Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 6/?
The small, brightly lit waiting room down the hall from the ICU at St. James’ hospital was filled with smoke. Occasionally another visitor would appear in the room, but would soon become fidgety and leave, or would be collected by a nurse to go and see whatever family member or friend they had come to visit. In the corner, facing the nurses’ station and chain smoking, pausing only to take swigs from innumerable flasks of liquor and to shoot fuming, fiery looks of anger towards the nurses, was Gene Hunt. He stared at the clock on the wall: three hours, 45 minutes since he had returned from the station. Five and a half hours since Sam had come out of surgery. Twelve hours since he had held his DI’s broken and lifeless body in his arms, and felt it surge with the sudden will to live. Sam was a fighter, and it made him damned annoying at times, the way he always had to be right, but it was a good thing; it made him a good copper. Gene tossed the wrapper to another packet of cigarettes into the little bin beside his chair and pulled out the folder he had brought with him.
A quick scan of the pages didn’t reveal much about Sam’s odd personality and strange ways - all that was there were a few numbers, indicating high performance ratings in the past, and a transfer order, signed by a DCI Frank Morgan of C Division in Hyde. Two sheets of paper. The performance history included reference numbers for some daft filing system in Hyde, little codes that would lead anyone in the Hyde collator’s den directly to Sam’s full performance reviews, his promotion reviews, his records from training. So sterile and systematic, impersonal, inhuman. Gene sighed a long sigh and stared at the contact number for the Hyde branch, printed across the top of the sheet in a neat little letterhead. Apparently, they really were all that neat and precise in Hyde, and that fact made him dread calling. The fact that he was going to have to tell this Morgan fellow that his former DI was lying in a hospital bed, possibly dying… No, no, he shouldn’t think about that. Sam was lying in a hospital bed, recovering.
Gene closed his eyes, wondering if Sam really did have any family in Hyde. For all his whinging about home, Sam had never mentioned exactly what it was that he wanted to go back to, except for hideously orderly desks, filing systems, and loads of other poncy little gits getting randy over blood spillage pattern analysis and all sorts of idiotic shite. Gene wondered if he was going to have to tell some poor old woman, probably an old bat who’d dressed the lad up like a little fop when he was five and made him read books when he should have been playing cricket and football with the other tykes, probably some stern old rule-adhering bat… He tried to picture Sam’s mum, and a mental image of every librarian he’d ever met coalesced before him, becoming one sour-faced old woman. In his mind’s eye, the dour, sour, coarse face of the angry old woman started to dissolve into tears, and Gene felt his heart grow icy again.
Gene stubbed out the butt of his latest cigarette into the ashtray on the waiting room table, and then headed for the nurses’ station, hoping that they would allow him to use a phone. Ten minutes before Cartwright appeared. He leaned heavily on the edge of the station, staring down the anxious young nurse there. “Hello, Love. Give us the phone, will you?”
The nurse, who had been avoiding his looks ever since she had come in two hours ago, nodded and lifted up a telephone. He took the handset and swung the dial around to the 0. “I need Hyde 2600, please. Hyde police.” Gene waited to be connected, and then reached the station’s internal operator. “I need Frank Morgan.”
“May I ask who is calling, Sir?” The Hyde station operator’s voice was pinched and unfriendly, and Gene was again struck by mental images of librarians.
“This is DCI Gene Hunt of A Division CID in Greater Manchester, for DCI Frank Morgan, C Division, Hyde. Sooner’s better than later, Love,” he added, trying to make his voice sound more forceful than irritated and rubbing a hand over his face.
“One moment, Sir, connecting you now,” the woman’s voice came and went, and then the line buzzed and rang. Gene swallowed hard as he heard the click of the pick up on the other end.
“DCI Frank Morgan,” Came a very clipped and proper voice. Gene rolled his eyes upwards and leaned more heavily upon the ledge of the nurses’ station, shaking his head slightly.
“DCI Morgan? This is DCI Hunt… Yes, that DCI Hunt,” For a moment, Gene was supremely confused, as a slight touch of anger and panic colored the prim and proper voice on the other line. What, his reputation with the other departments surely couldn’t be that bad… He was the finest in the city, wasn’t he? A little hard perhaps…
“DCI Hunt? What are you doing calling here? Is there… Some recent cross-region crime that the superintendent wouldn’t have informed me of at our meeting yesterday afternoon?” Frank Morgan’s voice quickly collected itself again.
“No, no, it’s about…” Gene took a deep breath, “It’s about Detective Inspector Sam Tyler, he recently transferred to us from you.” Gene paused.
“Sam Tyler?” Morgan’s voice seemed to color a bit again, or, perhaps, it was just Gene’s imagination. He wasn’t really sure; he was horrible at reading voices over the phone. He’d much rather look someone in the face, be able to stare them down, look into their eyes, watch their body language as they talked. He hated phones. “What seems to be the trouble, DCI Hunt?” Morgan’s voice became very flat and monotonous, much like Cartwright’s did whenever she was upset. Gene shifted his position so that his back was leaning against the station, the cord of the phone twisting around his shoulders.
“The trouble, well, have you read the papers, DCI Morgan?” Gene stuck with titles, mimicking the other man’s manners, trying not to sound sarcastic as he did so. “The recent string of murders committed by a Jefferson Myers…”
“You mean the murders for which Mr. Myers has been taken as a suspect? Let’s try not to convict men before the courts do, DCI Hunt. So, you’ve apprehended a suspect, very good for you, glad to hear it,” Gene sneered and held the handset away from his face for a second, giving it a disgusted look. How patronizing did this smug bastard have to be, to a fellow DCI, of all people? “Are you having difficulty with evidence? Are you dissatisfied with DI Tyler’s handling of the case thus far? If that is the case, DCI Hunt, I would assume that you would…” Gene cut him off.
“Myers is the killer all right, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. The trouble is that the fourth victim, well, he was a member of the police force.” Gene rambled it off quickly, forcefully, not giving Morgan any opportunities to interrupt. “And it was Tyler. I need to know if he has any family, and I need their contact information. Now, if you don’t mind. Got a lot to do, you know, running a division.” For a few moments, there was only silence on the other end of the line.
“You are joking, aren’t you, Mr. Hunt?” The voice on the other end of the line was calm and collected, no emotion showing at all. Gene again thought about how much he hated telephones.
“No, I’m not bloody joking, a twisted bastard murderer has been at the lad and doled out seven shades of bleeding shit in sodding torture on him, and he’s in hospital now. I need to get in touch with his family. You want the dumb shite filing number from his folder or what?” Gene flapped the folder down upon the ledge of the station, twisting around, the phone cord pulling tight around his body, and the nurse jumped.
“If you could please remain calm, DCI Hunt. Just one moment, and I can look up his file. I don’t need the reference number at this time,” Gene was beginning to hate this Morgan fellow already; he seemed, if possible, to be ten times worse than Sam. Or maybe he was just a giant amalgamation of all of Sam’s bad points. Now there was a thought, Gene mused. Perhaps this was the bastard responsible for the giant stick up his DI’s jacksey…
“DCI Hunt? I’ve just checked the file - no contact information. Sam’s parents died when he was a boy, and he has no other family. Is there any other information that I can provide for you?” Morgan’s clipped voice was back on the other end of the line, and Gene clenched his hand tightly around the handset. No family? Sam had never mentioned that at all… Then again, conversations with his DI rarely ranged into family life. He’d just always assumed there were two prim and proper parents out there, horrible sticklers for all the rules, sitting in some little house in Hyde and cleaning things obsessively.
“If you could tell any mates that he has, he’s at Saint James hospital, you know, in case any of them want to…” Morgan cut Gene off.
“I doubt that any of his former colleagues will be able to get away from C Division long enough to come down there, Mr. Hunt. We’re incredibly busy at the moment, you see. If that will be all…?” Morgan’s tone was still flat, still incredibly proper, and still driving Gene up the wall. No mates, then? What about the packs of people Sam was always referencing, the stupid bloody gits he was always complaining about going back to? Where were they?
“Well, then, if that’s the case, sorry to have troubled you, Morgan. Sorry, didn’t know that the fact that a member of the police force was bloody hospitalized, in the goddamned line of duty, a former member of your useless piece of shite team, well… I didn’t know it was that inconvenient and annoying for you, you great tart’s blouse! Enjoy your bloody damned filing, you sodding git!” He screamed this last bit at the top of his lungs, then slammed the handset down, only to find himself caught in the cord. He whirled around, ripping the phone off of the desk and onto the floor with a long clatter and a ringing sound as the internal bell was knocked about. He picked it up off the floor, then slammed it onto the nurses’ station’s ledge.
“Piece of shite!” He shouted, watching the nurse cower in the corner of the station, her eyes wide.
He let out a long, shaking breath, and then looked up at the trembling nurse. “Not you, you stupid bird. It’s all right, Love. Just some bastards on the phone, is all.” He muttered this last bit softly, then slowly walked back over the waiting area and lit another cigarette. He was nearly done with it by the time Cartwright arrived, exactly on time, and holding his coat in her arms.
“Papers have all had proper reports given to them, and all the filing is done. Chris and Ray are helping out with the other cases a bit while they wait for their shifts. And I actually managed to clean this up,” Annie held out the coat, which was, miraculously, free of blood.
“Brilliant, Love. And you did well, you know. You were bloody gorgeous in there, you silly tart. I mean it. With those bastards, and finding them, and now with the sodding paperwork an’ all. You’re shaping up a damned fine detective, Cartwright, and I don’t just mean your nice tits and arse.” He smiled tiredly up at her, then let his gaze wander towards the hall.
“I tried calling Hyde. Said Sam has no family, no one to come down. So it’s just us,” he couldn’t tell which door was Sam’s; he hadn’t seen the doctor since their conversation that morning, and he found it a bit maddening.
“But, but Sam’s mentioned his mum…” Annie’s eyes went wide, and she realized that the only mum Sam had ever mentioned was the one in his bizarre ‘I come from the future’ fantasy, or one that he talked about in the far, far past tense. She swallowed hard. “I suppose not in recent times. I didn’t know he didn’t have any family; I mean, he seemed lonely, but…” Annie’s voice began to waiver.
Gene shook his head, “I’m sorry, Cartwright, but when I compliment you on starting to grow some balls and some chest hair, it does not mean, ‘oh, I’ll go all sodding girly on him and start to prance around like a little ballerina,’ does it? Snap to, DC Cartwright!” Annie flinched, then drew in a deep breath and nodded.
“Right, Gov. So, we still can’t see him?” She tried changing the conversation, and found her own gaze wandering down the corridor.
“Not yet. Bleedin’ bastards say he’s not stable enough, or some other shite. Don’t even know what room they’ve got him in. I’ve half a mind to just storm down there and start checking every damned one of them ICU rooms for him, but I’m too afraid of walking in on some poor little nurse sponge bathing a dried up old corpse of a bitch, and if I wanted to see that, I’d ask you and Phyllis to stage a floor show.” Gene ran his hands over his face, a gesture that Annie was far more used to in Sam than in Gene.
Annie sighed. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep, Gov? You look tired.” Gene nodded, and then stood, feeling his back strain in protest.
“You call me at home if there’s any change at all, or I’ll have your tits for earmuffs, you understand me, Love?” He pulled on the coat, which smelled horribly of chemical cleaning products.
“Yes, Sir,” Annie said, holding out a hand for a moment, daring herself to touch his shoulder, to offer some form of comfort, and then thinking better of it and letting her hands drop to her sides. Gene nodded at her, and then slowly began to shuffle towards the lift, his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his shoulders rolling forward. Annie sucked on her lower lip and tried to keep from crying as she watched him go, and then settled down in the chair that he had just vacated, ignoring the smell of the cigarettes and booze that clung to it.
Sam continued to run as fast as he could through the densely packed wood, long, grasping vines and tendrils of hanging moss sweeping into him, pulling him back. Branches whipped at his quickly moving limbs, ripped at his face and torso, and the density of the forest had completely blocked out the light. He was struggling forward now, through total blackness, aware of the pain rising up around him.
“We’ll be waiting for you, Sam, under the Tumtum tree, waiting for you and making sure that you keep up your part of the bargain, that you finish your tasks. There’s a lot to do, Sam but for now… You can go, for now Sam. We’ll see you soon,” he heard the double’s voice echoing around him, mingling with the hideous laughter of that little girl. His lungs were burning now, and there was a horrible, dull throb on each side of his chest. He felt a strange, thick feeling in his throat, and he realized, eyes going wide, that there was a tube in his throat. A tube… Like the ones that coma patients had…
“Run and run and run until you wake up, in your hospital room, with people who love you and care about you speaking to you while you sleep. We’ll be around, to make sure you keep your end of the bargain.” He heard the double’s voice again, and it was nothing more than a faint echo in the distance. He felt tears of joy begin to slide down his cheeks as he realized what was happening.
“This is it! I’m waking up! After all that, I’m waking up! Yes! Yes! Look out, world, here comes Sam Tyler, and boy has he ever missed you!” Sam’s voice was frantic and crazed as he continued to fight through the enclosing vegetation.
“Just remember one thing, Sam…” The double’s voice swam back at Sam as he felt the machinery around him, felt his chest filled with apparatus of all sorts, felt the tube down his throat and the needles in his arm. “Just remember, Sam…”
*Vital signs are stabilizing! I don’t believe it *
“Oh, believe it, I’m coming!” Sam tried to shout, but found that he couldn’t. He was suspended, he was… He was lying on a bed!
*It’s another bloody miracle!*
Sam felt joy well up inside of him as he heard it, heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor, of his heart, and felt the strange, odd feelings of being nearly unconscious on a hospital bed. 2006! Reality! He was back... A warm feeling of ultimate joy began to surge up inside of him, and then… “It was a conscious decision,” he heard his own voice, not the double’s, choking on blood and whispering it. It was a conscious decision…. Sam’s heart suddenly felt like it had been doused in ice, and the world went totally black.
“Excuse me, Officer Cartwright, was it?” Annie’s head jerked up, and she blushed deeply as she realized that she had been dozing in the waiting room chair. A tall, broad man with thinning ginger hair and glasses was standing above her, and she guessed that it was the doctor Gene had mentioned.
“Yes, Doctor…” She stood and stared at him, wide-eyed and anxious.
“Doctor Denslow. I’m one of Mr. Tyler’s surgeons.” He offered his hand to her, and she shook it, withdrawing her hand quickly when she noticed that she was starting to shake.
“Pleased to meet you, Sir,” she said softly, her eyes still locked onto his. He looked rather sad, she decided, and she hoped that it had nothing to do with Sam.
“Mr. Tyler’s vital signs have stabilized, although he’s still in critical condition and there are many tests that still need to be run. I can allow you a minute or two, at this time, but that’s it. I thought your DCI might appreciate it, or might at least take the gesture as a sort of… As a sort of peace offering, you might say,” Denslow raised his eyebrows in a slight show of exasperation, straightening his tie as he did so, and Annie got the distinct impression that the surgeon had been on the receiving end of one of the Gov’s ‘discussions.’
“Only for a minute?” Annie tried to keep her voice calm and even, her eyes darting towards the hallway and the row of ICU room doors.
“I’m afraid that’s all we can allow now, Miss,” the doctor said, stretching a hand towards the hallway in a gesture that asked her to follow him. She complied, hesitantly, following him down to a door labeled, ‘ICU 11.’ “I’m afraid you won’t be able to touch him, just yet, and it’ll still be some time before he regains consciousness, if he does so at all,” Denslow said, his hand on the door handle. Annie froze in her tracks.
“If he does at all, Sir?” She felt her eyes begin to burn as she stared up at the doctor.
“DCI Hunt didn’t inform you of his condition, then? He was very badly injured, Miss, and there is still a good chance that he might not make it…” he let his voice trail off as he saw Annie’s shoulders sag. She put out a hand and leaned heavily against the door jamb, her eyes flitting quickly back and forth across the floor as she tried to come to terms with what she had just heard. She swallowed hard, and then steeled herself again, looking back up at the doctor, drawing herself up to her full height and squaring her shoulders.
“DCI Hunt didn’t mention that, no, Sir. But there’s also a chance that he’ll make it?” She tried to keep her tone even, but ended up sounding very imploring, as if she were begging for her own life.
“Yes, Miss; now that his vitals are stabilized, I’d say he has a good 50-50 chance. I wouldn’t have ever believed it possible, given the extent and severity of his injuries, but he really has put up a miraculous fight. Very strong will to live in that lad, isn’t there?” Denslow smiled slightly, trying to comfort her.
Annie smiled back at him, closing her eyes for a moment and then meeting his gaze again, “Yes, there is.” She turned her attention to the door, and Denslow pushed it open and led her inside.
For a moment, Annie couldn’t see any part of Sam; several large machines were beeping and whirring around her, a respirator’s pump chamber moving up and down with rhythmic hisses, and a nurse was sitting by the bed, writing something down on a clipboard. Annie took a few more steps towards the machinery, taking in the hanging bottles of blood and saline, and the slow, steady line of a monochrome heartbeat. Denslow saw her staring at it, “Latest thing, that. We’re pulling out all the stops here, I can assure you.”
Annie willed herself to look down, and tried not to gasp. Sam’s face was obscured by bandages covering his eyes and cheek, and by the thick tube taped into place over his mouth. His body was raised slightly in the center, a thick patch of bandage and cushioning surrounding the unseen wound on his back, and she saw two tubes, linked to another hulking mass of machinery, sticking out of either side of his chest. What looked like blood and pus were slowly draining out of the tubes, and being collected in more containers at the side of the bed, along with a container for urine that Annie guessed was linked to a catheter. White bandages surrounded the tubes, and crossed over all of Sam’s chest. His arms were stretched slightly outwards, away from his body, and they, too, were covered in bandages. The lower part of his body was obscured by a plain white sheet, completing the effect of shrouding him totally in white.
“His eyes - why are his eyes bandaged like that? I thought that the flash blindness…” But Annie couldn’t remember what she had read while reviewing the case files. She felt hot tears rise in her eyes and begin to drip slowly down her cheeks, and fought the urge to turn away. He didn’t look even remotely alive - he looked like a corpse, wrapped in an old fashioned death shroud, or like some awful, horrible experiment, kept alive only by machines.
“The corneal abrasions are healing naturally on their own, it’s true, but there was a great deal of blood and debris in his eyes. We’ve bandaged them at this time and they’re being washed regularly, to prevent infection and further damage. Those bandages can come off within a day, though. His eyes should be fine.” Denslow sounded relieved that she had inquired about the eyes, and Annie supposed that they were one of the few injuries that he was positive were going to heal.
“And the tubes?” Annie gestured at the tubes sticking out of Sam’s chest.
“Thoracostomy tubing. We need to drain the excess blood, air, and lymphatic fluid that has collected in his chest cavity, you see. Relieves pressure on the lungs and helps them to reinflate. The blood has already been fully drained out of his lungs themselves, when we performed the surgery and then installed the respirator. With any luck, we’ll be able to remove them in a day or two. We’ll continue monitoring his breathing and the recuperation of his lungs until we’re certain he can survive without the respirator, and then that, too, can be removed and replaced by a simple oxygen mask.”
Annie nodded, trying to understand everything that Denslow was telling her, staring at Sam, not believing that it could be him. It didn’t look a thing like him, it… The figure on the bed didn’t look even remotely like him. He looked so incredibly small, covered in the dense forest of bandages, and she gradually became aware of Denslow’s hand on her arm.
“We should let him be for now, Miss Cartwright. Let him rest, let him heal.” Denslow led her back out of the room, and she felt her legs start to turn to rubber, her knees buckling as they exited the room. Denslow caught her arm and levered her up, a sympathetic wince contorting his features for a moment.
“I’m all right. I’m a police officer. I’m all right,” Annie said, pulling her arm away from him and straightening. She started to walk back towards the waiting area, aware that Chris would be coming… She stared at the clock above the nurses’ station. Chris should have been there nearly four hours ago… It was almost time for Ray’s shift. She felt anger rise up inside of her, anger at herself for having fallen asleep, anger at Chris for having skived off of his shift, anger at Myers for committing such awful crimes, and anger at the world for creating men like Myers in the first place.
“I can have one of the nurses get you a cup of tea,” Denslow began, but Annie cut him off.
“I’m fine, thank you, Sir. And I’d prefer it if you addressed me as DC Cartwright, or Detective, Sir.” She continued to walk back into the waiting area, and then stood in front of the chair that looked out onto the hallway. “And thank you, Sir, for letting me see him. You’ll let us know when we can spend more time with him?” She tried to seem as confident and strong as possible.
“Yes, Miss… Detective Cartwright. I’m actually late for a meeting at the moment, but the other doctors and nurses will be monitoring him closely, and you or any other officer that Mr. Hunt sends will be notified immediately if there is even the slightest change in his condition.” Denslow seemed a bit taken aback, and Annie was glad. She wanted him to see her in the same way that he saw the male detectives, no, she wanted him to see her in the same way that he saw Gene Hunt. As a force to be reckoned with.
Ray’s shift came and went uneventfully, and Annie stayed to talk with him, lying to him and stating that Chris had come and gone, at her request. She had meant to make conversation with him, but neither of them had been very talkative, and they both flipped through months old magazines listlessly as the hours wore by. By the time dawn broke over Manchester, Gene Hunt was back in the at the hospital, looking cleaner, but still drawn, anxious, and very dangerous.
“You stayed here all night, did you, Petal?” he looked appraisingly at Annie, crossing his arms over his chest. “Think you ought to be going home and getting some sleep soon, love. We’re going to need you on shift here in just another couple of hours, when Ray and I go and have a nice chat with our friend down at the station.” Gene’s tone was menacing when he spoke of Myers, and Annie noticed a murderous glint in Ray’s eyes, as well.
“Honestly, Sir, it might be better if you and Ray just went and… Did what needs to be done,” Annie tried to sound disgusted and disapproving, but she was becoming keenly aware of her own desire to see Myers bleed, and it was scaring her. She’d never thought herself capable of wanting to see another living being, let alone another person, in pain. But she couldn’t think of Myers as a person anymore; she could only think of him as the horrible monster that had reduced Sam, her precious Sam, to the broken thing on that bed, tangled amidst a deep web of machinery and tubes and bandages.
“You sure about that, Love?” Gene looked her up and down, then stared down the hallway towards the doors, not sure what to do next.
“I’m sure, Sir.” Annie stood and crossed her own arms over her chest, and Ray stood, as well. The three of them were still for a moment, looking down the corridor and then back and forth at each other, drawing strength from one another. It was then that Denslow approached, somehow having changed clothes and groomed himself impeccably since the last time Annie had seen him.
“DCI Hunt. I hope you’ve calmed down a bit since our last meeting,” Denslow said condescendingly, and then noticed that there were six rather annoyed, tired, and angry eyes trained on him. He changed his tone quickly as he continued.
“As I told Detective Cartwright last night, we’ve managed to stabilize his vitals. He’s definitely not out of the woods yet, but at this time I’d say his chances of making a full recovery have definitely increased to 50-50. I can allow you a minute or two with him, but that’s it, for the time being.” Denslow began to walk towards the door to Room 11, and turned his head, waiting for Gene to follow.
“Just you for now, Mr. Hunt. He really shouldn’t be having visitors at all right now, but you were so… Persuasive… At our last meeting, that I thought you would appreciate this.” Gene glowered at the man’s patronizing tone, then began to follow him towards the door. Annie and Ray watched as the two of them disappeared into the room.
Gene felt his heart beating loudly in his ears as he followed Denslow into room 11 of the ICU. He felt anger and fear burning deep inside him as he stared at the machinery, and at the bandaged figure lying in the bed. He looked over at Denslow as he neared the bed, feeling his face burning, and then feeling the hot blood flooding away from him, draining deeply down into his heart.
“Christ…” He whispered as he neared the bed, the nurse skittering nervously to the side, her eyes flitting quickly between Hunt, the bed, and Denslow. “He looks so…” Gene swallowed hard, fighting back the tears and the screams and the rants that were threatening to overtake him at any minute. “Sam…”
“There’s morphine being fed in along with the saline and the transfusions.” He heard Denslow come up beside him, but the other man’s voice was an echo, barely registering to him. “He’s not in any pain.”
“He’ll be all right.” It wasn’t a question, not even a prayer. It was a declaration, a promise. Gene felt himself swell upwards as if he were threatening a suspect. “He’ll be all right.” He had to fight to keep himself from shouting it at the top of his lungs.
“As I told Detective Cartwright, he has a good 50-50 chance, especially after the miraculous survival he’s already made,” Denslow’s voice was still barely flickering on Gene’s peripherals. “I’m afraid you can’t… Mr. Hunt, you shouldn’t touch…” Denslow’s voice faded away as Gene stretched out his hand, surprised to find it shaking, and rested his palm against Sam’s still exposed right cheek. His DI’s face still felt horribly cold, despite the warmth surrounding them. He cupped his palm against Sam’s face, then withdrew it and reached out to take Sam’s hand, cradling it softly in his own. His breath came in slow, deep, shaking rasps, and time seemed to stand still.
“You’ll be all right, Sammy Boy. Or, God help me, I’ll kill myself just to hunt you down and dole out seven shades of shit on you in hell, my boy,” his voice choked as his hand slowly closed down over Sam’s.
“Mr. Hunt, please. Mr. Hunt…” Denslow stretched out his own hand and placed it on Gene’s wrist. “One of the primary reasons we’re keeping him in isolation is because of the high risk of infection, given the amount of open wounds and the weakened state that the blood loss and hypothermia have put him in. The bandages are quite loose, to allow us to clean and drain the wounds frequently; you shouldn’t jostle him…”
Gene spun around, tears leaking down his face. “Does it look like I’m bloody jostling him?” He screamed, and he grabbed Denslow by his collar, pushing him back and slamming him into the wall. The nurse jumped to the side, as if she were trying to hide behind the machinery crowding the small room. “And don’t you dare say that there’s even a chance he won’t pull through! That boy’s going to be fine! He’s going to be more than fine, you pompous cunt!” Gene lifted Denslow up slightly and slammed him, hard, back into the wall of the room.
“Mr. Hunt!” Denslow shouted back at Gene and lifted up his arms, swiping Gene’s hands away from his collar with a strength that Gene wouldn’t have thought possible. Denslow rose up to his full height, a good few inches taller than Gene, and quite formidable. “I understand that you are upset, but an outburst like this is not helping in the slightest!” Denslow grabbed Gene by the shoulder and literally dragged him from the room, shoving him out of the door and into the hall. Gene swore that he heard Annie gasp from down the hall, and turned his head to see her hands lifted to her face, and Ray’s eyes wide and staring. He took another series of deep breaths, feeling the air slowly fill his lungs, which were burning with a deep, bright, fiery anger.
Gene shook himself slightly, like a dog throwing off water, and then straightened his collar with a swift snapping motion. He stared, menacingly, at Denslow, still breathing deeply, the few tears that had flooded to his eyes in the room streaking his face. He closed his eyes for a second, and then let himself deflate, the edge leaving his shoulders. Denslow, too, stood down.
“Gov…” Ray had walked down the hall as Gene cooled, and was now standing only a few feet away, watching both Gene and Denslow warily. Annie was still standing back down the hallway, a look of shocked reproach on her face, open disapproval on her face, and fear.
“He’ll be all right,” Gene repeated, softly, his voice cracking slightly. “He will. You’ll see to that.” It wasn’t a challenge, it was a hard order, Gene’s voice grew resolute and strong.
Denslow stared appraisingly at Gene for a moment, and then slowly nodded and let his eyes close for a moment, opening them to look much more kindly upon the calming DCI before him. “I will.”
Gene nodded in return, and then muttered, “No hard feelings,” as he rubbed his hand briskly across his eyes. Denslow gave another short nod.
“And now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Hunt, I have patients to attend to. I’ll stay on Mr. Tyler’s case until after he’s fully stabilized, and then other doctors will take over the case. I’ll make sure that our arrangement stands, no matter whose patient Mr. Tyler becomes. For the time being, though, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Detective Chief Inspector.” Gene nodded, and it dawned on him that the arrangement Denslow was referencing was much more than the visitor’s rights they’d discussed in his office.
“All right, then, Doctor.” Gene turned and walked towards the door. “Cartwright, you stay here until I send Skelton up for his next shift; sorry to stick you here so long, Love, but Ray and I have business to tend to. A few hours should be all it takes to patch a clean hole through the meat of that dirty bitch’s shoulder, and we should be able to sign him out to police custody now.” Gene motioned for Ray to follow him, and the two of them made a beeline for the lift. Annie watched as they left, still speechless, but now sure of what she had just seen. She smiled slightly; Gene Hunt always got his way, and his methods could be very rough, but this time, she was glad for it.
The few steps into the lift and the short trip down to the next floor gave Gene more than enough time to fully collect himself, and he felt a slight hint of satisfaction at the notion that he was soon going to be able to beat the bloody pulp out of the bastard who truly deserved it. He looked over and noticed that Ray had averted his eyes, and then ran the cuff of his sleeve over his eyes, ran his hands through his hair, and finished straightening his collar and the lapels of his coat.
“So… Ready to take our little friend down to the station, Ray?” Gene’s voice was riddled with anger and anticipation. He noticed a small, menacing smile curving Ray’s lips.
“More than ready, Gov. Swift kick in the balls is all the boss ever warranted, granted, he did warrant it every bloody second of every bloody day, but everything that he got beyond that, every little bit… There’s a bit of tit for tat coming to this bastard Myers, isn’t there?” Ray’s voice was low and growling.
“Oh, a right bollocking, and then some, I’ve got to agree, Raymondo,” fury blazed within Gene’s eyes. The two of them approached the desk of the hospital’s second floor, both with hands locked in their pockets and eyes flashing.
“DCI Hunt and DS Carling, here to take one Jefferson Myers into police custody, Love,” Gene’s voice was tinged with a horrible, playful menace.
“Myers? But we just signed him out to police custody an hour ago, Sir,” the duty nurse’s face contorted in confusion.
“You… You what?” Gene’s voice took on a strained, maniacal quality.
“We signed him out just a little under an hour ago, Sir…” The fear was obvious in the nurse’s voice.
“You signed him out to who?” Gene screamed it at her, his hands flying to the counter and slamming down, and he flew into the nurse’s face, veins bulging in his neck and forehead and eyes shining madly.
“He was released into police custody, a, a, a…” The nurse stammered, her voice high and quaking, “A Detective Skelton, Sir.”
All comments, criticism, squees, flames, and other feedback is welcome and encouraged.
A quick scan of the pages didn’t reveal much about Sam’s odd personality and strange ways - all that was there were a few numbers, indicating high performance ratings in the past, and a transfer order, signed by a DCI Frank Morgan of C Division in Hyde. Two sheets of paper. The performance history included reference numbers for some daft filing system in Hyde, little codes that would lead anyone in the Hyde collator’s den directly to Sam’s full performance reviews, his promotion reviews, his records from training. So sterile and systematic, impersonal, inhuman. Gene sighed a long sigh and stared at the contact number for the Hyde branch, printed across the top of the sheet in a neat little letterhead. Apparently, they really were all that neat and precise in Hyde, and that fact made him dread calling. The fact that he was going to have to tell this Morgan fellow that his former DI was lying in a hospital bed, possibly dying… No, no, he shouldn’t think about that. Sam was lying in a hospital bed, recovering.
Gene closed his eyes, wondering if Sam really did have any family in Hyde. For all his whinging about home, Sam had never mentioned exactly what it was that he wanted to go back to, except for hideously orderly desks, filing systems, and loads of other poncy little gits getting randy over blood spillage pattern analysis and all sorts of idiotic shite. Gene wondered if he was going to have to tell some poor old woman, probably an old bat who’d dressed the lad up like a little fop when he was five and made him read books when he should have been playing cricket and football with the other tykes, probably some stern old rule-adhering bat… He tried to picture Sam’s mum, and a mental image of every librarian he’d ever met coalesced before him, becoming one sour-faced old woman. In his mind’s eye, the dour, sour, coarse face of the angry old woman started to dissolve into tears, and Gene felt his heart grow icy again.
Gene stubbed out the butt of his latest cigarette into the ashtray on the waiting room table, and then headed for the nurses’ station, hoping that they would allow him to use a phone. Ten minutes before Cartwright appeared. He leaned heavily on the edge of the station, staring down the anxious young nurse there. “Hello, Love. Give us the phone, will you?”
The nurse, who had been avoiding his looks ever since she had come in two hours ago, nodded and lifted up a telephone. He took the handset and swung the dial around to the 0. “I need Hyde 2600, please. Hyde police.” Gene waited to be connected, and then reached the station’s internal operator. “I need Frank Morgan.”
“May I ask who is calling, Sir?” The Hyde station operator’s voice was pinched and unfriendly, and Gene was again struck by mental images of librarians.
“This is DCI Gene Hunt of A Division CID in Greater Manchester, for DCI Frank Morgan, C Division, Hyde. Sooner’s better than later, Love,” he added, trying to make his voice sound more forceful than irritated and rubbing a hand over his face.
“One moment, Sir, connecting you now,” the woman’s voice came and went, and then the line buzzed and rang. Gene swallowed hard as he heard the click of the pick up on the other end.
“DCI Frank Morgan,” Came a very clipped and proper voice. Gene rolled his eyes upwards and leaned more heavily upon the ledge of the nurses’ station, shaking his head slightly.
“DCI Morgan? This is DCI Hunt… Yes, that DCI Hunt,” For a moment, Gene was supremely confused, as a slight touch of anger and panic colored the prim and proper voice on the other line. What, his reputation with the other departments surely couldn’t be that bad… He was the finest in the city, wasn’t he? A little hard perhaps…
“DCI Hunt? What are you doing calling here? Is there… Some recent cross-region crime that the superintendent wouldn’t have informed me of at our meeting yesterday afternoon?” Frank Morgan’s voice quickly collected itself again.
“No, no, it’s about…” Gene took a deep breath, “It’s about Detective Inspector Sam Tyler, he recently transferred to us from you.” Gene paused.
“Sam Tyler?” Morgan’s voice seemed to color a bit again, or, perhaps, it was just Gene’s imagination. He wasn’t really sure; he was horrible at reading voices over the phone. He’d much rather look someone in the face, be able to stare them down, look into their eyes, watch their body language as they talked. He hated phones. “What seems to be the trouble, DCI Hunt?” Morgan’s voice became very flat and monotonous, much like Cartwright’s did whenever she was upset. Gene shifted his position so that his back was leaning against the station, the cord of the phone twisting around his shoulders.
“The trouble, well, have you read the papers, DCI Morgan?” Gene stuck with titles, mimicking the other man’s manners, trying not to sound sarcastic as he did so. “The recent string of murders committed by a Jefferson Myers…”
“You mean the murders for which Mr. Myers has been taken as a suspect? Let’s try not to convict men before the courts do, DCI Hunt. So, you’ve apprehended a suspect, very good for you, glad to hear it,” Gene sneered and held the handset away from his face for a second, giving it a disgusted look. How patronizing did this smug bastard have to be, to a fellow DCI, of all people? “Are you having difficulty with evidence? Are you dissatisfied with DI Tyler’s handling of the case thus far? If that is the case, DCI Hunt, I would assume that you would…” Gene cut him off.
“Myers is the killer all right, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. The trouble is that the fourth victim, well, he was a member of the police force.” Gene rambled it off quickly, forcefully, not giving Morgan any opportunities to interrupt. “And it was Tyler. I need to know if he has any family, and I need their contact information. Now, if you don’t mind. Got a lot to do, you know, running a division.” For a few moments, there was only silence on the other end of the line.
“You are joking, aren’t you, Mr. Hunt?” The voice on the other end of the line was calm and collected, no emotion showing at all. Gene again thought about how much he hated telephones.
“No, I’m not bloody joking, a twisted bastard murderer has been at the lad and doled out seven shades of bleeding shit in sodding torture on him, and he’s in hospital now. I need to get in touch with his family. You want the dumb shite filing number from his folder or what?” Gene flapped the folder down upon the ledge of the station, twisting around, the phone cord pulling tight around his body, and the nurse jumped.
“If you could please remain calm, DCI Hunt. Just one moment, and I can look up his file. I don’t need the reference number at this time,” Gene was beginning to hate this Morgan fellow already; he seemed, if possible, to be ten times worse than Sam. Or maybe he was just a giant amalgamation of all of Sam’s bad points. Now there was a thought, Gene mused. Perhaps this was the bastard responsible for the giant stick up his DI’s jacksey…
“DCI Hunt? I’ve just checked the file - no contact information. Sam’s parents died when he was a boy, and he has no other family. Is there any other information that I can provide for you?” Morgan’s clipped voice was back on the other end of the line, and Gene clenched his hand tightly around the handset. No family? Sam had never mentioned that at all… Then again, conversations with his DI rarely ranged into family life. He’d just always assumed there were two prim and proper parents out there, horrible sticklers for all the rules, sitting in some little house in Hyde and cleaning things obsessively.
“If you could tell any mates that he has, he’s at Saint James hospital, you know, in case any of them want to…” Morgan cut Gene off.
“I doubt that any of his former colleagues will be able to get away from C Division long enough to come down there, Mr. Hunt. We’re incredibly busy at the moment, you see. If that will be all…?” Morgan’s tone was still flat, still incredibly proper, and still driving Gene up the wall. No mates, then? What about the packs of people Sam was always referencing, the stupid bloody gits he was always complaining about going back to? Where were they?
“Well, then, if that’s the case, sorry to have troubled you, Morgan. Sorry, didn’t know that the fact that a member of the police force was bloody hospitalized, in the goddamned line of duty, a former member of your useless piece of shite team, well… I didn’t know it was that inconvenient and annoying for you, you great tart’s blouse! Enjoy your bloody damned filing, you sodding git!” He screamed this last bit at the top of his lungs, then slammed the handset down, only to find himself caught in the cord. He whirled around, ripping the phone off of the desk and onto the floor with a long clatter and a ringing sound as the internal bell was knocked about. He picked it up off the floor, then slammed it onto the nurses’ station’s ledge.
“Piece of shite!” He shouted, watching the nurse cower in the corner of the station, her eyes wide.
He let out a long, shaking breath, and then looked up at the trembling nurse. “Not you, you stupid bird. It’s all right, Love. Just some bastards on the phone, is all.” He muttered this last bit softly, then slowly walked back over the waiting area and lit another cigarette. He was nearly done with it by the time Cartwright arrived, exactly on time, and holding his coat in her arms.
“Papers have all had proper reports given to them, and all the filing is done. Chris and Ray are helping out with the other cases a bit while they wait for their shifts. And I actually managed to clean this up,” Annie held out the coat, which was, miraculously, free of blood.
“Brilliant, Love. And you did well, you know. You were bloody gorgeous in there, you silly tart. I mean it. With those bastards, and finding them, and now with the sodding paperwork an’ all. You’re shaping up a damned fine detective, Cartwright, and I don’t just mean your nice tits and arse.” He smiled tiredly up at her, then let his gaze wander towards the hall.
“I tried calling Hyde. Said Sam has no family, no one to come down. So it’s just us,” he couldn’t tell which door was Sam’s; he hadn’t seen the doctor since their conversation that morning, and he found it a bit maddening.
“But, but Sam’s mentioned his mum…” Annie’s eyes went wide, and she realized that the only mum Sam had ever mentioned was the one in his bizarre ‘I come from the future’ fantasy, or one that he talked about in the far, far past tense. She swallowed hard. “I suppose not in recent times. I didn’t know he didn’t have any family; I mean, he seemed lonely, but…” Annie’s voice began to waiver.
Gene shook his head, “I’m sorry, Cartwright, but when I compliment you on starting to grow some balls and some chest hair, it does not mean, ‘oh, I’ll go all sodding girly on him and start to prance around like a little ballerina,’ does it? Snap to, DC Cartwright!” Annie flinched, then drew in a deep breath and nodded.
“Right, Gov. So, we still can’t see him?” She tried changing the conversation, and found her own gaze wandering down the corridor.
“Not yet. Bleedin’ bastards say he’s not stable enough, or some other shite. Don’t even know what room they’ve got him in. I’ve half a mind to just storm down there and start checking every damned one of them ICU rooms for him, but I’m too afraid of walking in on some poor little nurse sponge bathing a dried up old corpse of a bitch, and if I wanted to see that, I’d ask you and Phyllis to stage a floor show.” Gene ran his hands over his face, a gesture that Annie was far more used to in Sam than in Gene.
Annie sighed. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep, Gov? You look tired.” Gene nodded, and then stood, feeling his back strain in protest.
“You call me at home if there’s any change at all, or I’ll have your tits for earmuffs, you understand me, Love?” He pulled on the coat, which smelled horribly of chemical cleaning products.
“Yes, Sir,” Annie said, holding out a hand for a moment, daring herself to touch his shoulder, to offer some form of comfort, and then thinking better of it and letting her hands drop to her sides. Gene nodded at her, and then slowly began to shuffle towards the lift, his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his shoulders rolling forward. Annie sucked on her lower lip and tried to keep from crying as she watched him go, and then settled down in the chair that he had just vacated, ignoring the smell of the cigarettes and booze that clung to it.
Sam continued to run as fast as he could through the densely packed wood, long, grasping vines and tendrils of hanging moss sweeping into him, pulling him back. Branches whipped at his quickly moving limbs, ripped at his face and torso, and the density of the forest had completely blocked out the light. He was struggling forward now, through total blackness, aware of the pain rising up around him.
“We’ll be waiting for you, Sam, under the Tumtum tree, waiting for you and making sure that you keep up your part of the bargain, that you finish your tasks. There’s a lot to do, Sam but for now… You can go, for now Sam. We’ll see you soon,” he heard the double’s voice echoing around him, mingling with the hideous laughter of that little girl. His lungs were burning now, and there was a horrible, dull throb on each side of his chest. He felt a strange, thick feeling in his throat, and he realized, eyes going wide, that there was a tube in his throat. A tube… Like the ones that coma patients had…
“Run and run and run until you wake up, in your hospital room, with people who love you and care about you speaking to you while you sleep. We’ll be around, to make sure you keep your end of the bargain.” He heard the double’s voice again, and it was nothing more than a faint echo in the distance. He felt tears of joy begin to slide down his cheeks as he realized what was happening.
“This is it! I’m waking up! After all that, I’m waking up! Yes! Yes! Look out, world, here comes Sam Tyler, and boy has he ever missed you!” Sam’s voice was frantic and crazed as he continued to fight through the enclosing vegetation.
“Just remember one thing, Sam…” The double’s voice swam back at Sam as he felt the machinery around him, felt his chest filled with apparatus of all sorts, felt the tube down his throat and the needles in his arm. “Just remember, Sam…”
*Vital signs are stabilizing! I don’t believe it *
“Oh, believe it, I’m coming!” Sam tried to shout, but found that he couldn’t. He was suspended, he was… He was lying on a bed!
*It’s another bloody miracle!*
Sam felt joy well up inside of him as he heard it, heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor, of his heart, and felt the strange, odd feelings of being nearly unconscious on a hospital bed. 2006! Reality! He was back... A warm feeling of ultimate joy began to surge up inside of him, and then… “It was a conscious decision,” he heard his own voice, not the double’s, choking on blood and whispering it. It was a conscious decision…. Sam’s heart suddenly felt like it had been doused in ice, and the world went totally black.
“Excuse me, Officer Cartwright, was it?” Annie’s head jerked up, and she blushed deeply as she realized that she had been dozing in the waiting room chair. A tall, broad man with thinning ginger hair and glasses was standing above her, and she guessed that it was the doctor Gene had mentioned.
“Yes, Doctor…” She stood and stared at him, wide-eyed and anxious.
“Doctor Denslow. I’m one of Mr. Tyler’s surgeons.” He offered his hand to her, and she shook it, withdrawing her hand quickly when she noticed that she was starting to shake.
“Pleased to meet you, Sir,” she said softly, her eyes still locked onto his. He looked rather sad, she decided, and she hoped that it had nothing to do with Sam.
“Mr. Tyler’s vital signs have stabilized, although he’s still in critical condition and there are many tests that still need to be run. I can allow you a minute or two, at this time, but that’s it. I thought your DCI might appreciate it, or might at least take the gesture as a sort of… As a sort of peace offering, you might say,” Denslow raised his eyebrows in a slight show of exasperation, straightening his tie as he did so, and Annie got the distinct impression that the surgeon had been on the receiving end of one of the Gov’s ‘discussions.’
“Only for a minute?” Annie tried to keep her voice calm and even, her eyes darting towards the hallway and the row of ICU room doors.
“I’m afraid that’s all we can allow now, Miss,” the doctor said, stretching a hand towards the hallway in a gesture that asked her to follow him. She complied, hesitantly, following him down to a door labeled, ‘ICU 11.’ “I’m afraid you won’t be able to touch him, just yet, and it’ll still be some time before he regains consciousness, if he does so at all,” Denslow said, his hand on the door handle. Annie froze in her tracks.
“If he does at all, Sir?” She felt her eyes begin to burn as she stared up at the doctor.
“DCI Hunt didn’t inform you of his condition, then? He was very badly injured, Miss, and there is still a good chance that he might not make it…” he let his voice trail off as he saw Annie’s shoulders sag. She put out a hand and leaned heavily against the door jamb, her eyes flitting quickly back and forth across the floor as she tried to come to terms with what she had just heard. She swallowed hard, and then steeled herself again, looking back up at the doctor, drawing herself up to her full height and squaring her shoulders.
“DCI Hunt didn’t mention that, no, Sir. But there’s also a chance that he’ll make it?” She tried to keep her tone even, but ended up sounding very imploring, as if she were begging for her own life.
“Yes, Miss; now that his vitals are stabilized, I’d say he has a good 50-50 chance. I wouldn’t have ever believed it possible, given the extent and severity of his injuries, but he really has put up a miraculous fight. Very strong will to live in that lad, isn’t there?” Denslow smiled slightly, trying to comfort her.
Annie smiled back at him, closing her eyes for a moment and then meeting his gaze again, “Yes, there is.” She turned her attention to the door, and Denslow pushed it open and led her inside.
For a moment, Annie couldn’t see any part of Sam; several large machines were beeping and whirring around her, a respirator’s pump chamber moving up and down with rhythmic hisses, and a nurse was sitting by the bed, writing something down on a clipboard. Annie took a few more steps towards the machinery, taking in the hanging bottles of blood and saline, and the slow, steady line of a monochrome heartbeat. Denslow saw her staring at it, “Latest thing, that. We’re pulling out all the stops here, I can assure you.”
Annie willed herself to look down, and tried not to gasp. Sam’s face was obscured by bandages covering his eyes and cheek, and by the thick tube taped into place over his mouth. His body was raised slightly in the center, a thick patch of bandage and cushioning surrounding the unseen wound on his back, and she saw two tubes, linked to another hulking mass of machinery, sticking out of either side of his chest. What looked like blood and pus were slowly draining out of the tubes, and being collected in more containers at the side of the bed, along with a container for urine that Annie guessed was linked to a catheter. White bandages surrounded the tubes, and crossed over all of Sam’s chest. His arms were stretched slightly outwards, away from his body, and they, too, were covered in bandages. The lower part of his body was obscured by a plain white sheet, completing the effect of shrouding him totally in white.
“His eyes - why are his eyes bandaged like that? I thought that the flash blindness…” But Annie couldn’t remember what she had read while reviewing the case files. She felt hot tears rise in her eyes and begin to drip slowly down her cheeks, and fought the urge to turn away. He didn’t look even remotely alive - he looked like a corpse, wrapped in an old fashioned death shroud, or like some awful, horrible experiment, kept alive only by machines.
“The corneal abrasions are healing naturally on their own, it’s true, but there was a great deal of blood and debris in his eyes. We’ve bandaged them at this time and they’re being washed regularly, to prevent infection and further damage. Those bandages can come off within a day, though. His eyes should be fine.” Denslow sounded relieved that she had inquired about the eyes, and Annie supposed that they were one of the few injuries that he was positive were going to heal.
“And the tubes?” Annie gestured at the tubes sticking out of Sam’s chest.
“Thoracostomy tubing. We need to drain the excess blood, air, and lymphatic fluid that has collected in his chest cavity, you see. Relieves pressure on the lungs and helps them to reinflate. The blood has already been fully drained out of his lungs themselves, when we performed the surgery and then installed the respirator. With any luck, we’ll be able to remove them in a day or two. We’ll continue monitoring his breathing and the recuperation of his lungs until we’re certain he can survive without the respirator, and then that, too, can be removed and replaced by a simple oxygen mask.”
Annie nodded, trying to understand everything that Denslow was telling her, staring at Sam, not believing that it could be him. It didn’t look a thing like him, it… The figure on the bed didn’t look even remotely like him. He looked so incredibly small, covered in the dense forest of bandages, and she gradually became aware of Denslow’s hand on her arm.
“We should let him be for now, Miss Cartwright. Let him rest, let him heal.” Denslow led her back out of the room, and she felt her legs start to turn to rubber, her knees buckling as they exited the room. Denslow caught her arm and levered her up, a sympathetic wince contorting his features for a moment.
“I’m all right. I’m a police officer. I’m all right,” Annie said, pulling her arm away from him and straightening. She started to walk back towards the waiting area, aware that Chris would be coming… She stared at the clock above the nurses’ station. Chris should have been there nearly four hours ago… It was almost time for Ray’s shift. She felt anger rise up inside of her, anger at herself for having fallen asleep, anger at Chris for having skived off of his shift, anger at Myers for committing such awful crimes, and anger at the world for creating men like Myers in the first place.
“I can have one of the nurses get you a cup of tea,” Denslow began, but Annie cut him off.
“I’m fine, thank you, Sir. And I’d prefer it if you addressed me as DC Cartwright, or Detective, Sir.” She continued to walk back into the waiting area, and then stood in front of the chair that looked out onto the hallway. “And thank you, Sir, for letting me see him. You’ll let us know when we can spend more time with him?” She tried to seem as confident and strong as possible.
“Yes, Miss… Detective Cartwright. I’m actually late for a meeting at the moment, but the other doctors and nurses will be monitoring him closely, and you or any other officer that Mr. Hunt sends will be notified immediately if there is even the slightest change in his condition.” Denslow seemed a bit taken aback, and Annie was glad. She wanted him to see her in the same way that he saw the male detectives, no, she wanted him to see her in the same way that he saw Gene Hunt. As a force to be reckoned with.
Ray’s shift came and went uneventfully, and Annie stayed to talk with him, lying to him and stating that Chris had come and gone, at her request. She had meant to make conversation with him, but neither of them had been very talkative, and they both flipped through months old magazines listlessly as the hours wore by. By the time dawn broke over Manchester, Gene Hunt was back in the at the hospital, looking cleaner, but still drawn, anxious, and very dangerous.
“You stayed here all night, did you, Petal?” he looked appraisingly at Annie, crossing his arms over his chest. “Think you ought to be going home and getting some sleep soon, love. We’re going to need you on shift here in just another couple of hours, when Ray and I go and have a nice chat with our friend down at the station.” Gene’s tone was menacing when he spoke of Myers, and Annie noticed a murderous glint in Ray’s eyes, as well.
“Honestly, Sir, it might be better if you and Ray just went and… Did what needs to be done,” Annie tried to sound disgusted and disapproving, but she was becoming keenly aware of her own desire to see Myers bleed, and it was scaring her. She’d never thought herself capable of wanting to see another living being, let alone another person, in pain. But she couldn’t think of Myers as a person anymore; she could only think of him as the horrible monster that had reduced Sam, her precious Sam, to the broken thing on that bed, tangled amidst a deep web of machinery and tubes and bandages.
“You sure about that, Love?” Gene looked her up and down, then stared down the hallway towards the doors, not sure what to do next.
“I’m sure, Sir.” Annie stood and crossed her own arms over her chest, and Ray stood, as well. The three of them were still for a moment, looking down the corridor and then back and forth at each other, drawing strength from one another. It was then that Denslow approached, somehow having changed clothes and groomed himself impeccably since the last time Annie had seen him.
“DCI Hunt. I hope you’ve calmed down a bit since our last meeting,” Denslow said condescendingly, and then noticed that there were six rather annoyed, tired, and angry eyes trained on him. He changed his tone quickly as he continued.
“As I told Detective Cartwright last night, we’ve managed to stabilize his vitals. He’s definitely not out of the woods yet, but at this time I’d say his chances of making a full recovery have definitely increased to 50-50. I can allow you a minute or two with him, but that’s it, for the time being.” Denslow began to walk towards the door to Room 11, and turned his head, waiting for Gene to follow.
“Just you for now, Mr. Hunt. He really shouldn’t be having visitors at all right now, but you were so… Persuasive… At our last meeting, that I thought you would appreciate this.” Gene glowered at the man’s patronizing tone, then began to follow him towards the door. Annie and Ray watched as the two of them disappeared into the room.
Gene felt his heart beating loudly in his ears as he followed Denslow into room 11 of the ICU. He felt anger and fear burning deep inside him as he stared at the machinery, and at the bandaged figure lying in the bed. He looked over at Denslow as he neared the bed, feeling his face burning, and then feeling the hot blood flooding away from him, draining deeply down into his heart.
“Christ…” He whispered as he neared the bed, the nurse skittering nervously to the side, her eyes flitting quickly between Hunt, the bed, and Denslow. “He looks so…” Gene swallowed hard, fighting back the tears and the screams and the rants that were threatening to overtake him at any minute. “Sam…”
“There’s morphine being fed in along with the saline and the transfusions.” He heard Denslow come up beside him, but the other man’s voice was an echo, barely registering to him. “He’s not in any pain.”
“He’ll be all right.” It wasn’t a question, not even a prayer. It was a declaration, a promise. Gene felt himself swell upwards as if he were threatening a suspect. “He’ll be all right.” He had to fight to keep himself from shouting it at the top of his lungs.
“As I told Detective Cartwright, he has a good 50-50 chance, especially after the miraculous survival he’s already made,” Denslow’s voice was still barely flickering on Gene’s peripherals. “I’m afraid you can’t… Mr. Hunt, you shouldn’t touch…” Denslow’s voice faded away as Gene stretched out his hand, surprised to find it shaking, and rested his palm against Sam’s still exposed right cheek. His DI’s face still felt horribly cold, despite the warmth surrounding them. He cupped his palm against Sam’s face, then withdrew it and reached out to take Sam’s hand, cradling it softly in his own. His breath came in slow, deep, shaking rasps, and time seemed to stand still.
“You’ll be all right, Sammy Boy. Or, God help me, I’ll kill myself just to hunt you down and dole out seven shades of shit on you in hell, my boy,” his voice choked as his hand slowly closed down over Sam’s.
“Mr. Hunt, please. Mr. Hunt…” Denslow stretched out his own hand and placed it on Gene’s wrist. “One of the primary reasons we’re keeping him in isolation is because of the high risk of infection, given the amount of open wounds and the weakened state that the blood loss and hypothermia have put him in. The bandages are quite loose, to allow us to clean and drain the wounds frequently; you shouldn’t jostle him…”
Gene spun around, tears leaking down his face. “Does it look like I’m bloody jostling him?” He screamed, and he grabbed Denslow by his collar, pushing him back and slamming him into the wall. The nurse jumped to the side, as if she were trying to hide behind the machinery crowding the small room. “And don’t you dare say that there’s even a chance he won’t pull through! That boy’s going to be fine! He’s going to be more than fine, you pompous cunt!” Gene lifted Denslow up slightly and slammed him, hard, back into the wall of the room.
“Mr. Hunt!” Denslow shouted back at Gene and lifted up his arms, swiping Gene’s hands away from his collar with a strength that Gene wouldn’t have thought possible. Denslow rose up to his full height, a good few inches taller than Gene, and quite formidable. “I understand that you are upset, but an outburst like this is not helping in the slightest!” Denslow grabbed Gene by the shoulder and literally dragged him from the room, shoving him out of the door and into the hall. Gene swore that he heard Annie gasp from down the hall, and turned his head to see her hands lifted to her face, and Ray’s eyes wide and staring. He took another series of deep breaths, feeling the air slowly fill his lungs, which were burning with a deep, bright, fiery anger.
Gene shook himself slightly, like a dog throwing off water, and then straightened his collar with a swift snapping motion. He stared, menacingly, at Denslow, still breathing deeply, the few tears that had flooded to his eyes in the room streaking his face. He closed his eyes for a second, and then let himself deflate, the edge leaving his shoulders. Denslow, too, stood down.
“Gov…” Ray had walked down the hall as Gene cooled, and was now standing only a few feet away, watching both Gene and Denslow warily. Annie was still standing back down the hallway, a look of shocked reproach on her face, open disapproval on her face, and fear.
“He’ll be all right,” Gene repeated, softly, his voice cracking slightly. “He will. You’ll see to that.” It wasn’t a challenge, it was a hard order, Gene’s voice grew resolute and strong.
Denslow stared appraisingly at Gene for a moment, and then slowly nodded and let his eyes close for a moment, opening them to look much more kindly upon the calming DCI before him. “I will.”
Gene nodded in return, and then muttered, “No hard feelings,” as he rubbed his hand briskly across his eyes. Denslow gave another short nod.
“And now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Hunt, I have patients to attend to. I’ll stay on Mr. Tyler’s case until after he’s fully stabilized, and then other doctors will take over the case. I’ll make sure that our arrangement stands, no matter whose patient Mr. Tyler becomes. For the time being, though, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Detective Chief Inspector.” Gene nodded, and it dawned on him that the arrangement Denslow was referencing was much more than the visitor’s rights they’d discussed in his office.
“All right, then, Doctor.” Gene turned and walked towards the door. “Cartwright, you stay here until I send Skelton up for his next shift; sorry to stick you here so long, Love, but Ray and I have business to tend to. A few hours should be all it takes to patch a clean hole through the meat of that dirty bitch’s shoulder, and we should be able to sign him out to police custody now.” Gene motioned for Ray to follow him, and the two of them made a beeline for the lift. Annie watched as they left, still speechless, but now sure of what she had just seen. She smiled slightly; Gene Hunt always got his way, and his methods could be very rough, but this time, she was glad for it.
The few steps into the lift and the short trip down to the next floor gave Gene more than enough time to fully collect himself, and he felt a slight hint of satisfaction at the notion that he was soon going to be able to beat the bloody pulp out of the bastard who truly deserved it. He looked over and noticed that Ray had averted his eyes, and then ran the cuff of his sleeve over his eyes, ran his hands through his hair, and finished straightening his collar and the lapels of his coat.
“So… Ready to take our little friend down to the station, Ray?” Gene’s voice was riddled with anger and anticipation. He noticed a small, menacing smile curving Ray’s lips.
“More than ready, Gov. Swift kick in the balls is all the boss ever warranted, granted, he did warrant it every bloody second of every bloody day, but everything that he got beyond that, every little bit… There’s a bit of tit for tat coming to this bastard Myers, isn’t there?” Ray’s voice was low and growling.
“Oh, a right bollocking, and then some, I’ve got to agree, Raymondo,” fury blazed within Gene’s eyes. The two of them approached the desk of the hospital’s second floor, both with hands locked in their pockets and eyes flashing.
“DCI Hunt and DS Carling, here to take one Jefferson Myers into police custody, Love,” Gene’s voice was tinged with a horrible, playful menace.
“Myers? But we just signed him out to police custody an hour ago, Sir,” the duty nurse’s face contorted in confusion.
“You… You what?” Gene’s voice took on a strained, maniacal quality.
“We signed him out just a little under an hour ago, Sir…” The fear was obvious in the nurse’s voice.
“You signed him out to who?” Gene screamed it at her, his hands flying to the counter and slamming down, and he flew into the nurse’s face, veins bulging in his neck and forehead and eyes shining madly.
“He was released into police custody, a, a, a…” The nurse stammered, her voice high and quaking, “A Detective Skelton, Sir.”
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