Sam Tyler's thoughts roiled as he drove. It was hard to concentrate on anything except one simple fact: that murdering creep had Maya. As much as he tried to stem it, a tear trickled down his cheek. He wiped it away impatiently.
Anger overtook him, and he bashed the steering wheel in frustration. He took a deep breath, blowing it out of his mouth, and turned his iPod on. David Bowie's voice filled the car.
Sam closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself. A car whizzed by him, horn blazing. Sam's eyes flew open, correcting his listing car.
Suddenly, his car felt too small, too cramped and airless. He couldn't breathe. He needed to get out. Sam jerked the wheel, making a sharp turn off the highway, and circling around into a deserted underpass that looked like it hadn't been used since the early 90's.
Sam slammed his car into neutral, and nearly jumped out, leaving the engine still running and his ipod still blasting David Bowie. He leaned against the hood of his car, resting his forehead on the cool metal and taking deep breaths. He had to be calm so he could find Maya. That was all that mattered. Maya. Focus.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught sight of an ornate stone angel. It looked extremely out of place under the overpass, when it should have been adorning some gothic cathedral or centuries- old cemetery. It had tightly curled hair all over its stone head, a long robe tied at the middle, and large wings folding out from its back. Its hands covered its eyes as if it were weeping.
But that wasn't important right now. Sam needed to think. He needed to come up with a plan, or that scum would walk, and Maya would be lost forever. They had argued the last time they had talked. How Sam bitterly regretted his words to her! He should have listened to her, respected her gut feeling, instead of insisting on evidence. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault.
Was it just him, or was that stone angel closer than it had been before? Sam leaned his back against his car, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Obviously the strain of the investigation and Maya's subsequent kidnapping was getting to him. He was starting to see things.
With a weak chuckle, Sam shook his head and looked up again.
Ok, this time he wasn't going crazy. That angel had moved.
"Not funny," Sam called, folding his arms over his chest. "You kids have had your fun, but I'm a DCI, and I'm not in the mood. I will arrest you or disturbing the peace if you don't cut it out."
The angel – student – performance artist – whatever – didn't move. Sam stared at it hard. It stayed as still as if it were really made of stone, its hands covering its eyes. Covering a smirk, more like.
The angel was closer.
"I'm not kidding," Sam waned. "No funny business." He started forward. "Drop your hands. I'm warning you."
The angel was in the road now, still with its hands over its eyes. Sam felt his patience stretch to the breaking point.
"Right, you. Can't say I didn't warn you," He moved forward, pulling out a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. He reached out, and grabbed the angel's wrist.
The last thing Sam felt was the whoosh of a car going past him, and the sensation of falling.
Somewhere in a dusty corner of Billy Shipton's flat, shoved back to make room for a brand new betamex player, a wibbly wobbly timey wimey detector went 'ding'.