In this dream, unlike the others, Scott felt himself surrounded in a shroud of light and warmth. Voices whispered near him, but he was unable to grasp any meaning from them. A trickle of cool liquid ran down the side of his face as something was wiped across his brow. His face stung, stung badly enough for him to realise that this wasn't a dream. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt unbearably dry and gritty.
"He's coming around," said a man. The sound of the voice was muffled, almost as if Scott was listening to him under water.
"Quick, Nathan, wet his lips and see if he'll take a sip of water." This time it was the muffled voice of a woman.
Scott felt his head being propped up and then wetness on his lips. Parched, he gulped at the liquid from a cup that had been raised to his mouth.
"Slowly, don't choke it down."
Scott downed the ice cold water, not caring that most of it was running down his chin and wetting the front of the garment he was wearing. Once his thirst was sated, he was pulled back into a fretful sleep.
Scott picked at the loose, golden coloured thread until it was long enough to take hold of. He gripped it between finger and thumb and pulled. He couldn't comprehend what it was that he was unravelling, only that the more he pulled, the longer the thread became and the more the uneasy he became. As the thread started to spool on the surface beneath him, the greater the resistance he encountered. Very soon, he was battling it out in some unseen tug-of-war contest, needing both hands to pull. At some point, the thread had transformed into a thin, taught wire and it began to slice through his skin, yet still he hung on; the crimson wetness in his palms making it slippery and difficult to maintain grip. A stronger force than his hauled the thread away from Scott, so he dug his feet into the ground beneath, leant backwards trying to anchor himself. The battle seemed endless. Close to exhaustion, he gritted his teeth, gave one final heave and the wire snapped in two, launching Scott flying backwards making him cry out in pain.
"Shush... calm yourself." Scott jolted back to reality at the sound of the female voice he'd heard earlier. His heart pounded and he tried to pull himself up; the urge to flee from the dream and from wherever he was now, overwhelming. A sharp pain in his chest knocked the breath from his lungs and he fell back into the bed.
"Take it easy. You've a couple of broken ribs there. Can you open your eyes for me?" It was the man again, although this time he sounded younger.
With difficulty, Scott tried, but the simple movement felt like the lenses were being ripped from his eyeballs.
"Here, this might help." Scott heard the rustling of a packet and then his right upper eye lid was pulled back and a thick, clear liquid was squirted in. The same was done to his other eye. The relief was immediate and he blinked several times until his eyes began to focus on his surroundings.
"I'll go get him some food." Scott focused ahead of him and saw the back of someone as they left the room. With his eyes now able to focus, Scott started to look around. He had expected to find himself in a hospital bed, in a white room, with garish strip lightening, but what his eyes slowly revealed to him was something altogether different. He looked to his left and could see a small room with roughly plastered walls that had gaping holes revealing flimsy wooden slats beneath. A window was boarded up and only a single prick of daylight peeking through. The dim light in the room came from a small gas lamp positioned on a table in front of the window.
"Welcome back."
Scott turned sharply, having briefly forgotten someone else was in the room with him. He was met with a familiar face, sat in an old rocker next to the bed.
"You," he said. Cecily Eastman, Smith, Turner, Waring or whatever her current alias was, looked a lot older than the last picture he'd seen that had been circulated of her.
Cecily smiled. "Indeed," she replied. "And you're Tom Scott. Zeke spoken highly of you when I last met him. You're very lucky to be here, Tom. Here, let me help you up." She leaned over to the bed, felt her way along the side and located Scott's arm. She hooked one arm under his and together they lifted Scott into an upright position, supported by a couple of pillows. "Do you remember what happened?"
Scott nodded. "How did I get here?"
"We found you, shortly after the blast. You needed medical attention, but it wasn't safe for us to take you to a hospital, what with them being so heavily guarded, so we brought you here instead. I had a little medical training when I was younger. You have sustained a number of injuries and I've given you some rather strong painkillers, so hopefully you aren't feeling too bad."
Scott looked down at himself. He was shirtless, his chest was strapped up with bandages and his hands were covered in lacerations.
"Why does everything sound like I am under water?"
"Burst ear drums from the force of the blast I'm afraid. They'll heal in time, but your hearing may be reduced for a while."
Scott touched at his shoulder and winced.
"You've also sustained some nasty cuts here and there. We cleaned them up and removed a number of glass fragments. Just keep them clean and they'll be fine." Cecily lowered herself back into the chair.
"Thank you," Scott said, genuinely surprised at the care he had received.
Cecily gave Scott a weak smile in response and lowered her head away, though not before he'd seen a single tear fall from eyes. She discreetly brushed it away.
"Cecily, where is Hannah?"
"She is with my cousin's family, the Dexters."
"So is she safe then?"
"No, not in the slightest, Bill Dexter hates her with every fibre of his being. The death of his son, Shane, has pushed him over the edge and he blames her entirely. As leader of Parity he's also waited years to find something to hurt Briggs with. Hannah is a like a two-for-one deal. I am very afraid for Hannah right now."
Scott thought as much. "So, how come you were there in the first place?"
"A mutual friend warned me that they had her. We tried to get there before they left, I thought I'd be able to reason with him, but we were too late. I have people out looking, but nothing's come up yet. The house is absolutely destroyed and Bill is too clever to have left anything behind to give away his position. He has a lot of friends, Scott, all of them willing to lay down their lives for the cause."
Scott made a move to get out of the bed. He swallowed down the pain and moved his legs around and lowered his feet to the floor.
"Where are you going," Cecily asked.
Scott scanned the room. "Where do you think? I'm no use lying around here, I need to get out there and find her. Where are my things?"
Ignoring the question, Cecily reached over carefully and found a cup. She held it out to Scott. "Here drink this. You really need to rest up a little longer and I already have people out looking for her."
"With all due respect, Cecily," he replied, taking the cup and placing it back on the small table's surface. "It was my job to make sure she was safe and I haven't done such a great job of that so far. So if you could just fetch me my clothes and stuff, I'll head off."
Cecily picked up a large hessian bag from the floor by the bed and took out a pile of clothing. "Unfortunately your clothes were ruined in the blast, so I sent for some more. They aren't the quality that you're used to, but hopefully they'll fit."
Scott took the pile of clothing from her and rifled through. Cecily was right. The clothing was nothing like Scott's wardrobe of handmade suits with their premium fibres and designer labels. This pile consisted of a worn pair of black jeans and a dark green sweater.
"Where's my phone, my ComDat, my keys?"
Cecily passed the bag over to Scott. "We retrieved everything we could, including your ID badge. That's how we recognised you."
Scott tipped the contents on to the bed and sorted through them. Both his ComDat and phone were broken, screens cracked and unusable. His ID was intact though and his wallet still contained the money he had put into it earlier. That surprised him.
"We might live on the dark side, Mr Scott, but not everyone here is a two-bit thief," Cecily chastised."
Scott shuffled the objects round some more. "My keys aren't in here, have you seen them."
"No, sorry, we didn't find any."
The door opened and a young man around the age of twenty entered the room. He stood well over six foot and his shoulders looked nearly just as wide. His bare arms were visible and his dark skin was covered with the most intricately drawn tattoos. He stared at Scott, who stared right back, trying to look less intimidated than he actually felt. The young man then pulled a handgun from out of his back pocket, examined it closely and then threw it on the bed to Scott.
"Tom, I'd like you to meet Nathan my godson and charge. You have him to thank for pulling you to safety."
Scott, who hadn't taken his eyes off Nathan, nodded his thanks whilst he automatically checked his revolver.
Nathan walked over to Cecily, bent down and whispered something into her ear. She shook her head, took Nathan's arm and they left the room.
A few minutes later, Scott left the bedroom too and met up with Cecily and Nathan in the kitchen. He refused the toast that was offered, but accepted a cup of coffee. It was rough as hell, but it was strong and Scott felt instantly better for drinking it.
"Thank you for everything, but I need to get back to Head Office and see if we have any intel on Dexter or his known accomplices," he said, finding his own shoes by the front door.
"That might be a problem, Tom."
"Why?"
"Nathan has just intercepted reports that four officers were killed in the blast and that you're one of them. Briggs has authorised a huge manhunt for the perpetrators of the blast, but I don't think he knows that Hannah has been taken yet. This is going to push Bill further underground and put Hannah at even greater risk. Maybe you could use this to your advantage. After all, no one is going to expect a dead man to be chasing them."