Fic: You Can't Always Trust White Light, Posted at Lifein1973
Here is the version posted at: http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/1698342.html?#cutid1 (this is really just for me to keep track of links and reviews of the story from the community.
And for my good friends who do not belong to the community, here is the story I've been working on for the past month. If you would like to, please tell me what you think! It's quite alright if you do not understand, since not everyone has been able to see my favorite series of all time yet. But it will be released soon on region 1 DVD - so you may be able to see it soon!
Title: You Can’t Always Trust White Light
Rating: White Cortina or G for non-LOM people
Pairing: Sam/Gene - just a hint though
Spoilers: The totality of Life on Mars
Beta: I can not thank my beta, Karaokegal, enough for aiding me and walking me through the editing process (and teaching me a few things too along the way). Thank you Karaokegal!!!
Word Count: 4,145
Summary: Sam believes he’s back in 2006, but his construct would beg to differ.
Notes: This story came out of a long binge of watching Battlestar Galcatica almost nonstop - I was fascinated with how Number Six (the woman in the red dress) always appeared suddenly in Gaius Baltar’s vision and I was reviewing Life on Mars series finale and the evil plot bunny behind this story came about and wouldn’t stop bothering me until I had written this. If you haven’t seen any BSG, don’t worry, hopefully you’ll still enjoy reading this.
Disclaimer: Though quite often I wish it were, Life on Mars is not mine.
********
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."
A Dream Within a Dream Edgar Allan Poe, 1827
Sam woke up.
Bright lights, a constant stream of voices and the steady beep of a heart monitor greeted him. Shortly, a familiar face blocked the bright light above, telling him that he was fine, the tumour was benign and how proud he was of his achievement of taking care of Sam. After patting himself on the back, Dr. Morgan left Sam to the care of the nurses, no doubt on his way to save some other poor soul lost in their own coma dream.
The remainder of his time at the hospital was painfully boring, except for the daily visits from his mum. While she spent the time expressing her relief at his successful surgery, he spent the time marveling at the changes between her now and the version he had found in 1973.
On one such visit, she sat by his bedside watching the news while he was observing her. Her back was straight but relaxed. Through his childhood, he had been so caught up in his own pain of not having his father around that he’d never really seen how it had affected her. Seeing her in ’73 had brought a new appreciation for how much stronger she had to have become after Vic ran away. He continued observing her until his attention was caught by a shape in the doorway, an outline of a tall man with his hands at his hips. The bright sun streaming in from the window behind the unknown person made it impossible to see his face.
"Mum?"
"Yes dear?"
"Who is that?" he asked, pointing at the door.
She turned to look and then shook her head.
"Who dear? I don't see anyone."
“At the doorway…”
Looking up, he saw that the man was gone.
"They probably had the wrong room dear, it happens from time to time."
“Yes, yes of course…”
He suddenly was struck with the strangest feeling, maybe the person had got the correct room and perhaps the man was not a stranger at all.
********
He was released after an agonizingly long stay and was looking forward to the freedom of being home. His mum drove him to his flat and helped him up the stairs to his door. She paused, giving him the chance to convince her that he was fine and that she could go home. Sam assumed she was using maternal instinct, trying to sense trouble, but Sam was well schooled on keeping his emotions hidden. After a moment, she released him from her examination and gave him a quick hug and kiss before she left.
Sam was in his own flat, but, for some reason, it didn’t feel like he had come home. Perhaps it was the cleanliness that was making the flat feel so alien to him. He had a sudden flash of walking into his coma dream room with its eye-killing wallpaper and pathetic excuse for a bed, before blotting out the memory with the reality of his large, modern flat, complete with king-sized bed and an actual designer’s sensibility.
He promptly headed for bed, far too exhausted for anything but sleep. Crawling under the covers, his last thought was to wonder whether or not he had locked his door in case Gene tried to break it down again.
He was plagued by dreams featuring screams, tunnels and an outline of a man, but Sam couldn’t see his face. There was a loud gunshot and Sam found himself in his own bed, wide-awake and breathing hard. He knew he was in his real flat yet something was different and sensed that he wasn't alone. His gaze landed on the armchair in the corner of his bedroom.
A familiar figure sat there and this time his face was not hidden by shadow. It looked directly at him and said, "Hello Sam."
"Gene?" he asked, still out of breath from his nightmare.
Gene Hunt sat in Sam’s armchair with his arms lying on the arms of the chair, wearing dark trousers, a bright white shirt and a bright red tie. He leaned forward.
"Sam, I have something to tell you."
Sam woke up.
Sitting up he slowly scanned his bedroom only to find it empty. Flopping on to his back, he stared at the ceiling and muttered, 'Just a nightmare, just a nightmare, just a nightmare,’ he continued his litany, and soon returned to dreamless sleep.
********
Sam made the decision to return to work earlier than he’d planned, seeing an escape from the dreams that occupied his mind, both asleep and awake.
After spotting Gene during his morning jog, he called his Superintendent, almost begging to start working again. After ten minutes of logical reasons why he should start again his super finally said,
“I’ll have to discuss it with your doctor, but even if you’re given a clean bill of health, I can only authorize you to do desk duty for at least a month.”
Sam vociferously agreed with his decision, promising that desk duty would be fine for now. All he wanted was to feel useful again.
“I understand Sam, I just want to be careful. You were under for a long time. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
The next day he got the call and immediately found himself struggling against a tsunami of bureaucracy. He signed forms and promised he’d take things easy, sticking to desk duty only. It seemed that ’73 coma life had ruined his tolerance for such niceties, but was finally decided that he could return to work on Monday.
Hanging up the phone, he turned towards the kitchen, only to spot his resident ghost.
“Tyler, when the hell are you going to start listening to me?”
Sam shut his eyes tightly and willed the vision away. When he dared open them again, the kitchen was empty.
It was going to be a long three days.
********
The next two days passed slowly, though it seemed that his apparition had, thankfully, got the message.
On the second night, he had a dream. He stood on the roof of CID as he had before, when he’d been trying to the take the definitive step. This time he was standing on the safe side of the fence while Annie stood right at the edge. He begged her to come back, not to do anything stupid. He begged and begged until his voice went hoarse from screaming, while she stood there staring at him, ghostly white with blood splattered across her face.
"You promised, Sam," she whispered, sending a shiver of fear and guilt through his whole body.
Suddenly a figure came past Sam, through the fence towards Annie and walked right up to her. Without a pause, he put out his arms and pushed her off the roof. While she screamed, the figure turned towards Sam, who stood mouth agape, unable to make a sound.
Frank Morgan stood in front of him and said, "You did well Sam."
He woke up screaming.
********
The morning of the third day he went to go visit his mum.
He’d spent the rest of the night before staring up at his ceiling, fearful of another nightmare.
He arrived midday and his mum gave him a hug and brought him into the living room to sit on the sofa. He didn't speak for a few moments until he could find the words.
"Mum, I made a promise to someone, someone very important to me."
She smiled at him, "Then she's got nothing to worry about because you always keep your promises."
“Fat lot she knows about it.”
The voice came from the other side of the room. Gene Hunt sat, hands on the arms of the overstuffed armchair, with his bright white shirt, dark trousers and bright red tie.
Sam looked to his mother, who didn't seem to have noticed the stranger in her home.
“It’s you I need to talk to, not her.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ruth lay her hand against his leg to get his attention.
“Tea, love?”
Sam couldn't look away from the Guv, sitting just steps away from him. Gene nodded,
“Don’t just sit there like you’ve gone mute. Say yes. It’ll give us time to talk.”
Sam nodded, without turning his head and said, “Yes please.”
Even without looking, he could feel her concern, but she stood and went into the kitchen.
"Now then," Gene said, rubbing his hands together, looking like he was ready to hatching a particularly underhanded scheme to nick some baddie. Sam shook his head in wonder,
"How are you here Gene?"
"What do you mean, 'how am I here,’ you bloody loon? I just am."
“That’s impossible. You're just my mind trying to mess with me."
"I'm only in your head, is that it? Come on, Tyler, you’re the one who’s such a fan of science. You figure it out. Maybe I am just that so-called tumour in your head; the one that you had to get rid of in order to come home right?”
"Dr. Morgan said the tumour was benign,” he insisted, needing to impose reality on the situation.
"And we always must listen to what Mr. I mean Doctor Morgan says. Wake up you daft bugger!"
"I am awake!" Sam shouted. "This is my home."
"It don’t look like Hyde to me," Gene said, eyeing his surroundings with evident disdain.
"It's not supposed to be. It's supposed to be Manchester in 2006, and guess what? That’s exactly what it is.”
Gene sat forward.
“Is it Sam? Is it really?”
"Of course it is, because that's where I came from!"
"This isn't your world. It's not real."
"What?"
“Sam, are you okay?"
His mum came running into the room. He looked up at her and nodded.
“It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”
He’d already put her through so much.
"If you say so, dear. Tea's almost done."
As she went back into the kitchen, Sam looked back at the armchair. It was empty.
"What the bloody hell is going on," Sam muttered under his breath. He stood and walked into the kitchen to go help his mum.
********
Monday morning came around with dark clouds threatening showers, but Sam knew that even before his alarm clock buzzed as he had spent the early part of the morning staring out his window. He’d been awake for some time after yet another dream. This time he’d watched Frank Morgan push Chris under an oncoming train.
Sam knew that between his dreams and the conversation with his imaginary Gene, he should be getting extensive therapy instead of than returning to work. He’d probably be a liability to the force, rather than an asset.
The hell with that, he thought. He was a cop and he was going to do his job.
After the clock buzzed, he got up and started getting ready for work.
Choosing a dark suit, white shirt and boring tie, he had a flashback to getting dressed while he was in his coma; the bright colors and the leather jacket that had fit him perfectly from the moment he’d woken up with it on.
He was suddenly struck by a longing to see it hanging in his closet again, but modern day Sam would never go to work in such a thing. Besides all he really had were the suits in his wardrobe and stacks of workout clothes tucked neatly away in his dresser.
“That’s just pathetic.”
Sam didn’t bother looking.
“What,” he asked, still staring into the depths of his large 2006 sized closet, complete with a shoe-bag and cedar hangers.
“All you’ve got is the job. And I’ll bet your colleagues didn’t even miss you while you where gone.”
Sam felt himself falling back into his old combative patterns with Gene.
“Like anyone back in the dream misses me…would have missed me.”
“I do.”
Sam spun around, only to find…nothing. With a small sigh, he turned back to the closet and returned to the task at hand.
********
It had begun to rain by the time Sam got the station. He drank in the sight of contemporary cars and the lack of police issue bikes. He kept staring at it all, familiar and yet strange. At least he could spend his time looking around, with no DCI waiting to shout out, “Tyler, move your scrawny ass.”
“Well then, are we going in or are you going to stand around looking at the nice scenery?”
Or not. Leaning against the door, was his ex-DCI, arms folded and face in the usual mix between pout and glare.
“What the hell are you doing here? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
A PC who was walking by stopped suddenly, “Sir?”
“Watch out Sammy-boy there are people about. Don’t want these bastards catching you talking to yourself do you?” Gene’s grin was completely insufferable.
“Go ahead, Constable, I was thinking out loud.” Sam said as officially as he could and then walked straight past Gene through the doorway and into CID.
He recognized a fair number of faces, barely absorbing the new ones besides the fact that Maya’s old desk had one of those new faces at it. He received various glances and a few customary ‘hellos’ and ‘welcome back, sirs’ but felt like he was being almost studiously ignored. Through it all he felt the presence following him and it wasn’t until Sam was safely in his office, with the door firmly shut, that he turned to confront the man who was leaning against the door.
“What do you want Gene?”
“I want you to come home, Sam.”
“I am home,” he replied firmly, “I’ve told you that.”
“Deep down, you know that something ain’t right here. Everything seems normal, but yet it isn’t.”
“This is my home, Gene. Leave me the hell alone.”
“Tyler, please.”
“No! I’m done. Finished. I want to get my life going again, and I can’t if you keep popping up and making my co-workers think I’m crazy!”
“No change there.”
“That’s not the point! I’m back, all the evidence points that way.”
“All that time with me and you still haven’t learned to listen to your gut.”
Sam turned away, forcing himself to look down at his desk.
“Go away Gene, just go away.”
There was a long pause and for a moment Sam believed that Gene had, for once, listened to him and left. However that hopeful moment was dashed away when he heard the voice whisper in his ear.
“How did you know what Frank Morgan was suppose to look like, if you never met him in the real world?"
His head went up so quickly it felt like it might come off, but it seemed that Gene had left him to think this one over because he was gone.
********
The rest of the week passed quickly, as Sam had hoped it would. Even the tedium of administrative filing helped fend off any daytime hallucinations, leaving only the nighttime for the dreams in which Frank Morgan killed each of his coma co-workers in a different way.
After each nightmare, he was too shaken to face the idea of going back to sleep. Faced with hours of sleeplessness, he’d begun to tell the story of his coma dream to a tape recorder he had found in his office drawer. He knew that the act of telling someone what had happened during the coma would help, but he couldn’t yet. During his talking he found himself smiling, frowning, almost crying or even laughing out loud at the various memories, things that never seemed to happen to him now that he’d got back to where he wanted to be so badly.
So far Gene had not come back. Sam took refuge in the idea that this act was helping, but at moments he felt questions overwhelming him.
What if he had stayed? What other adventures might he have had?
He paused at the end of the story about keeping Gene from being prosecuted for the murder of Terry Haslam. Staring up at his ceiling thinking about how that case had only brought him and Gene closer together.
‘I trust you, like you trust me’ he whispered, remembering the pride he’d felt in having Gene’s trust.
“I did trust you.”
Sam looked slowly over to the armchair and there he was, leaning back staring up at the ceiling just as Sam had been doing.
“In the worse moments, when it looked like I would go down for it, even though I knew it was a stitch-up, I knew I could trust you.”
“You say it in the past-tense; you don’t trust me anymore?”
“I want to so badly Sam. Despite the fact you let us down, I still want to.”
“I didn’t know he wasn’t going to send reinforcements.”
“I know that. You were given more than you could chew, Frank Morgan certainly saw to that. Do you remember meeting him yet?”
“No, but I’m sure I will.”
“So certain? You know you haven’t met him before.”
“I must have.”
Sam sifted through his memories from before the crash, struggling to find one instance of Dr. Frank Morgan’s face but deep down he felt as though he was grasping at straws
"And yet he’s the man that you credit for getting you back 'home'. Sam, this world is as fake as Frank Morgan."
"But he was in my dream! You spoke to him, fought with him, drank with him - how could he not be real?"
"He belongs in our world, and besides I never drank with that lying bastard, only took his liquor. If I had known what he was going to do to you, I would have smashed those bottles over his stupid head.”
“Our world? You mean my coma dream.”
“You belong to our world Sam.”
“No I don’t, I never did
“Remember what Nelson said. Do you feel anything here in this world?”
“Of course I do. Because I belong here.”
Gene’s voice grew louder as he demanded, “Did you actually feel your mother touching your leg or did you only notice it when you saw her hand?”
Sam felt himself doing a double take.
“What?”
The chair was empty.
Sam stood up quickly and kicked the chair as hard as he could with every word that fell from his lips. “You son-of-a-bitch! You bastard! Stop doing this to me!”
With one final kick he fell back onto his bed and felt tears running down his face. He heard Gene’s voice whispering sadly,
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
********
There was a message waiting for him the next morning in his office. An internal memo sent down by Alex Drake, Fenchurch East’s police psychologist. Apparently she was compiling information about any police officers who had suffered from trauma.
“You should send your tapes to her.”
This time Sam could sense him looking over his shoulder.
“As soon as she hears one second of them she’s going to pull me from my work.”
“So many reasons, Sam; so many reasons.”
“Should I leave her a note saying that my...imaginary friend told me to?”
“If you really give a toss about your job I probably wouldn’t add that.”
“I haven’t finished yet.”
“You know how to finish it. Told yourself it every day, didn’t you? Just tell it one more time.”
Sam turned to look at Gene. He paused for a moment, and then picked up his tape recorder.
“My name is Sam Tyler, I had an accident and I woke up in 1973. I had no idea if I was mad or if I was in a coma or if I had gone back in time. It was like I had woken on a different planet but I know that if I could find out the reason, that I could get home. DI Sam…DCI Sam Tyler, Greater Manchester Police.”
Gene almost smiled, “Can’t even keep your real title straight, can you?”
“Not while you’re standing there.”
There was a knock at the door, which turned out to be his DC. “You wanted me to deliver something to Psych Evaluation?”
“Yeah thanks.”
He handed over the envelope with ‘Ship to Fenchurch East. Attn: Alex Drake’ on the cover.
She paused giving him a good look over. “You okay?”
“Dr. Drake is collecting data about trauma. I thought she might find my accident of passing interest.”
“No worries, sir. Remember there’s a meeting in twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, right, thanks.”
When Sam turned back he saw that for once Gene hadn’t left. The Guv gave him a curious look.
“What?”
“I thought that you’d be gone when I finished.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“I…I don’t know.”
Gene put his fingers through his belt loops and stood in the characteristic “sheriff” pose that Sam hadn’t seen since he’d woken up.
“I reckon I’ll be staying then.”
Turning around so Gene wouldn’t see, Sam smiled.
********
He found himself sitting in a conference room, surrounded by perfectly tailored suits with the ties done tightly and all buttons buttoned. It felt wrong. Sam had tried to take part in the discussion, except he was having the hardest time focusing on whatever the topic actually was. It all seemed so unimportant. Why weren’t they just going out to catch the criminals rather than talking about bothersome litigation matters?
He kept playing with his pen instead, clicking it in and out. There was also a piece of metal he had found lying at his place that someone had probably ripped off their binder. Even that was more fascinating that this meeting.
He had disappeared into his head, allowing himself to slouch backwards in his chair, while he was convinced that everyone else was currently sitting forward and attentive.
In the distance, he heard someone say his name. Then he heard a whisper in his ear.
"They're talking to you, Tyler."
He heard the question being asked again, but still couldn't focus. His gaze move about the room until he heard the man say, "Sam, look at your hand."
Looking down, he stared at the deep cut in his thumb caused by the metal bit he had been holding.
"I can't feel it," he said.
"Sorry?"
He was moving before he responded.
“I, um, excuse me.” He had to get out.
********
Sam felt the familiar presence following him up the stairs and out onto the roof. He didn't need to look back to know Gene was with him.
“I didn’t feel that.”
“I know.”
“I don’t feel anything.”
“I know.”
“Have I gone mad?”
“Are you in a coma, or back in time?” Gene said with a teasing note in his voice.
“Are you really Gene Hunt?”
“Or am I your unconscious mind trying to keep you from staying here?”
Sam felt the smile creep onto his face. “I never said that to you. I never said that I could be in a coma, time traveled or gone mad. And yet you’re saying them back to me.”
“Can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours that this isn’t your real world? Your real world doesn’t exist anymore.
“Am I dead?”
“Even I don’t know that.”
“Because I don’t?”
Gene didn’t respond, only shrugged.
"The last time I was here, Annie tried to keep me from doing what I'm thinking about doing."
“Tyler, the day you tried to jump, you stopped because you felt sand in your hand from Annie. Is today any different from that day?”
“Yes.” Sam heard his voice crack. “This time, I’m afraid.”
Gene stepped forward to place his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be. I’ll be with you the entire time.”
Sam stared at Gene’s hand, his small smile turning into a grin. “I can feel that.”
Gene grinned back.
Sam looked forward, towards the sky. Taking a deep breath, he began walking. The last thing he heard was Gene’s voice.
“I’ll see you on the other side.”
His walk turned into a jog and his jog into a full-blown sprint. Never taking his eyes from the sky, he felt the presence beside him; and with a great leap, Sam Tyler jumped from his dream.
“Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?”
A Dream Within a Dream Edgar Allan Poe, 1827
*fin.*
`
And for my good friends who do not belong to the community, here is the story I've been working on for the past month. If you would like to, please tell me what you think! It's quite alright if you do not understand, since not everyone has been able to see my favorite series of all time yet. But it will be released soon on region 1 DVD - so you may be able to see it soon!
Title: You Can’t Always Trust White Light
Rating: White Cortina or G for non-LOM people
Pairing: Sam/Gene - just a hint though
Spoilers: The totality of Life on Mars
Beta: I can not thank my beta, Karaokegal, enough for aiding me and walking me through the editing process (and teaching me a few things too along the way). Thank you Karaokegal!!!
Word Count: 4,145
Summary: Sam believes he’s back in 2006, but his construct would beg to differ.
Notes: This story came out of a long binge of watching Battlestar Galcatica almost nonstop - I was fascinated with how Number Six (the woman in the red dress) always appeared suddenly in Gaius Baltar’s vision and I was reviewing Life on Mars series finale and the evil plot bunny behind this story came about and wouldn’t stop bothering me until I had written this. If you haven’t seen any BSG, don’t worry, hopefully you’ll still enjoy reading this.
Disclaimer: Though quite often I wish it were, Life on Mars is not mine.
********
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."
A Dream Within a Dream Edgar Allan Poe, 1827
Sam woke up.
Bright lights, a constant stream of voices and the steady beep of a heart monitor greeted him. Shortly, a familiar face blocked the bright light above, telling him that he was fine, the tumour was benign and how proud he was of his achievement of taking care of Sam. After patting himself on the back, Dr. Morgan left Sam to the care of the nurses, no doubt on his way to save some other poor soul lost in their own coma dream.
The remainder of his time at the hospital was painfully boring, except for the daily visits from his mum. While she spent the time expressing her relief at his successful surgery, he spent the time marveling at the changes between her now and the version he had found in 1973.
On one such visit, she sat by his bedside watching the news while he was observing her. Her back was straight but relaxed. Through his childhood, he had been so caught up in his own pain of not having his father around that he’d never really seen how it had affected her. Seeing her in ’73 had brought a new appreciation for how much stronger she had to have become after Vic ran away. He continued observing her until his attention was caught by a shape in the doorway, an outline of a tall man with his hands at his hips. The bright sun streaming in from the window behind the unknown person made it impossible to see his face.
"Mum?"
"Yes dear?"
"Who is that?" he asked, pointing at the door.
She turned to look and then shook her head.
"Who dear? I don't see anyone."
“At the doorway…”
Looking up, he saw that the man was gone.
"They probably had the wrong room dear, it happens from time to time."
“Yes, yes of course…”
He suddenly was struck with the strangest feeling, maybe the person had got the correct room and perhaps the man was not a stranger at all.
********
He was released after an agonizingly long stay and was looking forward to the freedom of being home. His mum drove him to his flat and helped him up the stairs to his door. She paused, giving him the chance to convince her that he was fine and that she could go home. Sam assumed she was using maternal instinct, trying to sense trouble, but Sam was well schooled on keeping his emotions hidden. After a moment, she released him from her examination and gave him a quick hug and kiss before she left.
Sam was in his own flat, but, for some reason, it didn’t feel like he had come home. Perhaps it was the cleanliness that was making the flat feel so alien to him. He had a sudden flash of walking into his coma dream room with its eye-killing wallpaper and pathetic excuse for a bed, before blotting out the memory with the reality of his large, modern flat, complete with king-sized bed and an actual designer’s sensibility.
He promptly headed for bed, far too exhausted for anything but sleep. Crawling under the covers, his last thought was to wonder whether or not he had locked his door in case Gene tried to break it down again.
He was plagued by dreams featuring screams, tunnels and an outline of a man, but Sam couldn’t see his face. There was a loud gunshot and Sam found himself in his own bed, wide-awake and breathing hard. He knew he was in his real flat yet something was different and sensed that he wasn't alone. His gaze landed on the armchair in the corner of his bedroom.
A familiar figure sat there and this time his face was not hidden by shadow. It looked directly at him and said, "Hello Sam."
"Gene?" he asked, still out of breath from his nightmare.
Gene Hunt sat in Sam’s armchair with his arms lying on the arms of the chair, wearing dark trousers, a bright white shirt and a bright red tie. He leaned forward.
"Sam, I have something to tell you."
Sam woke up.
Sitting up he slowly scanned his bedroom only to find it empty. Flopping on to his back, he stared at the ceiling and muttered, 'Just a nightmare, just a nightmare, just a nightmare,’ he continued his litany, and soon returned to dreamless sleep.
********
Sam made the decision to return to work earlier than he’d planned, seeing an escape from the dreams that occupied his mind, both asleep and awake.
After spotting Gene during his morning jog, he called his Superintendent, almost begging to start working again. After ten minutes of logical reasons why he should start again his super finally said,
“I’ll have to discuss it with your doctor, but even if you’re given a clean bill of health, I can only authorize you to do desk duty for at least a month.”
Sam vociferously agreed with his decision, promising that desk duty would be fine for now. All he wanted was to feel useful again.
“I understand Sam, I just want to be careful. You were under for a long time. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
The next day he got the call and immediately found himself struggling against a tsunami of bureaucracy. He signed forms and promised he’d take things easy, sticking to desk duty only. It seemed that ’73 coma life had ruined his tolerance for such niceties, but was finally decided that he could return to work on Monday.
Hanging up the phone, he turned towards the kitchen, only to spot his resident ghost.
“Tyler, when the hell are you going to start listening to me?”
Sam shut his eyes tightly and willed the vision away. When he dared open them again, the kitchen was empty.
It was going to be a long three days.
********
The next two days passed slowly, though it seemed that his apparition had, thankfully, got the message.
On the second night, he had a dream. He stood on the roof of CID as he had before, when he’d been trying to the take the definitive step. This time he was standing on the safe side of the fence while Annie stood right at the edge. He begged her to come back, not to do anything stupid. He begged and begged until his voice went hoarse from screaming, while she stood there staring at him, ghostly white with blood splattered across her face.
"You promised, Sam," she whispered, sending a shiver of fear and guilt through his whole body.
Suddenly a figure came past Sam, through the fence towards Annie and walked right up to her. Without a pause, he put out his arms and pushed her off the roof. While she screamed, the figure turned towards Sam, who stood mouth agape, unable to make a sound.
Frank Morgan stood in front of him and said, "You did well Sam."
He woke up screaming.
********
The morning of the third day he went to go visit his mum.
He’d spent the rest of the night before staring up at his ceiling, fearful of another nightmare.
He arrived midday and his mum gave him a hug and brought him into the living room to sit on the sofa. He didn't speak for a few moments until he could find the words.
"Mum, I made a promise to someone, someone very important to me."
She smiled at him, "Then she's got nothing to worry about because you always keep your promises."
“Fat lot she knows about it.”
The voice came from the other side of the room. Gene Hunt sat, hands on the arms of the overstuffed armchair, with his bright white shirt, dark trousers and bright red tie.
Sam looked to his mother, who didn't seem to have noticed the stranger in her home.
“It’s you I need to talk to, not her.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ruth lay her hand against his leg to get his attention.
“Tea, love?”
Sam couldn't look away from the Guv, sitting just steps away from him. Gene nodded,
“Don’t just sit there like you’ve gone mute. Say yes. It’ll give us time to talk.”
Sam nodded, without turning his head and said, “Yes please.”
Even without looking, he could feel her concern, but she stood and went into the kitchen.
"Now then," Gene said, rubbing his hands together, looking like he was ready to hatching a particularly underhanded scheme to nick some baddie. Sam shook his head in wonder,
"How are you here Gene?"
"What do you mean, 'how am I here,’ you bloody loon? I just am."
“That’s impossible. You're just my mind trying to mess with me."
"I'm only in your head, is that it? Come on, Tyler, you’re the one who’s such a fan of science. You figure it out. Maybe I am just that so-called tumour in your head; the one that you had to get rid of in order to come home right?”
"Dr. Morgan said the tumour was benign,” he insisted, needing to impose reality on the situation.
"And we always must listen to what Mr. I mean Doctor Morgan says. Wake up you daft bugger!"
"I am awake!" Sam shouted. "This is my home."
"It don’t look like Hyde to me," Gene said, eyeing his surroundings with evident disdain.
"It's not supposed to be. It's supposed to be Manchester in 2006, and guess what? That’s exactly what it is.”
Gene sat forward.
“Is it Sam? Is it really?”
"Of course it is, because that's where I came from!"
"This isn't your world. It's not real."
"What?"
“Sam, are you okay?"
His mum came running into the room. He looked up at her and nodded.
“It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”
He’d already put her through so much.
"If you say so, dear. Tea's almost done."
As she went back into the kitchen, Sam looked back at the armchair. It was empty.
"What the bloody hell is going on," Sam muttered under his breath. He stood and walked into the kitchen to go help his mum.
********
Monday morning came around with dark clouds threatening showers, but Sam knew that even before his alarm clock buzzed as he had spent the early part of the morning staring out his window. He’d been awake for some time after yet another dream. This time he’d watched Frank Morgan push Chris under an oncoming train.
Sam knew that between his dreams and the conversation with his imaginary Gene, he should be getting extensive therapy instead of than returning to work. He’d probably be a liability to the force, rather than an asset.
The hell with that, he thought. He was a cop and he was going to do his job.
After the clock buzzed, he got up and started getting ready for work.
Choosing a dark suit, white shirt and boring tie, he had a flashback to getting dressed while he was in his coma; the bright colors and the leather jacket that had fit him perfectly from the moment he’d woken up with it on.
He was suddenly struck by a longing to see it hanging in his closet again, but modern day Sam would never go to work in such a thing. Besides all he really had were the suits in his wardrobe and stacks of workout clothes tucked neatly away in his dresser.
“That’s just pathetic.”
Sam didn’t bother looking.
“What,” he asked, still staring into the depths of his large 2006 sized closet, complete with a shoe-bag and cedar hangers.
“All you’ve got is the job. And I’ll bet your colleagues didn’t even miss you while you where gone.”
Sam felt himself falling back into his old combative patterns with Gene.
“Like anyone back in the dream misses me…would have missed me.”
“I do.”
Sam spun around, only to find…nothing. With a small sigh, he turned back to the closet and returned to the task at hand.
********
It had begun to rain by the time Sam got the station. He drank in the sight of contemporary cars and the lack of police issue bikes. He kept staring at it all, familiar and yet strange. At least he could spend his time looking around, with no DCI waiting to shout out, “Tyler, move your scrawny ass.”
“Well then, are we going in or are you going to stand around looking at the nice scenery?”
Or not. Leaning against the door, was his ex-DCI, arms folded and face in the usual mix between pout and glare.
“What the hell are you doing here? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
A PC who was walking by stopped suddenly, “Sir?”
“Watch out Sammy-boy there are people about. Don’t want these bastards catching you talking to yourself do you?” Gene’s grin was completely insufferable.
“Go ahead, Constable, I was thinking out loud.” Sam said as officially as he could and then walked straight past Gene through the doorway and into CID.
He recognized a fair number of faces, barely absorbing the new ones besides the fact that Maya’s old desk had one of those new faces at it. He received various glances and a few customary ‘hellos’ and ‘welcome back, sirs’ but felt like he was being almost studiously ignored. Through it all he felt the presence following him and it wasn’t until Sam was safely in his office, with the door firmly shut, that he turned to confront the man who was leaning against the door.
“What do you want Gene?”
“I want you to come home, Sam.”
“I am home,” he replied firmly, “I’ve told you that.”
“Deep down, you know that something ain’t right here. Everything seems normal, but yet it isn’t.”
“This is my home, Gene. Leave me the hell alone.”
“Tyler, please.”
“No! I’m done. Finished. I want to get my life going again, and I can’t if you keep popping up and making my co-workers think I’m crazy!”
“No change there.”
“That’s not the point! I’m back, all the evidence points that way.”
“All that time with me and you still haven’t learned to listen to your gut.”
Sam turned away, forcing himself to look down at his desk.
“Go away Gene, just go away.”
There was a long pause and for a moment Sam believed that Gene had, for once, listened to him and left. However that hopeful moment was dashed away when he heard the voice whisper in his ear.
“How did you know what Frank Morgan was suppose to look like, if you never met him in the real world?"
His head went up so quickly it felt like it might come off, but it seemed that Gene had left him to think this one over because he was gone.
********
The rest of the week passed quickly, as Sam had hoped it would. Even the tedium of administrative filing helped fend off any daytime hallucinations, leaving only the nighttime for the dreams in which Frank Morgan killed each of his coma co-workers in a different way.
After each nightmare, he was too shaken to face the idea of going back to sleep. Faced with hours of sleeplessness, he’d begun to tell the story of his coma dream to a tape recorder he had found in his office drawer. He knew that the act of telling someone what had happened during the coma would help, but he couldn’t yet. During his talking he found himself smiling, frowning, almost crying or even laughing out loud at the various memories, things that never seemed to happen to him now that he’d got back to where he wanted to be so badly.
So far Gene had not come back. Sam took refuge in the idea that this act was helping, but at moments he felt questions overwhelming him.
What if he had stayed? What other adventures might he have had?
He paused at the end of the story about keeping Gene from being prosecuted for the murder of Terry Haslam. Staring up at his ceiling thinking about how that case had only brought him and Gene closer together.
‘I trust you, like you trust me’ he whispered, remembering the pride he’d felt in having Gene’s trust.
“I did trust you.”
Sam looked slowly over to the armchair and there he was, leaning back staring up at the ceiling just as Sam had been doing.
“In the worse moments, when it looked like I would go down for it, even though I knew it was a stitch-up, I knew I could trust you.”
“You say it in the past-tense; you don’t trust me anymore?”
“I want to so badly Sam. Despite the fact you let us down, I still want to.”
“I didn’t know he wasn’t going to send reinforcements.”
“I know that. You were given more than you could chew, Frank Morgan certainly saw to that. Do you remember meeting him yet?”
“No, but I’m sure I will.”
“So certain? You know you haven’t met him before.”
“I must have.”
Sam sifted through his memories from before the crash, struggling to find one instance of Dr. Frank Morgan’s face but deep down he felt as though he was grasping at straws
"And yet he’s the man that you credit for getting you back 'home'. Sam, this world is as fake as Frank Morgan."
"But he was in my dream! You spoke to him, fought with him, drank with him - how could he not be real?"
"He belongs in our world, and besides I never drank with that lying bastard, only took his liquor. If I had known what he was going to do to you, I would have smashed those bottles over his stupid head.”
“Our world? You mean my coma dream.”
“You belong to our world Sam.”
“No I don’t, I never did
“Remember what Nelson said. Do you feel anything here in this world?”
“Of course I do. Because I belong here.”
Gene’s voice grew louder as he demanded, “Did you actually feel your mother touching your leg or did you only notice it when you saw her hand?”
Sam felt himself doing a double take.
“What?”
The chair was empty.
Sam stood up quickly and kicked the chair as hard as he could with every word that fell from his lips. “You son-of-a-bitch! You bastard! Stop doing this to me!”
With one final kick he fell back onto his bed and felt tears running down his face. He heard Gene’s voice whispering sadly,
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
********
There was a message waiting for him the next morning in his office. An internal memo sent down by Alex Drake, Fenchurch East’s police psychologist. Apparently she was compiling information about any police officers who had suffered from trauma.
“You should send your tapes to her.”
This time Sam could sense him looking over his shoulder.
“As soon as she hears one second of them she’s going to pull me from my work.”
“So many reasons, Sam; so many reasons.”
“Should I leave her a note saying that my...imaginary friend told me to?”
“If you really give a toss about your job I probably wouldn’t add that.”
“I haven’t finished yet.”
“You know how to finish it. Told yourself it every day, didn’t you? Just tell it one more time.”
Sam turned to look at Gene. He paused for a moment, and then picked up his tape recorder.
“My name is Sam Tyler, I had an accident and I woke up in 1973. I had no idea if I was mad or if I was in a coma or if I had gone back in time. It was like I had woken on a different planet but I know that if I could find out the reason, that I could get home. DI Sam…DCI Sam Tyler, Greater Manchester Police.”
Gene almost smiled, “Can’t even keep your real title straight, can you?”
“Not while you’re standing there.”
There was a knock at the door, which turned out to be his DC. “You wanted me to deliver something to Psych Evaluation?”
“Yeah thanks.”
He handed over the envelope with ‘Ship to Fenchurch East. Attn: Alex Drake’ on the cover.
She paused giving him a good look over. “You okay?”
“Dr. Drake is collecting data about trauma. I thought she might find my accident of passing interest.”
“No worries, sir. Remember there’s a meeting in twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, right, thanks.”
When Sam turned back he saw that for once Gene hadn’t left. The Guv gave him a curious look.
“What?”
“I thought that you’d be gone when I finished.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“I…I don’t know.”
Gene put his fingers through his belt loops and stood in the characteristic “sheriff” pose that Sam hadn’t seen since he’d woken up.
“I reckon I’ll be staying then.”
Turning around so Gene wouldn’t see, Sam smiled.
********
He found himself sitting in a conference room, surrounded by perfectly tailored suits with the ties done tightly and all buttons buttoned. It felt wrong. Sam had tried to take part in the discussion, except he was having the hardest time focusing on whatever the topic actually was. It all seemed so unimportant. Why weren’t they just going out to catch the criminals rather than talking about bothersome litigation matters?
He kept playing with his pen instead, clicking it in and out. There was also a piece of metal he had found lying at his place that someone had probably ripped off their binder. Even that was more fascinating that this meeting.
He had disappeared into his head, allowing himself to slouch backwards in his chair, while he was convinced that everyone else was currently sitting forward and attentive.
In the distance, he heard someone say his name. Then he heard a whisper in his ear.
"They're talking to you, Tyler."
He heard the question being asked again, but still couldn't focus. His gaze move about the room until he heard the man say, "Sam, look at your hand."
Looking down, he stared at the deep cut in his thumb caused by the metal bit he had been holding.
"I can't feel it," he said.
"Sorry?"
He was moving before he responded.
“I, um, excuse me.” He had to get out.
********
Sam felt the familiar presence following him up the stairs and out onto the roof. He didn't need to look back to know Gene was with him.
“I didn’t feel that.”
“I know.”
“I don’t feel anything.”
“I know.”
“Have I gone mad?”
“Are you in a coma, or back in time?” Gene said with a teasing note in his voice.
“Are you really Gene Hunt?”
“Or am I your unconscious mind trying to keep you from staying here?”
Sam felt the smile creep onto his face. “I never said that to you. I never said that I could be in a coma, time traveled or gone mad. And yet you’re saying them back to me.”
“Can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours that this isn’t your real world? Your real world doesn’t exist anymore.
“Am I dead?”
“Even I don’t know that.”
“Because I don’t?”
Gene didn’t respond, only shrugged.
"The last time I was here, Annie tried to keep me from doing what I'm thinking about doing."
“Tyler, the day you tried to jump, you stopped because you felt sand in your hand from Annie. Is today any different from that day?”
“Yes.” Sam heard his voice crack. “This time, I’m afraid.”
Gene stepped forward to place his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be. I’ll be with you the entire time.”
Sam stared at Gene’s hand, his small smile turning into a grin. “I can feel that.”
Gene grinned back.
Sam looked forward, towards the sky. Taking a deep breath, he began walking. The last thing he heard was Gene’s voice.
“I’ll see you on the other side.”
His walk turned into a jog and his jog into a full-blown sprint. Never taking his eyes from the sky, he felt the presence beside him; and with a great leap, Sam Tyler jumped from his dream.
“Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?”
A Dream Within a Dream Edgar Allan Poe, 1827
*fin.*
`