Almost Perfect t-9

by James Goss

  The scorching heat retreats. Ianto opens his eyes. He sees Debbie give him a look – a look that mixes hope and relief with… betrayal? He shrugs.

  ‘Go on, then!’ The figure shrinks to almost human size, and lays a hand on Ianto’s shoulder. It jerks its neck at its companion. ‘Come on, you.’

  And Ianto heads down into the hold. Around him, he can hear the plates of the ship ticking and pinging like an old clock, and see them bulging in and out, as though somehow confining these creatures in a small space. Their presence is too big.

  ‘Am I doing the right thing?’ he thinks, stepping carefully down the corridor. On the one hand, probably not. Probably there is no right thing to do at this point. Whatever, he has the feeling people are going to die. It is just a question of how many, and why. It is the kind of awkward thing he usually leaves up to Jack. After all, if you don’t really sleep, you can’t have nightmares about your mistakes now, can you?

  Ianto feels his face smarting and burning. He knows he’ll need treatment for the wound. But he doesn’t dare draw attention to it. He keeps silent, marching ahead of the two balls of energy, feeling them snap and hiss with energy like steaks on a fire.

  In the distance there is a loud, dull explosion, and the ship suddenly tilts. Ianto grabs a rail before he falls back onto the creatures.

  ‘What was that?’ snaps one.

  ‘God knows,’ says the other with a laugh. ‘Hardly know my own strength. I think this boat’s buggered, though.’

  Ianto feels a shove in his shoulders. ‘Then come on. Get a move on.’

  The cabin is empty, as he expects. He turns around to give an explanation, and a flaming hand slaps across his face, knocking him into the wall. He looks up to see one of the glowing figures standing over him, spitting flames.

  ‘They were here!’ he protests. ‘I think your arrival might have tipped them off.’

  One of the figures turns to the other, and whispered, ‘See? I said – softly, softly. But no – all hallelujah and fireballs. Brilliant.’

  The other hisses back. ‘And? It just means we’ll have to take this boat apart until we find them.’ The light around him flares, and Ianto feels the air in the room become suddenly stifling. Sweating, he runs a finger around his collar.

  ‘Look,’ he says. ‘There’s somewhere else.’

  At first, the cinema seems empty. The only lights are little twinkling halogen landing strips along the floor. As soon as the figures step in behind Ianto, the room is lit with a crackling firelight.

  It makes the room look even eerier as the shadows of the chairs dance up and down across each other. The dead acoustics of the cinema wrap themselves around Ianto. All he can hear is the sound of the two walking bonfires behind him.

  One of them speaks softly. ‘Ross? Christine? Are you here?’

  There is no answer.

  It speaks again. ‘Come on. You’re right to be scared. We are furious. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be reasoned with.’

  The other figure snorts derisively.

  ‘You know we want it back. You know that it’s not yours. You know that you can’t control it. We can, and we’ll look after it. The device is not a toy. People are going to start dying, and it’ll be all your fault. Just give it back to us.’

  The other figure joins in, its voice harsh. ‘You know what we are. You’ve known us for ages. We’ve found you. You can try and run – but we’ll only find you again. And maybe, just maybe, if you give up this time, no one will die. Come on out.’

  There is a pause. Ianto suddenly senses someone near him breathing out.

  With a flick of a seat, Christine stands up in the darkness, cradling something close to her chest. She looks terrified.

  ‘Oh god,’ she says.

  Ianto steps towards her, but she motions him away, and walks haltingly towards the two balls of light. They flow towards her. She gestures out with no, not a gun, but the pebble thing Ianto had glimpsed earlier.

  One of the figures laughs. ‘Oh, it’s not a weapon, Christine. It’s told you that several times in the last minute, I expect. You can’t make it do anything it doesn’t want to do. Just give it to us, please. We can’t take it from you. You know that.’

  ‘I just want…’ she begins, and then looks at Ianto. ‘I’m so scared.’

  ‘You have every right to be, Christine,’ says the figure on the right. ‘Just give us it back, though, and it’ll all be OK. Won’t it?’ It turns to the other figure who doesn’t speak, but nods slightly. ‘See?’

  They both glide closer, the flickering light casting dancing shadows across her frightened face.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ says Christine, firmly, holding out an arm to ward them off.

  A glowing hand shoots out, grabbing Christine’s. It starts to burn instantly and she screams, but the hand doesn’t move.

  ‘See Christine?’ The figure’s voice is soothing. ‘Can you remember when you were first burned? Was it when you were a child? And your mother ran your hand under the cold tap? What felt worse? The hot…’ Suddenly the flames burn blue. ‘Or the cold?’

  Christine whimpers.

  ‘Help me!’ she cries to Ianto again. But Ianto can’t move, can’t really think.

  ‘Where’s Ross?’ asks the creature. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she hisses. She shakes her head, her teeth clenched. ‘I lost him. I think he’s run away. I would tell you – oh god. I’d tell you.’ She starts to cry.

  ‘He always did panic,’ sighs the fireball. ‘You married a coward, Christine. He’s left you all alone. He’s left you to burn.’

  She shakes her head again. Ianto can smell the room. It’s hot and reeks of paraffin and scalded nylon and cooking meat and burning hair.

  ‘You’re all alone.’ Christine’s hand is released. As Ianto watches, she staggers back, holding up her hand, suddenly healed. He blinks. He can still smell roasting pork.

  And then her hand is grasped again. She screams out.

  ‘We can carry this on. Like an old Greek torture – those broken heroes who spend eternity growing new eyes only to have vultures pluck them out again. We can do that – here in this little … hey, it is a cinema, isn’t it?’

  Christine nods, gasping.

  ‘Nice. Anyway – we can keep going for hours. The burning, the healing. But you have to give it back to us. You must surrender it. And then it’ll stop.’

  ‘I can’t give it up. I can’t. Take it from me! Please.’

  A sad shake of a burning head. ‘We can’t. You know we can’t. If it doesn’t want to go, you either have to give it up, or we take it from your body once the spirit has left it.’

  Christine starts to sob uncontrollably, but the burning continues.

  Ianto looks around, desperately. By trying really hard, he just moves his left foot, slightly.

  ‘We know what will happen. The fire will tear your body apart, as fast as the device can cure you. It’s frantically trying to remember how you look, even now. It’s desperate to keep you perfect – but how long can it keep pumping out that perfect genetic pattern?’

  The figure steps closer, its hand sliding further up her arm. Christine lets out a long wail, and starts to sink to the floor.

  ‘Make it stop, Christine, please,’ says the figure as smoke curls up from her shirt. ‘This isn’t how we operate. But you’ve stolen from us… and this is nothing to the harm you’ve caused already. Please.’

  ‘No!’ she screams. And she carries on screaming. And, as she turns towards Ianto, suddenly her hair catches fire. And oh god then-

  He catches something. It’s been thrown at him.

  What the what the what the? says a voice in his head. Jack’s voice?

  And suddenly Ianto feels very strange.

  And Ianto is running, and all around him he can sense the boat being torn apart. The shrieking of metal, the dull snapping of wood, and an alarming lurching sensation.

  He is running through the car b
ay, rolling over and over as cars and lorries tip and spin, churning in the water like socks in a washing machine. He sees a Smart car hurled through the air, burning as it crashes against the concrete wall. Petrol pours out from it, igniting and sputtering against the water, racing towards him. He rolls down, his face smacking against the wet concrete. He catches a brief glimpse of a burning figure striding towards him, and then he is off again, running up tiny metal stairs, feeling the sting of the sea air on his face.

  The boat is tumbling from side to side. He sees Lucky Debbie standing there on the deck. She is looking at him. Somehow magnificent in her nurse’s uniform and L-plate and devil’s horns. Trying to work out whether or not to jump into the sea. Around her cables snap in the air like whips. And then she is gone.

  He knows he has to get off the boat. He knows what he has to do. And he is suddenly scrambling over the railings. He hears shouts behind him. And he jumps.

  A second in the air. All cold. He looks down and the sea rushes up like a sheet of glass. And then a sharp feeling as he slices through it.

  And now…

  It was dark in the Boardroom. Jack and Gwen sat, looking at Ianto. He held his hand up, marvelling that it was a woman’s hand. Gwen smiled at him fondly, and gave him a squeeze. Jack just looked at him, wearing that calmly interested expression.

  ‘So,’ said Ianto. ‘That was all a bit of a rush, wasn’t it? That’s all I can remember. Oh, apart from getting stuck on a very long coach journey when I was a student.’ He pouted slightly. ‘And you’re sure it’s true?’

  Gwen nodded, sadly. ‘The ferry was damaged. There were quite a few survivors, but all of them were in shock. I’ve spent days talking to them, but it just didn’t seem very Torchwood. No one’s said anything about this. No one mentioned weird medicine, strange devices or talking flame. They just said the boat hit something and started to sink. Not even that much, really. They all just seemed shocked and lucky to be alive. Seems like someone altered their memories for us, which is curious.’ Gwen clicked her mouse, and the passenger list swam across the wall. ‘But not the passenger list. And Ross and Christine Kielty are listed as passengers.’ She pulled up a couple of pictures.

  ‘Hey, Christine,’ said Jack.

  Ianto looked at the picture, and nodded. ‘That’s me. That’s her. She died. Burning like a candle. And whatever she gave me…’ Ianto shook his head. ‘I must have lost it in the water. I don’t remember how I got back to my flat. I just don’t.’

  He sat, staring at his reflection in the expensive polished wood. Even now it just seemed wrong.

  Gwen was positive, encouraging. ‘Well, it was the device that changed you. Maybe her husband’s got something that can change you back. If he made it off that boat. If he’s alive.’

  Ianto looked at the picture of Ross Kielty. Really looked at it. ‘He is. I saw him. The other night. He was on St Mary Street. He was shocked to see me.’

  ‘Finally!’ Jack grinned. ‘We’re finally getting somewhere. This is what we do. A bit of CCTV, a bit of digging – and we’ll find out where Mr Kielty’s gone to ground.’

  ‘But Jack,’ said Ianto, ‘why did I hear your voice on the boat? And what about those fireballs? Where do they fit in?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll deal with them,’ said Jack. ‘Great balls of fire? It’s what I live for.’

  JACK IS MAKING A BREAKTHROUGH

  Jack stared at the map of Cardiff. ‘I’m tracking that energy cloud. There’s a spike building up.’

  ‘Really?’ said Ianto. ‘In what sense?’

  Jack scratched the side of his head. ‘There’s still no overall pattern. But there is one exception. I’d initially discounted it as a blip. But it’s been a very constant blip. See this little mini-peak? It’s quite separate from the rest of the data. That’s still a random cloud of energy fuzz – but this one point, if you track it, over time, is fairly steady. Let’s just say, if it was a person, it appears to be mostly around the hotel by the train station.’

  ‘Except late afternoon,’ said Ianto, following the chart across the wall.

  ‘When our data peak appears to head across St Mary Street to The Hayes for a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll go start the SUV,’ said Ianto.

  THE STRANGE ALIEN DEVICE IS PLOTTING TO TAKE OVER FROM JEREMY KYLE AFTER THIS

  Emma pottered around the flat, checking the clock three times a minute. She’d dashed home from work, so many things to do to make herself ready for her date. She’d ignored the voice in her head, assuring her that she’d look amazing and that Rhys would be enormously attracted to her. She just pressed on – sipping on a slightly-too-hot cup-a-soup while she scribbled out a battle list, then managing to shower, do her hair, dry it, style it, do it again, and set it into place while skipping through six different outfits and working out a make-up style somewhere between Marcel Marceau and Jordan.

  She suddenly had half an hour to kill. A dead half hour spent prowling round the flat, laughing at articles in Take A Break, or flicking through the music channels. She found herself unloading the dishwasher.

  The doorbell rang. He was early! All excited she stumbled into her shoes, cursing, and threw open the door. Oh.

  ‘Hi,’ said Gwen. ‘I’m Gwen.’

  ‘Bloody hell, you’re the ex,’ hissed Emma, instantly at battle stations.

  ‘Well, er, yes, I suppose so,’ she replied, looking mildly annoyed at the admission. As well she might, the cow. ‘Look, it’s all tricky, but I was wondering if I can pop in for a chat. You know.’ A bright little smile.

  ‘A chat? You’re actually asking if you can come in, and sit opposite me, sipping on milky instant and talking away in a friendly manner? All girls together, is it?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘And then Rhys turns up – and what’s he supposed to think of that little picture, eh?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be long gone before that.’ Gwen nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you won’t be. How’s he supposed to move on if you’re stalking him, Gwen, luv?’

  The big, big smile vanished. ‘I’m not here for his benefit. I’m here for yours.’ She nudged forward a little.

  Emma felt a something build up inside her – like a fire, or a fury, or the biggest sense of disappointment. This was how it always had been, always would be. She’d never get what she wanted. Everything would always fail. Everything would always go wrong. She’d finally meet someone like Rhys and there would be his ex. Ready to trip everything up – always there. Quiet drink in the Bay? Aw, that’s great, luv, and Gwen said she’d drop by, isn’t that lovely? An evening at the cinema? Let’s go see the new Bruce Willis, Gwen said it was dead good. And afterwards we can go to that new Italian place Gwen’s been raving about. She’ll be there, of course. What a pleasant surprise. Fancy seeing you here.

  And suddenly Emma was in the kitchen, watching the kettle boil, finding some cups, spooning coffee into them and making small talk even she wasn’t listening to. She noticed limescale was building up around the sink and she thought, ‘Oh, I can really have a go at that this weekend,’ at some level admitting she wasn’t going to have anything better to do.

  Somewhere in her head, life and love was about constantly wandering between the bedroom and the living room, about lying next to the man of your dreams in a constant laugh. And yet… Somehow she knew she wouldn’t be pottering round the Organic Farmer’s Market with Rhys any time soon. And all because of her. Gwen. Who’d clearly just asked her a question. She was sat there, expectantly. A slight pout on her face. A little look of…

  ‘I’m sorry, Gwen. I was miles and miles away.’

  I bet you were, thought Gwen. She’d stared round the flat, which was all right in its own way. A bit of her had been praying it was full of empty bottles and cat hair, but it was actually rather neat and a bit stylish. A couple too many scatter cushions, but hey.

  Up close, Emma seemed… OK. Gwen had been in the company of killers. Of psychos. Of giant, pure
evil. And Emma was none of those things. Emma was just a very pretty woman who didn’t seem that sure of herself. ‘And what must I seem like?’ Gwen thought. ‘I must look like the most possessive ex ever.’ Which was in some ways a bloody good thing. ‘Let her fear me.’

  ‘I said, how did you meet Rhys?’

  ‘Oh,’ replied Emma, ‘it might sound really silly, but speed-dating. We had an instant connection.’

  ‘Oh, nice,’ said Gwen flatly. ‘He’s told me all about you.’

  ‘Has he?’ said Emma. ‘He was just so honest and straightforward, you know. So many of the men there… nothing to them. But Rhys – well, I just thought I’d like to see him again.’

  ‘Good,’ said Gwen.

  ‘Yes,’ said Emma.

  There was a second’s silence.

  ‘Look, excuse me, but why are you here?’ asked Emma, eventually.

  ‘What? Me? Oh, just a friendly chat.’

  ‘It’s not normal, though, is it? How long is it since you two split up?’

  ‘Aw, well, ah… couple of months I guess.’

  ‘And you’ve moved on?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, totally. Yeah. History! Water flushed under the bridge. Whoosh. Still great mates and all, but… Over.’

  ‘It’s just that, Gwen, luv, here am I about to go on my first proper date with him, and you turn up.’

  ‘… Yes…’

  ‘That’s not normal, is it?’

  ‘Well, we’re great mates.’

  ‘Gwen, you should let go.’ Emma tilted her head to one side, and reached out a hand to pat her on the arm. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but I can tell you how it’ll seem to your great mate. He’ll think you’re sad, lonely and desperate.’ She sighed.

  Gwen pulled back, puffing up like a bloater fish. ‘Hey! It’s not like that. It’s not like that! If you knew why I was here…’

  Emma stood up. ‘Oh, Gwen, I know exactly why you’re here. There was a time when I was like you. When I was just a bit pathetic. But look at me now. I’ve moved on up. I’ve moved on out.’

  ‘And nothing’s going to stop you now?’ Gwen laughed, despite herself.