Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 18b
After spending the entire afternoon threatening, screaming, breaking furniture, and even begging so hard that he’d practically been down on his knees in front of Superintendent Rathbone, Gene found himself slowly making his way back towards the hospital. Glen and Chris, and then Glen and Ray, joined by Annie, had continued to take as many statements from as many witnesses as they could find. Oswald had done a few calculations and found that the latest victim had to have been killed at about eleven o’clock the previous night, and that the body had to have been dumped sometime between two and three o’clock in the morning: this news had come as a bit of a blow, as Gene was sure there weren’t even drunks about at that time of night, not unless there was a stag party or a football match during the day.
Annie’s news had been the biggest shocker of the day, even bigger than the receipt of the note from their killer, and Gene was torn between two ideas: either the studio had the girl deliberately lying to them, or Sam himself had been to see Myers. Given what Annie had said about the ‘other artist’s’ hair, so far as that daft Julie bird had been concerned, and decided that it was definitely the former, and not the latter. But why would the studio be covering for the other killer? Gene mulled over the idea of heading down to Hyde and trying to find their mystery artist the next day, and decided that it would make a good morning trip for himself and the other three male detectives. He vowed to continue his hunt for the warrant, which continued to swim amidst red tape, the next afternoon. He was certain that it was Barrie, but there was an odd, niggling sensation at the base of his skull, one that he would have called instincts, if it wasn’t his instincts that had pointed him towards Barrie in the first place.
In the end, Gene decided that the strange feeling he was having was his instincts kicking in, and trying to inform him that the studio was somehow wrapped up in the killings, both those committed by Myers, and those committed by their wanted man. Gene shook his head and tried to fit all of the puzzle pieces together in his mind, and found himself pounding the steering wheel of the Cortina, which he had just parked in the hospital’s car park, over and over again, frustration falling down heavily upon his shoulders. He rested his forehead on his gloved hands for a moment, and then threw the car door open angrily, climbing out and making his way in and towards the lifts to the ICU’s floor, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he made his way through.
He turned as he heard a shuddering and faulty car engine turn off back in the car park, and then heard footsteps quickly thudding along the concrete floor of the car park. Ray had just pulled in, and was racing towards him. He turned and looked over at Ray, hoping that he wasn’t delivering more bad news.
“Just coming to pick up the div. Thought I’d walk in with you,” Ray said as the two of them entered the hospital, and Gene nodded at him.
“What do you make of what that studio bird told Cartwright?” Ray asked, and Gene only shook his head in response.
“There’s no bloody way that it was Tyler, especially not looking like a normal bloke; Tyler’s always got that damned short cut on. The studio wankers have to be in on stonewalling us, although why, I’ve no bleedin’ idea.” Gene glowered as the lift doors shut in front of them and Ray pushed the button for the fifth floor.
“And what if those ponces in Discipline and Complaints are in on it, too?” Ray asked, and Gene felt his expression twist into an even sourer one as they continued their way slowly up the lift shaft.
“Thought has crossed my mind, Raymondo. Thing is, he knows we’re onto us. That soddin’ note said it all: ‘pleasure meeting you.’ Damned git knows us.” Gene lit a cigarette as the lift doors opened in front of them, and Ray followed suit, the two of them leaving the lift in a cloud of white-blue smoke and slowly making their way down the hallway. They were stopped by Gene’s nurse, a very cross expression on her face, and she pointed at the table in the center of the waiting room.
“Don’t you dare smoke around that boy,” she said, glowering at them, and then grabbed each of their elbows and lead them to the table, pointing at the ashtray on it once again. “I’ve had about enough of your stinking up that room, and I’m sure his lungs have had enough of your damned stink, too.” She gave them another stern look, and the two of them stubbed out their half-finished fags in the ashtray before straightening up. She gave them a short nod, and then started leading them towards the room. Ray rolled his eyes once her back was turned, and Gene gave a short grunt of assent, only to be answered by her harsh old voice once again, “And don’t think that I didn’t see that.” Ray gave Gene a slightly shocked and disgusted look, and Gene smirked.
“Knows her shit, the old bat does,” he said, and Ray let his mouth close as the three of them approached the room. The nurse turned to them before pushing the door open.
“Boy’s slept through the entire day, and I don’t want any of you waking him. So no commotion, and if he does come to, you let him go back out the second he starts to fall asleep again. Or I put in that call to both your misuses and tell them that I’m Trudy the Tahitian barmaid, and you both owe me for an extra poke on tab. Got it?” She turned and pointed at them, giving them a very sour look that made Gene crack a small grin, and Ray grimace in disgust. He leaned forward.
“I’m not married,” he stated, and her old face twisted into a very girlish and decidedly wicked grin.
“Not too old for a good, swift spanking, then,” she said, and then opened the door, Ray starting to say something else to her as Gene yanked him in by his coat collar. The nurse followed them in, and then made her way to the charts at the foot of the bed, musing over the writing that were written upon it and giving them an approving nod.
“He doing better, then?” Gene asked, and she nodded once again, this time in Gene’s direction.
“We’re moving him out of ICU tomorrow afternoon, and we’re going to start trying to get him eating again tomorrow morning,” she said, and Gene nodded at her.
“Good, get him something that’ll stick to his ribs. Lad’s losing too much weight in this damned hellhole.”
“This damned hellhole saved that boy’s life, you addle-brained jackarse. And don’t you worry about us, we know a damned sight more about takin’ care of our patients than you do. And no sneakin’ outside food in, either, especially not whatever shite you’ve been consuming, you lardy bastard.”
Gene shook his head and gave her a smile as she left, taking the other nurse out of the room with her, and throwing a quick, “Ellie will be in every hour to check on him, all right?” Gene nodded at her as she left.
“Cross old bint, ought to give her a piece of my mind, the dumbshite ol’ crow,” Ray said, and Gene cuffed him, hard, on the ear.
“Shut your gob, ol’ bitch knows her stuff,” Gene said, and Ray tried to keep from looking too flabbergasted at that particular comment. Chris looked up at them both from where he was seated next to Sam’s bed, and then stood, offering the seat to Gene.
“Slept the whole time through, same as Annie and Ray said he did,” Chris stated, a blank look covering his face and making him oddly unreadable. Gene moved to take Chris’ place, and then looked back up at the two of them.
“I want the two of you in here, along with Fletcher and Cartwright, tomorrow morning at eight, same as we’ve been doing. While Cartwright’s on her shift, the rest of us are going to head down to Hyde, start meeting those poncey gits face to face, see if that doesn’t jog any of their memories. And we’re also going to be looking into that piece of shit sculpture that Skelton and I found at the museum, see if we can’t track down where it came from any better than that Buchanan tosser did. Eight sharp. Now head out and get some whiskey and rest, I want you both in top form tomorrow,” Gene rattled this off quickly, and then Chris nodded at him. He and Ray both left then, throwing a couple of subdued, “G’night, Gov” and “G’night, Boss” comments over their shoulders as the door closed behind them.
Gene pulled his chair closer to Sam’s bed as the door slipped shut behind them, and then leaned against the raised portion of Sam’s bed, staring at his unmoving face. “You wouldn’t happen to have an evil twin out there, would you, Sammy? Like on some daft program on the telly?” He laughed at the thought, and then slowly ran the back of his hand over Sam’s cheek, his gaze still fixed on Sam’s closed eyes. “Or if you did, would you even remember it? Shit, Sam, I really need you on this one.” Gene hated to admit it, but between all of the bizarre twists and turns, and the reams of red tape, this case was right up Sam’s alley. He sighed and let his head fall, reaching for his packet of Marlboros, and then let his hand fall as well, not wanting to upset the sharp old nurse. Sam didn’t move, but his chest continued to rise and fall rhythmically as Gene watched him, and pulled out his flasks, replacing the urge to smoke with even more drink than usual.
Nurses came and went, taking Sam’s vital signs and listing them on the chart at the foot of the bed, and Gene watched silently as they did so, unwilling to leave the room, even to go have a much-needed fag. Gene continued to muse over the facts of the case, over the way that the killer knew them, and was toying with them now; there had never been a time in his entire life when he had wanted a killer this badly, and there had never been a time when he’d needed Sam’s input more. He silently cursed himself for being too slow to catch on, and tried to think of what Sam might do if he were in on the case. This line of thought only lead to more questions about Sam cropping up from his subconscious, and more mulling over the obscured details of Sam’s past. He was still trying to piece together both of the puzzles in his mind, growing more and more frustrated and slightly drunk as the evening wore into the night, when a sound from the bed caused him to jerk his head up.
Sam was twisting about on the pillow again, his face twisting into very obvious and very painful expressions of fear. Gene watched him closely for a moment, silently willing the nightmare to pass, but it only seemed to worsen until Sam’s head was turning from side to side, taking his shoulders with it, and Sam started to whimper and moan in his sleep again. Gene watched, wanting to wake Sam up, to find whatever it was that was hurting him and to beat it into oblivion, but restraining himself, with some difficulty. They’d said to let Sam sleep, and there was no way that Gene could protect him from whatever it was that was tormenting now, a fact that just made Gene feel more and more defeated as the night dragged along. When the nurse came in to check on him again, he threw her a questioning look. “He’s been like this for nearly a half hour now; he all right?” The nurse nodded at him.
“He has nightmares, from time to time. It’s usual, after this sort of trauma,” she said, and she cast a worried glance over at Sam. Gene looked from her to Sam, and she cast him one last glance as she left the room, pausing to look at Sam. Gene watched as Sam continued to twist, then threw another look at the door, and decided to hazard waking Sam up, more for his sake than for Sam’s.
Gene slowly laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “Sam? Tyler?” Sam’s whimpering intensified, and then he started to gasp slightly. Gene had definitely had enough of watching it, and he started to shake Sam, a bit more forcefully than he intended. “Sam!” Sam bolted up right on the bed, sitting at a ninety degree angle, his eyes flung wide and an expression of terror on his face. He drew in a few ragged breaths and then started coughing, hard. The force of it caused him to bend forward, and he squinted his eyes as his lungs and ribs strained. Gene reached forward with both hands, placing one on Sam’s shoulder and the other on his back, trying to ease Sam back against the bed.
“Oi! Ellie, get your pretty little arse back in here, you daft tart!” Fear grasped a hold of Gene as Sam continued to shake and cough under his hands, and he tried again to straighten Sam back out without applying too much force. The nurse rushed back in, followed by another, and the two of them pushed Gene back into his chair as they forced Sam back into a sitting position. One of them grasped a handful of tissues from the unmarked box on the bedside table and held it under Sam’s mouth.
“It’s all right, Mr. Tyler, it’s all right, just breathe evenly, don’t rush it. Get it out in here, that’s good,” she said, and Sam hacked and spit into the tissues, then fell back against the cushions, gasping. The nurse crumpled the tissues and placed them into a small dustbin marked “medical waste” at the foot of the bed, and then left. The other one was still holding Sam back against the bed, urging him to breathe evenly. Sam eventually caught his breath and then started breathing normally, leaning heavily back against the pillows.
“I thought he was better! What the bloody hell was that, then?” Gene asked, anger rising up in him as he jumped to his feet.
“It’s what happens, with pneumonia - there’s a sort of, well…” The nurse struggled to find a decent explanation, and they were both slightly shocked when Sam gave Gene a reply, still sounding out of breath, but no longer coughing or gasping.
“Pneumonia causes shit to build up in your lungs, and even after you’re better, it stays for a while, ‘til you cough it all out,” Sam said, and then closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, opening them again and looking from the nurse to Gene, his breath finally calm and silent again.
The nurse gave Sam a kind smile, “Technically, the build up in the lungs is the pneumonia, but that’s a good way of putting it,” her brows knit slightly in a sympathetic expression, “Have you had it before, Dear?”
Sam shook his head slightly and drew in a breath slowly before answering, “No. My mum, she had it a few years back. Sick for weeks, even after she was actually better.” Sam closed his eyes again and shifted himself slightly on the bed.
“Do you need help getting into a different position, Mr. Tyler?” The nurse asked, and Sam shook his head and continued to slowly shift himself, then started to nod. The nurse carefully helped him to straighten his back out against the raised portion of the bed, and then placed a hand very lightly on his chest, “Ribs feel all right? Nothing hurting you?” Sam shook his head.
“No. I’m all right.” Sam paused and looked from Gene to the nurse again, eventually letting his gaze fall upon her. “Can I have some water, please?” The nurse practically cooed at him, and Gene couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at that. Tyler, always impressing the ladies with his poncey manners. She patted him on the shoulder and straightened up, then started heading for the door.
“Of course, Dear, be right back,” she said, and Gene threw Sam a wry look as she left.
“Fiver says you were looking at her backside,” Gene said, and Sam gave him what was, completely and perfectly, just as Gene had come to know it, the patented, ‘you disgust me’ grimace of Sam Tyler. Gene couldn’t help but crack a giant grin and give a short chuckle as he saw this. Sam shook his head and then closed his eyes for a moment again, then opened them and turned his head to look over at Gene.
“I was not looking at her backside. I’m too bloody damned tired to look at anyone’s backside. Claudia Schiffer could be in the room naked, and I wouldn’t notice. So stop laughing at me,” Sam said, and Gene continued to shake slightly with silent chuckles and to beam at him, although he did twist his face into a questioning expression when Sam mentioned Claudia Schiffer, as if to say, ‘who?’ Sam shook his head at this and then smiled back at Gene, and then the nurse came in, holding another pitcher of water and some plastic cups. She placed them down on the table and poured one of the cups a third full, and then Gene took it from her and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I’ve got it, Love. Boy talk now,” Gene said, nodding towards the door, and the nurse raised a questioning eyebrow at him before backing towards the door shaking her head slightly as she did so.
“Thank you,” Sam said quietly, and she smiled at him.
“You let us know if there’s anything you need, all right? One of us will be in to check on you every hour, if you want us to come more frequently, just let us know. And you can always send your guard out, all right?” The nurse smiled at Sam again, and then left. Sam cast a quizzical look after her, and then turned to Gene.
“Guard?” he asked, trying to lift his arm to take a hold of the cup from Gene, and finding that it was incredibly heavy. Eventually he managed to raise it, wincing as the fresh scars and stiff muscles bent and finally yielded to him.
“I’ve got two plod outside the door, two WPC’s in here from midnight to eight in the morning, and Cartwright, Ray, Chris and I are in here on shifts at all other times of the day,” Gene said, and he noticed that Sam’s hand was raised. He moved forward to place the cup in Sam’s hand, and felt Sam’s arm trembling as he did so. “Can you hold that on your own?” He asked, and he felt Sam’s fingers close clumsily around the cup, and then start to slip. He wrapped his own hand around Sam’s, placing his forearm against Sam’s own, and then nodded, “Here, take your time, I won’t give you any more help than you want, all right?”
Sam slowly tried to raise the cup and lean forward slightly, and found that it seemed to get heavier as he did so. Within a minute, his entire arm was shaking with the effort, and he felt Gene start to take over the motion, cupping his hand and forearm more strongly around Sam’s and completing the movement. Sam drank slowly, and then leaned back, allowing Gene to pull away the cup and his arm. Once Gene’s arm was no longer lending him support, Sam had to fight to keep his own arm lifted, and to move it back down and against the bed slowly, instead of just letting it flop. We winced at the soreness in the limb and started to breathe a bit more heavily with the exertion, but eventually he got the arm into the exact place that he wanted it. He took a few slow breaths and then looked at Gene, who was watching him worriedly. Gene being this subdued, and showing this much concern, was incredibly disconcerting; Sam half wished that he would just insult him and punch him in the gut, just to reassure him that he’d woken up in the right world.
“I’m all right, Gov,” Sam said, and Gene shook his head and gave a small smile at this. “Now what did she mean, ‘guard?’” Sam asked, and Gene looked away towards the door, and then looked back down at Sam.
“Like I said, I’ve got the two plod on the door, and someone in here with you at all times,” Gene said, and Sam gave him a hard stare.
“Why? Aren’t you slowing up the investigation, doing that?” Sam tried to make his expression as hard as possible as he looked at Gene.
“We… We still haven’t caught him, Sam,” Gene said, and Sam gave him a questioning look, and then glanced around the room, trying to find anything that resembled a file folder.
“Did you bring the files?” Sam asked, and Gene nodded, then reached down and lifted the folders that were neatly piled on the floor under one of the two hard plastic chairs in the room. He did not, however, hand them to Sam, and instead he stood giving Sam an appraising look, not at all like a lion sizing up its prey, which was the normal look that Sam had come to expect whenever Gene was giving him the once over, and with fear behind his eyes. “What is it?” Sam asked, and Gene leaned forward and placed the folders on one of the chairs and settled back on the bed, his buttock and the side of his leg brushing against Sam’s thigh.
“He’s after you, Sam,” Gene said, and Sam was mildly surprised to find that he wasn’t shocked at all by this news. He looked back at Gene for a moment, trying to read his face, and found that it was momentarily indecipherable. Sam closed his eyes for a moment and thought, trying to remember everything that he could about the killer, no, he realized, about the killers, and everything that he’d ever read about the habits of serial killers. He looked back at Gene.
“It doesn’t make sense, for a killer like this to be after someone he failed to kill. They go after failed kills again to prove a point, or because it’s part of some grand master plan, or because their prey was chosen for a specific reason, and they need to kill the specific person. As far as we know, he’s killing them to steal body parts, and he’s choosing them indiscriminately, although they do all fit a certain rough description, and he’s not doing it to prove a point to the world, only for some sick internal pleasure… Unless we’ve got more information? Gov, what else have you learned about him? Did anything come up to confirm the theory that he’s eating the missing body parts? Have you gotten any, gotten any…” Sam’s voice grew more and more breathless as he rattled through his speech, and eventually gave way to several hard, jarring coughs. Gene quickly moved forward and reached one arm behind Sam’s shoulders, pressing the other up and against the top of his chest, trying to hold him steady as he coughed. When the fit eventually subsided, he grabbed the box of tissues off of the table and offered them to Sam, who shook his head, still trying to catch his breath, but laying back and still.
“I don’t know if he’s eating them or not, now, Sam. It seems the pieces that he’s taking from their fronts are all a part of something called the endo-shit system, or something...” Sam cut Gene off.
“Endocrine system,” Sam said softly, his breathing coming normally once again. “Regulates chemical functions.”
Gene raised an eyebrow and nodded, “Figures you’d know that, it’s more science bollacks, right up your alley, and up your jacksie, I’ll wager,” he said, and the two of them exchanged small grins, glad to be falling back into their old patterns again. Sam nodded at Gene and Gene continued.
“So I don’t know if he’s eating the bits he’s taking or not; right now, we’re not so sure. I’ve got statements from the last known locations and dump sites on all five bodies,” Sam’s eyes widened as Gene said this, and Gene gave him a defeated nod. “Yeah, two more since you’ve been in here,” he said sadly, and Sam winced at this, then waited for Gene to continue. “And we’ve got nothing. He’s taken a different major endocrine gland thing from every victim, and the pieces of flesh taken off of the victims’ backs all meet the same exact physical measurements, even though the backs of the victims were a bit different in size. I’ve got no soddin’ clue why the bastard’s doing this; at this point, eatin’ ‘em would make the most sense, but that just isn’t clicking for me anymore. He’s taking the parts for something else, and he’s taking different parts from each victim for a reason. I just don’t know why…” Gene paused, not sure what to tell Sam next, and very uncertain as to whether or not he wanted to admit that their prime suspect was Sam’s own doctor. He looked away for a moment, and then started to pace around the room a few times before eventually taking a large swig from one of his flasks and sitting back down next to Sam, his hand gripping Sam’s as he did so.
“Gov? Gene?” Sam asked, and he was suddenly incredibly afraid of whatever Gene would tell him next. It took a lot to scare Gene Hunt, and, from what Sam could tell, something was scaring him shitless.
“The bastard’s been to see you, Sam. In this room. While you were so bloody damned hurt and sick you couldn’t even breath on your own, he came in, left us a little message, carved in the wall up there, don’t look, careful, you’ll hurt yourself, you daft twat!” Gene reached forward and pressed Sam back against the raised bed, trying to keep him from turning around and looking at the mark on the wall. “It’s carved into the plaster of the wall, a symbol that we’ve come to associate with our killer, some sort of sigil or some wanky shit like that, I’ve got plenty of drawings of it in the files for you to look through later.” Gene stared at Sam’s face, and saw that his eyes were wide and his breath was coming more quickly. He laid a hand against the side of Sam’s face and started to move it up and down, gently stroking his cheek and jaw. “I shouldn’t have told you. Calm down,” Gene said, and Sam’s breathing evened out and was once again normal and silent. He leaned into Gene’s hand, nuzzling it, and then let his eyes close for a moment before opening them again and staring up at Gene.
“So that’s why you’ve got the guard up,” Sam said, and then he thought for a moment before speaking again. “I, somehow I knew he’d be after me, but I didn’t think, I mean,” Sam sighed and tried to keep from running off and running out of breath again. “Thank you. For the guard. You could’ve just put some uniform out there, you didn’t need to come yourself,” Sam said, and the closed his eyes for a moment again, taking in the soothing motion against his face.
“We had to. You’re one of us, Sam, and you’re too damned important to just trust to the plod,” Gene said, and Sam opened his eyes again and gave Gene a confused look.
“Didn’t think I was,” he said, and Gene rolled his eyes.
“Come on, don’t go getting all sulky on me again. You know how important you are to us, you soft prick,” Gene moved his hand away from Sam’s face and ruffled his hair, and Sam gave him an annoyed look. “That’s better. Much more like the Sammy we all love and want to rip the balls off of.” Gene moved his left hand to rest on Sam’s shoulder, and grasped Sam’s right hand with his own. “He, uh, he left a little note, with the personal effects from the last victim. Had them all folded in a bag, fingerprints everywhere, bold as brass, and with a note, saying that he’d been pleased to meet us. That he’d been pleased to meet me, and that he was going to take what was his.” Gene tried to keep the strain out of his voice as he said it, and looked away, suddenly incredibly aware, and angry, that his eyes were starting to sting. He blinked a few times and felt the tears abate, and then looked back down at Sam, who was staring questioningly up at him again.
“He said that you’d met him?” Sam said, and Gene nodded gravely.
“Bastard’s toying with us now, but I’m going to get him, before he gets to anyone else, and damned sure before he can get back to you,” Gene said. “’Take what’s mine…’ The damned git’s going to get what’s his all right, and it’s a bloody hard beating from me, and from the rest of us. Cartwright might even rip his balls off, I’d wager, if the boys and I leave ‘em on.”
Sam thought about the message for a moment, and then looked up at Gene, “He called me ‘it.’ They. They called me ‘it.’ Like I was an object, not a person. They don’t see the victims as people, Gov…” Sam noticed that he’d started to shake as he thought about it, and he tried to steady himself. Gene noticed, as well, and he gripped Sam’s hand more tightly.
“Don’t think about that now, all right? There’s a lot more in the case files that we can go over before we even have to get near that, Sam.” Gene had started stroking Sam’s face again, and Sam let the motion calm him, fighting back the shaking and the horrible, thick feeling in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked back at Gene, steeling himself for what had to come next.
“I have to tell you, Gene. You need all the witness statements you can get, especially one from an attempted victim. I have to tell you, and the others, Ray and Chris and Annie… Was Glen here?” Sam asked, suddenly remembering seeing a young DC Fletcher at one point, and Gene nodded at him.
“Pulled him in as an extra pair of hands, and because he was at Hyde the same time you were supposed to be there,” Gene said, and Sam suddenly snapped to, realizing what Gene had just said.
“The same time that I was… Supposedly there?” Sam asked, and Gene nodded at him.
“We know you’re not from Hyde, Sam. We think that the killer might actually be targeting you, on account of the way that all of the other poor sods that he offed fit a rough description of your poncey arse, and we called down and requested that all of your old case files be sent up. They sent us copies that were obviously someone else’s history with the force, and when Fletcher called up his old DS there, the man had never heard of you. Good lad, that colored boy, thinks well on his feet,” Gene said, and Sam smiled appreciatively at this. Glen had definitely always been the best… Sam stopped musing over that fact and turned his attention back to what Gene was saying about Hyde.
“So… You know I’m not from Hyde?” Sam asked, not sure how to phrase the question without ending up in a straight jacket. Annie had been right; if Gene learned about where he was really from, it was a one-way ticket to the funny farm.
Gene gave Sam another appraising look, much more like the lion-stalking-prey looks that Sam had become accustomed to, and then nodded. “Only thing is, we don’t know where you’re really from. Care to enlighten us on that?”
Sam stared at Gene for a few moments, and then turned away, wishing that he could say something, anything, that might help him to understand what was going on. Only if he wasn’t from Hyde, why was that where the mysterious calls had come from? Why was that where the man that could hear him was calling from, if it wasn’t where he was from? Sam looked back at Gene, growing more and more aware of the fact that Gene could sense his confusion. He didn’t answer, and braced himself for whatever Gene would say next.
“Didn’t think you’d be able to, at that,” Gene said, and Sam’s confusion grew even larger, blotting out any thought that he’d invested in the case and filling his mind. Gene didn’t expect him to be able to tell him where he was from? Did that mean that Gene had already decided he was crazy?
“What?” Sam asked, and Gene squeezed his hand again.
“You’ve always seemed a bit, you know, off your nut, but I always figured it was just you. Didn’t stop you from being a bloody good copper, and a bloody good pain in the arse, too, so I let it slide. Then when all this bullshit was dropped on us from Hyde, we all started thinking about the way you talk about Hyde. Like you just assumed that was where you were from. Like you were just playin’ along with some bleedin’ game that we’d started, and you didn’t want to be a part of. So I rang round the brain-neuro-whatsit git’s office here in hospital, found out that if you did have concussion when you came down, it could have caused amnesia. Like on some daft bird’s telly program. You don’t remember where you’re from, do you, Sammy?” Gene’s look was incredibly patronizing, and it made Sam feel ashamed. Still, he supposed it was a better lie than telling Gene he was from Hyde, and he tried to look Gene in the eyes as he answered him.
“Yes. No clue,” Sam said, and then looked away, unable to lie any more to Gene about where he was from. Gene accepting him as seeming, ‘a bit off of his nut,’ over a concussion was far more likely than Gene accepting him saying that he was from the future. He looked back at Gene, and the patronizing look had been replaced by one of honest concern, which just made the lie sting inside of him even more.
“I didn’t think so,” Gene said, and he moved his hand up to stroke Sam’s forehead a few times, before resting it on Sam’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you’re any more of a batshit nutter than I already thought you were, Sammy boy, just means that now, maybe I can give you a little soddin’ help. You’re always whinging so much about bein’ on your own, about not fitting in, you don’t realize that you put yourself in that place most of the time, you stupid tart. And it’s not even your daft, poncey, fancy science shite ways that do it, it’s just, other things. Hell, I don’t bleedin’ know.”
Gene sighed, then glanced away for a moment, as if there were still something else that he was trying to keep away from Sam. “We’ve got a suspect, but it’s a respected member of the community, someone we’re going to need a lot of evidence against, and right now, he’s got lawyers stonewalling all my soddin’ attempts at getting a damned warrant.”
Sam locked his eyes onto Gene’s, trying to figure out what it was that would keep him from telling Sam straight away who the suspect was. Sam stared at him for a moment, waiting, and disliking the way that Gene was acting so unlike himself. “Are you going to tell me who it is?” Sam continued to mull over the possibilities, and drew a blank as to what suspect could possibly cause such behavior in Gene. “Shit, Gene, at this point, the only way you could shock me is if you said it was my own doctor.”
Sam expected Gene to laugh, to call him a few names, maybe even rap him on his shoulder a bit for being such a moron, and for making such a bad joke. The look on Gene’s face quelled all of Sam’s humor, and made him feel incredibly cold. It wasn’t possible, it had to be some sick sort of joke… Sam realized that he’d started shaking again, and that Gene was looking at him as if he were the saddest thing in the entire world.
“He’s a right poncey git of a bastard, too, Sam,” Gene said, and then he noticed the way that Sam had started trembling. “Sam… It’s all right. I said I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, didn’t I? Shit, Sam, come on,” Sam felt one of Gene’s arms slide behind his shoulders, and then felt himself being lifted slightly. He felt another surge of fear rush through him as he realized that Gene was embracing him, something that seemed so out of place in their relationship, and with the world, that it was as if everything had suddenly gone mad. He breathed in the smell of Gene, of Old Spice and stale smoke and booze, of too many nights spent sleeping at a desk, an old, musty, sour smell that should have been completely off-putting, and yet somehow seemed to have become the most comforting scent in the entire world. He tried to inhale more deeply, and then found his throat and chest rebelling against him again; he fought against the sensation, and felt his body jerk slightly in Gene’s arms, pain shooting through his back and chest as he did so.
Gene felt Sam start to buck under his grip, and pulled back quickly, rubbing at Sam’s back as he bent forward and started coughing again. He jumped up and grabbed for the box of tissues on the table, ripping a handful of them out of the box one by one, until he had a sizable mass in his hand, and then mimicked the movements of the nurses. Sam continued to hack for nearly a minute, and then spit thickly into the tissues, causing both Gene and himself to grimace in disgust for a moment. Gene wadded up the tissues and threw them on the table, then helped Sam to ease back down against the bed. Sam’s eyes closed as he lay for a few minutes, gasping, and Gene gripped his shoulder so tightly that Sam felt a twinge of pain there, until his breathing evened out again.
Sam opened his eyes again, “Hate this shit. No wonder Mum always looked so miserable that month,” and Gene suddenly pulled back and gave Sam another look.
“Wait, Sam - your mum and dad, they’re dead, aren’t they?” Sam shot him a confused look in return.
“No, dad cleared out when I was four, but Mum and I were together until I left home. She still lives not ten blocks from, from… Where I used to live…” Sam’s voice trailed off, and he took another few breaths, suddenly feeling even more like he’d just run a marathon than he had when he’d woken up. Gene’s look of concern returned, incredibly disconcerting once again, although Sam thought that he should probably get used to it, at least until he was well enough for Gene to use him as a punch bag again.
“So you’ve got a mum out there…” Gene seemed to contemplate this for a moment, and then noticed that Sam’s eyelids were dropping again. He looked at his watch, “Almost midnight. And you’ve got a big day tomorrow: Cartwright’s coming in at eight, and those damned tarts said they were going to try and get you eating again,” Gene ran a finger along the hollow of Sam’s cheek, “So you’d damned better finish everything that’s put in front of you, or I’ll just feed you your own balls, instead. I want Cartwright to brief you on all of that, and Ray, who’s here from noon to four, and they said they were moving you to a private room outside of the ICU in the afternoon, so that’ll probably be on Ray’s watch. Then Chris is here from four to eight. You ask them anything you want to know, go over all of the files with them. And I come in from eight to midnight, so be prepared to give me your witness statement then. Be a good boy, and I’ll sneak you in some booze.”
Sam’s eyes were closed, and he was finding it harder to stay awake. “You ought to take the statement now,” he mumbled, and then slowly lapsed into sleep again. Gene leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.
“Don’t you go thinkin’ I’m some bleedin’ fairy, just ‘cause I care about you, you twat,” Gene said, and then lightly brushed his lips against the side of Sam’s cheek. “And no more nightmares, or I’ll beat your arse.” He allowed himself one final kiss, on the side of Sam’s jaw, and was angry to find his eyes burning again. “And I promise, nothing else happens to you, and I’ll find your mum. She deserves to know, and you do, too. I’ll get them to tell me where you’re from, even if I have to string that Morgan bastard from the ceiling. Hell, we can use him as a Halloween decoration. Bet he’d make a good scarecrow.” Gene moved away from the bed and settled back in the chair that was free from case files, and waited less than ten minutes before the nurse returned to take more readings, and the two WPC’s came to start their night shift.
Comments and criticism are highly appreciated and encouraged!