Fic: The Kept Man (24/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (24/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2570 this part; [46,349 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf. Sorry for the delay. Apparently, throat infections don't care whether or not you've left Sam in a life or death situation. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
“Excellent, Sam. I knew you’d come through,” Morgan smiled. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely,” Sam nodded eagerly. “Once I’m inside the club I should be able to locate evidence that will implicate both Gene Hunt and Stephen Warren--”
“Williams...” Morgan smiled and Sam noticed that DCI Morgan had many different smiles. One for when he was pleased, one for when he was frustrated, and one for when he was disappointed. There were probably plenty more besides that. “The main focus of this operation is Hunt.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any information you obtain on Stephen Warren’s illicit activities will have to be handed over to the local department. Warren’s simply outside our jurisdiction.”
“But, the local authorities are all on his payroll. Sir.” How could he make Morgan understand? How could he make him see they needed to be rid of Warren as well?
“I’m sorry, Sam, but you need to stay focused on Hunt.” Smile number four: annoyance. “Get rid of him, and then you can come home.” Smile number five: condescension.
That was the magic word, wasn’t it? Home. Sam had never felt at home since he’d came here. Everything was a little off. A little different. A little old. Familiar, but not, at the same time. Especially at the station. Maybe the Hyde station was built very similarly to the one here in Manchester?
“Tell me...about home.”
“About Hyde?” Smile number six: confusion.
“About my life. Where I live. Who I work with. My parents. My friends. Wasn’t anyone looking for me when I was missing?”
“Sam, your parents, David and Brenda, both died in a coach crash when you were twelve.”
If Sam hadn’t already finished his tea, he would have spilt it all over the table as he nervously shifted in his chair and waved his hands in front of his face. “Wait. Wait. Wait. That...that can’t be right.” Who was that woman on the phone, then?
Morgan sighed. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you, before you were safely back with us.”
“No. You’re wrong. I’d know if my parents were dead. I’d know.”
“I’m sorry, Sam--”
“What about friends then? My mates? Who do I spend time with?”
“Most of your time is spent at the station, Sam. It’s one of the reasons you made DCI at such a young age. Completely devoted to the job.”
Sam laughed nervously. “So, you’re telling me I don’t have any friends?”
“You are very close to some of your co-workers.”
“My DI,” Sam whispered, picturing the woman’s face. “We’re close, aren’t we?”
“Well, yes. I’d have to say that you and DI Meyers get on quite well.”
“That’s her name? Meyers?”
“Her?”
“I remember that much. I have memories of working with her, performing interrogations, going over files...”
“Sam. There are no female DI’s in our division. In any division, that I’m aware of.”
“But--”
“Roy Meyers is the only DI you’ve ever had. Try to remember.”
Sam was. He’d been trying for so hard, for so long. Morgan’s arrival was supposed to explain everything. So how did everything suddenly become even more muddled? “It’s getting late. I should get to The Warren,” he whispered, pushing himself away from the table.
“You will remember, Sam. I know you will.” Smile number seven: doubt.
Beep. Beep. We’re ready to begin the procedure. Beep. Beep.
*
Gene had been staring at the phone for about three hours. It had been approximately two hours and fifty-seven minutes since Tyler had decided to run back to Warren. No. That wasn’t what he was doing. He was doing his job. He was trying to solve a case. Two cases. He and that Joni must have been close. Sam had told him once that he didn’t trust any of the girls, but it was her name he had mentioned when he had risked his life to sneak out and see him.
He was acting like a detective. He was doing his job. How could he do his job when he had no memories of doing his job? He was a detective, though. It was in his blood. It was something inherent in every copper. Not even something as ridiculous as amnesia could tear it out them. It was part of their very soul. Every time Sam was forced to use his instincts, it was his copper’s instincts that came through.
Still, the lad worried him. He’d been abused, damaged, by his time under Warren’s thumb. They all had, but what Sam had been through, it was so much worse than taking a bribe to ignore an assault, a shipment of dodgy merchandise. He knew Tyler would try. He knew Sam would do everything he could to keep his mind out of Warren’s grasp. Would it be enough?
Three hours and fifteen minutes and the phone was still silent. He could be fine. He could already be dead. If something was going to happen to him, who would want to know? He was someone’s son. Maybe even someone’s father. Someone’s mate. If something happened to him, would that shifty bastard Morgan even inform his family? Would those that mattered even get the truth?
Three hours and twenty minutes. Nothing. Gene picked up the phone and waited impatiently to be connected via the operator.
“This is DCI Hunt, A-Division Manchester. I need anything you poncey Hyde gits can tell me about DI Sam Tyler.”
*
He was going to get to Warren’s. He was.
Beep. Beep. Patient is stable. Then let’s begin. Beep. Beep.
He was just taking the long way around. It took him an hour, but he had finally made it into Warren’s territory. He’d gotten that far.
Beep. Beep. It’s going to be a very complicated procedure. We need to be careful. Beep. Beep.
He just needed to gather his mental strength together. He was still trying to figure out how to show up on Warren’s doorstep without being shot or stabbed on sight. He’d signed out a gun from the armory before he left, but it would defeat the purpose of going undercover if he shot the man he was meant to get close to.
So, he didn’t know if he should go for the penitential little boy approach, lots of tears, lots of begging, or if he should go for excuses. Hunt made him stay. Hunt wasn’t as stupid as Sam had thought. He hadn’t been able to drug him. The camera had broken.
Each thought seemed more pathetic than the last. Each thought remained unfocused because of what Morgan had just told him. His parents were dead. There were no female DI’s. He had no mates. The last one didn’t seem hard to believe, but the rest, he just didn’t understand. When Gene had told him he was a copper, it was hard to believe, but it felt right. When he stirred up the memories of that woman police officer, when he pictured his mother’s voice, that all felt right.
Beep. Beep. We have to make sure we extract the exact spot. Beep. Beep.
It felt like he was on the brink of remembering. Clinging to the few scraps of memories he had, he felt them drawing him to the truth, and it wasn’t Morgan’s truth, and it wasn’t Warren’s, and it wasn’t Gene’s.
“Sammy!”
It was his own. His own gut feeling.
“You used to believe in gut feeling. What happened?”
“Sammy, come back here.”
“Nothing.”
“Sam, what is going on in there?”
“Look, I can’t think about this now, okay? I’m going to stand you down from the case, Maya.”
Sam stood stock still. Maya. Maya Roy. Her name was Maya Roy. Her name was Maya Roy and they, they’d been living together. They’d been living together and...
Sam’s train of thought was distracted as something small ran into his leg.
“Sammy! Oh, I’m so sorry, sir.” A woman rushed over and scooped the small projectile off the ground. “I told him not to go after the football, but you know how little boys are.”
“Oh, it’s...it’s alright,” he smiled and studied her, examining her own smile, her soft, blonde hair. She seemed so familiar. “I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”
“No, I don’t believe so. We’re a bit new to the neighborhood.” Her little boy was tugging at her apron.
“Me, too. Well, sort of.” He couldn’t explain it. He just wanted to be close to her. “Sam Tyler,” he held out his hand.
“Well, isn’t that a coincidence. I’m Ruth Tyler and this shy little thing is Sam.” She shook his hand and Sam smelled her and she smelled right. She was beautiful, but he wasn’t attracted to her sexually at all, not in the slightest. It was something, something deeper than that.
“Two Sam Tyler’s. Isn’t that a paradox?” He remembered this street. He didn’t think he’d ever been here before, but he remembered this street.
“Just coincidence, I’d guess.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Mummy?” Little Sammy whispered. “Mummy, I’m hungry.”
“Right, well, nice to meet you Sam Tyler, but I better get him his tea,” she took her son’s hand.
“Nice to meet you. Have a lovely evening, Mrs. Tyler.”
She smiled and walked her son back to their house. “Okay, then my beautiful boy, what would you like, hm?”
“I love you, Sammy. My beautful boy...”
He watched her open the door and an orange and white cat slinked out under her feet.
“Ivanhoe,” he whispered it at the same time she shouted it. He saw her sigh, such a familiar sigh, one of being fed up with the cat that never stayed for its supper. He saw her bundle her son inside, inside that familiar doorway, and shut the door.
That door closed and suddenly so many opened inside Sam’s head.
“I'm following my feelings, Sam. I think there's more to Raimes. I think he's trying to impress someone. What if he knows the killer?”
“Hang on, if Social Services find out that...Where are you, Maya?”
“I'm tailing Raimes.”
“You're breaking up.”
“I'm at the junction. Someone's there. Raimes is heading up towards Satchmore Road. I'm gonna go and--”
“No! Maya, no! Listen, I'll send back-up.”
He laughed. How did he not see it before? It was so obvious. It was the only explanation. Suddenly everything was so clear. Everything was simple. Everything made sense. Suddenly, Sam Tyler knew exactly what he had to do.
*
It was six hours before Gene got the call he’d been waiting for, though it wasn’t what he was expecting.
“Hunt.”
“Gene? Gene, it’s Sam.” He sounded panicked, nervous.
“You alright, Tyler?”
“I...he’s...”
This was what Gene was afraid of. Warren didn’t take failure lightly and now Sam was going to pay the price.
“Where are you? Are you at The Warren?” Gene was already reaching for his keys.
“No. No, I’m...he’s...he’s taken me to...to this warehouse. I got out. I’m at a phone box, but...”
“Where Sam?” Didn’t the boy have any clue just how many bloody warehouses there were in Manchester?
“It’s...it’s across the street from the construction site. The one for the Mancunian Way.”
“Where you had your accident?”
“Poetic, eh?” He laughed nervously.
“Hang tight, Sam. I’m on my way.”
“Hurry, Gene. Please.” The phone went dead and Gene ran for his coat. No one was left at the station who would question his intentions. He leapt into the Cortina and drove hell for leather to the site. There were about three empty warehouses that Sam could have been referring to. Of course, it took him until the third try to find the one he was looking for. He knew it was the right one, not because he found Sam, but because he found DCI Morgan.
“Hunt? What are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing. Sam rang me.”
Morgan’s calm exterior faltered slightly.
“Take it he called you as well.”
“That I did,” came a dark voice from the shadows and both Hunt and Morgan turned to see Sam step out in front of them, shoving a gagged and tied Stephen Warren towards them. The restrained man looked furious, despite the fact Tyler was holding a gun to his head. Right then, Gene knew it was too late. Sam had cracked.
*
Beep. Beep. Careful. Heart rate's dropping. Beep. Beep.
“Okay, Tyler,” Gene began calmly. “What’s this about then?”
“Shut up,” he snarled in a commanding tone, shifting the gun to Hunt. He had finally figured it out and they were going to listen.
“Sam...” Morgan tried to approach him and the gun was immediately aimed at him.
“That means you, too, Mr. Morgan. You’re going to listen to me now. You’re all going to listen to what I have to say.” He kept a clear eye on all three of them, the gun aimed and ready. “I cracked the case. I solved the riddle,” he smiled. “After all this time, I finally worked it all out. Where I come from. What happened to me,” Sam laughed. He couldn’t help it. “It was so simple,” he shook his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. No, I’ll tell you why I didn’t see it before. Yeah? My mind didn’t want me to see it before. But now I’m ready. I’m ready to wake up. They’re operating right now.” He could hear it, the heart monitor, the respirator.
Beep. Beep. The incision has to be precise. Beep. Beep.
“There’s just one more thing I need to work out first.”
“Williams...” Morgan’s voice was stern, a teacher disciplining a child, and Sam wasn’t going to take it anymore. He wasn’t going to let this man confuse him with his lies.
“NO! It's not Williams. My name is Sam Tyler! I had an accident and I woke up in 1973, and it’s one of you that’s keeping me here." The gun drifted between the three captive men. “The murderous gang lord? The self-righteous manipulator? Or the bent sheriff. All of you, you’re all a cancer, but which one is my cancer, hm? Which one is my tumor? Which of you is the worst? Which of you do I need to destroy in order to get home?”
“Sam...” Hunt’s voice again. He sounded hurt, but figments of one’s imagination couldn’t get hurt, could they?
“I’m not listening to you!” He shouted in sing-song, like a child. Maybe because he had been a child in 1973. “I won’t stay here. Not another minute.” He tried to contain his anger. This wasn’t about anger. He couldn’t be angry with any of them, they were all just tricks of his mind. He wouldn’t get angry at his own mind. “So,” he spoke more calmly than before. “Which is it going to be, gentlemen? I’ve thought of a few possibilities, but which is the truth?”
He pointed the gun at Warren. “Am I mad?”
He shifted it across to Morgan. “In a coma?”
The barrel came to rest on Gene. “Or back in time?”
He kept the gun on Gene. “I never felt like I belonged here. It was always like I’d landed on a different planet,” he laughed again and tried not let the tears cloud his vision. He had to stay strong. He had to keep a clear head. “Now, I’ve figured out the reason. Now, I can get home.” He moved the gun again, swinging it between the three men. “I will not be kept here any longer.”
Sam aimed the gun, and fired.
Beep. Beep. Did we get it? Beep. Beep.
_______
Part 25
Author: dak
Word Count: 2570 this part; [46,349 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf. Sorry for the delay. Apparently, throat infections don't care whether or not you've left Sam in a life or death situation. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
“Excellent, Sam. I knew you’d come through,” Morgan smiled. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely,” Sam nodded eagerly. “Once I’m inside the club I should be able to locate evidence that will implicate both Gene Hunt and Stephen Warren--”
“Williams...” Morgan smiled and Sam noticed that DCI Morgan had many different smiles. One for when he was pleased, one for when he was frustrated, and one for when he was disappointed. There were probably plenty more besides that. “The main focus of this operation is Hunt.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any information you obtain on Stephen Warren’s illicit activities will have to be handed over to the local department. Warren’s simply outside our jurisdiction.”
“But, the local authorities are all on his payroll. Sir.” How could he make Morgan understand? How could he make him see they needed to be rid of Warren as well?
“I’m sorry, Sam, but you need to stay focused on Hunt.” Smile number four: annoyance. “Get rid of him, and then you can come home.” Smile number five: condescension.
That was the magic word, wasn’t it? Home. Sam had never felt at home since he’d came here. Everything was a little off. A little different. A little old. Familiar, but not, at the same time. Especially at the station. Maybe the Hyde station was built very similarly to the one here in Manchester?
“Tell me...about home.”
“About Hyde?” Smile number six: confusion.
“About my life. Where I live. Who I work with. My parents. My friends. Wasn’t anyone looking for me when I was missing?”
“Sam, your parents, David and Brenda, both died in a coach crash when you were twelve.”
If Sam hadn’t already finished his tea, he would have spilt it all over the table as he nervously shifted in his chair and waved his hands in front of his face. “Wait. Wait. Wait. That...that can’t be right.” Who was that woman on the phone, then?
Morgan sighed. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you, before you were safely back with us.”
“No. You’re wrong. I’d know if my parents were dead. I’d know.”
“I’m sorry, Sam--”
“What about friends then? My mates? Who do I spend time with?”
“Most of your time is spent at the station, Sam. It’s one of the reasons you made DCI at such a young age. Completely devoted to the job.”
Sam laughed nervously. “So, you’re telling me I don’t have any friends?”
“You are very close to some of your co-workers.”
“My DI,” Sam whispered, picturing the woman’s face. “We’re close, aren’t we?”
“Well, yes. I’d have to say that you and DI Meyers get on quite well.”
“That’s her name? Meyers?”
“Her?”
“I remember that much. I have memories of working with her, performing interrogations, going over files...”
“Sam. There are no female DI’s in our division. In any division, that I’m aware of.”
“But--”
“Roy Meyers is the only DI you’ve ever had. Try to remember.”
Sam was. He’d been trying for so hard, for so long. Morgan’s arrival was supposed to explain everything. So how did everything suddenly become even more muddled? “It’s getting late. I should get to The Warren,” he whispered, pushing himself away from the table.
“You will remember, Sam. I know you will.” Smile number seven: doubt.
Beep. Beep. We’re ready to begin the procedure. Beep. Beep.
*
Gene had been staring at the phone for about three hours. It had been approximately two hours and fifty-seven minutes since Tyler had decided to run back to Warren. No. That wasn’t what he was doing. He was doing his job. He was trying to solve a case. Two cases. He and that Joni must have been close. Sam had told him once that he didn’t trust any of the girls, but it was her name he had mentioned when he had risked his life to sneak out and see him.
He was acting like a detective. He was doing his job. How could he do his job when he had no memories of doing his job? He was a detective, though. It was in his blood. It was something inherent in every copper. Not even something as ridiculous as amnesia could tear it out them. It was part of their very soul. Every time Sam was forced to use his instincts, it was his copper’s instincts that came through.
Still, the lad worried him. He’d been abused, damaged, by his time under Warren’s thumb. They all had, but what Sam had been through, it was so much worse than taking a bribe to ignore an assault, a shipment of dodgy merchandise. He knew Tyler would try. He knew Sam would do everything he could to keep his mind out of Warren’s grasp. Would it be enough?
Three hours and fifteen minutes and the phone was still silent. He could be fine. He could already be dead. If something was going to happen to him, who would want to know? He was someone’s son. Maybe even someone’s father. Someone’s mate. If something happened to him, would that shifty bastard Morgan even inform his family? Would those that mattered even get the truth?
Three hours and twenty minutes. Nothing. Gene picked up the phone and waited impatiently to be connected via the operator.
“This is DCI Hunt, A-Division Manchester. I need anything you poncey Hyde gits can tell me about DI Sam Tyler.”
*
He was going to get to Warren’s. He was.
Beep. Beep. Patient is stable. Then let’s begin. Beep. Beep.
He was just taking the long way around. It took him an hour, but he had finally made it into Warren’s territory. He’d gotten that far.
Beep. Beep. It’s going to be a very complicated procedure. We need to be careful. Beep. Beep.
He just needed to gather his mental strength together. He was still trying to figure out how to show up on Warren’s doorstep without being shot or stabbed on sight. He’d signed out a gun from the armory before he left, but it would defeat the purpose of going undercover if he shot the man he was meant to get close to.
So, he didn’t know if he should go for the penitential little boy approach, lots of tears, lots of begging, or if he should go for excuses. Hunt made him stay. Hunt wasn’t as stupid as Sam had thought. He hadn’t been able to drug him. The camera had broken.
Each thought seemed more pathetic than the last. Each thought remained unfocused because of what Morgan had just told him. His parents were dead. There were no female DI’s. He had no mates. The last one didn’t seem hard to believe, but the rest, he just didn’t understand. When Gene had told him he was a copper, it was hard to believe, but it felt right. When he stirred up the memories of that woman police officer, when he pictured his mother’s voice, that all felt right.
Beep. Beep. We have to make sure we extract the exact spot. Beep. Beep.
It felt like he was on the brink of remembering. Clinging to the few scraps of memories he had, he felt them drawing him to the truth, and it wasn’t Morgan’s truth, and it wasn’t Warren’s, and it wasn’t Gene’s.
“Sammy!”
It was his own. His own gut feeling.
“You used to believe in gut feeling. What happened?”
“Sammy, come back here.”
“Nothing.”
“Sam, what is going on in there?”
“Look, I can’t think about this now, okay? I’m going to stand you down from the case, Maya.”
Sam stood stock still. Maya. Maya Roy. Her name was Maya Roy. Her name was Maya Roy and they, they’d been living together. They’d been living together and...
Sam’s train of thought was distracted as something small ran into his leg.
“Sammy! Oh, I’m so sorry, sir.” A woman rushed over and scooped the small projectile off the ground. “I told him not to go after the football, but you know how little boys are.”
“Oh, it’s...it’s alright,” he smiled and studied her, examining her own smile, her soft, blonde hair. She seemed so familiar. “I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”
“No, I don’t believe so. We’re a bit new to the neighborhood.” Her little boy was tugging at her apron.
“Me, too. Well, sort of.” He couldn’t explain it. He just wanted to be close to her. “Sam Tyler,” he held out his hand.
“Well, isn’t that a coincidence. I’m Ruth Tyler and this shy little thing is Sam.” She shook his hand and Sam smelled her and she smelled right. She was beautiful, but he wasn’t attracted to her sexually at all, not in the slightest. It was something, something deeper than that.
“Two Sam Tyler’s. Isn’t that a paradox?” He remembered this street. He didn’t think he’d ever been here before, but he remembered this street.
“Just coincidence, I’d guess.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Mummy?” Little Sammy whispered. “Mummy, I’m hungry.”
“Right, well, nice to meet you Sam Tyler, but I better get him his tea,” she took her son’s hand.
“Nice to meet you. Have a lovely evening, Mrs. Tyler.”
She smiled and walked her son back to their house. “Okay, then my beautiful boy, what would you like, hm?”
“I love you, Sammy. My beautful boy...”
He watched her open the door and an orange and white cat slinked out under her feet.
“Ivanhoe,” he whispered it at the same time she shouted it. He saw her sigh, such a familiar sigh, one of being fed up with the cat that never stayed for its supper. He saw her bundle her son inside, inside that familiar doorway, and shut the door.
That door closed and suddenly so many opened inside Sam’s head.
“I'm following my feelings, Sam. I think there's more to Raimes. I think he's trying to impress someone. What if he knows the killer?”
“Hang on, if Social Services find out that...Where are you, Maya?”
“I'm tailing Raimes.”
“You're breaking up.”
“I'm at the junction. Someone's there. Raimes is heading up towards Satchmore Road. I'm gonna go and--”
“No! Maya, no! Listen, I'll send back-up.”
He laughed. How did he not see it before? It was so obvious. It was the only explanation. Suddenly everything was so clear. Everything was simple. Everything made sense. Suddenly, Sam Tyler knew exactly what he had to do.
*
It was six hours before Gene got the call he’d been waiting for, though it wasn’t what he was expecting.
“Hunt.”
“Gene? Gene, it’s Sam.” He sounded panicked, nervous.
“You alright, Tyler?”
“I...he’s...”
This was what Gene was afraid of. Warren didn’t take failure lightly and now Sam was going to pay the price.
“Where are you? Are you at The Warren?” Gene was already reaching for his keys.
“No. No, I’m...he’s...he’s taken me to...to this warehouse. I got out. I’m at a phone box, but...”
“Where Sam?” Didn’t the boy have any clue just how many bloody warehouses there were in Manchester?
“It’s...it’s across the street from the construction site. The one for the Mancunian Way.”
“Where you had your accident?”
“Poetic, eh?” He laughed nervously.
“Hang tight, Sam. I’m on my way.”
“Hurry, Gene. Please.” The phone went dead and Gene ran for his coat. No one was left at the station who would question his intentions. He leapt into the Cortina and drove hell for leather to the site. There were about three empty warehouses that Sam could have been referring to. Of course, it took him until the third try to find the one he was looking for. He knew it was the right one, not because he found Sam, but because he found DCI Morgan.
“Hunt? What are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing. Sam rang me.”
Morgan’s calm exterior faltered slightly.
“Take it he called you as well.”
“That I did,” came a dark voice from the shadows and both Hunt and Morgan turned to see Sam step out in front of them, shoving a gagged and tied Stephen Warren towards them. The restrained man looked furious, despite the fact Tyler was holding a gun to his head. Right then, Gene knew it was too late. Sam had cracked.
*
Beep. Beep. Careful. Heart rate's dropping. Beep. Beep.
“Okay, Tyler,” Gene began calmly. “What’s this about then?”
“Shut up,” he snarled in a commanding tone, shifting the gun to Hunt. He had finally figured it out and they were going to listen.
“Sam...” Morgan tried to approach him and the gun was immediately aimed at him.
“That means you, too, Mr. Morgan. You’re going to listen to me now. You’re all going to listen to what I have to say.” He kept a clear eye on all three of them, the gun aimed and ready. “I cracked the case. I solved the riddle,” he smiled. “After all this time, I finally worked it all out. Where I come from. What happened to me,” Sam laughed. He couldn’t help it. “It was so simple,” he shook his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. No, I’ll tell you why I didn’t see it before. Yeah? My mind didn’t want me to see it before. But now I’m ready. I’m ready to wake up. They’re operating right now.” He could hear it, the heart monitor, the respirator.
Beep. Beep. The incision has to be precise. Beep. Beep.
“There’s just one more thing I need to work out first.”
“Williams...” Morgan’s voice was stern, a teacher disciplining a child, and Sam wasn’t going to take it anymore. He wasn’t going to let this man confuse him with his lies.
“NO! It's not Williams. My name is Sam Tyler! I had an accident and I woke up in 1973, and it’s one of you that’s keeping me here." The gun drifted between the three captive men. “The murderous gang lord? The self-righteous manipulator? Or the bent sheriff. All of you, you’re all a cancer, but which one is my cancer, hm? Which one is my tumor? Which of you is the worst? Which of you do I need to destroy in order to get home?”
“Sam...” Hunt’s voice again. He sounded hurt, but figments of one’s imagination couldn’t get hurt, could they?
“I’m not listening to you!” He shouted in sing-song, like a child. Maybe because he had been a child in 1973. “I won’t stay here. Not another minute.” He tried to contain his anger. This wasn’t about anger. He couldn’t be angry with any of them, they were all just tricks of his mind. He wouldn’t get angry at his own mind. “So,” he spoke more calmly than before. “Which is it going to be, gentlemen? I’ve thought of a few possibilities, but which is the truth?”
He pointed the gun at Warren. “Am I mad?”
He shifted it across to Morgan. “In a coma?”
The barrel came to rest on Gene. “Or back in time?”
He kept the gun on Gene. “I never felt like I belonged here. It was always like I’d landed on a different planet,” he laughed again and tried not let the tears cloud his vision. He had to stay strong. He had to keep a clear head. “Now, I’ve figured out the reason. Now, I can get home.” He moved the gun again, swinging it between the three men. “I will not be kept here any longer.”
Sam aimed the gun, and fired.
Beep. Beep. Did we get it? Beep. Beep.
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Part 25