Fanfic: Phantasamnesia, Life on Mars (R-rated for character death, dark)
Title: Phantasamnesia
Rating: R/Red Cortina for character death, dark (non-sexual)
Word Count: 721 words
Notes: Spoilers for the whole series, no pairings. Title inspired by the brilliant psychological thriller novel of the same name by Thomas Olde Heuvelt, but unfortunately as far as I know, it's only available in Dutch
Summary: Who is the real Sam?
Memory is a funny thing. Sometimes, it can make you forget true things, and replace them with the fantasy that you want to remember.
~
“You’re a meanie, you know that, Sammy?”
Sam groaned and wished he had something heavier within reach to throw at the TV than a shoe. Despite its overall lack of comfort, he didn’t want to move from the cot.
“Meanie, meanie, meanie.” The little girl in red sing-songed, off in her own world from which she decided to bother him.
Maybe the telephone. But wouldn’t it lose velocity, or not reach the TV altogether with the cable on it? Maybe a shoe would work after all.
“You wanna know why?” She continued in a voice all children knew how to use, that ‘I know something you don’t know’ one.
“No.”
“You’re no fun. But I knew that already. Just look at this place.” She sounded like she was scrunching up her face.
“I didn’t choose it. And the wallpaper came with it.”
“But you did.”
“No, I didn’t.” He replied automatically before he realised how futile it would be to get into a ‘did-didn’t’ argument with a little kid.
“You did. It’s your mind, silly.”
“So what?”
“So... if this is what your mind is like, then who is the real Sam?”
“What?” This time he did sit up to look at her. Then his attention was drawn to the TV screen. For once, there wasn’t a TV show that had people were talking with the voices of his loved ones. No, it was himself staring back at him. Sam in an immaculate suit that he almost didn’t recognise anymore, clean-shaven, no sideburns, putting on a tie... he realised after a moment it must be a memory of him getting ready for work in the morning, watching himself in the mirror. “How did...”
“It’s your mind.” She repeated, as if it explained everything.
“Then why?” He changed the question, looking to her for the answer.
“If that is the real Sammy, then why isn’t this world perfect?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a reflection of your mind, Sam. If that...” She waved her clown doll’s arm at the screen, to the figure that was checking wrinkles in his suit “... is the real Sam, then this world should be perfect, by-the-book, black and white. A world in which your father would have stayed. Where your mother liked you. Where you are head of the police and everyone’s happy because you protect them. And yet, what is here? Drugs, rape, torturing of suspects... murder. You created them, Sammy... why are you so mean to them?”
“I’m not! It’s not... I didn’t choose...”
“It’s like a game, isn’t it... who is the real Sammy?” She said with a bright smile, obviously thinking it was the best game ever.
“Shut up! Leave me alone!”
“You are a meanie, Sam Tyler...” She said before she finally disappeared.
~
He only felt the sting on his finger when he looked at it, fascinated by the blood welling up from the wound. He suddenly realised that was the only time since the coma that he could feel. “Excuse me...” Sam said quietly to the others before leaving the meeting room. He’d felt so dull ever since he came back, lifeless, and it took that moment of pain to realise why. He’d donned the mask again since his return, but now it felt so ill-fitting.
He stood silently on the rooftop, letting the cold wind wash over him, breaking away the mask and its grip on his mind piece by piece. True memories were starting to surface, like the debris of a sunken ship.
Warren hadn’t killed Joni...
“Sam? Are you alright?” Maya joined him, concern written over her lovely features.
... Because Sam found her first.
Such a pretty face. “Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Vic Tyler had disappeared...
“Running out of that meeting like that... it’s not you.”
... Because no one ever found the spot where Sam buried the body.
“This is me.” At her look of confusion, he put an arm around her and walked closer to the edge “Let me show you something...”
Gene, Annie, Ray and Chris weren’t yelling ‘Sam!’ to beg for help...
“Sam?”
... It was begging for mercy. Sam was holding the smoking gun.
And it was Maya who flew from the roof, with Sam’s help.
The real Sam.