FIVE

None of these characters or situations belong to me. And stuff.

One:

There is no sound after the bomb, as if her eardrums have been damaged beyond repair by the blast. They haven't though, she has been examined. She lacks nothing. A little sleep perhaps, would do her a world of good. She hasn't slept in months, not properly, not without the aid of alcohol. She didn't drink in 2008, in fact she often said she couldn't drink, just one glass made her tired, she didn't like the feeling that she wasn't in control. She had Molly to think of. Here in 1981 she didn't like the feeling of control. She wanted to float aimlessly. Drift.

One day after the bomb she longs for that control again. Too late, she admits she was mistaken. There is nothing safe or comforting about drifting. She can't function at all. She forgets things, how to walk, how to dress herself, how to chew and swallow. She can no longer remember Molly's favourite colour, her favourite song, what she likes for breakfast. Only last night she lay awake trying to remember if Wednesday came after Thursday or not, what apples tasted like. Just now she forgot to breathe, though that may have had more to do with the sight of Gene Hunt sweeping into the office, his face like a thundercloud.

Lately she didn't know herself around Hunt. Everything he said had the volume turned down to her. She could see his lips moving but no sound issued from them. It was as though she wouldn't or couldn't deal with everything Gene stood for, her mind had created a cushioning bubble around him, like a blister. He slammed a hand full of photographs and a manila envelope onto her desk. She never had been good at reading lips so she just stared at his mouth, marvelling at the shape of the words, marvelling at the fact that they meant nothing at all to her. No wait, this one word she knew.

"Bolls."

He was saying her name. Her heart skipped a beat. But that wasn't her name was it? She had another. A real one not just his silly pet name. Alex. She was Alex. But she wasn't. Even in her head she thought of herself as Bolly. She was losing herself. It occurred to her she might be something he constructed and not the other way around.
To escape his scrutinising glare she flicked her eyes down to the photographs on her desk. A little girl in a school uniform. She knew that uniform because she had worn one just like it. The girl looked vaguely familiar. Thin, horsy sort of face, a gap between her teeth, dark blond hair pushed away from her eyes with a pink ribbon, tiny earrings in the lobes of her ears, Kirsty something. She'd known her at school. No amount of pleading could make Caroline Price take her to get her ears pierced. She remembered the seething jealousy and the admiration. Whatever happened to her? Whatever happened to Kirsty Andrews? She couldn't remember that part. Had she moved? Switched schools? Why couldn't she remember?

"Missing, since Saturday afternoon, school thought she'd gone home, parents thought she'd stayed at school, no ransom note yet." Shaz said.

Shaz? Back already? She feels Shaz move closer to her from the left side. She can feel her soft fingers on her arm. Shaz' voice is clear as a bell in her ear. The only voice that sounds clear in this underwater world. She points out the witnesses statements in the manila folder.

"Is this even our jurisdiction?" Alex wonders aloud.
Though why she bothers, she doesn't know. It isn't as if there is a system in this world of hers. These days she wouldn't be surprised if King Kong came striding through the doors of CID one morning and demanded an interview with DCI Hunt.

"They asked for us, they asked for you by name ma'am." Shaz explains.

There is a burning feeling in Alex's throat. She should know this. She should remember. A white hand peering out from beneath the sheet, Evan's voice telling her, "Kirsty's just gone to visit her grandparents, darling. I'm sure she'll be back in no time." That had sounded funny even to sad little Alex Price still reeling from her parent's death. Something was being wheeled away. Alex saw a small hand it was reaching for her. They were wheeling something away, out into the light, into a vehicle.

Was that what had become of her friend? The world is fuzzy again, everyone's voice knotted together in a chorus. The swirling darkness closes in on her, blocking out the sheet, the hand and the photograph of Kirsty Andrews. Her head lands on her desk with a thud. There's a blessed pause before the world comes rushing back and Alex is half expecting to be lying on the damp ground in an alley, Layton towering over her with a gun. That vision is shattered by the feeling of someone pressing a glass of cold water into her hand and the sound of someone speaking.

"Christ on a bike! I can't handle this now. Someone take her home." His voice crackles like an old LP. It sounds like he's so far away, she isn't at all sure he actually spoke. Perhaps her mind just produced a response typical of Gene. He seems somehow bigger from where she is sitting, over-dimensional, like a picture of an adult from a child's point of view. He starts to turn away, to walk back towards his office.

"No." She whispers.

At least she thinks she does. Her hand shoots out of its own accord and fastens itself onto his sleeve. He looks down at it with an expression she can't analyse, all her years at university a waste. She thinks it may be disgust. The sudden acute hotness behind her eyes frightens her and so she doesn't cry after all.

"No Guv, let me stay. I can help, see?" She pauses to brush her hair into place with one hand and smile. "All better."

She doesn't hear what he answers to that. Probably for the best as it produces a round of laughter from the others. To her, the laughter is deep and slow, distorted like the sound of wild beasts growling in a child's nightmare. Her head might explode with the sound of it.

But she doesn't let it show on her face. She can't go home now. She can't sit up there alone. She has to go with them, back to school. To the last place Kirsty was seen. This might be the only way to get back to Molly she realises. Yes, that's it. If she can save this little girl all will be well again.

She stands up abruptly and dons her jacket and then strides purposefully towards the door, photos and folder in hand. It feels strange to be wearing heels, unnatural, she wavers slightly as she passes Chris, Ray and Gene. A strong hand closes on her upper arm, it will leave a bruise but she knows it's the only thing holding her up, again. Gene mutters something; from his body language she can tell it's a warning. He releases her arm slowly, the pressure abating until it seems to her like he is caressing it.

She looks around desperately to see if anyone else noticed but they are all laughing, chewing gum and shuffling out of the door.