Prologue

"Guv?"

Gene looked up as Marci lurked in the doorway, engulfed by a box.

"Blimey," he declared, "It's the attack of the mutant walking killer cardboard!"

Marci waddled forward and finally dropped the box to the ground. It wasn't heavy as such but it was as awkward as Gene after eight pints.

"It's from Manchester, Guv," she explained, "they said you requested it –"

"Ahh," Gene got quickly to his feet, "Yes. Thank you, Nicey Spice."

Marci stepped back to appreciate just how large of a box it was.

"What is it?" she asked, "soft furnishings or something?"

"Soft something," Gene told her, "Goodbye, DC Fell."

"But I just want to see –"

"Goodbye," Gene said a little louder, "don't let the door hit yer leopard print leggings on the way out."

Marci huffed in annoyance and glanced at the box again. The not knowing was driving her crazy.

"Well if you need any help opening it –"

"That's alright, I'm a big boy now, they let me use scissors occasionally."

"If you change your mind –"

"You'll have to watch out for flying pigs first," Gene told her, "Goodbye, Marci.,"

Marci scowled a little and considered a comeback but decided it wasn't worth losing a limb or two for it so she turned around, marched forward and slammed the door behind her.

Gene waited a few moments to make sure she had gone. With a hint of hesitation he walked forward, peered onto the office and saw her staring through the glass. Giving her the finger, he dropped the blinds and turned around.

The box was waiting.

"Well then," he addressed it, "It's been a while." He began to circle it slowly, the anticipation building in his veins. "For years you've haunted me. I've seen the looks on their faces. The scorn in their eyes. Judging me. Laughing." He grabbed some scissors from his desk and began to score along the thick parcel tape holding the box together. "Thought this was a secret that would go to the grave with me… until the wrong bit of Bolly started spouting off and suddenly all people could see when they looked me in the eye was a –" he paused as the box opened and a mountain of fur stared back –"Big bloody bushy bastard tail."

From the box he pulled the head. Its fixed eyes stared back at him. The rest of the squirrel costume followed suit. "But not," he said smugly, "any more."

He closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath, basking in the moment. This was it. He'd been waiting for this moment a very long time. Six weeks it had taken them to track down the original costume, as per his request. Then another week to get out the stains. And now here he was. "Good morning, Tufty. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

X

There was a spring in Gene's step as he marched down the corridor. He felt as though he'd been waiting for this all his life. This would be a moment he would never forget, a day he would take to his grave in his heart, a story that he would pass down through generations so that all would know the greatest moment of his life.

Revenge was sweet.

He came to a halt outside the door, straightened his tie and cleared his throat before pushing it open and stepping inside.

"Gene," Simon looked up and saw him lurking there, "what's up?"

Gene's eyes positively shone with delight as his evil plan came to fruition. He gave a sly smile.

"Shoebury. A word."

~xXx~

She recognised the song from the opening note; as rich, strong and as stirring as she'd found it all those years ago. Of course, she hadn't listened to it in such a long time but the recognition was there, buried in the depths of her memory. The jolt in her chest as her heart rate started to increase in speed made her feel as though her body remembered it even before her mind kicked into gear. It had been instantaneous; the same second the bar hit her ears, her body responded.

Her eyes flew open like the lid on a jack-in-the-box as its song wound down. Instead of the jack jumping up from within, the opening of her eyelids revealed her pupils which were wide, dilated and ready to absorb the sight around her.

There was white. A mass of white. Everything looked so bright, so clean, so unblemished. So innocent.

The world started to right itself as she slowly propped herself up on her arm. The dustsheet below her did nothing to mask the hard wooden floor underneath it and her hip and ribs bore the tenderness of someone who had been lying across it for too long. She slowly turned her head as far as it would go, her eyes taking in the room around her. The familiarity hit her like a punch in the guts. She knew where she was. She knew the room only too well. She'd spent a year of her life there; painting, sketching, building, creating. But no one was creating there any longer. It had been almost ten years since the building had been demolished and houses now stood in its place.

She staggered and stumbled as she pulled herself to her feet, tripped over a bag and crashed against the alcove that separated the two large classrooms. The smell of the paint fumes was overwhelming. It was starting to sting her lungs and make her head spin. Or was that not down to the paint? What happened anyway? How did she get there? She couldn't recall.

There was an open vat of paint beside her with a paint tray and roller standing next to it like some kind of still life which, had anyone entered the room, they might have mistaken it for. Wouldn't have been out of place after all. Perhaps it was a part of the upcoming art show.

The maze of boards all awaiting their second coat of white dazzled her a little and she blinked several times to clear her vision. The song that continued to play on the old, familiar radio she'd once spent so many hours listening to spent a shudder through her body. The memories contained in the melody were shattering. They almost brought her back down to her knees.

Her mouth was open as the sight confounded her and the shock of her surroundings brought a tremble to her body. Her legs felt weak and unresponsive as she tried to walk. She took a step and stumbled, all the time telling herself that this wasn't possible. This place did not exist any more, and even if it did then she had no place in being there.

She stared down at her hands. Little England flags were painted on her fingernails.

"What –" she tried to whisper but there seemed little point on asking what was happening when there was no one around to hear.

#...Do you still remember, how we used to be

Feeling together, believing whatever

My love has said to me…#

She spun around and stared at the radio as the lyrics kicked in. Her heart started to pound again, even faster this time as her eyes were drawn to a hand-made poster on the wall;

'WORLD CUP', it said, ENGLAND Vs. TUNISIA. WATCH IN THE FINE ART HUT! WIDESCREEN TV! 1.30pm.'

She looked back to her nails and then up at the clock. 1.45. No wonder the place was deserted.

#... Both of us were dreamers

Young love in the sun

Felt like my saviour, my spirit I gave you

We'd only just begun …#

As the Spice Girls continued to sing she found her eyes drawn to the newspaper on which the vat of paint was standing. She carefully dropped to her knees and moved the bucket to take a better look at the headline that she could only see half of from a paper that had been saved from two weeks previously with the knowledge that the painting was about to commence.

'GERI QUITS' said the paper. 'June 1st 1998,' said the date.

She jumped back to her feet and spun around again, focusing back on the poster on the wall. This time she saw the date at the bottom;

'Monday 15th June 1998,' it said.

#...Hasta mañana, always be mine…#

"No," that was the only word on her mind. It was a statement. It couldn't be that day, it couldn't be that place and it couldn't be that year. "No," she said again, trying to convince herself.

She felt herself stumbling across to the window where she peered out at the fine art hut, spying the mass of students inside; all packed in like sardines in a can that was far too small, trying to catch a glimpse of the television screen. The day was clear and sunny and the bright sunshine reflected from the white walls and boards, blinding her further.

She turned around, her legs trembling with each and every step as she crossed back to the poster on the wall. Her fingers traced the date.

"Two and a half weeks," she whispered, "it's two and a half weeks before –"

She swallowed and closed her eyes tightly as she felt desperately sick, horribly claustrophobic and desperate; desperate to get away. She didn't know where to, she didn't care, she just had to run.

#...Viva forever, I'll be waiting

Everlasting, like the sun

Live forever, for the moment

Ever searching for the one…#

The sound of the Spice Girls faded away into the distance as she fled from the hot room into the cool corridor, protected from the sun. Her legs took her at speed down the first staircase; her hands did their best to keep her steady on the rails while her feet flailed and stumbled down one flight then two, and finally to the door that led out of the building. She just kept on running; not towards the exit she knew but to the alleyway that ran along the back of the grounds and all the gardens along the road. She barely remembered the alleyway. She'd only used it once or twice so she knew, she absolutely knew for certain that as soon as she ran inside it her memory would have nothing to work from and she would wake from whatever nightmare she had found herself inside.

Her feet pounded the ground. The alley drew closer. But as she flung herself inside it and turned to the left it just carried on stretching out before her with no hesitation, in utterly perfect detail. The feel of the rough wood of the fence against her fingers, the heat of the sun on her shoulders and the buzzing of the insects that swarmed the alley all told her what she didn't want to know; that it was real. That it was as tangible as the fear racing through her veins.

So she ran. She just kept on running. Because that was all that she could do in case, if she stopped for just a moment, that day would catch right up with her. She was not going to live through that again.

~xXx~

A/N: Considering it's a year since I wrote this prologue way ahead of time and I've spent 12 months trying to work out what to say as the story arc begins, I'm seriously out of words. It's a day I wasn't sure was ever going to come.

The rating of this fic will move up to M at some point, and I'm about to upload the next chapter right away so don't think you're going crazy, there really are 2 chapters to start off with. A large amount of this fic updates in realtime (you'll notice today is actually 15th June, you have no idea how much I stressed about starting on schedule!) so on some days there may be 2 or even 3 chapters towards the end of the story. Thank you for reading and following this world.

Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes.

Everything else, is mine x