier? Because I’ve fucking had enough."
Nelson didn’t flinch. "I’ve told you before, Sam. You are where you are. You’ve got to learn to make the best of things. Here is all that matters now - accept that and you’ll be fine. Reject it, and you’ll never find peace."
Sam leaned forward. He could hear in his own voice the earnest precision of the very drunk, although his mind felt clear and sober. "I did accept that. I do. I went away and I chose to come back. I rejected my real life, but it just won’t let me go."
"You’re wrong, Sam." Nelson’s words were soft, the dark eyes solemn, with a hint of pity that set Sam’s teeth on edge. "You’ve got it all backwards. You didn’t choose anything. And it’s you that won’t let go."
Sam listened to this little speech with growing indignation. Suddenly, he’d had enough of being on the back foot, of having to apologise for his existence to anyone who stood still long enough.
"Oh, is that right?" he bit back. "Well, thank you so much for your little pearls of wisdom." He swung away from the bar, unable to stand still any longer. "You think you’re so bloody smart, don’t you? Got the answers to everything? What the fuck do you know about how it feels to be me?"
"Oh, I know plenty, believe me, Sam. Do you really think you’re the only one who’s ever gone through this?"
It took a second for Nelson’s bitter retort to filter into Sam’s drink-fogged brain, but it stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he turned his head, gaping at Nelson, a million questions all streaming through his tangled mind at once, unable to find words to express any of them.
Nelson spoke again, his tone once more calm, solemn. "We’ve all been there, Sam. Every single one of us. Sooner or later, everybody does."
Sam blinked, swallowed. Made his unsteady way to the nearest chair and collapsed heavily onto it, a chill of premonition rippling through him like seasickness. He was sure he didn’t want to hear what Nelson had to say.
"I…what…you’re not…" Come ON! "Tell me." Damn.
Nelson took his time, coming round the bar, pulling up a chair opposite Sam. "Sure?" Sam nodded mutely. He’d come this far.
"All right. Let me tell you a story, my friend."
Chapter 6 - Nelson’s story.
"It’s 2002. Remember 2002, Sam? Silly question, of course you do. Anyway, there I am, having the time of my life. I’m an IT consultant for a chain of hotels, with some freelance work on the side and a reputation to die for. Coining it in like you wouldn’t believe.
"Funny how it came about. Back in the 90s, I was at university, no money, bar job in the evening, usual story. Anyway, the bar I was working at was expanding, the owner wanted to go into accommodation and that sort of stuff, so I set him up a website. Easy if you know how, but he didn’t. You with me?"
Sam was. He didn’t answer, but the wide eyes, the rigid stance as he leant urgently towards Nelson as if to lose one word of this incredible speech would mean catastrophe, were response enough.
"OK. He was made up with it, especially when the customers started rolling in. He had to hire more staff. I worked over his accounts, he was still writing everything down in little books, never heard of Excel. As time went on, I stopped working the bar, became a partner in the company. We opened another one, in Solihull of all places, and it went from strength to strength. A couple of years later I left him to it and moved to a more established company, hotels all over, international reputation."
He paused, head tilted, a wistful smile playing around his mouth, looking suddenly younger and more open. He shook his head slightly.
"Christ, Sam, life was bloody fantastic. Work hard, spend hard, you know? I had the bling, the flash car, hot and cold running girls - I was a walking cliché, and proud of it."
Silence. Sam watched the dust motes dance in the half-light as Nelson headed over to the bar, returning with a bottle and two glasses, pouring a generous measure for them both. The glasses clinked together in salute. Sam met Nelson’s eyes, captivated by this tale of a world he thought he’d left behind forever. "So? What happened?" he asked softly.
Nelson sighed. "Turn of the Millennium, I was at a party in Manhattan. I met this girl - Christobel. British, dripping with money, stunning. Totally out of my league, but she didn’t see it that way. Cut a long story short, we were married before the year was out. She changed me, settled me."
He finished his drink, poured another. "You remember where you were when you heard about 9/11?" Sam nodded, waiting. "Course you do. Everyone does, right? Such a momentous moment, terrible, sticks in the mind." He laughed, a short, bitter sound more like a sob. "Me, I’ve no idea. Day before, Chrissie told me I was going to be a dad. I was in a haze. September 11th, happiest day of my life. And, I don’t know, maybe I was punished for that.
"In the end, it was all so mundane. Few months later, crossing the road, some maniac ran the lights. Took me out of the game. I never stood a chance.
"I woke up here - right here, in this bar. Well, out back actually. No bloody clue what the hell was going on. Staggered in through the door, asked the nearest person where the manager was. Turned out to be your DC Skelton. He looked at me like I was a nutter, told me I was the manager, this was my pub. Well, I thought I must be dreaming, so I just settled in and got on with it. And here we are."
Chapter 7 - Requiescat
The room fell silent again. Idly Sam noticed a change in the light, as the deep shadows gave way to the monochrome lightness of the pre-dawn. Everything looked different. Nelson’s garish, dated clothes appeared suddenly incongruous on a man who clearly wasn’t of this time. Sam couldn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed before - it was so obvious now.
He frowned, deep furrows of concentration etching themselves into his forehead as he thought it through. "It’s not the same though," he said slowly, wanting to believe, not quite able to. "I hear things, see things - voices telling me to be strong, telling me to come back. Doctors and nurses talking about my condition. I’m in a coma - was in a coma. I went back."
Nelson smiled, a weary humourless grimace. "Who told you that, Sam? How do you know?"
"I - the voices. The television, radio. The phone." He shrugged. "I know, it sounds mad. But I know what I heard. You don’t have to believe me - God knows, no-one else does."
"Oh, I believe you. You just don’t understand. That’s part of it. When you understand, when you accept this, all that will stop."
"No." Sam’s mind was racing, desperate to make sense of the incredible revelations Nelson had shared. "No, you don’t understand. You see, I woke up. I WOKE UP, Nelson, back in 2006. I went back to work. I tried to carry on where I’d left off. But I couldn’t ever forget what you said to me, about knowing you’re alive when you can feel, you know? It haunted me. I felt nothing there, I tried so hard but I felt nothing. So I came back. I chose to come back."
Nelson’s eyes sparked with uncharacteristic anger. "Jesus, Sam, don’t you ever listen? Why do you think you couldn’t feel anything?" He slumped back, taking a deep breath, the anger vanishing as quickly as it had begun. "Look, I used to think like you do. When I first got here, I heard voices too. Usually Chrissie, begging me to come back. Crying, screaming, saying she needed me, the baby needed me. She said I was just being selfish, and I believed her."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. Meeting his eyes, Sam was rocked by the depths of misery he encountered. An uncomfortable sensation of shame stirred somewhere deep within him, forcing him to look away.
Nelson went on, painfully. "In the end I did the only thing I could think of. I made a choice. I was going back, whatever it took. I sank a full bottle of scotch, then smashed the bottle and got to work. As the blood flowed, I could hear Chrissie laughing, louder and louder. I could hear my baby. I started to fade out - I remember wondering if I’d be found dead here, or if I’d just disappear.
"Next thing I knew, I was in agony. DC Skelton had smashed the door down, found me lying there. How he figured out what was going on, I’ll never know. Anyway, he tipped a whole load of gin or something over the cuts on my arms. Said it was to clean them up, but it brought me round fast, I can tell you. He bandaged me up, put me to bed. I asked him, shouldn’t I be going to hospital or something, but he said what was the point in that. Then he told me. He told me it’d been the same for him. Well, in his case he was a copper, got shot on duty. But that’s not the point. The point is, the details may change, but in the end we all get here the same way."
The first shaft of daylight forced its way through the grimy window, piercing the fug and dust of the darkened bar, early promise of another glorious day. Nelson sighed, heaving himself to his feet, collecting up the glasses and half-empty bottle. He turned towards the bar, speaking without looking back.
"You didn’t choose this place, Sam. Whatever you might think. The choice was made for you before you ever got here. All you can do now is understand that and learn to live with it. Just like the rest of us."
Sam nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall behind him. Automatically his mind replayed, over and over, everything Nelson had said. He felt - well, that was the thing. Rationally, he supposed he should feel - oh, horrified, despairing maybe, even afraid. The sheer magnitude of what he had been told should surely have overwhelmed him. Instead, he was suffused with an emotion so utterly alien that he couldn’t instantly put a name to it. Maybe it was just exhaustion, the onset of the mother of all hangovers.
Nelson clattered around him, clearing away the detritus of the night, preparing the pub for the arrival of the new day’s customers. The Railway Arms kept unconventional hours, and it was far from unknown for Gene or other closet alcoholics to roll in first thing demanding a liquid breakfast to offset the evening’s excesses. The thought of having to face Gene on no sleep finally forced Sam to his feet. He creaked towards the door, turning with his hand on the handle, catching Nelson’s eye.
"Thanks," he said simply.
Nelson smiled back, white teeth gleaming, the familiar persona firmly back in place. "Peace, my friend."
And finally Sam recognised the foreign emotion for what it was, a feeling he couldn’t with certainty remember ever having encountered before. Peace. For the first time in his life, he was at peace. Flinging the door wide, he strode out to face the dawn.
EPILOGUE:
Time passes. Sam goes back to work, knows he’s on probation, takes extra care. In the end, Gene slams him up by the throat against the office wall, Gary Cooper wobbling in alarm, tells him to quit pussyfooting about like a daft bird and give them back the cocky irritating Tyler they’ve come to know and loathe. Sam, rightly, takes this as a sign that he’s forgiven.
Tentatively, he tries to draw Chris out on his former life, but Chris clearly has no idea what he’s talking about and the reference to shooting on the job starts to make him nervous, so Sam drops it. Nelson talks a bit, on late nights after closing when the two of them are alone, but over time the details get more sketchy, till eventually Sam feels he’s forcing Nelson to cling on to memories he’d rather let go. Tacitly they agree not to mention it again. Sam knows this is right, but it’s a tiny cloud on his otherwise unblemished horizon that now he’s the only one with a past.
On the plus side, there are no more phone calls. No more creepy visitors haunting his dreams from the television. No more analysis of the condition of his brain. After a while, he even forgets to get freaked out every time static noises emanate from the radio.
And then one day, relaxing in the Arms with the crew after a less-than-hectic day, he sees a young man with terrified eyes slam the phone, the bright red phone that hasn’t rung in so long, into its cradle. Sees him collapse into a chair, head buried in hands, shoulders slumped, and the last piece of the puzzle clicks into place as Sam realises what he has to do. He makes his way over to the disturbed young man, sits down next to him. "You all right, mate? Looks like you’ve had a shock."
The man stares at him, eyes wild and red-rimmed. "I’m lost."
Sam knows what to say. "You're not lost. You're where you are. And you have to make the best of it. It's all you can do."
FIN