Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 10b/?
Annie sat with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, staring down at Sam’s sleeping form. The nurses had allowed her to bring in a chair and to sit next to his bedside, a kindness that she was incredibly grateful for. Her questions about the mystery DCI had all gone unanswered, although she had managed to pick up a very good description of the man: tall, slim, with a dark crown of hair surrounding a bald pate, and a pencil mustache. Well groomed and well dressed. No one meeting that description had come anywhere near Sam’s room in the time that she had been on watch, and none of the nurses remembered his name, simply remembering him as “The polite DCI.”
Towards the end of the day, the nurses had informed Annie that they were stopping the twenty four hour watch on Sam, although one nurse would be in every half hour to check his breath signs, and another every hour to check his vital signs. They had allowed her to move her post into his room, taking over the chair that the watch nurse had previously owned, and they smiled at her, offering words of encouragement and cups of tea as they made their rounds. She found that she had no problem watching the hourly nurse wrap the blood pressure cuff around his arm and hold the stethoscope in place at the crook of his elbow, then move to count his pulse and lift the oxygen mask slightly to insert a thermometer under his tongue, nor did she have any issue watching as the half hourly nurse carefully laid a stethoscope under the bandaged portion of his chest, and then lift him, slightly and gently to place the pad of the instrument against his back. She did, however, have to turn away as they changed the dressings on his wounds, unable to stare at the deep, dark marks along his arms, each held together by horrible little spikes of surgical silk, and she had been absolutely horrified to see the long scars along his chest and the large patch on his back. She’d excused herself to go the ladies’ room while they did that, glad that it was only supposed to be a daily occurrence, and had struggled to keep from crying as she’d looked into the mirror, water running over her hands.
Sam slept through the day, his eyes moving rapidly, occasionally murmuring under the mask, and the nurses had informed Annie that he appeared to be sleeping soundly. She moved to grasp his hand from time to time, careful not to bend his arm as she had before, and every so often she allowed herself to stroke his face, trying hard not to bump the oxygen mask or to wake him. Darkness had fallen outside when Sam stirred once again, and she’d leaned forward, hoping that a friendly face would suppress any possible outbursts this time.
Sam felt himself awaken once more, the darkness pulling away slowly, and he struggled to open his eyes, and then to let them focus. When 1973 came into view again, marked by the comforting presence of Annie, he had to force himself not to scream aloud at the betrayal, or the trickery, whatever it should be called. She was smiling down at him, his hand clasped lightly in hers, and he tried to squeeze her fingers, finding that his own didn’t seem to want to work. Disparaging the lack of control he had over his hand, he decided to try his voice again.
“Annie?” Sam’s voice was a whispered rasp under the oxygen mask, but it was audible, and Annie beamed.
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m right here,” she said, and ran a soft hand along his temple and cheek. Sam tried to lean into it, his eyes closing slightly, and then he looked back up and allowed her to swim into focus, blessedly free of doubles or test card girls, or of any other nightmare paraphernalia.
“Nineteen seventy three,” he whispered, again fighting back tears, and he saw the look of sympathy on Annie’s face.
“Yes, it’s still 1973. That’s all there ever is or ever was, Sam. No 2006,” Annie said, smoothing his hair down. She stared around her for a moment, not willing to look at the pained shock in his eyes, and saw the pitcher of water and glass that the nurses had left on the small table. “They said you could have some water, if you came to again. You feel up to it?” She moved to pour a glass, glad that Sam’s eyes were following her.
“Yeah,” Sam said softly, and she pulled the mask out of the way for a moment, then carefully lifted his head and neck with one hand while she held the glass to his lips. Sam took a few small sips, and then moved his head away, and she rested him back against the pillows and set the glass back on the table. His breath was coming in deep, wheezing rasps when she moved back to the bed, and she quickly moved the mask back into place, glad when the sounds gave way to a steady inhale and exhale, barely noticeable under the hiss of the oxygen.
“Thank you,” Sam whispered up at her, and she thought he was smiling at her from under the mask. She smiled back, then moved to take his hand again.
“Thought I was back home,” Sam sighed, and tears began to run over the sides of his face again, falling back towards his ears in slow, silent streams. Annie forced herself not to cry, and then moved to wipe away Sam’s tears.
“Hyde, Sam? You, you thought you were back in Hyde?” She knew that she shouldn’t press the issue, afraid of upsetting him further, but the fear that he would talk about being from the future to a doctor, someone that could lock him away forever, overwhelmed that urge.
“No… I don’t… Don’t want to… To play that game, Annie,” Sam said, trying to stop himself from crying further. He’d wanted to comfort her, not to upset her.
“Sam, you’re from Hyde… If you tell anyone here in hospital that you’re from the future, they could lock you away forever. Take you off duty, put you in a padded cell for the rest of your days. I won’t let that happen to you. You thought you were back in Hyde,” Annie insisted, forcefully this time, and a tear of her own started to make its way down her cheek.
Sam stared at her, knowing the logic and reason behind her words, and then slowly responded, “Hyde. Thought I was… Home in Hyde.” He locked onto her words, and suddenly fear that he’d already let on too much to the medical staff filled him. “I didn’t… Didn’t say…”
Annie shook her head and smiled at him, “No, you didn’t mention the future to anyone here. You’ve been unconscious or asleep most of the time. Four days now, Sam. You were hurt pretty badly, but you’re going to be just fine. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you, and I won’t let them lock you away, no matter what you say.” She held up her hand, “WPC’s word of honor.”
“WDC,” Sam responded, and this time, Annie was sure that he was smiling.
“Thanks to you,” she said, smiling back at him.
“Tired, Annie…” Sam muttered, and she resumed stroking his face, watching his eyes slowly close.
“Sleep, then. I’ll be here, and if not me, one of the others. We’re not leaving you alone for a second,” she said, but Sam had already fallen back asleep.
Annie resumed sleeping for a few hours, and then Gene appeared in the doorway, two WPC’s that Annie knew standing behind him. “Cartwright. You know WPC’s Jones and Sutton, right? They’re going to take a night watch until you come back. Almost midnight now; you ought to be heading home.” Gene’s voice was tired, but hopeful, and Annie couldn’t help but press him about the case.
“Did you find anything, Gov?” Annie asked, and Gene nodded.
“Chris, of all people, came up with a bloody brilliant plan - went to the art museum, found something that wasn’t by Myers, but just as much twisted shite, could’ve been the ruddy bastard’s. It’s an unknown artist piece, though, and comes from Hyde. Couldn’t get a hold of their DCI, they said he’d left for the night, and couldn’t get a hold of anyone from Myers’ pack of daft flunkies, either. Too late. Joined in on questioning some of the pricks from the butcheries and abattoirs with Ray for a bit, at the end, just to work off some steam,” Annie winced as he said this, knowing exactly what ‘questioning’ and ‘working off steam’ meant to Ray and Gene. “Had a quick pint and headed here. Nelson sends his love, and says it’s a free djuboni and lemonade for you, next time you’re in, and Tyler drinks free all night, his first night back at the Railway. I’m gonna have to try and get him to sneak a few for me, while he’s at it. No booze is as good as free booze, you know,” he added, and Annie shook her head and smiled.
“I can brief Maddie and Sarah about the situation, if you want a few minutes alone with him. Nurses are due any moment, too. One comes every half hour, the other every hour, taking readings,” she said, and Gene nodded. She quickly led the two uniformed women out into the hall, leaving Gene to sit down heavily on the chair next to Sam.
Once the door had closed, Gene turned to Sam, clapping Sam’s hand between both of his. “In a bit of a pickle without you, Sammy boy,” he said, and was surprised to see Sam stir. “Sam? Tyler?” Sam’s eyelids slowly fluttered, and Gene gave a small smile and a grunt. “Not quite Little Miss Fit Tits, am I, Sammy boy? Guess you’d rather have her here, but I’m sending her home for the night. Got two other plonks here, though, to watch you until morning - one’s a bit as much polk as plonk, but she’s quite tasty. Other knows her stuff. Good combination.”
Sam listened to the words as Gene’s voice filled his ears, waking to a horrible, fiery pain filling his chest. He struggled to open his eyes, finding them even heavier than they had been before, and shocked that that was even possible. He stared up at Gene, trying to lock onto what he was saying, and then fought the urge to scoff at Gene’s political incorrectness.
“I… I really need you on this, just for a minute, Sam. There’s been another killing; we think Myers was working with some other bastard. I need you to think, Sammy boy, need you to put that crafty brain to work. Was there anyone else there, anyone else you noticed, besides Myers and Grey?” Gene hoped that Sam would know what he was talking about, and saw Sam’s eyes go wide when he mentioned it.
“Gov… Me… It was me…” Sam tried to make sense of what Gene had said, his thoughts twisting back to the double before he remembered Annie’s warning. He started to fight, hard, against the pain and the weight of his limbs, trying to get into a sitting position and to raise his arms.
“Shhh, don’t, Sam, don’t try to move,” Gene set his hands on Sam’s shoulders as Sam tried to move upwards, easing him down and trying to keep him from struggling. “Don’t move, you’ll hurt yourself, you soft nonce,” Gene said, concern filling his face.
“Tell me… Tell me everything,” Sam said, wincing at the pain that shot through him, at the fire encircling his ribs. Every breath stung, and he found that he was now struggling to keep from crying again, praying that he wouldn’t tear up in front of Gene.
“We’ve got a bit of a lead to follow, some unknown artist, did work like Myers,” Gene said, looking worriedly down at Sam, whose breath was starting to hitch. He shook his head, “Steady there, Sammy boy. ‘M sorry I brought it up. We’ll get the bastard. You just rest…” He placed a hand against Sam’s cheek, and frowned. “Sam…”
“Cold, Gov.” Sam muttered as he closed his eyes, then opened them again at the sound of two nurses entering the room. “Annie?”
“Sent her home, Sam. Little Nancy Drew needs her rest, too, you know,” Gene said, then turned to the nurses. “Says he’s cold. Got any decent blankets around, you daft birds?” The nurses both gave him looks of annoyance, and one moved to pull a blue blanket out of a drawer in the little table next to the bed, spreading it gently over Sam. Gene stared at her for a moment, then muttered, “Thank you.” He turned back to Sam, and saw that the hazel eyes were still fixed on him, wide open. “That better, Sam?”
“Yeah,” Sam whispered, his eyes starting to go out of focus again, trying to lock on to what Gene was telling him, knowing that it was important. “Gov, what… What were… You saying?” The world was spinning again, and voices started to murmur on the edge of Sam’s hearing, ghosts of sound in his peripherals.
Gene shook his head, “Don’t worry about it, Sammy boy. We’ll get the bastard. You just get well,” he turned to bark at the nurses, “He’s warm. Why’s he warm?” One nurse glanced at the chart, then pulled a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff from the drawer in the little table, while the other nurse pulled her own stethoscope from out of a pocket in her white apron.
“Poor dear’s been running a low grade fever all afternoon, it seems,” said the first nurse, and she carefully moved next to Sam. “Mr. Tyler? Can you hear me?” Sam nodded in response, his eyes starting to close. “I’m going to take your blood pressure now, so you might feel a bit of a sting, here, on your arm. Have you noticed us doing this before?” Sam didn’t respond, his eyes closed again.
“Sam?” Gene queried, but received no response. He looked up at the nurses, worry converting to anger. “Can’t you give him something, then? Isn’t that your bloody job, you sodding bitches?”
“I’ll have none of that rough language in here, Sir,” said the second nurse, who looked down at Sam’s chart as well, frowning. The first nurse continued taking Sam’s blood pressure, then slid the cuff and stethoscope back into the drawer before grasping Sam’s wrist, taking a pulse, Gene guessed. She then pulled a thermometer from the drawer, and a bottle of some clear liquid, and a pad of cotton. She cleaned the instrument, then carefully lifted a corner of the mask, sliding it into place. A minute later she pulled it out, stared at it against the light, and then moved to the foot of the bed, making notes on the chart as the first nurse watched. Gene squirmed as he saw the second nurse frown, then move forward.
“Mr. Tyler?” The second nurse queried, and when she received no response, she pulled back the blanket and sheets, baring the thick white bandages that covered Sam’s chest. She gingerly slid the end of her stethoscope under the bandages, then frowned again, and then moved to lift Sam up. Gene moved to place his own arm behind Sam’s shoulders.
“Let me help,” Gene commanded, and the second nurse quirked an eyebrow at him, pulling the earpieces of her stethoscope out of her ears and scowling at him.
“You have to be gentle,” the nurse warned, and Gene curled his lip up at her.
“I’m more gentle here than I am holding a baby, you cow,” he muttered, and then gingerly lifted Sam’s shoulders up, exposing his back. Bruises had already begun to fade to strange whirls of green and yellow, the color deepened by the yellow lighting overhead, which stained the white cotton of the large bandages over Sam’s back and ribs. The nurse lifted an eyebrow at Gene again, nodded, and then slid the earpieces back into place, placing the end of the stethoscope carefully along Sam’s back, holding it, and then replacing it. She repeated this at three more areas, and then pulled away, motioning for Gene to lower Sam back down.
Gene slowly laid Sam’s shoulders back against the pillow, making sure his head was still straight, his neck not bent forward, and then ruffled his ridiculously short hair. “How is he, then?”
The second nurse had moved to the end of the bed, and drawn the first nurse away; the two of them were whispering conspiratorially in the corner, and Gene felt his hackles start to rise. “Oi, Cloris Leachman and Kathy Ann Warren, what are you two on about?” Gene shouted up at the two of them as he straightened the blankets covering Sam, then stood, arms crossed. The nurses eyed him for a moment, and then the first one left, at a rather brisk pace, making Gene’s heart start beating more rapidly.
“Doctor Barrie might still be in; Nurse Anders has gone to fetch him,” the second nurse said, reviewing the charts once more.
“Why’s she fetching the bloody doctor? You care to let me in on this? I’ve never hit a bird before, and I’d hate to start now, then again, all for equal rights, I am, got a lady detective and all,” Gene said, and the nurse’s expression showed that she clearly didn’t believe his threat.
“His temperature’s a bit higher now than it was earlier this afternoon, and I’d like the doctor to review his breath sounds. Nothing to concern yourself with, Sir,” the woman looked pointedly down the end of her nose at Gene, who wrinkled his own nose in response.
“I’m his bloody damned DCI, you silly bint, and that boy’s got no one but me, so you’d better tell me what the ruddy hell is going on here, or I’m going to start doing the foxtrot on someone’s head,” Gene said, drawing himself up to his full height and setting his jaw. The nurse eyed him warily, appraising him, and Gene started to wonder if the hospital hadn’t given out courses on how to be a stiff-necked bitch when assessing visitors. He wouldn’t put it past them…
Gene and the nurse continued their stare down until the second nurse returned, a portly, dark haired man in thick glasses in tow. The man held out his hand, “DCI Hunt, I presume?” Gene didn’t shake his hand.
“You Doctor Barrie, then? Get your arse in gear and have a listen at the lad’s pipes,” Gene said, stepping aside, and Barrie went over to the second nurse, looking at the charts that she was holding. He moved next to Sam, pulled down the coverings again, and slid his own stethoscope under the bandages. A few moments later, the nurse moved to hold Sam up gingerly, by the shoulders, and Barrie listened to the same places along Sam’s back that the nurse had already checked. When he was finished, the nurse lowered Sam back down, returning his coverings and straightening his head and neck against the pillow.
“You were right to call me; I wasn’t even near going home yet, so don’t worry about that, Nurse Morris,” Barrie said, and then started to write quickly on Sam’s chart. “I want a combination clarithromycin and amoxicillin drip added straight away, dosages as listed. Continue monitoring breath sounds every half hour, and adjust oxygen flow to eight liters per minute. I want you to add him to the call list; any change in his condition, and you let me know as well as the on-call physicians, same as Room 5. Mr. Hunt,” Barrie started to leave the room as the nurse scuttled about adjusting the tank next to Sam’s bed, and he motioned for Gene to follow him.
“What’s going on? What the bloody hell’s wrong with him?” Gene asked, an inch away from slamming Barrie into the wall.
“There was a, a slight complication, earlier on, a minor case of aspiration pneumonia. We’d hoped that it wouldn’t escalate to a bacterial infection, but it looks like one’s starting - I’ve ordered some high powered antibiotics, and increased his oxygen flow,” Barrie began, and Gene resisted the urge to slam him against the wall.
“Could you speak bloody English, you wheedling prat?” Gene spat at him, noticing the two WPC’s staring at him from the chairs they had placed outside of the door.
“I’ve given him drugs, and more pure air - I’m hoping that we’ll be able to cut the infection off before it becomes a problem,” Barrie stammered, and Gene sneered at him.
“Hoping? You’d bloody well better know! I’ve had it up to my neck with you poncey arseholes and your ‘maybes’ and ‘possiblies’ and ‘hopefullies,’ and I want you bloody damned sure that that boy is going to be all right!” Gene tapped his first two fingers against Barrie’s shoulder, and watched the doctor cower away from him. “Anything happens to that lad, and I’ll rip off your balls and cram them into your damned ears, you smug bastard!”
Barrie swallowed, hard, and stared at Gene, then nodded. “Understood, Mr. Hunt.”
Gene started to walk away, and then whirled around, realization dawning on him. “And another thing! You’ve been speaking with another man, claims to be another DCI?” Gene eyed Barrie up and down, sizing him up and finding that he hated the man on principal.
“DCI Morgan, from Hyde, Sir,” Barrie said as the color started to drain away from his face. “He stopped down to inquire about Mr. Wi… Mr. Tyler’s condition. He’s already left for Hyde again,” Barrie said, his voice high and shaking.
“He comes back, I want to know about it,” Gene growled at Barrie, who nodded again.
“Understood, Sir,” Barrie stammered, then started to walk down the hallway, followed by the nurse, who had stepped out of the room.
“I think you’d better go, Sir, before I call security,” the nurse seemed to have significantly more backbone than the doctor, and she stared at Gene angrily, her eyes flashing.
Gene stared back at the nurse, feeling his anger roaring again, “Security! Some bloody good security you’ve got in this hospital, I’d feel safer locked in a prison cell with my pervert of the week! Come in three flavors now, they do: nutter, bastard, and pile of dog shite!” Gene stormed away, watching the nurse glare at him as he did so. He stopped to point a finger at the two WPC’s. “Anyone comes in, and I do mean anyone, I don’t care if they claim to be his Great Auntie Mabel from Merseyside or the milkman, you let me know. Is that understood? I want the names of every doctor and nurse that go in there, you hear me?” The two women nodded, both shrinking away from Gene, and he nodded back at them, then made his way, still fuming, to the lift doors.
Sam found himself being pulled away from Gene, pulled away from the familiarity of 1973, and thrust back into the darkened wood. Strange sounds floated towards him, carried on a brusque wind, and he noted that he was again stark naked. He looked about for anyone, even the double or the test card girl, although he was slightly glad when they failed to appear. He felt his breath start to catch as horrible, low growling sounds filled the air, and he started to run again, branches and roots clawing at him from all directions, tearing at his skin as he crashed through them.
Eventually, Sam landed, face first, in a small clearing, and was surprised to see a sundial resting in the middle of it. A long shadow fell from one side of it, and Sam moved to sit under it, curling his legs up against himself. “Hello? Is anyone out there? Hello?” Sam called out, but received no answer. His own voice echoed through the trees, coming back to him time and again, and he curled up more tightly, burying his face in his hands and knees. A shadow fell before him, then, darkening a streak of the sundial’s own shade to a deep black, and Sam gasped. The girl stood before him, her clown in her arm, a grin on her face.
“Why are you sad, Sam? We gave you what you wanted,” the girl cocked her head to the side and looked inquisitively down at him.
“I… I don’t care if you took me back to 1973. I’ll stay there, if I have to. I just… Just don’t let me stay in this place. Please. I’ll take 1973, I’m sorry I was cross with you about it, just, please, let me go back…” Sam’s voice was filled with barely repressed hysteria, and he felt himself sobbing. The little girl giggled at him.
“You’re very confused, aren’t you, Sam?” The little girl grinned at him, and then skipped away, as Sam felt two hands resting on his shoulders.
“No, no, no, no…” Sam whispered as he realized which hands were covering him, crunching down tightly so that he could once again feel the bones and tendons of his shoulders rip and snap under the vice-like grip.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, Sam,” came his own voice, and Sam tried to avoid turning around, tried to ignore the sound of the double’s voice. “Oh, Sam, don’t you want to play with us? I see you found the wabe again; very clever of you, that is. There’s a lot to do, Sam, and a lot to see. Just listen. This has to be one of my favorite parts,” the double pressed its face against his, and he could feel his sideburn clashing with the double’s, feel the double’s breath on his neck. The hands were still locked over Sam’s shoulders, breaking the bones, forcing him to stay where he was. Sam cried out in pain and started to sob.
“This isn’t real. None of it’s real. It’s all in my head, this is, and it’s just a damned nightmare.” Sam steeled himself, and then screamed out, “Do you hear me? It’s just some stupid fucking nightmare, and I want to wake up!” He heard the double laughing, and the strange, growling sounds continued to filter through the dense foliage of the wood.
“Now now, Sam, you have to learn to play by the rules,” the double whispered in his ear, and Sam heard the other voices, the ones that had carried him away from Gene and the 1973 room, start to crash in about him, echoing through the darkening woods. “Just listen, Sam,” the double said, his voice playful and laughing.
*Where the hell are the results of that sputum culture? The lab should’ve sent them back by now. Lungs and pleural sacs are both filling. We need to thoracostamize him again.*
*Poor old woman was in hysterics, I’m really worried about her, Doctor Matthews.*
*Then follow up with her, on your time off, Nurse Burns.*
*Yes, sir. Cultures should be back any second now, I’ll go and ask after them.*
*Any word yet from Baum about Morgan coming down?*
*Morgan should be in this afternoon, already emailed him the test results.*
*Christ, why wasn’t I notified I of this? When did he spike that high?*
*Sir, we’ve got the cultures back*
*Shit. Shit, I knew it, I bloody knew it!*
*It is, isn’t it, Matthews?*
*Bloody damned MRSA. Get him into isolation, now.*
“No! No, no, no, no! You bastards! You useless shagging bastards! You get me out of this, you get me out of this now! And you’d better follow up with my mum, you damned twat! All of you! You don’t let her cry! And you get me out of here! You get me out of this mess, right now!” Sam was shouting now, tears flowing down his eyes, his voice raised to the sky, spittle flying from his mouth. Suddenly, the world started to spin again, and the growling, howling, ruffling and rumbling sounds started to grow louder, as Sam realized that it wasn’t the entire world that was spinning, just the woods - the woods were started to twirl around him in some sick sort of dance. “What the hell is going on? Do you hear me? What the hell is going on? Anyone? Anyone?” Sam continued to shout as he noticed that the double had disappeared, and then the world went black once again.