Driving Dead

1.

Jake Jordan sat up.

Instantly awake.

Soaked in sweat.

Rain hammering on the bedroom window.

The images of his exploding police Volvo receding under a veil of departing sleep.

05:40.

2

Lisa

'Come on, James, put your shoes and coat on or we'll be late for school again! Look, Olivia’s ready. Why are we always waiting for you?'

Lisa was standing by the front door, tapping her foot, waiting for her son.

'Don't shout at him, love,' said Richard, as he came out of the kitchen, at the same time brushing the arm of his suit to remove some unseen fluff. He took his overcoat from the coat stand and threw it over his arm, as he made his way into the hallway joining his wife and children.

The keys to the family car were sitting in a bowl on the side table. Richard casually collected them, then threw the jangling bunch at his wife, which she just about caught. 'You'd better drive after the skinful I had last night. I think I'll probably still be over.'

'Really?' retorted Lisa. 'And I'm not, I suppose?' She grinned, mocking him.

'You didn't have as much as me, that's for sure. Come on, James, hurry up! Anyway, you seemed to spend most of the night trying to get rid of Darren, who didn't want to stray too far from you.'

'Yeah, and you weren't much help fending him off either, because you were three sheets to the proverbial wind,' Lisa said without any real rancour, smiling at her husband.

'I told you that you shouldn't have worn that short dress – you know what my work mates are like when they've had too much beer.'

'I wore it for you, hun, not your leery mates.'

Richard chuckled. He smoothed his hair in the hallway mirror. 'Didn't do my chances for… well… you know.' He gave his wife a wink.

'Indeed.' Lisa returned her husband's smile, and shook her head slightly, glancing towards the children. 'It was a good night, though, wasn't it? But I can't for the life of me remember how we got home.'

'Come on, you two, let's go.' Richard said, his son having stood from putting his shoes on.

With that, he opened the front door, ushering the two children outside. Lisa saw the bottle of water she'd had the previous night and grabbed it from the hallway table, as she closed the door to their family home.

As they left the house, Lisa felt a cool breeze caress her, bringing with it the smell of the late harvest of wheat from the field behind their home.

Gathering the children into the car, she watched Richard make sure that they were secure, before he jumped into the passenger seat. He was such a good dad, she reflected. Despite the ups and downs of family life, Lisa knew that she had chosen well, blessed with a kind and gentle soul.

Getting behind the wheel, Lisa turned to her husband, at the same time unscrewing the top of the water bottle. 'Although I didn't have that much to drink last night, I do feel a bit rough this morning,' she murmured to her husband.

'What do you mean, a bit rough?'

'You know, as if it was me that had the skinful and not you. And I've got a thumping headache.'

'You didn't have that much, surely?'

'I know, but I still feel as if I did. The problem is, I can't remember any of it.’ A puzzled looked passed over Lisa's face. ‘I don't remember the taxi. I don't even remember getting back here, talking to the babysitter or going to bed. It's weird.'

'Do you want me to drive then?'

'No, I'll be all right.' She took a big swig of water.

'Where did you get that bottle of water from anyway?'

'No idea. Tastes a bit funny though.'

'Meaning?' Richard frowned and turned to face his children in the back.

'Tastes a bit salty.' Lisa thought for a moment. 'Must be in my mouth from breakfast.'

'That's odd – anyway, kids are you ready? James put your seatbelt back on please.'

'No! Hurts.'

'James, please, it's for your own good.'

James glowered at his dad, then reluctantly reattached his seatbelt.

Lisa started the engine and reversed the car off the drive. She took another swig of water before driving off, hoping it would quench her raging thirst.

3

Jake shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the image of his burning police Volvo. He knew this was futile along with the fuzziness of being woken with hypnagogic jerk once again, and fell back onto his bed, mulling over the interminable nightmare. But thinking about it would do no good. He knew that.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a few moments, rubbed his face with his hands then scratching his head, before he peeled off his sweat-soaked shorts and headed for the shower.

The new apartment Jake had rented still had bare walls, as if someone was imminently about to move in… or out. The furniture minimal. He hadn't come out of his divorce with much furniture as most of it was Rosie’s anyway. He did get to keep his Rick Wakeman CDs, an old sofa he used to keep in his home office, and the new kettle he’d bought a week before she left.

Was he angry? Yes, he was. Considering that it wasn't even him who'd been having the affair! It was that he had come away with so little of his possessions. So much for civil justice. If it were not for the Bingham Tyler incident twelve months before, Jake would probably still be in his home, none the wiser that his wife was having an affair with her boss. Jake's brother-in-law.

At least Jake had got Tyler to thank for that. Not that he really felt he’d anything to thank Tyler for. All the mandatory counselling sessions Jake had been to didn't stop the stuff running through his head every morning. A dreary radio show came on with the alarm and played in the background while he shaved. He turned on the shower, testing the temperature with the palm of his hand, as he did every morning. The deaths he'd seen during that incident lay heavy on him, and the police force. But it was very rare in the county to see a murdering psychopath deliberately target and slay his victims, and a police officer. Did he feel like a failure? Maybe.

Then there was Kirsty. As her Family Liaison Officer, he saw how deeply affected she had been by the death of her husband. She was, Jake reflected, still very vulnerable.

Standing in his shower, Jake wished that the hot water could magically wash away the last terrible twelve months. He was bitter about having been put on a 'fizzer' by Marland for disobeying his instructions to let the dogs flush Tyler out of the factory.

But Jake went in anyway and found the psychopath, surviving a brutal fight with him. Jake got the blame for allowing Tyler to get away, who then stole Rebecca Burnett's traffic car. Both he and Burnett chased him down to destruction, literally. Brought to his own justice in a collision with a train.

Never mind the fact that Jake also fought for his life in Jim’s apartment where Tyler had held Kirsty hostage. Never mind the fact that Tyler, after targeting Jim, targeted her. And what did Jake, get? A shit load of trouble from as many bosses that could make a case to screw him to the floor. Sod that.

Did he get any thanks? No.

Did he get promoted? No.

Detective Chief Superintendent Marland though, he got promoted to Assistant Chief Constable. His old crewmate Rebecca? She got promoted to Chief Superintendent in charge of Operations. And Dave Harte? Even he had climbed the greasy pole to Inspector.

Jake had been in the job long enough to understand how the force worked. But the injustice of it all stuck like a fishbone in the gullet. And he was angry.

Trying to relax, Jake let the hot water run down his back. Calming the thoughts racing around his head. He didn't need this every bloody morning.

Switching off the shower, he stepped out and grabbed the towel from behind the door. He growled, ‘I was only doing my fucking job!’

He finished drying off vigorously. 'I don't need this shit in my life,' he said, then threw down the towel.

Jake tried to put his feelings back in their box. He had no idea how to stop them.

Jake put on his uniform, ready for the early start, went to the kitchen and put two slices of bread in the toaster. He flicked on the kettle and spooned some coffee into a mug.

The kettle clicked and popped as it boiled and the toaster ejected the hot toast with a thunk. Slathering butter on the two pieces and pouring water into his coffee mug making a hot black coffee, Jake stared at the sky from his kitchen window. It was grey and leaden and he was unsure if the sun would be able to penetrate the gloom of the day.

When he'd finished, he quickly washed his mug and put it to drain. Collecting his kit, he headed for his car and made his way to the station, only a short five-minute drive away.