Fic: Little Bugs (1/1), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Little Bugs
Author: dak
Word Count: 2584
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: unintentional drug use, disturbing images
Pairing: none, but could be considered Sam/Gene pre-slash if you like
Summary: Sam runs into trouble when interviewing a suspect on his own.
A/N: For darthfi who wanted a happy fic that included "Sam gets beaten up, trafficked, appallingly abused and is utterly miserable, please!" Well, she did say please.
It didn't matter what Gene said. His ridiculous concept of beer o'clock did not mean they should drop whatever they were doing and run for the pub, especially when they were hot on the trail of a murder enquiry. The case was about to crack, Sam could sense it, and he wasn't going to stop now.
Gene made a fuss when Sam announced he would visit McMillan on his own. In fact, he had strictly outlawed it. Wait till morning, Gene had said. Then they could go interrogate the berk together. There was something - something that almost resembled fear - in Gene's eyes when he told Sam to wait. Whatever that something was, Sam promised his Guv that fine. He would, indeed, wait.
But he didn't.
And, as he dropped the tea McMillan had given him, as he felt his head become fuzzy and light and lost, as he weakly resisted while the man stroked his face and grabbed his wrist in a too firm hold, Sam thought maybe, just this once, Gene was right.
But then his skin felt like it was burning and Sam couldn't think much at all.
*
“Hm. Hm. Hm. A bit older than what they usually send me, but my oh my, aren’t you fit? Yes, yes. In quite good shape. Quite good. You’ll do nicely, won’t you my boy? Oh yes, I think you will.”
Sam was awake but he wasn’t sure he was awake. Everything felt like a dream. Like a coma dream. Like a coma dream should feel. Was he finally waking up? He listened carefully. No doctors. No hospital machinery. Only this old man above him, stroking his chest.
It made Sam’s skin tickle, like little bugs were bubbling beneath the surface. When did he lose his shirt? Sam lifted his head and looked down. When did he lose his trousers? And, come to think of it, where were his pants? With bleary eyes, he looked up at the Man, the man still stroking him. Still making his skin tickle.
Prickle.
“What do they call you, boy?” The Man asked and his voice was like honey. Dripping honey. Dripping. Sam could see the Man’s face melting away. Melting. Dripping onto his skin. Prickling.
His body shuddered.
“S-Sam. I’m Sam,” he answered. His voice sounded strange. Younger. Smaller. So small. Was he shrinking? He was shrinking.
“Well, Sam, we are going to have so much fun, aren’t we? Hm? Yes, I think so.” The honey voice. The melting face.
His skin was prickling. The little bugs wanted out.
“I don’t want to have fun,” Sam said. He felt so small.
“Oh, of course you do. They always do,” the Man smiled, stroking. Tracing lines on Sam’s chest. Lines for the little bugs to follow. Sam couldn’t remember how to breathe.
“No. No. I want to leave. I don’t want fun.” He shook his head. He shook it so hard it almost detached. It was so light, it almost detached and floated away. It was floating away. He had to go catch it. He lifted his hands to reach it. Except he couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t lift his hands.
“Sam. You may not have fun, but you cannot leave until I’ve had mine. That’s what I paid for.” The Man’s voice was sour. Sour and rotten. His face wasn’t melting, it was rotting. Little bits of flesh dripping onto Sam’s chest, tasty for the little bugs. The little bugs were going to come out and play. Sam was breathing again. His chest was heaving.
Up and down and up and down.
“No. No means no.” Means no means no means no means no means no. The words bounced off his head, filling his head, bringing his head back down. He still couldn’t move his hands. Something was holding his hands. Holding his wrists. Clamping his wrists.
Tight tight tight.
Sam tilted his head back. Back back back. There was a rope around his wrists. Around around around. A rope, twisted around his wrists, snaking down his arms. He pulled hard, trying to dislodge the knots.
“Listen to me, you diseased, little whore.” The Man grabbed him by the hair. “I paid for the whole night. Anything I wanted, that’s what the agency promised. So, you are going to be a good, little rent boy and do. What. You’re. Told.”
“Hang on,” Sam shook his head, desperate to clear it. Clear. Clear. Clear. “I’m not...I’m...I’m a police officer.”
“That’s more like it,” the Man sneered. “Now, stay right there, Officer. I’ll be right back.” He sauntered out of the room with a leer, leaving Sam on his own.
Focus.
He had to focus if he was going to escape this. He closed his eyes, blocking out the hideous images that were bombarding him. He closed his eyes and felt his body shaking. Drugged. The tea, it must have been drugged.
“Alright. Okay. Alright. Alright,” Sam spoke to himself. “Not real. Nothing I’m seeing...No. Nothing I’m experiencing is real. None of it is real. Well, it’s normally not real, is it? This whole world isn’t real. I’m in a bloody coma!” His breath quickened as his anger rose. He was seeing red. No. Not seeing. Feeling red. Feeling colors. That was bad.
Eyes still closed, Sam tried to calm himself. However, he was completely naked, tied to a...what was that? Sam looked up, trying to keep his head attached instead of letting it float away again. Whatever he was tied to kept morphing into different shapes and it was hard to tell exactly what it was, though at one point it appeared to be a radiator.
Refocusing, Sam again began to make a mental, itemized list of the trouble he was in. He was completely naked, tied to a radiator (possibly), in the home of a potential murder suspect, after lying to Gene about where he was going.
And he’d been drugged.
“This is very bad,” Sam decided. Ignoring the way the floor seemed to falling away, he decided the first thing he should do was scramble backwards so that he didn’t fall off the edge. The second thing he decided he should do was untie himself. How he was supposed to that, he had no idea.
He knew he couldn’t have much time. The Man would return soon. Well, he thought he would. Sam watched as his ability to tell time grew feathery bird’s wings and flew through the ceiling. Sam closed his eyes again.
“I bloody hate drugs.”
“Well, if I would’ve known...” The Man appeared in the doorway wearing only a short, red robe. At least his face had stopped rotting, Sam thought. “Now where were we? Oh yes...”
The Man may have been across the disintegrating room, but Sam could see the lust in his eyes. It was pouring out of him, pouring out of his eyes, filling the room with its stench. Sam didn’t want to smell it. He tried not to breathe. His lungs protested. He reluctantly continued his breathing.
“Now, Officer, just what am I going to do to you?” The Man’s smile spread across his face, stretching so far the edges escaped his cheeks.
“No. I am a police officer. I’m a detective. What you’re doing is a serious offense.” Sam closed his eyes so he could focus and ignore the way the smile had begun to float around the room.
“A serious offense? I should hope so.” The Man disrobed, revealing his bloated pig’s belly. Sam refused to look any lower and instead yanked hard on the ropes holding him. He felt the end of the rope slide across his skin. He tugged again. The ropes felt looser.
“Now, Officer, can’t I tempt you to forget this whole, insignificant matter?” The Man swayed closer, his head bobbing like a snake’s. Sam tugged on the rope. Red trickles slid down on his arm, glimmering in the flickering light. He tugged again.
“Careful. You’ll hurt yourself,” the Man warned. Sam didn’t care. He looked up to check his progress and screamed. There were no ropes entwining his wrists. There were snakes. Brown and yellow snakes circled and circled his wrists, biting into his skin, allowing his blood to escape his body.
Circle. Twist. Bite. Circle. Twist. Bite.
Updownupdownupdown.
His chest exploded with panicky breaths.
Trickle. Trickle.
Tickle. Tickle.
The blood ran down his wrists, his chest exploded, and the little bugs finally escaped. They came pouring out of him, skittering across his skin, covering the floor. He felt the ground sway beneath him as the little bugs crawled underneath him.
A sea. Sea. See the sea. He was floating in a sea. A sea of little bugs. They chittered and chattered, their little pinchers making little noises as their little legs carried them. Black and shining. Chit. Chit. Chit. The sound of a million typewriters.
And they kept coming out of the hole in his chest.
And he kept screaming.
“Oh, Officer. What’s wrong?”
The Man had melted. Skin and fat and muscle and organs all melted into one, amorphus blob. A blob running a piece of itself up Sam’s chest, the little bugs parting to make room. The globby bit circled the hole in his chest, flicking away little bugs as it moved.
“Not up for a wee game of who’s your father, Mr. Officer?” The blob’s voice bubbled and garbled, like a pot left to boil. He kept tracing and tracing and tracing the hole, bits of putrid skin sticking to Sam as the bugs escaped. As the snakes bit. As Sam kept screaming.
No. No. No means no. No. No.
Underneath. Over. Overwhelming. His whole body torn apart by these little bugs. By this blob. By this darkness. Darkness surrounded him. Enveloping him. Taking him away. Sam couldn’t help but follow. Follow the darkness.
A crash.
A crash so loud it shook the world.
The little bugs shrieked and scattered.
The blob removed itself from his skin.
Updownupdownupdown.
His chest kept its panicky pace. The hole remained.
“Excuse me!” The blob gurgled, the sound reverberating through Sam’s trembling body.
A sound answered. Not a voice. A cry. A roar. A deep, bellowing roar. Some more little bugs peeked out of Sam’s chest to see what was happening.
A light entered the room, blinding the blob, filling Sam with a comforting warmth. The light moved toward the blob, roaring. The blob flew across the room and split into a million, bloody pieces. Some landed on Sam. None landed on the light. The bugs shrieked in pain, then ran after the light.
The light appeared oblivious to their presence, stepping on them, crunching them, destroying them, as it came towards Sam. The bugs amped up their assault, spewing from Sam’s chest and towards the encroaching light.
“Get them off. Get them off! Get them off!!” Sam screamed, twisting. When he twisted, the snakes bit. Sam screamed again.
The light spoke to him, but not in words. It was a low sound, low like the roar, but gentle. It stopped Sam from screaming but not from panicking.
“Please. Please get them off. They’re hurting me. Please.”
The light took a semi-human form and placed a glowing hand on Sam’s shoulder. It hummed a low tune. Sam stared into the light, feeling his pupils contract.
“Please help me,” he asked again.
The light lifted its hands and scattered the snakes from Sam’s wrists. They hissed their disapproval but disappeared nonetheless. His sore and bloodied arms now freed, Sam could focus on the hole in his chest and the little bugs still spewing from it. He began frantically scrubbing his chest, desperate to rid it of the little bugs and blob flesh.
The light was humming again but Sam ignored it.
“Have to get them off. Can’t you get them off? They’re still there! They’re coming out of me! They won’t stop!”
Sam managed to grab one little bug in his fingers. He stared at it closely, realizing that despite its body, it didn’t have a little bug’s face at all. It had the face of a little girl. A little blonde girl. And it wasn’t chittering. It was laughing.
“Oh, Sam,” it said with a high-pitched, little giggle.
Sam dropped the little bug and screamed.
Breathe in. Scream. Breathe in. Scream.
The little bugs giggled. All of them. They all turned and stared and giggled.
Breathe in. Scream. Breathe in. Scream.
The light wrapped itself around him, shielding him, protecting him. Sam looked up, looked into the light, throat raw from the screams. He looked into the warm light, saw the face of a lion, and passed out.
*
“Here. Get this down you.”
“Ch-cheers.”
The china clinked as Sam tried to steady the cup and saucer in his sweaty, shaky hands.
“Second thought...” Gene removed the saucer from Sam’s hand. “Missus’ll be upset, she comes home and finds this broken.”
“If she comes home. S-sorry,” Sam tried to sip the tea, hoping the LSD was out of his system.
“How’s it taste?”
“Like...purple,” Sam answered. The LSD was still working, then. Sam tried to take another sip, but a little bug came crawling out of the cup and dropped to the floor, skittering away. Sam set the cup on the table and crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the urge to itch the hole that wasn’t really there.
“Get owt useful out of McMillan ‘fore he introduced you to Lucy and her friends?”
Sam had to ask Gene to repeat the question. The first time he only heard humming.
“No. No. But, if he drugged Jeffries, could explain why...why there were no defensive wounds.” Sam felt sick. He closed his eyes and felt himself giving in to the darkness.
“Oi.” Gene shook him awake.
“Sorry.” Sam thought he saw movement in the corner, one of the little bugs crawling on Gene’s kitchen floor. He looked away and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“Bad trip, eh?”
“I cannot believe do this for fun,” Sam grimaced, his body suddenly shaking from chills.
“Why is it whenever someone drugs you, you end up naked?” Gene asked, lighting a cigarette.
“Maybe I’m a closet exhibitionist.” Sam looked at his bruised wrists - skin shredded from the rough, tightly wound ropes McMillan had used.
“Certainly a closet something,” Gene remarked, flicking ash onto the table.
“Can you take me home now? I just want to sleep this off.”
“Take you to your shitty, little bedsit, the wallpaper’ll give you nightmares, state you’re in. Upstairs. Spare room. Has bare walls. Much safer for a spaced out druggie like yourself.”
Sam had no strength to retort nor complain. Gene followed him up the stairs, probably to ensure his DI didn’t partake of a more literal sort of trip.
“Guv, if you hadn’t found me...” Sam said nervously.
“Well, I did. No need to discuss it further.”
“How did you find me, by the way?”
“As odd as you are, me little deputy, you’re plenty predictable.” Gene pat him on the back. “Now, get some kip. Don’t want to be seeing little, green men when we’re interviewing McMillan tomorrow.”
Sam nodded and crawled into the neatly made bed. Though he fell asleep quickly, his dreams were hectic and terrifying. He often felt as if he could no longer handle them and felt the darkness pulling him in. When that would happen, when it all became too much, the light was there to pull him back.
Author: dak
Word Count: 2584
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: unintentional drug use, disturbing images
Pairing: none, but could be considered Sam/Gene pre-slash if you like
Summary: Sam runs into trouble when interviewing a suspect on his own.
A/N: For darthfi who wanted a happy fic that included "Sam gets beaten up, trafficked, appallingly abused and is utterly miserable, please!" Well, she did say please.
It didn't matter what Gene said. His ridiculous concept of beer o'clock did not mean they should drop whatever they were doing and run for the pub, especially when they were hot on the trail of a murder enquiry. The case was about to crack, Sam could sense it, and he wasn't going to stop now.
Gene made a fuss when Sam announced he would visit McMillan on his own. In fact, he had strictly outlawed it. Wait till morning, Gene had said. Then they could go interrogate the berk together. There was something - something that almost resembled fear - in Gene's eyes when he told Sam to wait. Whatever that something was, Sam promised his Guv that fine. He would, indeed, wait.
But he didn't.
And, as he dropped the tea McMillan had given him, as he felt his head become fuzzy and light and lost, as he weakly resisted while the man stroked his face and grabbed his wrist in a too firm hold, Sam thought maybe, just this once, Gene was right.
But then his skin felt like it was burning and Sam couldn't think much at all.
*
“Hm. Hm. Hm. A bit older than what they usually send me, but my oh my, aren’t you fit? Yes, yes. In quite good shape. Quite good. You’ll do nicely, won’t you my boy? Oh yes, I think you will.”
Sam was awake but he wasn’t sure he was awake. Everything felt like a dream. Like a coma dream. Like a coma dream should feel. Was he finally waking up? He listened carefully. No doctors. No hospital machinery. Only this old man above him, stroking his chest.
It made Sam’s skin tickle, like little bugs were bubbling beneath the surface. When did he lose his shirt? Sam lifted his head and looked down. When did he lose his trousers? And, come to think of it, where were his pants? With bleary eyes, he looked up at the Man, the man still stroking him. Still making his skin tickle.
Prickle.
“What do they call you, boy?” The Man asked and his voice was like honey. Dripping honey. Dripping. Sam could see the Man’s face melting away. Melting. Dripping onto his skin. Prickling.
His body shuddered.
“S-Sam. I’m Sam,” he answered. His voice sounded strange. Younger. Smaller. So small. Was he shrinking? He was shrinking.
“Well, Sam, we are going to have so much fun, aren’t we? Hm? Yes, I think so.” The honey voice. The melting face.
His skin was prickling. The little bugs wanted out.
“I don’t want to have fun,” Sam said. He felt so small.
“Oh, of course you do. They always do,” the Man smiled, stroking. Tracing lines on Sam’s chest. Lines for the little bugs to follow. Sam couldn’t remember how to breathe.
“No. No. I want to leave. I don’t want fun.” He shook his head. He shook it so hard it almost detached. It was so light, it almost detached and floated away. It was floating away. He had to go catch it. He lifted his hands to reach it. Except he couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t lift his hands.
“Sam. You may not have fun, but you cannot leave until I’ve had mine. That’s what I paid for.” The Man’s voice was sour. Sour and rotten. His face wasn’t melting, it was rotting. Little bits of flesh dripping onto Sam’s chest, tasty for the little bugs. The little bugs were going to come out and play. Sam was breathing again. His chest was heaving.
Up and down and up and down.
“No. No means no.” Means no means no means no means no means no. The words bounced off his head, filling his head, bringing his head back down. He still couldn’t move his hands. Something was holding his hands. Holding his wrists. Clamping his wrists.
Tight tight tight.
Sam tilted his head back. Back back back. There was a rope around his wrists. Around around around. A rope, twisted around his wrists, snaking down his arms. He pulled hard, trying to dislodge the knots.
“Listen to me, you diseased, little whore.” The Man grabbed him by the hair. “I paid for the whole night. Anything I wanted, that’s what the agency promised. So, you are going to be a good, little rent boy and do. What. You’re. Told.”
“Hang on,” Sam shook his head, desperate to clear it. Clear. Clear. Clear. “I’m not...I’m...I’m a police officer.”
“That’s more like it,” the Man sneered. “Now, stay right there, Officer. I’ll be right back.” He sauntered out of the room with a leer, leaving Sam on his own.
Focus.
He had to focus if he was going to escape this. He closed his eyes, blocking out the hideous images that were bombarding him. He closed his eyes and felt his body shaking. Drugged. The tea, it must have been drugged.
“Alright. Okay. Alright. Alright,” Sam spoke to himself. “Not real. Nothing I’m seeing...No. Nothing I’m experiencing is real. None of it is real. Well, it’s normally not real, is it? This whole world isn’t real. I’m in a bloody coma!” His breath quickened as his anger rose. He was seeing red. No. Not seeing. Feeling red. Feeling colors. That was bad.
Eyes still closed, Sam tried to calm himself. However, he was completely naked, tied to a...what was that? Sam looked up, trying to keep his head attached instead of letting it float away again. Whatever he was tied to kept morphing into different shapes and it was hard to tell exactly what it was, though at one point it appeared to be a radiator.
Refocusing, Sam again began to make a mental, itemized list of the trouble he was in. He was completely naked, tied to a radiator (possibly), in the home of a potential murder suspect, after lying to Gene about where he was going.
And he’d been drugged.
“This is very bad,” Sam decided. Ignoring the way the floor seemed to falling away, he decided the first thing he should do was scramble backwards so that he didn’t fall off the edge. The second thing he decided he should do was untie himself. How he was supposed to that, he had no idea.
He knew he couldn’t have much time. The Man would return soon. Well, he thought he would. Sam watched as his ability to tell time grew feathery bird’s wings and flew through the ceiling. Sam closed his eyes again.
“I bloody hate drugs.”
“Well, if I would’ve known...” The Man appeared in the doorway wearing only a short, red robe. At least his face had stopped rotting, Sam thought. “Now where were we? Oh yes...”
The Man may have been across the disintegrating room, but Sam could see the lust in his eyes. It was pouring out of him, pouring out of his eyes, filling the room with its stench. Sam didn’t want to smell it. He tried not to breathe. His lungs protested. He reluctantly continued his breathing.
“Now, Officer, just what am I going to do to you?” The Man’s smile spread across his face, stretching so far the edges escaped his cheeks.
“No. I am a police officer. I’m a detective. What you’re doing is a serious offense.” Sam closed his eyes so he could focus and ignore the way the smile had begun to float around the room.
“A serious offense? I should hope so.” The Man disrobed, revealing his bloated pig’s belly. Sam refused to look any lower and instead yanked hard on the ropes holding him. He felt the end of the rope slide across his skin. He tugged again. The ropes felt looser.
“Now, Officer, can’t I tempt you to forget this whole, insignificant matter?” The Man swayed closer, his head bobbing like a snake’s. Sam tugged on the rope. Red trickles slid down on his arm, glimmering in the flickering light. He tugged again.
“Careful. You’ll hurt yourself,” the Man warned. Sam didn’t care. He looked up to check his progress and screamed. There were no ropes entwining his wrists. There were snakes. Brown and yellow snakes circled and circled his wrists, biting into his skin, allowing his blood to escape his body.
Circle. Twist. Bite. Circle. Twist. Bite.
Updownupdownupdown.
His chest exploded with panicky breaths.
Trickle. Trickle.
Tickle. Tickle.
The blood ran down his wrists, his chest exploded, and the little bugs finally escaped. They came pouring out of him, skittering across his skin, covering the floor. He felt the ground sway beneath him as the little bugs crawled underneath him.
A sea. Sea. See the sea. He was floating in a sea. A sea of little bugs. They chittered and chattered, their little pinchers making little noises as their little legs carried them. Black and shining. Chit. Chit. Chit. The sound of a million typewriters.
And they kept coming out of the hole in his chest.
And he kept screaming.
“Oh, Officer. What’s wrong?”
The Man had melted. Skin and fat and muscle and organs all melted into one, amorphus blob. A blob running a piece of itself up Sam’s chest, the little bugs parting to make room. The globby bit circled the hole in his chest, flicking away little bugs as it moved.
“Not up for a wee game of who’s your father, Mr. Officer?” The blob’s voice bubbled and garbled, like a pot left to boil. He kept tracing and tracing and tracing the hole, bits of putrid skin sticking to Sam as the bugs escaped. As the snakes bit. As Sam kept screaming.
No. No. No means no. No. No.
Underneath. Over. Overwhelming. His whole body torn apart by these little bugs. By this blob. By this darkness. Darkness surrounded him. Enveloping him. Taking him away. Sam couldn’t help but follow. Follow the darkness.
A crash.
A crash so loud it shook the world.
The little bugs shrieked and scattered.
The blob removed itself from his skin.
Updownupdownupdown.
His chest kept its panicky pace. The hole remained.
“Excuse me!” The blob gurgled, the sound reverberating through Sam’s trembling body.
A sound answered. Not a voice. A cry. A roar. A deep, bellowing roar. Some more little bugs peeked out of Sam’s chest to see what was happening.
A light entered the room, blinding the blob, filling Sam with a comforting warmth. The light moved toward the blob, roaring. The blob flew across the room and split into a million, bloody pieces. Some landed on Sam. None landed on the light. The bugs shrieked in pain, then ran after the light.
The light appeared oblivious to their presence, stepping on them, crunching them, destroying them, as it came towards Sam. The bugs amped up their assault, spewing from Sam’s chest and towards the encroaching light.
“Get them off. Get them off! Get them off!!” Sam screamed, twisting. When he twisted, the snakes bit. Sam screamed again.
The light spoke to him, but not in words. It was a low sound, low like the roar, but gentle. It stopped Sam from screaming but not from panicking.
“Please. Please get them off. They’re hurting me. Please.”
The light took a semi-human form and placed a glowing hand on Sam’s shoulder. It hummed a low tune. Sam stared into the light, feeling his pupils contract.
“Please help me,” he asked again.
The light lifted its hands and scattered the snakes from Sam’s wrists. They hissed their disapproval but disappeared nonetheless. His sore and bloodied arms now freed, Sam could focus on the hole in his chest and the little bugs still spewing from it. He began frantically scrubbing his chest, desperate to rid it of the little bugs and blob flesh.
The light was humming again but Sam ignored it.
“Have to get them off. Can’t you get them off? They’re still there! They’re coming out of me! They won’t stop!”
Sam managed to grab one little bug in his fingers. He stared at it closely, realizing that despite its body, it didn’t have a little bug’s face at all. It had the face of a little girl. A little blonde girl. And it wasn’t chittering. It was laughing.
“Oh, Sam,” it said with a high-pitched, little giggle.
Sam dropped the little bug and screamed.
Breathe in. Scream. Breathe in. Scream.
The little bugs giggled. All of them. They all turned and stared and giggled.
Breathe in. Scream. Breathe in. Scream.
The light wrapped itself around him, shielding him, protecting him. Sam looked up, looked into the light, throat raw from the screams. He looked into the warm light, saw the face of a lion, and passed out.
*
“Here. Get this down you.”
“Ch-cheers.”
The china clinked as Sam tried to steady the cup and saucer in his sweaty, shaky hands.
“Second thought...” Gene removed the saucer from Sam’s hand. “Missus’ll be upset, she comes home and finds this broken.”
“If she comes home. S-sorry,” Sam tried to sip the tea, hoping the LSD was out of his system.
“How’s it taste?”
“Like...purple,” Sam answered. The LSD was still working, then. Sam tried to take another sip, but a little bug came crawling out of the cup and dropped to the floor, skittering away. Sam set the cup on the table and crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the urge to itch the hole that wasn’t really there.
“Get owt useful out of McMillan ‘fore he introduced you to Lucy and her friends?”
Sam had to ask Gene to repeat the question. The first time he only heard humming.
“No. No. But, if he drugged Jeffries, could explain why...why there were no defensive wounds.” Sam felt sick. He closed his eyes and felt himself giving in to the darkness.
“Oi.” Gene shook him awake.
“Sorry.” Sam thought he saw movement in the corner, one of the little bugs crawling on Gene’s kitchen floor. He looked away and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“Bad trip, eh?”
“I cannot believe do this for fun,” Sam grimaced, his body suddenly shaking from chills.
“Why is it whenever someone drugs you, you end up naked?” Gene asked, lighting a cigarette.
“Maybe I’m a closet exhibitionist.” Sam looked at his bruised wrists - skin shredded from the rough, tightly wound ropes McMillan had used.
“Certainly a closet something,” Gene remarked, flicking ash onto the table.
“Can you take me home now? I just want to sleep this off.”
“Take you to your shitty, little bedsit, the wallpaper’ll give you nightmares, state you’re in. Upstairs. Spare room. Has bare walls. Much safer for a spaced out druggie like yourself.”
Sam had no strength to retort nor complain. Gene followed him up the stairs, probably to ensure his DI didn’t partake of a more literal sort of trip.
“Guv, if you hadn’t found me...” Sam said nervously.
“Well, I did. No need to discuss it further.”
“How did you find me, by the way?”
“As odd as you are, me little deputy, you’re plenty predictable.” Gene pat him on the back. “Now, get some kip. Don’t want to be seeing little, green men when we’re interviewing McMillan tomorrow.”
Sam nodded and crawled into the neatly made bed. Though he fell asleep quickly, his dreams were hectic and terrifying. He often felt as if he could no longer handle them and felt the darkness pulling him in. When that would happen, when it all became too much, the light was there to pull him back.