Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 24b, Red Cortina, by Sytaxia

[sytaxia]

Gene stormed through the halls of the hospital, the ends of his own coat flailing behind him as he took long, angry strides towards Sam’s room.  Part of him wanted to double his guard on the room, and another part of him knew that he needed every available constable out on the streets, looking into finding the location that the killer was now using.  He pushed quickly through crowds, nearly bowling over three chattering nurses as he made his way down the hallway and towards the lifts, and he felt himself shaking slightly as he stood, waiting to be taken to the third floor, feeling as if the lift were crawling upwards at a snail’s pace.  He steadied himself then, taking several deep breaths, knowing that it wouldn’t do him any good to start beating on the hospital staff, and wishing that it would.

By the time the lift doors finally parted in front of him, Gene had managed to contain his rage, if only slightly, and he pushed through crowds of hospital personnel and visitors, scattering them with a few calls of, “Hey!” and “Watch it!” as he made his way towards Sam’s room.  He looked from one of the constables to the other, and punched one in the kidney, for good measure, “You two.  Fast alert.  I want you both so on edge that you’d think Ursula Andress was standing around naked and pouring you pints of coffee all day, understood?”

The two constables nodded, one with his eyes still streaming from the sucker punch, and then stood at attention, their backs going far more rigid than they had earlier in the day.  “And pass it on to the next shift,” Gene snapped as he stormed into the room.  “Cartwright!  Cartwright?”

Sam looked up from the bed, and realized that he’d been dozing again.  “Gov?” he asked, groggily, reaching up to rub at his eyes with both hands.  “I must’ve dozed off…  Where’s Annie?”

Gene’s eyes went wide and he wheeled around, scanning the room, some small part of him willing Annie to appear in a corner of the room, and not finding her there.  “She’s not here?”

“Doctor Denslow said she’d gone off with some other visitor…  What time…”  Sam blinked rapidly, and then started coughing.  Gene rushed over and started to rub at Sam’s back grasping a handful of tissues and thrusting them into Sam’s hand.

“Another what?  Who the bloody hell?  Tyler?  Sam?”  Gene’s voice softened as Sam continued to hack, and then leaned back gasping, crumpling the tissues in his hand.  He eased Sam back against the bed, and then noticed the new IV line.  “What the bloody hell’s that?  What’ve they got more blood going into you for?”

Sam caught his breath, and then looked worriedly around the room, shrugging off Gene’s question.  “Just a precaution.  Where’s Annie?”

“Precaution?  What the bloody…”  As if to answer both of them, the door opened, and Annie walked back inside of the room, her features twisting in an unreadable sort of way as she did so.  Gene wheeled about and was standing in front of her within seconds, barely able to keep himself from shoving her into the wall.

“What the hell are you playing at, Cartwright?  I thought I said you weren’t to leave him?”  Annie backed away from Gene, her eyes wide, and Gene backed down, suddenly realizing how close he’d come to hitting her.  His face was still incredibly storming as he continued to bore into her with his eyes.  “Well?”

“I…”  Annie started to stammer, and Sam started to look rapidly from her to Gene.

“Gov.  Gene.”  Sam’s voice was flat and hard, and Gene backed away again, only slightly, still glowering at her.

“What the hell is this I’m hearing?  Another visitor?”  Gene’s voice was low and angry, but much more restrained than it had been before, calmed slightly by Sam’s warning tone.

“There was…”  Annie’s eyes were still flitting back and forth, and she stared at the floor as she answered Gene.  “A journalist.  From one of the papers, somehow got in and was inquiring after Sam.  He’s gone now,” she said, and both Gene and Sam continued to stare at her.  Sam thought that he recognized the slightly shocked, and slightly ashamed, look on her face: it was the same one that she had given him when he’d fingered Tony Crane as the one that had spun the story about him being from the future.

“A what?”  Gene’s voice rose again, and he turned and kicked one of the chairs at the side of the room.  “Bastard journos!  Coming in here, trying to rock the boat, are they?”  Gene looked up, a menacing look still on his face.  “I hope you sent him packing, tail between his soddin’ legs,” he said, rather forcefully, and Annie nodded.

“I don’t think he’ll be coming back here, Sir,” Annie said, and Gene nodded, calming down again.

“Good.  Any of them try that again, you send ‘em to me, all right, Sweetheart?” Gene asked, and Annie nodded.

“Yes, Sir.  I will.  I think I gave him a proper piece of my mind,” Annie said, much more subdued than Sam would have expected, if she really had.  He made a mental note to ask her what had really happened once they were alone again.

Gene grunted, and then gestured towards Sam’s new IV, “And what the bloody hell’s that?” he asked, and Annie’s eyes went wide, seeing the transfusion line for the first time.

“Sam?”  Annie moved over to Sam’s side, staring at the IV line as she did so.  He shook his head, still trying to work out her reaction to Gene, and the odd way that she’d answered his questions.

“It’s nothing.  Just a precaution.  Denslow said that afterwards, they might be able to take out both of the lines, and that I could probably go home at the end of the week,” he added, suddenly feeling his own inability to look either of them in the eye, and not wanting to answer any more questions about his wellbeing, frustration and annoyance rising up in him again.  He looked back up at them, a hard set to his jaw, “I’m fine, really,” he said, wanting to believe it even more than he wanted to convince them of it.  “Annie, I’m fine,” he added again, brushing her hand away from his forehead.

Gene looked from Sam to Annie, and then back again, and neither of them were sure if his anger was just residual, or if he was trying to make out what they were keeping from him; both of them stared confusedly at him, and he shook his head.  “We’ve got a lead.  Williams.  From Hyde.  He’s the one that looks like Sam,” Gene said, and Annie’s eyes went wide.

“Are you sure, Sir?  I don’t think…”  Annie began, but Gene cut her off.

“Do you want to hear what happened or not, Sweetarse?” Gene snapped, and Annie looked at the floor again, jumping slightly at the sound of his voice.

“What did happen?” Sam asked, suddenly feeling fear rise up in him; the double was real.  The double was from Hyde…

Gene ripped the spare chair that he’d kicked over up and set it down next to the one next to Sam’s bed, and then pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one and pulling the rolling table with its ashtray closer to him with an outstretched foot.  Annie sat down in the other chair, and folded her hands in her lap.  As Gene smoked his cigarette, he began to recount the results of their initial surveillance mission in Hyde, covering every detail, and searching both of their faces for any sign that they could add an extra clue or to the bundle.

By the time Gene had finished, Sam had fallen asleep again, and Annie was wide-eyed.  A nurse came in to remove the transfusion IV, now nearly empty, and Gene and Annie both watched her like hawks as she did so.  “What was that for, then?  Thought they already gave him enough blood, back during the operations,” Gene said, a hard edge to his voice.

“Just a precaution,” the nurse nervously mimicked Sam’s earlier words, and Gene and Annie both felt an odd sense of fear rising up in them as she did so, neither of them reassured by her words.

As the nurse left, Gene looked down at his watch.  “Ray, Chris, and Fletcher are all coming in at eleven.  Why don’t you run out and get us a takeaway, Cartwright?”  Annie noticed that Gene wasn’t reaching into any pockets as he suggested this, and she nodded at him, wondering where she could go that would still be open.  “And try to get something for him that he’s not going to chuck up,” Gene said, gesturing towards Sam.  Annie nodded again, and then left the room, the odd look still gracing her features.

Gene pushed his chair closer to Sam, and reached over to take his hand, noticing that Sam didn’t stir as he did so.  He leaned down, and then kissed Sam’s temple, a worried look on his face.  “I’ll get the bastard, Sam.  I swear,” he said, quietly, and then he slid his chair back, and lit another fag.

When Annie returned, at nearly half past ten, she had a bundle of newspaper-wrapped fish and chips stowed clumsily in her arms, and she offered some to Gene, then sat down and picked at her own, absentmindedly.  “Are you sure it’s Williams, Sir?  I mean, just because he’s in town…”

Gene turned on her, trying to keep calm, “You got any better ideas?”  Annie shook her head.  “No, it has to be him, there’s no other person it could be.”

“But the note, Sir.  It mentioned that he’d met you before, and you’ve never met Williams,” Annie added, her voice incredibly small and subdued, and Gene felt an odd, niggling sensation at the back of his mind.

“So the sick bastard likes to play mind games,” Gene said, not sure of how to respond to Annie’s statement, or of what it could possibly mean.  There was no way that he could have met the killer; everything pointed to Williams…

“I’m just saying, we shouldn’t leave out all of the other possibilities,” Annie said, and Gene gave her an annoyed look.

“You really are picking up a lot from him, aren’t you?  Just what I need, my team’s damned skirt picking up from the picky pain,” Gene said, gesturing towards Sam, and Annie nodded.  “Fine.  You got any ideas as to how you’re going to come up with a better lead?”

Annie nodded, “I want to question the hospital staff.  All of them.  And I think that putting Ray onto searching for the killing ground again is a good idea…”  Her voice trailed off, and Gene nodded at her.

“Fine.  That’s your lot, tomorrow evening, then.  Ray’s not coming in until four, so it’ll be just you in here with him, all day.  And don’t you dare let me catch you leaving him alone again, I don’t care if your mum calls round and says that your own father’s here after a heart attack, is that understood?”

Annie nodded, “Yes, Sir.  And I’ll try to find a better lead on it,” she said, softly, and then the door opened, and Ray, Chris, and Glen came in, none of them with any news, and all of them looking tired and frustrated.  Gene filled them in on Annie’s duties for the next day, told Glen and Chris to leave and to make sure that they were back at Hyde by eight the next morning, and then told Ray that he’d join him in searching for the killing ground, after he stopped in to see Annie and Sam that morning.  The other four nodded, and then dispersed.

After the others had left, Gene sat alone, still smoking silently in the chair, and still staring at Sam, until the two WPC’s returned for their night shift.  As Gene left, he found himself suddenly reluctant to exit the room; he had a very odd, strange feeling, as if something were off about the whole situation.  And he couldn’t tell what it was.

Sam was vaguely aware of floating away from Gene and Annie as Gene filled them in on the events of Hyde, his fear of the double finding him, or any of the others, in 1973 numbed by the thick blanket of fatigue that seemed to have wrapped itself around him.  Soon, he found himself laying, face down, in thick, clutching mud, naked and pelted by strong, stinging rain.

“Well now, that wasn’t very nice, was it, Sam?  Just drifting away from us like that?”  Sam looked up and saw the double standing there, still holding the test card girl in his arms.

“He’s not very nice at all.  I tried to make friends with him, I really, really did,” the girl said, an angry tone in her high, sweet voice, that suddenly seemed horrifically cloying to Sam.  He slowly clamored to his feet, impeding by the grasp of the sucking muck that the earth of the bluff had become, the driving rain, and the wild, roaring winds that continued to buffet him from all sides.

“You stay away from them!  You stay here, and you stay away from them!”  Sam found himself shouting it, angrily, at the two of them, and the double suddenly gave him a wide, leering grin.

“Oh, Sam, come now, I thought we’d already been through all of that.  I go wherever I’m needed, you know,” he said, still smiling widely, and the look of that great, leering grin sent a shudder through Sam, even stronger than the racking shivers that the wind and the rain were driving through his flesh.  Sam took a step away from the double and the girl, further away from the edge of the bluff, and then heard the sounds behind him.

Sam could feel the hot, pulsating breath of the creature, smell the pervasive rot and decay of it behind him and hear the slowly, scratching, clacking sounds of its razor sharp claws along the bluff, digging through the mud and scratching at the hard, rock like surface of the earthen bluff.   The hissing, growling, pain-filled shrieking sounds of it echoed behind him, louder than the wind, and nearly deafening.  Sam felt terror seize him as the sounds seemed to grow even louder, and as the sound of the digging, scratching claws joined the din, ringing in his ears, directly behind him.

“It’s your own fault, really, Sam; you should have figured it all out by now, shouldn’t you?”  The double tutted at him, and Sam swore that the girl was grinning now, and as he watched in horrified fascination, she raised one small arm and waved, not at Sam, but at the thing behind him, smiling a welcoming smile at it.  “I mean, honestly, Sam, how much help have we already given you?  You should be so grateful to us, and yet, here you are, still screaming away and trying to blame us for everything.”

“He didn’t even look!”  The girl pouted as she turned to the double, and then pointed over the edge of the cliff; Sam looked towards where her arm was pointing, and then started to slowly, hesitantly make his way towards the edge.  The muck continued to suck at his feed, dragging him to the ground several times, and each time he could feel the creature’s fetid breath wreathing around him, heard its sounds and sensed its presence: it was as if the thing was herding him towards the edge.

Thunder continued to sound around him, great, booming beats of it, coupled with the sharp snaps of intensely close and furious lightning, the bolts of which streamed and flared through the seething, pulsating clouds that covered the sky, grouping thickly together in the maddening wind.  With each step that Sam took, the storm seemed to grow more and more intense, the night nearly black with it, illuminated only briefly by each violent flicker of lightning.  Not daring to turn, and filled with the sick knowledge that if he did, the creature would pounce, Sam continued to make his way towards the edge of the bluff.

The air was now thick with the wind and driving rain, and underneath that, a horrible, earth-laden mist seemed to be filling it, making it feel intensely hot and heavy.  The creature’s breath seemed to blend well with the muddy, swarming and thickening air, its sounds blending in with the sounds of the storm, and yet still standing out sharply enough that Sam could still make out each individual portion of its noise, the hisses and growls, the clawing and gnawing sounds, the sounds of panicked, pain-filled screams and thick, wailing death rattles.

The edge was drawing incredibly close now, and Sam swallowed, hard, as he approached it, not sure that he wanted to see the “clue” that the double and the girl had prepared for him, and not willing to turn and face the beast behind him.  Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of walking through a living, truly living, beating, pulsing hell, Sam fought his way through the mud and the storm and oppressive air, and stood at the edge of the bluff, still feeling the presence of the creature on his heels.  He closed his eyes, and then opened them, looking down at the field below him.

The field seemed to stretch on for miles and miles, squared off and partitioned, like the dimly lit surface of a patchwork quilt.  In the center of it, Sam saw that someone had made a gigantic crop circle, cutting their way through the tall fronds of the maize field and forming an odd pattern.  The pattern had then been filled in with rocks, large piles of them that had to be larger than a man’s head, shining, wet and whitish grey against the dark, rippling fields.  Even so, Sam could barely make out the pattern…

Another flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the field, and Sam realized what he was seeing: the sign, the sigil that the killer had carved into his ICU room wall, had signed the card that had come with the last victim’s clothes, had laid about amongst all his trail of carnage.  A sickening realization came over Sam as he realized that he recognized the symbol; not from the reports from Annie and Chris, but from another source, deep in his memory.  He couldn’t place it, couldn’t find where the memory fit in, but it was there, he realized, with a thick, sickening certainty: he recognized the symbol, from somewhere in his past.

Another flash of lighting illuminated the ground, and parts of the bluff, but not the portion that he was standing on; something had cast a deep, dark shadow over him, one that not even the lightning could penetrate.  Sam heard the creature’s sounds build into a deep, threatening snarl, and then he felt it…

Thick, sharp claws were holding him now, and pain seared through him, ripping into him as he felt himself being torn into pieces, and yet still living.  Part of him grasped onto that, and the fact that this was only a dream, a dream within his mad, 1973 coma world, and that it wasn’t real…  That same part of him answered back with real pain, pain that stretched through the dream world and beyond, from the hospital room in 1973: something was, indeed, slicing into him…

Gene met Annie in the lift as she came from the hospital canteen, having stopped off for a cup of styrofoam cup of tea before the start of her shift, and she stared at the floor as the two of them rode silently up to the third floor.  As the doors parted, she finally found something to say to him, that wouldn’t give away the secret that she hated keeping, or rile him too much; at least, she hoped that it wouldn’t rile him too much, “I’m sorry that I left, yesterday.  But the outside guard was still there, Sir,” she said, raising her chin as she said this.

Gene turned and looked at her, hard, for a moment, before grunting at her, “Don’t do it again.”  They stepped out of the lift then, and the doors parted behind them.  As they approached Sam’s room, a nurse looked up from the station.

“Doctor Denslow just went in to see him, Sir,” she said, rather timidly, frightened, as many of the nurses were, of Gene’s temper.  Annie tried to give the nurses a reassuring smile, but found that she was unable to do so, and she and Gene continued to make their way down the hallway.  They were still several yards from Sam’s room when they heard Denslow scream.

“Oh my God!”  The shout was loud and fear-filled, and Gene felt his heart leap to his throat as he heard it.  Denslow continued shouting from the room, “Someone call security!  Call the police, get a DCI Gene Hunt here, now, nurses, several, stat!  I said stat!”  Denslow’s voice was high and straining as he screamed it, and Gene and Annie broke into a run, racing along the floor until they reached Sam’s door, where they burst through it, Gene nearly ripping it off of its hinges.

Annie gasped as the two of them entered the room, biting her tongue to keep from screaming.  Both of the PC’s that had been outside of the door, and the two WPC’s that had been on the night watch, were sprawled on the floor of Sam’s room, each with their throats slit deeply, and each staring blankly at the ceiling, their eyes dimmed and starting to cloud over.

“Bloody he - Fuck!  Sam!”  Gene screamed it as he saw Denslow placing one hand at the side of Sam’s throat, and he rushed to the side of the bed, noticing that the bedclothes were covered in thick, bright blood.

“He’s alive,” Denslow said, his voice breathless and wavering, and he glanced up, his eyes wide and shining like a frightened child’s, “The others…”  Annie was kneeling next to each corpse, feeling for a pulse in each of their neck’s, and knowing, before she even placed her hand there, that she wouldn’t find one.

“Sam….”  Gene was ripping the covers off of Sam roughly, and Denslow shoved him back, tearing Gene’s hands away from Sam’s body.

“Careful!”  Denslow shouted it, rather forcefully, at Gene, but the fear still showed through clearly in his voice.  “My god…”  Denslow slowly and gingerly peeled the rest of the covers away from Sam’s chest and abdomen, and then gently pulled the hospital gown up and over Sam’s head, leaving him bared to the waist…

There, carved deeply into the skin of Sam’s belly, was the killer’s symbol, glaring up at them in the dark, coagulating blood that stood out against the pallid white flesh of Sam’s skin.

“FUCK!”  Gene shouted it with incredible volume, and Annie was sure that he must’ve injured himself in doing so, but then knew she was wrong as he slammed his fist, hard, into the wall, and then turned back to the bed, moving as if to pull Sam away from it.  Denslow grabbed his arms before they reached Sam, and pushed him away again.

“Don’t touch him!  If any of his internal organs have been perforated, he’s going to need immediate surgery, and jostling him could just cause further injury.  Mr. Hunt!  Do you hear me?  Leave him be!”  Denslow and Gene were practically wrestling now, and Gene eventually pulled back with a strangled, inarticulate roar, lashing out and kicking at the chairs against the wall.  He spun around again, breathing heavily, his eyes wide and a feral, enraged look burning on his face.

Several nurses had arrived at the door, and now the screaming really did start, as one of them started to shriek upon seeing the bodies that littered the floor of the room.  “Carol, get Annette out of here, now!”  Denslow was shouting at one of the few calm nurses, who started to drag the hysterical one away; the girl was still shrieking and sobbing as she did so, and several porters arrived as well, each of them staring in horror at the sight before them.  “Call the morgue,” Denslow said, his own voice starting to grow calmer, and he pulled a pair of latex gloves out of one of the pockets of his white coat, and started to probe at the cuts on Sam’s abdomen.

“’f you need to get him to surgery, you bloody well do so, NOW!”  Gene reeled upon Denslow again, but stopped himself before touching the other man, not wanting to risk jostling Sam.

Denslow shook his head, “No…  It’s not deep enough.  Whoever did this knew what they were doing - the skin and muscle are cut through, but the peritoneum and everything under it are still intact - he’s not going to require surgery, it’s just the skin and muscle that are damaged.”  Annie let go of the breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding in, and moved closer to the bed, placing her arms on Gene’s.

“Gov…  We need to let the doctor work…”  Annie knew that she was risking finally being struck by Gene by saying it, but he didn’t turn on her, and instead, he pulled back, backing away slowly from the bed, as if he didn’t want to risk tearing his eyes off of Sam.

Denslow looked up at the stunned nurses and porters again, “I said, ‘call the morgue.’  I want these bodies out of here.  And I’m going to need a suture kit, we need to get the wound sterilized…  Do you hear me?”  Denslow shouted it more forcefully at the porters and nurses, and several of them pulled back, some practically dragging their colleagues with them.

Denslow continued to probe the slices in Sam’s belly as the porters brought in gurneys, and started to lift the bodies of the dead constables onto them, and then cover them with sheets.  Annie couldn’t help but stare at them, tears brimming in her eyes as they were wheeled out of the room, being readied for transport to the mortuary.

As soon as the porters had left, two nurses wheeled in a cart laden with steel instruments and bowls, and thick pads of gauze and bandages.  Denslow gripped the edge of the cart and pulled it closer to the bed, and then immediately started to work, deftly and as if nothing else was happening around him, on sterilizing the ragged edges of the cuts in Sam’s flesh, and then sewing them shut.  One of the nurses had started to cry, silently, and Annie felt her own tears start to run in tracks down her cheeks as she looked at Sam, who was still motionless and incredibly white, the scars on his arms and chest standing out darkly on his pale flesh, and most of his ribs showing through his skin.  Blood had splattered all over the sheets, and a dark, deep stain was left, soaked through the portions of blanket that had been covering the wound.

As Denslow finished his stitches and sterilization, the wound stood out even more starkly for what it was: a circle and an ellipse, and intertwined, and an odd, zigzag mark that could either be an M or a W in the center of it, intercut by both of the surrounding shapes.  Denslow carefully taped a thick bandage over the wound, and then turned to the nurses again, “Get a gurney in here.  We need to move him to another room.”

The nurses left, and Annie let her gaze fall to the puddles of blood that marred the floor of the room, four deep, thickening pools of dark, deep red, so dark that it was almost black.  She felt her stomach leap to her throat, but swallowed hard against the sensation, managing to at least seem calm as she stood at the edge of the room.  She realized then that she was still clutching Gene’s arm so tightly that her knuckles were white, and she noticed that Gene’s arm, no, his entire body, was trembling with barely contained fury.

Denslow was sliding a needle into the end of the IV that stood out from Sam’s arm, and Annie watched as Sam’s blood filled the vial at the end of it.  The nurses returned then, wheeling a thin, padded bed on stainless steel folding legs, and Denslow handed the vial to one of them.  “I want this to take precedence over every other sample that we’ve got - top priority, I don’t care if Doctor LeGuin has the cure for cancer waiting to be tested.  Do you understand?”  The nurse nodded, and then left the room, the vial clutched tightly in her hand.  Denslow looked up at Annie and Gene, and Annie saw the fear that lined his face, making him look much older than she supposed he really was.  “I think he’s been sedated; drugged, to make him stay asleep through that,” Denslow said, softly, and she felt Gene’s arm stiffen in her hands.  She slowly pulled away from Gene, and he looked at her, an odd, terrified look on his features, one that she didn’t think she’d ever see from him, and hoped that she’d never see again.  He stared at her hands as she withdrew them, and she realized that he must have only just realized that she was holding onto him.

“Mr. Hunt, if you’d assist, please,” Denslow said, fear still evident in his voice, and he gestured towards Sam’s legs.  “Keep his legs together, and grip around the calves.  Try to keep him straight.  On three.”  Denslow placed his hands under Sam’s shoulders and counted to three, and then he and Gene lifted Sam’s body onto the gurney.  The remaining nurse pulled a blanket over Sam, up to his shoulders, after they had done so, and Annie noticed that the blood stained hospital gown was still hanging from Sam’s arm, trapped there by the IV line.  The nurse reached down and disconnected the line from the IV tap taped to Sam’s hand, and the gown fell to the floor, another deep red mark against the tiling.

“Room 326 is free,” the nurse said, quietly, and Denslow nodded at her.

“326 it is, then,” he said, and they started to wheel Sam out of the room, Gene hot on their heels.  Annie stood still for a moment, still trying to understand what had happened, and to figure out how the killer could have entered the hospital room, before she, too, started to walk after the others, following them to a room at the end of the hallway, and away from the nightmarish, blood-filled room.

Two new nurses were already making up the bed in room 326 when Denslow, Gene, and Annie wheeled Sam’s gurney into it, and as Gene and Denslow lifted Sam onto the bed, he gave a low, rasping moan.

“Sam?  Sammy?”  Gene bent low over Sam as the nurses slowly cranked the bed up at an angle, and he reached out and grabbed Sam’s hand as the nurses pulled the covers over Sam’s body, naked except for the large bandage covering his belly.

“Sam?  Mr. Tyler?”  Denslow held Sam’s wrist for a moment, and then pulled his stethoscope out of his coat and pulled the covers down, pressing the end of it against Sam’s chest and slowly moving it across his flesh.  “Sam, can you hear us?”

“Gene?”  Sam’s eyes were still closed as he whispered it, and Gene gripped Sam’s hand more tightly.

“That’s right, Sam, that’s good, I’m here.  Come on, come out of it,” Gene’s voice was far more subdued and gentle than it had been in the other room, and he placed a hand against Sam’s cheek as he looked up at Denslow.  “How is he?”

“He’ll be all right,” Denslow said, stowing the stethoscope back in his pocket.  “The sedation can’t have been strong, if he’s already waking.”  Denslow turned back to Sam, “Mr. Tyler?  Can you hear me?”

“Gene…”  Sam’s eyes started to flutter open, and Gene started to stroke his cheek with the hand that wasn’t wrapped tightly around Sam’s.

“Come on, Sammy-boy, come out of it,” Gene said, softly, and Sam slowly and groggily opened his eyes.

“Mr. Tyler?” Denslow asked again, and Sam looked from him to Gene, and then winced in pain, his free hand moving towards his belly as he did so.

“What…  What happened?”  Sam asked, the sensation of searing pain on his belly, and a deeper, painful ache in his ribs forcing him further awake.

“Bastard’s called ‘round again, Sam, but you’re all right.  You’re all right,” Gene said, cupping his palm to Sam’s cheek.

“What?”  Sam’s voice was still muted and breathless, and he winced again, “Hurts…”

“Sam?  You’ve had to have some new stitches, but I’m going to get some painkillers for you,” Denslow said, and then he turned to the one nurse that was still in the room, “60 milligrams lidocaine.”  The nurse turned on her heels and pushed past Annie, who was still standing in the door way of the room.

“Gene?”  Sam was still dizzy and half-asleep from the effects of whatever it was that the killer had drugged him with, but his mind was starting to register what had happened, and his senses were slowly sharpening, as if he were going through the first few seconds of waking from sleep over the course of several minutes.

“You’re all right, Sam.  You’ll be all right.  I’ll keep you safe,” Gene said, his voice breaking slightly, and then he turned and stared at Denslow, his eyes suddenly starting to burn again.  “I’m taking him out of here.”

“You - you what?  DCI Hunt, you can’t be serious…”  Denslow’s face was nearly panic-stricken as he said this, confusion contorting his features and mingling with the fear that still lingered there.  “If you mean to suggest that the hospital is in any way responsible…”

“Shut it, Denslow,” Gene growled, and then he reluctantly pulled his hands away from Sam, who was still only half-awake.  “From now on, you’re making house-calls.  I’m taking him out of here.  The twisted shite knows that Sam’s here, and I’m taking him elsewhere.  He’s only safe as long as the bastard can’t find him,” Gene said, and Denslow’s face twisted into one of disbelief.

“You can’t.  Especially not after a trauma like this - there’s no way that I can allow you to do that.  You’d be placing him in danger…”  Gene cut Denslow off.

“Shut your soddin’ trap, or I’ll break it!  He’s in more danger lying around here like a goddamn Aunt Sally for the damned pervert!”  Gene fumed, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath, as if he were trying to restrain himself; Annie knew that he was, and she hoped that Denslow would understand that, as well.

“He needs care.  You won’t be able to look after him properly, he…”

“Then you’ll be coming ‘round for soddin’ house calls and all.”

“The risk of a recurrence of infection is too high, his lungs still haven’t healed from the initial damage done to them, let alone the subsequent infections; there’s far too much risk, I just can’t allow…”

“Shut.  Your.  Fucking.  Hole.”  Denslow was quiet as Gene growled each word menacingly at him.  “I’m taking him out of here.  And you’ll be round to see him, check on him, make sure he’s healing properly.  That bird there,” Gene roughly gestured with his thumb towards Annie, “Has some medical training.  She can help me look after him.  Any orders you set, we’ll follow ‘em to a ruddy T.  But he’s not staying here, or anywhere else that the bastard can find him.  No arguments, or you’ll be needing a damned good surgeon yourself.”

The room was deathly silent for several minutes as Gene and Denslow locked their eyes onto one another’s, and Annie was suddenly very afraid that Gene was going to launch himself at Denslow and rip his throat out.  The silence was eventually broken by another moan from Sam, who was starting to come further too consciousness, and by the nurse, who entered the room with a syringe, which she handed to Denslow.

“Gene?”  Sam blinked rapidly, trying to force himself awake, and feeling as if his entire brain had been stymied and quagmire inside of his skull.

Gene reached down and grabbed Sam’s hand again, and Sam managed to look at him, and then at Denslow.  “I’m taking you out of here, Sam,” Gene said, and Sam gave him a puzzled look.

“You…  What?”  Sam wasn’t sure what had happened while he had slept, but something was definitely wrong…  His belly felt as if it were on fire, and his lungs, ribs, and back were all aching ferociously.  He looked from Gene, and then back to Denslow, who was injecting him with something.

“I’m taking you home,” Gene said, more softly, and Sam continued to look from Gene to Denslow, feeling as if the motion would split his throbbing head in two.

Denslow was silent for a moment, and then nodded.  “I’m releasing you into DCI Hunt’s care, but I’ll be making frequent calls, and there will be strict orders.”  Denslow was glaring angrily at Gene as he said it.

“I’m taking you home, Sam,” Gene said again, and Sam felt darkness swim up and swallow him again.