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[oom] 3x01 i. Wakey Wakey Drakey
Her entire world is shrouded in shadow, a palpable darkness that weighs her every breath, her every thought. She refuses to take the pills and the ice pick behind her right eye is her constant companion, waking and sleeping. It's the only reason she's come here today. She has to talk to someone.
"I understand that emerging from a coma... I understand that one might have difficulty -- adjusting to the real world."
"A sense of dislocation is natural. The place that you went to in your subconscious felt completely real."
"... But what if it was real?" The idea escapes into the air, and she knows how it sounds, but she can't let it go. "You weren't there. You didn't see them."
"Are you still hearing voices?"
"No." Her tone is plaintive, bereft. As if they've abandoned her to her fate.
"And are you still dreaming about him?"
Her gaze moves away, and she can't even answer the question. Just the thought of him makes the darkness fade, makes the whole of living just a bit easier to bear.
"Of course I'm glad to be back." She smiles through tears, still desperately trying to get her feet under her.
"But the real world scares you?"
"Because it's not as real as the one I left."
"You're isolating yourself. You sent Molly to stay with her father."
"Because I have to -- to deal with this by myself."
"So you want to return there?"
Her tone takes on a hard edge. Her analysis of this whole situation has left her scrabbling for any intellectual purchase she can find. "I thought it was all in my head. But Sam Tyler was in a coma, too. He was a copper in the same place. Now how is that possible?
"Sam told me when he woke up. He told me that he could hear them, begging him for help, and he listened. What if it is a real place? What if Sam and I both had a -- a purpose there?" It's the only explanation she can arrive at to explain the overwhelming sense of loss she's feeling. Like she's given up a part of her identity, given up a part of her soul to come home.
"Alex. Sam Tyler is dead. And the world you describe isn't real."
The darkness reasserts itself with a frightening tenacity. If she could, she'd laugh at herself to hear her defending them as real with as much fervour as she denied them their existence in those first few months at Fenchurch. But there is no humour to be had here.
There is only the darkness. And that throbbing shard of agony behind her right brow, beating out the minutes in time with her heart. Like a clock ticking down.
~~~
Her therapist had suggested a little old-fashioned escapism. A movie possibly, but Alex couldn't face the idea of cineplex full of people. Maybe a DVD. She walked down the New Releases aisle, trying to find something that caught her interest. And that's when she saw it.
Legal Force. A cop drama, clearly, but the faces were unmistakable. Gene, pointing his shooter at some unseen scumbag; Ray brandishing an assault rifle; Chris looking dashing in his suit; and Shazza in her PC's uniform. She flipped it over to read the back and Gene's face looked back at her, golden hair cropped too short and his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes from her.
She puts it back on the shelf and stalks away, right into the full bank of televisions, and Ray's face, pleading with her to wake up from every single screen.
"Wake up. The doc stopped the bleeding in your guts weeks ago. I wasn't gonna come 'ere."
She steps back a little, walking down the aisle, looking into Ray's face. He actually looks contrite, and she can't help but feel the pull of his words.
"I've got a little girl who's been kidnapped, and what with the Guv in hiding, I'm on me own. And I'm doing the best, but they never think that my best is any good, so wake up. Wake up and...
"Help me."
The televisions change with a burst of static, and she feels the pain behind her eye grow tighter. Chris looks out at her from the wall of tellies, his shaggy mop of hair hanging in his eyes.
"I couldn't find any grapes, so I got -- a melon." She can't help but laugh as he holds it up for her to see. "I'll -- uh -- I'll leave it here for you." She glances around, hearing the rolling sound, and then the meaty thud of the melon hitting the ground. Chris groans, exasperated.
"This kidnapping stuff. Little Dorothy Blond. We're all at sea on it, boss. Ma'am. What with the Guv on the run, it's been three months now." He looks down at his shoes, like a lost little boy. "Oh, yeah. Shaz is coming in later. We're not together any more but that's -- cool. Then again...
"It's not the same without you anymore, ma'am. Can't you wake up and..." He looks down.
The tellies change again, and it's Shazza. Alex's heart leaps in her throat.
"...bits of melon on the floor here, ma'am, do you want me to clean it up?"
"It's not fair. You made things better and then you left us. Now I'm back making bloody tea and biscuits. I should have got a job at Peek Freans. If you came back..."
Alex can't fight the rising pull in her chest.
"I know you'd help me to --"
The screen glitches again, and a man appears. A man whose face she doesn't recognise.
"Alex. Look what he's done to you. You don't know me, but I read all about you."
A boy, almost, his cheeks are so smooth, wearing glasses suitable for an accountant. His black curls are gelled into submission above his receding hairline, and he has no chin. Who is this man speaking to her with such familiarity?
"You're the best of them, Alex, it's not fair. He did this to you, and I don't want history to repeat itself, I don't want you to end up like --"
The glitch hits again, and again and again, cycling through the channels with each of their faces: Ray, Chris, Shaz...
"Wake up."
Faster now, until she feels the world shifting around her. And finally it lands on Gene. His blue eyes are cold and hard, and he looks so put out with her.
Alex's blood runs cold. No. He is nothing more than a dream. It was all a dream.
She turns her back and walks away, trying to keep calm, to keep moving even as every television and monitor in the store glitches and shouts at her, playing each of their faces and returning to him.
His voice fills her heart and her head, making the pain spike.
She keeps walking, her face going white as a sheet. Keeps putting one foot in front of the other, heading for the exit, escaping into the cool air only to look up at the huge scrolling billboards above her head as they glitch, and his face appears forty feet high, like an angry god shouting down at her.
"Wakey wakey Drakey.
She's literally hit a wall. A concrete wall. She bounces back and glances around to discover she was standing in one of the cells at Fenchurch East, the only light a few weak rays from the window high above. The air fills with whispers, their voices swirling around her, as if she were standing in a cathedral, not a twelve by twelve cell block.
The blue cell door is to her back, and she approaches it warily, peering out the window onto a pristine white hospital room. There is a figure, prone in the bed. A woman with dark hair. It is her own body, eyes closed, hands crossed over her torso. The echoes of their voices mingle with the sound of her heart monitor.
She is standing on the threshold, looking back at herself.
It can't be. Her body back in hospital? What happened? Where is Molly? Alex can see the clock on the wall, the numbers fixed on 9:05. The whole scene feels like a play staged solely for her benefit.
The television is on in the room, set to BBC News. She holds her breath, listening to the presenter.
Police in Lancashire say the body found in a shallow grave on farm land may that be that of a police officer. They say it may have lain undiscovered for many years, before being found by a group of travellers two days ago. A post mortem is being carried out to establish the cause of ...
She sees the images, a coroner's tent erected in the middle of the field by a farmhouse. The image sears into her memory, a stone roof topped with a weathervane, the silhouette an image of a figure stooped under a heavy burden.
The moment stretches and she watches as the clock ticks, watches as the white plastic numbers trip and fall, turning over to
In that moment, she feels a presence in the room with her. She turns, thinking it's Gene, and the image before her eyes draws a startled cry from her lips.
A man steps from the shadows with a purposeful stride. He's young, wearing the Queen's uniform under a heavy overcoat. His skin is the colour of bone, and the left side of his face has been completely blown away.
Gene's voice breaks her reverie.
"Alex. Wake up."
"I understand that emerging from a coma... I understand that one might have difficulty -- adjusting to the real world."
"A sense of dislocation is natural. The place that you went to in your subconscious felt completely real."
"... But what if it was real?" The idea escapes into the air, and she knows how it sounds, but she can't let it go. "You weren't there. You didn't see them."
"Are you still hearing voices?"
"No." Her tone is plaintive, bereft. As if they've abandoned her to her fate.
"And are you still dreaming about him?"
Her gaze moves away, and she can't even answer the question. Just the thought of him makes the darkness fade, makes the whole of living just a bit easier to bear.
"Of course I'm glad to be back." She smiles through tears, still desperately trying to get her feet under her.
"But the real world scares you?"
"Because it's not as real as the one I left."
"You're isolating yourself. You sent Molly to stay with her father."
"Because I have to -- to deal with this by myself."
"So you want to return there?"
Her tone takes on a hard edge. Her analysis of this whole situation has left her scrabbling for any intellectual purchase she can find. "I thought it was all in my head. But Sam Tyler was in a coma, too. He was a copper in the same place. Now how is that possible?
"Sam told me when he woke up. He told me that he could hear them, begging him for help, and he listened. What if it is a real place? What if Sam and I both had a -- a purpose there?" It's the only explanation she can arrive at to explain the overwhelming sense of loss she's feeling. Like she's given up a part of her identity, given up a part of her soul to come home.
"Alex. Sam Tyler is dead. And the world you describe isn't real."
The darkness reasserts itself with a frightening tenacity. If she could, she'd laugh at herself to hear her defending them as real with as much fervour as she denied them their existence in those first few months at Fenchurch. But there is no humour to be had here.
There is only the darkness. And that throbbing shard of agony behind her right brow, beating out the minutes in time with her heart. Like a clock ticking down.
~~~
Her therapist had suggested a little old-fashioned escapism. A movie possibly, but Alex couldn't face the idea of cineplex full of people. Maybe a DVD. She walked down the New Releases aisle, trying to find something that caught her interest. And that's when she saw it.
Legal Force. A cop drama, clearly, but the faces were unmistakable. Gene, pointing his shooter at some unseen scumbag; Ray brandishing an assault rifle; Chris looking dashing in his suit; and Shazza in her PC's uniform. She flipped it over to read the back and Gene's face looked back at her, golden hair cropped too short and his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes from her.
She puts it back on the shelf and stalks away, right into the full bank of televisions, and Ray's face, pleading with her to wake up from every single screen.
"Wake up. The doc stopped the bleeding in your guts weeks ago. I wasn't gonna come 'ere."
She steps back a little, walking down the aisle, looking into Ray's face. He actually looks contrite, and she can't help but feel the pull of his words.
"I've got a little girl who's been kidnapped, and what with the Guv in hiding, I'm on me own. And I'm doing the best, but they never think that my best is any good, so wake up. Wake up and...
"Help me."
The televisions change with a burst of static, and she feels the pain behind her eye grow tighter. Chris looks out at her from the wall of tellies, his shaggy mop of hair hanging in his eyes.
"I couldn't find any grapes, so I got -- a melon." She can't help but laugh as he holds it up for her to see. "I'll -- uh -- I'll leave it here for you." She glances around, hearing the rolling sound, and then the meaty thud of the melon hitting the ground. Chris groans, exasperated.
"This kidnapping stuff. Little Dorothy Blond. We're all at sea on it, boss. Ma'am. What with the Guv on the run, it's been three months now." He looks down at his shoes, like a lost little boy. "Oh, yeah. Shaz is coming in later. We're not together any more but that's -- cool. Then again...
"It's not the same without you anymore, ma'am. Can't you wake up and..." He looks down.
The tellies change again, and it's Shazza. Alex's heart leaps in her throat.
"...bits of melon on the floor here, ma'am, do you want me to clean it up?"
"It's not fair. You made things better and then you left us. Now I'm back making bloody tea and biscuits. I should have got a job at Peek Freans. If you came back..."
Alex can't fight the rising pull in her chest.
"I know you'd help me to --"
The screen glitches again, and a man appears. A man whose face she doesn't recognise.
"Alex. Look what he's done to you. You don't know me, but I read all about you."
A boy, almost, his cheeks are so smooth, wearing glasses suitable for an accountant. His black curls are gelled into submission above his receding hairline, and he has no chin. Who is this man speaking to her with such familiarity?
"You're the best of them, Alex, it's not fair. He did this to you, and I don't want history to repeat itself, I don't want you to end up like --"
The glitch hits again, and again and again, cycling through the channels with each of their faces: Ray, Chris, Shaz...
"Wake up."
"It's not fair."
"Help me."
Faster now, until she feels the world shifting around her. And finally it lands on Gene. His blue eyes are cold and hard, and he looks so put out with her.
"Wakey wakey, Drakey.
C'mon, you earned that shot."
C'mon, you earned that shot."
Alex's blood runs cold. No. He is nothing more than a dream. It was all a dream.
She turns her back and walks away, trying to keep calm, to keep moving even as every television and monitor in the store glitches and shouts at her, playing each of their faces and returning to him.
His voice fills her heart and her head, making the pain spike.
"Come back to me. I need you."
She keeps walking, her face going white as a sheet. Keeps putting one foot in front of the other, heading for the exit, escaping into the cool air only to look up at the huge scrolling billboards above her head as they glitch, and his face appears forty feet high, like an angry god shouting down at her.
"Wakey wakey Drakey.
Wake up.
Come back to me, I need you.
Drake! Alex! Alex! Wake up!"
The world shifts and spins around her, the pain behind her eye lancing white, and she feels a cold impact slam through her body. She's literally hit a wall. A concrete wall. She bounces back and glances around to discover she was standing in one of the cells at Fenchurch East, the only light a few weak rays from the window high above. The air fills with whispers, their voices swirling around her, as if she were standing in a cathedral, not a twelve by twelve cell block.
The blue cell door is to her back, and she approaches it warily, peering out the window onto a pristine white hospital room. There is a figure, prone in the bed. A woman with dark hair. It is her own body, eyes closed, hands crossed over her torso. The echoes of their voices mingle with the sound of her heart monitor.
She is standing on the threshold, looking back at herself.
It can't be. Her body back in hospital? What happened? Where is Molly? Alex can see the clock on the wall, the numbers fixed on 9:05. The whole scene feels like a play staged solely for her benefit.
The television is on in the room, set to BBC News. She holds her breath, listening to the presenter.
Police in Lancashire say the body found in a shallow grave on farm land may that be that of a police officer. They say it may have lain undiscovered for many years, before being found by a group of travellers two days ago. A post mortem is being carried out to establish the cause of ...
She sees the images, a coroner's tent erected in the middle of the field by a farmhouse. The image sears into her memory, a stone roof topped with a weathervane, the silhouette an image of a figure stooped under a heavy burden.
The moment stretches and she watches as the clock ticks, watches as the white plastic numbers trip and fall, turning over to
9:06.
In that moment, she feels a presence in the room with her. She turns, thinking it's Gene, and the image before her eyes draws a startled cry from her lips.
A man steps from the shadows with a purposeful stride. He's young, wearing the Queen's uniform under a heavy overcoat. His skin is the colour of bone, and the left side of his face has been completely blown away.
Gene's voice breaks her reverie.
"Alex. Wake up."