Dust to Dust

How was he supposed to live with this? How was he supposed to live with himself?

She had always been there for him, the rock of his existence, the anchor of his soul. No matter how ugly or uncertain or utterly meaningless the world around him had become, he had known that he could come home to her and she would take him in her arms and assure him that everything would be alright. In his head, he had known that was not true, but when she held him close, in his heart he had believed it.

And now she was gone. How was he supposed to go on without her?

He knew it was his fault. Oh, the doctors had had some 5 pound word for it. Carcinoma something or the other. But he knew better. He knew that years of taking all of the cares and pressures and worries from his shoulders and carrying them on her own had finally taken their toll.

"Ashes to ashes..."

How was he supposed to sit here and listen to this?

"Dust to dust..."

Before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself struggling unsteadily to his feet. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to steady him, and looked down to see Chris looking up uncertainly. Chris, with is puppy dog look, staring up at him just like a faithful dog wanting to comfort its master and not knowing how. He shook his hand away, mumbling that he was alright and just needed some air. Nevermind that they were already outdoors. He just needed to get away. He lurched away from the group gathered around the grave and stumbled across the grass towards his car.

His beloved Cortina. Even if everything else in his life had turned upside down, at least it was still there for him. He wedged his bulk behind the wheel and started the car.

It was the last thing he remembered doing before he woke up in hospital.

----------------------------

He blinked slightly at the bright white light, uncertain of where he was or what was happening. He could hear faint voices whispering nearby without understanding the words. He turned his head slightly, slowly, carefully, not wanting to increase the screaming pain in his head but overcome by curiosity. He could see a small table next to the bed in which he was lying, but it seemed at the same time as if it were a million miles away. There was a small green plant in a plastic pot sitting on the tabletop, and even from this distance he could easily read Phyllis' name written in her large, commanding hand on the card stuck in the dirt beneath the greenery. Next to the pot, there was a gaudy postcard proclaiming "Greetings from Mexico." That would be Sam and Annie on their honeymoon. They had left over two months ago, and had not yet heard the news. Chris had faithfully brought Gene's post in every day when he visited, and he had kept a silent vigil next to the hospital bed every evening now for weeks. He didn't know what else to do with himself.

Gene's stealthy gaze now fell on Chris, sitting in an uncomfortable chair near the foot of the bed, trying hard to whisper quietly to Ray about the results of the day's tests. He was being, Gene thought, about as quiet as a cat in heat. For some reason, the random thought amused him, and he laughed slightly in spite of the splitting pain that resulted. At the foot of the bed, Chris and Ray started up like pheasants at the noise, then Ray bolted for the door to find the nearest nurse. "You're awake!" Chris enthused, much too loudly for Gene's comfort.

"Still as observant as ever," Gene mumbled, and Chris smiled to hear that the Guv was at least partially back to his old self.

---------------------------

"I'm not going to tell him, you tell him."

"No way am I telling him."

"Well, someone has to tell him. He can't just find out for himself."

Despite the fussing of the doctors and nurses around him, Gene could clearly hear the argument taking place in the hallway. What exactly was it that he needed to hear so badly and that no one was willing to share? When he had finally had enough, he waved away the nurse trying to take his blood pressure with a growling expletive that made the young woman blush. "Now, Mr. Hunt," the doctor said severely, "there's no need for that kind of language towards the nursing staff!"

"Then tell them to leave me the..." but a stern glare from the doctor cut him off in mid-sentence. That and a rather wicked looking needle that he held up in Gene's face. He decided to change the subject quickly. "What's all that noise in the hallway, anyway? What aren't they telling me? What am I doing in here at all?"

The doctor gave him a disapproving look, thought about it for a moment and finally opted to answer the questions rather than administer the jab. "You, Mr. Hunt, are here because you got falling down drunk and wrapped your vehicle around a telephone pole."

---------------------------

Now what was he supposed to do?

His car had been his independence, his identity, practically his manhood. It was not a question of replacing it. Nothing could replace it. What would the Lone Ranger have been without Silver? You certainly wouldn't have caught him going around yelling "Hi, Ho, Ginger!" or somesuch nonesense.

It was as irreplaceable as...she was.

----------------------------

"What's wrong, Gene, luv?"

He punched the pillow sharply in a vain attempt to reshape it into a more comfortable blob. "Nothing," he answered sharply.

"I can tell."

He threw his head back hard on the pillow and winced at the resulting pain. When he tried to stay awake, all he could do was think of her. If he fell asleep, he dreamed of her. He couldn't go back to work yet, but there was nothing to do but rattle around the place like an old age pensioner. He gave the pillow another punch for good measure, then turned over and reached out to touch her, but his hand fell on the empty bed beside him. Too many memories.

He had to get out of this bed, this room, this house. Out of this city, with all of the memories.

-------------------------

Gene stood outside of a building that would have passed for a rather poor version of a warehouse in his day. Apparently this was the type of place that the current generation looked upon as desirable , or even 'cool.' He had been told that this 'club' was where he could find Chris tonight. He shook his head at the thought that any of his officers might even consider entering such a place for a reason other than banging up a few drug-addled lowlifes. But after a few minutes of soul-searching deliberation, he finally brought himself to open the door and enter what seemed to him to be the gaping maw of hell.

It was not the blast of smoke or the overwhelming smell of booze that bothered him. That was almost comforting! No, it was the incessant throbbing, the pounding of the music in his chest, the flashing lights, the crush of bodies moving frantically. He wasn't even sure he would see Chris if he were standing next to him, or be able to talk to him if and when he found him. He stood for a minute, considering a strategic retreat, but suddenly there was a lull in the music, and he could see Chris across the room waving to him, calling him over to join him.

Gene pushed his way roughly through the crowd, determined to go through with his purpose for coming and then leave as quickly as possible, when the music resumed. An irritating electronic beat flooded out of the speakers, causing even more revilers to push their way onto the dance floor. The heat of the lights and the mass of dancers rose up and hit him as hard as an actual punch in the gut. He suddenly felt dizzy and light headed. Strangely, the calm voice of the singer intruded on his thoughts.

"...how do I feel, tell me now, how do I feel?"

He finally reached the far side of the dance floor and caught hold of the edge of a table, nearly knocking it over. Chris reached out and caught his arm. "You alright, Guv?"

"...if it weren't for your misfortune, I'd be a heavenly person today..."

Gene shook his head. "No, no, I'm not alright, Chris. I don't think I ever will be again." Chris stared up at his without comprehension.

"I'm leaving here, Chris. I can't stay here any longer. Can't stand it. An old friend of mine has offered me a job down in London, and I'm going to take it. I just wanted you to know I'm leaving."

"...how does it feel when your heart grows cold?"