Fic - Judder (LoM)
TITLE: Judder
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
RATING: Red Cortina for brain-breakage. Gen, Warning for character death, ish. Spoilers for the first episode of Ashes to Ashes
WORD COUNT: 1,620 words
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was written for the 1973flashfic Hallowe'en Challenge, but I managed to miss the deadline due to pubbage. Ah well! With many thanks to my beta, jantalaimon.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Judder
Sam's enjoying this particular car chase, getting his adrenaline pumping in a way that it hasn't for ages. Everything has been perfect these last six years, ever since he came back. And there's been nothing, no intervention of 'other' in all that time. No voices on the radio, no creepy little girls in red. Just him and his friends; the possibility of a promotion in the near future, a beautiful wife, a baby on the way. A perfect, charmed life.
He keeps his eyes peeled on the car in front, swerving in front of him, and he keeps updating Control on his position, even though reception is uncommonly poor on this particular radio. He just hopes that Control is getting enough to get a blockade out in front of the getaway car.
He shivers as he keeps on driving, pedal to the floor. It's cold. He's cold. To tell the truth, Sam hasn't really felt warm for ages. It's a creeping chill, settling into his bones, but he's not said a word to anyone. He can't get sick, not now.
He sees a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and, even though he knows he shouldn't take his mind off the road at this point, he automatically turns his head to track the movement.
There's nothing there. Just a row of terrace houses, their matching counterparts across the road long gone, thanks to Hitler. Sam breathes deeply and turns back to concentrate on the road.
It's too late. He hits something, the kerb, an object, he doesn't know, and it propels him across the road, narrowly missing a car coming the other way. The car carries straight on, up onto the pavement, through a flimsy wooden fence and across a stretch of grass and weeds which was once Arlington Terrace.
Twisting the wheel, stamping the brake, Sam tries to bring the car under control, but it's as if something else is controlling the car. It rolls faster and faster over the uneven ground, bumping and shaking, rattling Sam about in its interior like a pea in a tin can.
There's a savage jolt, knocking Sam's head hard against the door frame and then a brief sense of flying before the car mercifully stops.
Big splats of rain start to hit the roof and Sam can't help but think that it sounds like gravel hitting a wooden lid. He's disorientated, but okay, he thinks. He would just like to know where he is.
And then the icy chill of water starting to seep in through the footwell finally registers and Sam realises he's managed to land in the river. And now time is of the essence. He knows the only way he's getting out of here alive is by getting out of the car quickly. Waiting for the inside and outside to equalise in pressure will take too long.
He struggles with his seatbelt, slick under his fingers and he realises that he's also bleeding. With relief it finally comes undone and he starts to work on the door. It's already jammed shut with the weight of water on the other side, but he can open the window. He breathes a prayer of thanks for living in the times before all-pervasive electric motors turned cars in to moveable death traps and grits his teeth against the freezing cold water now pouring in through the open window.
It's a tight fit and he's so cold, so cold as he pushes up and through the filthy river water. His feet catch in the door and he has to spend precious seconds struggling before he finally kicks free and then he's rising through the water, to break on the surface, aching lungs struggling against their confinement to breath deeply of the sweet clean air.
The current is strong, but he makes it on to the bank and lies there for a second to catch his breath. He needs out of these wet clothes, he needs to contact Control, he needs to…
Something strange is happening. His skin feels tight and plastic, his lungs too small. He feels as if he's shrinking in the cold air. He tries to lever himself off the cold ground, to start moving, to survive. But it's impossible, his limbs are becoming unresponsive, stiff, solid. Sam can only lie there in the long grass, gazing up at the grey sky, so much vaster than he ever imagined, unconsidered and unseen as the rain falls faster.
* * * * *
By the time the police have got to the scene of the accident, it's raining hard. The grass is wet and slippery and even with the rain washing away the evidence, it's still easy to see what has happened. As a consequence, it's only when a young PC recognises the car registration from the All Persons Broadcast that CID are told.
* * * * *
Gene wants to rant and rail against the news that Sam's car has been discovered in the Irwell, Sam himself nowhere to be found. He wants to organise search parties and scour every inch of Manchester until his missing DI turns up. He wants to walk into the CID offices and see that Tyler is sat at his desk, still trying to get warm from his dunking. He wants to ask Neptune himself to return his employee, his friend, back to him, safe and sound.
He wants to have hope.
"Someone needs to tell Annie," he remarks instead to the squad, idly chewing on some gum in lieu of attempting to light a cigarette in this foul weather.
"I'll do it," Ray responds with no great enthusiasm.
"And go easy on her. Just give her the basic facts; that Sam is currently missing. She's expecting."
Ray's eyes widen and Gene mentally kicks himself. That was supposed to be a secret. "But don't let on you know, eh? Tyler doesn't want it spread around."
Ray nods, once, decisively. "Don't worry, Guv," he agrees in a soft voice, "she'll be fine."
Gene turns back to the scene of the accident, effectively dismissing his Sergeant, and frowns.
"Perhaps the Boss left the car and chased after the blaggers on foot," offers Chris.
"Don't be such a div, Skelton. One set of tire tracks. And Norris and Jones were picked up over to the west. If Tyler was in charge of this vehicle, then he lost control of it back there and managed to drive into the river."
And in his attempt to escape, he opened the window, somehow lost consciousness and was washed downstream he silently continues. But that's a doubt to vocalise another day.
Gene claps his hands together more in an effort to get warm. "Come on Chris, plenty of stuff to do back at the station," and Gene turns to walk back to the Cortina, his foot hitting something on the ground as he does so. Gene immediately bends down to see what it is.
"What is it, Guv? Is it a clue?" Chris looks round the heavy bulk of Gene at the object.
Gene shakes his head, disappointed. "No. Just a doll. Some kid probably dropped it days ago. Though it's a bit unusual, isn't it, a male doll?"
"All the rage nowadays," Chris remarks. "Action Man, and whathaveyou."
Gene gives Chris a sharp look, "Still weird, though. He doesn't look like an action man. Whatever is the world coming to, eh? Boys playing with dolls?" He goes to drop the strange toy back on the ground, but something about it stops him. "I'll, er, take it back to the station, hand it in. Some kid might want it back."
It sounds unconvincing even to Gene's ears, but he does it anyway. It's highly unlikely that the doll will ever be collected. And until that day, then the doll will sit in Lost and Found. For some inexplicable reason, that thought fills Gene with a strange warmth.
* * * * *
Of course, against expectation, the doll is claimed. A small girl comes skipping into the station not two hours later, another toy clutched tight in her arms. Gene wouldn't normally get involved, but he's just passing the front desk at the time and Phyllis collars him.
"Guv, as you brought the blasted thing in, you can go and get it. You know where you put it."
For a brief second he wants to deny that he ever saw the doll. But then common sense prevails and, flustered, he goes to collect the object from Lost and Found without any objections, handing it over to the little girl as Phyllis looks on with an approving almost-smile.
"There you are!" the little girl scolds as she takes the doll from Gene's hands. She tucks her other doll under her arm for a minute and waves an admonishing finger in front of its face. "I thought you'd got lost!"
"That's an unusual dolly for a little girl," Gene remarks casually.
"Oh, he's not mine," remarks the girl. "He's Bubbles' dolly." And she untucks the second doll from under her arm and shows it to Gene.
It's a cloth clown doll, crudely made, with yellow yarn hair and lurid green body. For some reason he makes Gene feel uneasy.
"Well, Bubbles," he says carefully. "I'm glad you got your dolly back."
The girl grins broadly. "Bubbles says thank you very much, Mister."
"Well then, be off with you. I bet your Mother is wondering where you've got to."
"Oh, no. Mister," the girl remarks cheerfully. "Goodbye." And she turns and skips out of the door.
But as she does so, he hears her speak once more to the little doll with the leather jacket, her words sending a wholly unexpected shiver down his spine.
"There you go Sammy," she whispers, "I knew you'd come back to me."
The End
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
RATING: Red Cortina for brain-breakage. Gen, Warning for character death, ish. Spoilers for the first episode of Ashes to Ashes
WORD COUNT: 1,620 words
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was written for the 1973flashfic Hallowe'en Challenge, but I managed to miss the deadline due to pubbage. Ah well! With many thanks to my beta, jantalaimon.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Judder
Sam's enjoying this particular car chase, getting his adrenaline pumping in a way that it hasn't for ages. Everything has been perfect these last six years, ever since he came back. And there's been nothing, no intervention of 'other' in all that time. No voices on the radio, no creepy little girls in red. Just him and his friends; the possibility of a promotion in the near future, a beautiful wife, a baby on the way. A perfect, charmed life.
He keeps his eyes peeled on the car in front, swerving in front of him, and he keeps updating Control on his position, even though reception is uncommonly poor on this particular radio. He just hopes that Control is getting enough to get a blockade out in front of the getaway car.
He shivers as he keeps on driving, pedal to the floor. It's cold. He's cold. To tell the truth, Sam hasn't really felt warm for ages. It's a creeping chill, settling into his bones, but he's not said a word to anyone. He can't get sick, not now.
He sees a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and, even though he knows he shouldn't take his mind off the road at this point, he automatically turns his head to track the movement.
There's nothing there. Just a row of terrace houses, their matching counterparts across the road long gone, thanks to Hitler. Sam breathes deeply and turns back to concentrate on the road.
It's too late. He hits something, the kerb, an object, he doesn't know, and it propels him across the road, narrowly missing a car coming the other way. The car carries straight on, up onto the pavement, through a flimsy wooden fence and across a stretch of grass and weeds which was once Arlington Terrace.
Twisting the wheel, stamping the brake, Sam tries to bring the car under control, but it's as if something else is controlling the car. It rolls faster and faster over the uneven ground, bumping and shaking, rattling Sam about in its interior like a pea in a tin can.
There's a savage jolt, knocking Sam's head hard against the door frame and then a brief sense of flying before the car mercifully stops.
Big splats of rain start to hit the roof and Sam can't help but think that it sounds like gravel hitting a wooden lid. He's disorientated, but okay, he thinks. He would just like to know where he is.
And then the icy chill of water starting to seep in through the footwell finally registers and Sam realises he's managed to land in the river. And now time is of the essence. He knows the only way he's getting out of here alive is by getting out of the car quickly. Waiting for the inside and outside to equalise in pressure will take too long.
He struggles with his seatbelt, slick under his fingers and he realises that he's also bleeding. With relief it finally comes undone and he starts to work on the door. It's already jammed shut with the weight of water on the other side, but he can open the window. He breathes a prayer of thanks for living in the times before all-pervasive electric motors turned cars in to moveable death traps and grits his teeth against the freezing cold water now pouring in through the open window.
It's a tight fit and he's so cold, so cold as he pushes up and through the filthy river water. His feet catch in the door and he has to spend precious seconds struggling before he finally kicks free and then he's rising through the water, to break on the surface, aching lungs struggling against their confinement to breath deeply of the sweet clean air.
The current is strong, but he makes it on to the bank and lies there for a second to catch his breath. He needs out of these wet clothes, he needs to contact Control, he needs to…
Something strange is happening. His skin feels tight and plastic, his lungs too small. He feels as if he's shrinking in the cold air. He tries to lever himself off the cold ground, to start moving, to survive. But it's impossible, his limbs are becoming unresponsive, stiff, solid. Sam can only lie there in the long grass, gazing up at the grey sky, so much vaster than he ever imagined, unconsidered and unseen as the rain falls faster.
* * * * *
By the time the police have got to the scene of the accident, it's raining hard. The grass is wet and slippery and even with the rain washing away the evidence, it's still easy to see what has happened. As a consequence, it's only when a young PC recognises the car registration from the All Persons Broadcast that CID are told.
* * * * *
Gene wants to rant and rail against the news that Sam's car has been discovered in the Irwell, Sam himself nowhere to be found. He wants to organise search parties and scour every inch of Manchester until his missing DI turns up. He wants to walk into the CID offices and see that Tyler is sat at his desk, still trying to get warm from his dunking. He wants to ask Neptune himself to return his employee, his friend, back to him, safe and sound.
He wants to have hope.
"Someone needs to tell Annie," he remarks instead to the squad, idly chewing on some gum in lieu of attempting to light a cigarette in this foul weather.
"I'll do it," Ray responds with no great enthusiasm.
"And go easy on her. Just give her the basic facts; that Sam is currently missing. She's expecting."
Ray's eyes widen and Gene mentally kicks himself. That was supposed to be a secret. "But don't let on you know, eh? Tyler doesn't want it spread around."
Ray nods, once, decisively. "Don't worry, Guv," he agrees in a soft voice, "she'll be fine."
Gene turns back to the scene of the accident, effectively dismissing his Sergeant, and frowns.
"Perhaps the Boss left the car and chased after the blaggers on foot," offers Chris.
"Don't be such a div, Skelton. One set of tire tracks. And Norris and Jones were picked up over to the west. If Tyler was in charge of this vehicle, then he lost control of it back there and managed to drive into the river."
And in his attempt to escape, he opened the window, somehow lost consciousness and was washed downstream he silently continues. But that's a doubt to vocalise another day.
Gene claps his hands together more in an effort to get warm. "Come on Chris, plenty of stuff to do back at the station," and Gene turns to walk back to the Cortina, his foot hitting something on the ground as he does so. Gene immediately bends down to see what it is.
"What is it, Guv? Is it a clue?" Chris looks round the heavy bulk of Gene at the object.
Gene shakes his head, disappointed. "No. Just a doll. Some kid probably dropped it days ago. Though it's a bit unusual, isn't it, a male doll?"
"All the rage nowadays," Chris remarks. "Action Man, and whathaveyou."
Gene gives Chris a sharp look, "Still weird, though. He doesn't look like an action man. Whatever is the world coming to, eh? Boys playing with dolls?" He goes to drop the strange toy back on the ground, but something about it stops him. "I'll, er, take it back to the station, hand it in. Some kid might want it back."
It sounds unconvincing even to Gene's ears, but he does it anyway. It's highly unlikely that the doll will ever be collected. And until that day, then the doll will sit in Lost and Found. For some inexplicable reason, that thought fills Gene with a strange warmth.
* * * * *
Of course, against expectation, the doll is claimed. A small girl comes skipping into the station not two hours later, another toy clutched tight in her arms. Gene wouldn't normally get involved, but he's just passing the front desk at the time and Phyllis collars him.
"Guv, as you brought the blasted thing in, you can go and get it. You know where you put it."
For a brief second he wants to deny that he ever saw the doll. But then common sense prevails and, flustered, he goes to collect the object from Lost and Found without any objections, handing it over to the little girl as Phyllis looks on with an approving almost-smile.
"There you are!" the little girl scolds as she takes the doll from Gene's hands. She tucks her other doll under her arm for a minute and waves an admonishing finger in front of its face. "I thought you'd got lost!"
"That's an unusual dolly for a little girl," Gene remarks casually.
"Oh, he's not mine," remarks the girl. "He's Bubbles' dolly." And she untucks the second doll from under her arm and shows it to Gene.
It's a cloth clown doll, crudely made, with yellow yarn hair and lurid green body. For some reason he makes Gene feel uneasy.
"Well, Bubbles," he says carefully. "I'm glad you got your dolly back."
The girl grins broadly. "Bubbles says thank you very much, Mister."
"Well then, be off with you. I bet your Mother is wondering where you've got to."
"Oh, no. Mister," the girl remarks cheerfully. "Goodbye." And she turns and skips out of the door.
But as she does so, he hears her speak once more to the little doll with the leather jacket, her words sending a wholly unexpected shiver down his spine.
"There you go Sammy," she whispers, "I knew you'd come back to me."
The End