Into The Silence

by Pinborough, Sarah

  As the nurse tugged the clean top over his small blond head, the volume of Ryan's song increased, maybe hinting at some anxiety within, but even then he was note perfect.

  Adrienne flinched and rubbed her head. The noise wasn't helping her hangover, regardless of how in tune his rendition of 'Walking In The Air' was. Trying to ignore the tremble in her hand as she reached for the cup of sweet coffee Ceri had made her, Adrienne wondered how many times Ryan had worked his way round that CD in the two days since her last visit. She was surprised Ceri hadn't been driven mad.

  The shirt on, Ryan's singing reverted to its normal level, the little boy's perfect blue eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. He hadn't glanced her way since she came in, but that came as no surprise. He never acknowledged her. Maybe she should just stop coming.

  She'd suggested as much to Ceri once, and the nurse had just smiled at her and said that was her prerogative but it wouldn't happen. Adrienne had asked her why, and Ceri had said because Ryan was her son and, as much as she might not always know it, she loved him. Adrienne had wanted to laugh out loud at that.

  Letting her hangover throb, Adrienne looked at the little boy sitting in the middle of the room, ignoring his toys and singing so perfectly. Did she love him? Could she love him? How could you love someone that refused to accept anyone else's existence and gave no sign of any recognition, even of his own mother? How could she pour love into a child like that?

  Sighing, she turned her gaze to the window and out into the rain. They were thoughts for another time, when she wasn't feeling quite so rough. Still, it was nearly eleven and time to go, her penance done for another day. Trying unsuccessfully to zone out the singing, she stared at the grey skies and sipped her coffee.

  Alone in the Hub, Gwen watched as the hands on the large round face of the clock ticked on to eleven o'clock. This was it. The silence had started. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, defying the command for quiet, and she chewed her lip as she stared at the screen.

  Come on, she thought. Come on. Patience was not her strongest point, and she fought the urge to kick the machine. A mile or so away, Ianto would be launching into song; him, Jack and Cutler all waiting for information from her. Her stomach flipped. What if she hadn't made it work better? What if she'd actually messed it up?

  Clenching her teeth, she tossed her hair angrily over one shoulder. This was why she hated being stuck at the Hub. There was too much bloody thinking time. Out in the field where she belonged, you didn't have time to think. You just acted. And it was easier that way.

  There was too much helpless responsibility back here. What if something went wrong? Was she just supposed to sit here and listen in while the alien ripped her friend apart? She huffed under her breath. This was the first and last time she'd ever let herself have any clever technical ideas. And if she did have any more, then she'd bloody well keep them to herself. If there really had been a ghost of Tosh watching over her, then the other woman would probably be laughing right now. Gwen had none of Toshiko's cool, methodical thinking. Maybe Tosh's spirit had planted the idea in Gwen's head in the first place as some kind of beyond-the-grave joke. Maybe she and Owen were rolling around invisibly giggling at her on the Hub floor. Even though she didn't believe in life everlasting or hauntings on Earth, alone and nervous as she was, Gwen still found the idea a little creepy.

  Something on the screen flickered, and the imagined ghostly laughter stopped. A tiny spike flashed to the far right of Cardiff Bay.

  This was it.

  The alien was coming.

  Two more small spikes flickered in and out of existence. She touched her earpiece.

  'Jack?' Her voice was too loud, echoing back at her in the empty basement building. 'It's starting.'

  Standing up, she folded her arms across her chest and willed the machine to spit out the appearance location.

  Three more small spikes appeared, and then finally the red light she'd been waiting for glowed, the map automatically zooming in to highlight the address.

  Gwen frowned. But that couldn't be right. That wasn't where Jack and Ianto were. Her hand went back to her earpiece.

  'Jack. We've got a problem.'

  TWENTY-FIVE

  His voice filled the church and, although the baritone wasn't supposed to sing the piece alone, Ianto was making it work as best he could. Jack was surprised at the richness of the sound and the power carried in it. He was impressed. But then Ianto had proved himself several times over to be quietly full of surprises. Gwen's voice cut into his thoughts.

  'Jack. We've got a problem.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'It's coming, but not to you. The computer says it's going to Havannah Court. The Havannah Court Autism Centre.'

  Looking up at the iconic images of the saints that peered down at him from the undamaged stained-glass windows, Jack fought an urge to scream. 'Are you sure?'

  'That's what the bloody computer says.' She paused. 'Hell.' Gwen's voice sweated urgency in his ear. 'We've got less than eight minutes, Jack. I'm closer than you. I'll meet you there.'

  'I'm on my way.' Running up the aisle towards the door, Jack heard Ianto's voice waver behind him. Not that it mattered. 'Havannah Court!' he called over his shoulder. 'I'll go with Cutler!'

  Outside the rain lashed him with wet streaks, as if nature itself were siding with the alien and the Rift to foil their attempts to stop the chaos. His legs pumping, he raced towards Cutler's unmarked police car. They had no more than six minutes left. They weren't going to make it. Yanking the door open, he leapt inside.

  'Why can't anything ever go according to plan?' Cutler demanded as Jack slammed the passenger door shut.

  'Welcome to Torchwood.'

  Cutler fired up the engine and the tyres squealed, burning against the tarmac.

  Ryan had moved from 'Walking In The Air' to 'Where Is Love?' and was now starting 'Close Every Door' from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. The room filled with the mournful quality of the opening notes and, looking out into the trees and gardens of the centre, Adrienne idly thought that Jason Donovan would never have been able to come close to the emotionally perfect delivery her boy gave it. She should make a move and head to chambers where there was a stack of work waiting for her, but outside the heavens had opened, and she thought she'd wait for the downpour to slacken before leaving. She could only imagine what the receptionist would have to say to the nurses otherwise. That eager to leave she got herself soaking wet. And her a barrister too. It's a crying shame. Bad mother. Why give them the ammunition? And, to be honest, her hangover was still that bad, she couldn't bring herself to move from the chair. Her body felt like there was a lead weight in it. Driving had been no fun earlier, and she'd thought an abrupt brake might make her throw up all over her steering wheel.

  Something shifted in the trees outside and, her eyes drifting and only half-focused, Adrienne waited to see a bird fly away in search of twigs to nest with or worms for its babies' hungry mouths. Nothing emerged, but the branches shook again, with more energy than the first time, as if someone were violently forcing its fruit to fall. Frowning, the throb in her skull for a moment forgotten, she leaned forward. Was there someone in there? Why the hell someone would be up a tree in this weather she couldn't guess, but then, with the children at the autism centre, you could try for ever and you'd never know their reasoning. She stared. Surely the nurses wouldn't let the children out to play in this weather.

  'Ceri,' she said softly. 'I think there's a child in that tree.' She pointed at the swaying and jerking branches. 'See?'

  Coming alongside her, the nurse nodded, her face puzzled. 'That doesn't look right. I'll bet it's Peter Allwood. He loves sneaking out into the grounds. I'll go and check.' Bustling out, she closed the door behind her, and Adrienne was about to look away from the grounds when a stream of dark shadow oozed out from the branches like a thick tendril of smoke. As her breath held itself locked in her chest, Adrienne's mind went blank as it scanned
itself for any clue or explanation as to what was causing it. It came up with nothing. The cloud of blackness hung alone between the earth and sky, until another ghost of emptiness emerged, creeping round from the back of the tree to meet up with the first, two dark snakes intertwining and becoming one. Adrienne stared, her mouth falling open. That wasn't a child in the tree. This was something else. Something strange. Something other.

  Her brain felt like glue, and she briefly glanced back at Ryan, oblivious on the floor. Oblivious to what, she wondered, curious at her own choice of words, and then her eyes turned back to the shadow forming against the backdrop of the old oak tree, the darkness that seemed to leak like rotten sap from within the space between its limbs. Oblivious to that. Something flashed at the core of the black mass as it seemed to jerk and writhe, pulling itself into some kind of solid form. Adrienne's breath formed steam on the window and, watching the thing in the rain on the other side, she wondered if she should try to scream or call out. But she couldn't find the mechanics in her chest.

  Behind her, her baby was still singing. Her baby. Those words stayed solid in her head, fighting the flow of language and thought that fled her mind, leaving it hollow with only herself to fill it.

  Her baby. The thing was coming for her baby. And in that thoughtless moment, Adrienne Scott realised she loved her son very much.

  Gwen pressed her foot down on the accelerator so hard that the pedal was in danger of bursting through the floor of the car. Horns blared as she weaved dangerously through the traffic, cutting across cars coming the other way with so little space to spare she could almost smell the shavings of their paintwork. Fighting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, she pulled out to overtake a van and hoped she'd make it past. Holding her breath until she was back in her own lane, an orchestra of yells and curses coming at her from every driver's window, she glanced at the clock. Thirty seconds until the eight minutes were up.

  Pulling into Havannah Court, the colourful sign of the autism centre just about visible at the other end of the road, Gwen wanted to scream and beat the steering wheel.

  She wasn't going to make it. Damn, she wasn't going to make it.

  Her baby.

  Somewhere in the corner of her vision, Adrienne saw Ceri emerge onto the wet lawn, first of all looking at the tree, and then freezing as she caught sight of the black shadow that was moving towards the building, changing its shape as it did so. The nurse turned and fled. Standing on the other side of the glass, Adrienne didn't blame her. She knew she was breathing because of the damp mist blurring the window, but she couldn't feel the air moving through her lungs. She couldn't feel anything except the awful isolation coming from the creature on the lawn.

  And it was a creature now.

  The writhing mass had pulled itself together, solid patterned limbs almost human under its bald scarred head. Almost human. If Adrienne had still understood the concepts of sanity and insanity, she would have thought she had finally flipped, or all the wine she'd drunk was making her see things, or come up with some other vain, desperate attempt at rationalising the monster coming towards her, but those concepts had fled when the terrible isolation invaded. If it wasn't for Ryan, she would have slipped silently and forgotten, even by herself, down the wall and into a heap on the carpet.

  Ryan. Her baby. Those words carved themselves into her skull, fighting to stay acknowledged in the growing chasm of nothing. She loved him. When there was nothing left, that became so obvious.

  Lifting her arms, their weight like dead flesh, she spread them wide across the thick glass. It wanted her baby. She could feel it in every cell in her body. Fighting the emptiness that threatened to consume her, she met the red glare from the monster's eyes and she felt the hum in the air as it prepared to come at her. She didn't need words to know these things. It was a mother's intuition. The thing that faced her let out a silent roar that ripped at the very existence of her consciousness and, flinching against its power, the remnants of her individuality clung to the inside of her skull.

  She stared through the glass.

  Over my dead body.

  For a moment there was stillness and, locked in that moment staring at each other, Adrienne thought that even the rain slowed, the drops hanging in the air, waiting and watching, sucked into the frozen conflict between monster and mother.

  And then the creature tilted back its head and let the dark cavern of its mouth stretch horribly wide, exposing the empty nothing within; a darkness that would suck you in and lose you there, and Adrienne felt hot tears on her cheek.

  The creature moved. And moved again, too quickly for her to see.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Ryan.

  And then the glass smashed.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Gwen's arms pumped, sweat and rain mixing on her face as she sprinted down the corridor of the autism centre. Somewhere up ahead, glass smashed. Nurses peered out from their rooms, the adult faces alive with curiosity and worry and the need to get involved.

  'Get back inside and shut the doors!' Gwen yelled at them, dimly aware of figures starting back as she shouted. 'Stay back!'

  Following the narrow corridor, Gwen turned the corner, peering quickly into each room. Where the hell was it? Three doors down, right towards the back of the centre, she finally stopped.

  Staring into the small room, she very slowly raised her hand to her ear. 'Jack?' she whispered. 'Hurry up. We've got a situation.'

  'Oh my God.'

  The voice made her jump and, turning, Gwen grabbed the woman's arm and pushed her gently but firmly away from the door. 'I told everyone to stay back. I need you to go and wait in the reception area.' Gwen hoped her own hand wasn't trembling too much. Blood rushed through her veins, its content almost pure adrenalin.

  'I'm his nurse.' The woman's round face wobbled as she swallowed back shocked tears. 'I'm Ceri Davies, Ryan's nurse. He's severely autistic. I've cared for him ever since he came in. That... that woman's his mother, Adrienne. She was visiting.' She paused. 'Oh my God.' A hand went to her mouth and she stifled a sob. 'What is that thing? Is it going to hurt him? I can't leave him. I can't.'

  Gwen rubbed the woman's arm. 'Stay here. We might need you.' She didn't answer any of her questions. She didn't have the answers. Leaving the woman leaning against the wall, Gwen peered slowly round the door and into the little boy's room. Nothing had changed.

  The window was smashed, blown inwards with such force that some parts of it had sliced all the way through the smart-looking brunette who lay twisted and wrecked on the carpet. Her pale and manicured hand was separated from her wrist and a large fragment of thick glass was embedded just below her cheekbone, standing upwards and reflecting the vacant stare from her glassy eyes. Gwen didn't even think about trying to get closer and checking for a pulse. She didn't need anything but her eyes to tell her the boy's mother was very dead. Her blood was everywhere, a large, growing pool under her body, and huge splatters across the walls of the small room where her arteries must have severed as her heart was still beating, pumping the crimson fluid out to stick to every surface it touched.

  Gwen looked at the small boy sitting cross-legged on the floor. His mother's blood had tarnished his straw-blond hair and a thin, shiny streak trickled down his cheek, but his smooth face remained impassive. He was singing, softly but perfectly, despite his dead mother lying so close by, and despite the awful creature that crouched in front of him, one hand extended, one thick finger touching his slim, small throat.

  'He sings all the time.' The nurse had crept up alongside her. She stared at the devastation, the horror of it echoing in her soft whisper. 'He sings to keep the world out.' Gwen felt the woman's warmth close to her own and couldn't bear to move her back.

  Heavy boots thumped out an urgent rhythm on the clinically hard-wearing carpet, and Gwen looked up to see Jack and Cutler running towards her. She raised a hand, turning her gaze back to the boy and the alien in the room. Instinctively, Jack slowed his pace
and Cutler did the same, quietening their approach.

  Silently stepping aside, Gwen let Jack see the situation for himself. His eyes would read it faster than she could explain it. Jack edged into the room, staying close to the wall, and Gwen followed him, her movements tiny, creeping an inch at a time closer to the scene.

  'He's severely autistic,' she whispered to him. 'Sings all the time.'

  Jack nodded. Slowly he pulled the portable prison device from his pocket. 'We need to get the kid away from him. I can't trap him when he's touching the boy. And aside from that he might slash his throat open.'

  'I'm not feeling that emptiness Ianto talked about.' Gwen let Jack pull away from her. If they were going to distract the alien to get little Ryan they needed to be on different sides of the room.

  'Neither am I.' Jack's voice was low. 'But then we're not used to this thing keeping people alive either.'

  Gwen looked over at the woman's body on the floor. 'It didn't keep her alive.'

  In the centre of the room, the alien tilted its head, the red beams of light pouring from the dark spaces in its head caressing the boy's still face. The uneven hole below opened and shut a few times and then eventually it spat out some sounds.

  'The others stopped.'

  The words sounded like they were being forced through water, garbled and bubbled with phlegm, and although the creature struggled to produce them their meaning was clear.

  Gwen looked over at Jack. In the doorway, the nurse and Cutler appeared, blocking the exit. Jack didn't signal them back, nor did he signal to Gwen that he wanted to start any distraction manoeuvre in order to grab the boy. He frowned. Gwen knew that look. He was curious.

  He stepped forward two paces and then tilted his own head.