Still, she thought. It was what they had signed up for. It was the risk they took for the rewards of all this knowledge and excitement. She glanced at Cutler. She couldn't go back to the police now. She could never turn her back on all this, not willingly, however much of her soul it took.
'So what now?' Ianto asked.
'There's nothing we can do until morning.' Jack looked at Gwen. 'That enhanced program up and running now?'
She nodded, and he looked over to Cutler.
'Your men still out in their patrol cars?'
'Oh yeah. I think I just drained the overtime budget for the next ten years on this one.'
Nodding, Jack sighed. 'That's about all we can do for now then. You two go home and get some rest.' Both Gwen and Ianto moved to speak, but Jack cut them off. 'No arguments. I'll keep an eye on things here. If our visitor decides to make an appearance I'll at least have a few minutes to get the sirens to its location.' He looked at his watch. 'Although anyone singing at this time of night must be crazy.'
'There's one more thing.' Ianto frowned a little. 'It's just something I felt when the alien came for Drew Powell.' He looked up. 'I had this awful sense of emptiness. Loneliness, but human loneliness taken and multiplied a thousand times. It was so strong I can't explain it. I felt like I was being emptied of everything that I'd learned from outside of myself. Anything I'd been taught by anyone else, or shared with anyone else or felt for anyone else.'
He kept his head down while he spoke, never comfortable with talking about his inner emotions. 'But I didn't feel any aggression. Maybe frustration, but no aggression.'
'So what are you saying?' Jack frowned. 'You got to see inside the alien's mind?'
'Something like that. Or its mind invaded mine. That feels closer to it.' He looked up. 'All I'm saying is that I don't think it's killing these people on purpose. I don't think it really understands about killing. I'm not sure what it's doing, but the deaths aren't intentional.'
There was a moment's silence, then Cutler sniffed derisively from his position against the wall. 'I'm sure that will be a great comfort to the victims and their families.'
Gwen glared at him. He was a policeman right to the core. She remembered that kind of black and white thinking. There was no place for it here, even though she sometimes wished it were that easy.
'Maybe not.' Jack had the final word. 'But it might just help us when we catch it.'
TWENTY-TWO
Even at the edge of the void, the night was coated in quiet. Disembodied, it could feel the echo of pain where the metal had pierced its flesh. The pain and the metal and the addictive sensation of the physical were gone now, but the taste remained.
At least here, hidden in the breathless strangeness that had brought it so far from the silence of home, it could make out the gentle hum of the noisy world so close by. It sucked the sounds in, even though they weren't what it wanted or what had called to its despair.
The parts it had absorbed refused to function as they had in their original locations, and the rage of frustration bubbled out from the shapeless form and, somewhere outside the rim of nothing, a random bolt of lightning struck the surface of the peaceful sea. Fear rippled through its consciousness. Something was trying to pull it back across the universe, to correct the error that had brought it here. There wasn't much time left to take what it needed. Alert and ready, it waited.
In the Havannah Court Autism Centre, sleep had claimed Ryan Scott several hours earlier, his throat resting as his body shut down. He didn't move throughout the night, his small muscles relaxed and face peaceful; finally at rest in a black oblivion where he didn't have to be anything at all. Where he simply existed, self-contained and completely detached from those who disturbed him with their touches and their noises and their refusal to let him be alone. His chest moved up and down, air silently passing through the mechanics of his small form as he dreamed of blissful nothing. If he was capable of loving anything at all, Ryan Scott loved the night.
Sitting on the side of his oversized double bed in his suite in the St David's Hotel, Martin Meloy's nose ran in a constant stream. His eyes blurred with tears and he hiccupped out a sob before tilting his head back and trying to get control of his emotions. He needed to write this. His hand shook and he stared at the half-empty bottle of pills and the vodka bottle littering his bedside table. He didn't have a lot of time. 'I'm sorry,' he scribbled on the fine textured paper with the hotel's name and address embossed on the top.
He squeezed out a few more words before lying back on the bed, the paper balanced on his chest. His eyes drifted shut and he thought of his Mary Brown, who'd transformed herself into the great Maria Bruno, and hoped she would approve. He may never have been dramatic enough for her in life, but he hoped his death would be Hollywood enough for his gorgeous, glamorous, talented wife. His breathing slowed.
Adrienne Scott had drunk too much, and her head pounded as she crawled out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Not waiting for the tap to run deliciously cold, she filled the glass and drained its lukewarm contents greedily before letting it overflow again. She drank the second more slowly, a shaking hand finding the paracetamol easily in the dark. She'd had plenty of practice. Swallowing the pills, she stared blearily out of the kitchen window and into the night sky. Life couldn't go on like this. And it was visiting day tomorrow. Crawling back into her bed, relieved that there were at least three or four more hours of darkness before she had to move, she wished the idea of seeing her son didn't fill her with so much dread.
High above the Millennium Centre, Jack Harkness let the rain run through his hair as he watched over the city, standing firm; his jaw set and eyes grim.
And, slowly, the clocks of Cardiff ticked round to dawn.
TWENTY-THREE
The Church of St Bartholomew was a little way back from the hum of traffic on Lloyd George Avenue but still quite near the busy centre of Cardiff Bay. Jack figured there wouldn't have been enough hours in the night to search through all the potentially perfect rehearsal spaces, and this one ticked most of the right boxes. It was up to Ianto's voice to bring the alien to them, after all, and it seemed it could turn up pretty much anywhere. Still, the church had a certain charm, he had to admit, and outside the traditional grey structure the grounds were filled with enough leafy trees to provide a sense of protective cover, but not so many that each couldn't be watched for movement by the well-placed armed police units placed carefully both in the car park and the roads immediately surrounding it.
From the inside, Jack looked up at the decoratively stained windows. There were five at the front of the building and four down the side of each wall.
'If it wants some glass to play with,' he muttered, 'I'll give it glass.'
He gritted his teeth and scanned the edges, locating the small charges rigged at the corner of each window designed to go off on impact with the glass, not to kill the alien but to send it tumbling in the direction Jack wanted it to go, disorienting it enough for him to trap it when it landed.
He checked his watch and felt a buzz of excitement flutter through his stomach. 10.50. Almost now or never time.
Ianto was checking the CD backing track for what seemed like the thousandth time since they'd arrived, his finger clicking play, then stop, then play, over and over.
'You ready?' Jack smiled at him. 'You're on in ten.'
For once, the press had done what it was told and the two minutes' silence had been advertised on all news programmes and radio shows. Even the other judges had announced that they would expect all the contestants in the show, whether they had reached the finals or not, to honour the silence and remember the dead. Rehearsal spaces were staying locked all over town. As much as any one person could control the volume of Cardiff, Captain Jack Harkness currently had his finger on the remote control.
'I'm ready.'
Jack touched his earpiece. 'Gwen?'
'I'm ready. Although what I'm doing stuck here when all the action is out there…
'
Jack didn't have to see her to know that she'd be on her feet behind the desk, leather jacket zipped up, eager to be out in the field rather than Hub-bound.
'Hey, you amended the program, so you're the best one to operate it.'
'I should have done the work on the remote computer instead of here.'
'Well, it's too late for that now.' He grinned. 'And if you ask me, the geeky thing is working for you.'
'Yeah? Well, don't get too excited, I'm never wearing that white coat and glasses.'
'Shame. It's a sexy look.'
'Sod off, Jack.'
He laughed. 'Just stay in touch. Soon as you see any activity, I want to know about it.'
'Got that.'
Disconnecting, he checked his watch again. Five minutes to go.
'I don't mind going back to the Hub and wearing the white coat.' Standing still in front of the altar, Ianto looked nervous, one hand tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.
'You look best in a suit.' Jack winked.
'I thought you'd say something like that. Is it time?'
'Couple more minutes.' He pressed his earpiece again. 'Cutler?'
The gravelly London voice came straight back at him. 'Here. Out in the bastard rain. All quiet so far.'
'Good.'
Jack took a deep breath. All the preparations were done. All they could do now was sing and hope for the best.
Cutler leaned back in his seat and sighed. The window of the car was open so he could clearly see anything that might appear out of the grey skies or from behind the trees and bushes, and rain splattered his face in fine drops carried on the wind. His nerves jangled and he resisted the urge to light a cigarette. If only he had some idea of where and how the alien might appear, at least then he could focus. It seemed that right now he could use a spinning head like that girl from The Exorcist had. It was the only way he was going to see everything that was around him.
Movement in his wing mirror made his heart leap for a moment, and then he frowned, more wrinkles appearing in his already crumpled face. The figure wandering down the quiet street wasn't an alien. Well, technically not, but the next best thing to one as far as DI Cutler was concerned.
'Bloody students,' he muttered under his breath.
The girl with the long dark hair was definitely one of Cardiff's university types, he had no doubt about that. She was short, and her hair was tied back in an untidy ponytail, the Indian style chiffon scarf out of place against the rock band T-shirt that flashed under her tatty denim jacket as she strolled past his car. 'Franz Ferdinand' flashed in glitter against the black fabric, the letters coming and going with every stride.
He sighed. She was singing along to something pumping directly into her ears from an iPod or some such other under-25s' device. Her voice wasn't too bad against the pattern of the rain, but the rock music wasn't anything he recognised, although it did have a familiar sound. Maybe U2.
Singing.
'Hell.'
Grumbling at his bad luck, Cutler climbed out of the car, the rain immediately trickling down the back of his shirt and bringing a spine-shiver with it. He trotted forward, taking only a few steps to catch up with the girl, who had stopped and pulled her phone out of her pocket, texting happily, seeming oblivious to the chill and damp. No wonder he hated students. They were always so bloody young and full of optimism and ideals. No grown-up grumpy bastard like him needed that.
Cutler tapped her on the shoulder and her narrow frame jumped slightly, but at least she stopped singing. The last thing they needed was the alien going for another civilian, and, if it did, he didn't want to be the only one around. Having seen its handiwork, he didn't fancy his chances.
Her eyes clouded suspiciously in her pale face as she tugged the headphones out. Tinny music hummed in the air between them.
'Yes? Can I help you?'
'I'm going to have to ask you to leave the area as quickly and quietly as you can, miss…?'
'Nina.' The girl's suspicious expression was hit by a tidal wave of puzzled curiosity. 'Nina Rogers.' She raised an eyebrow. 'And you are?'
'Police.' He rummaged in his jacket and tugged free his ID. 'Detective Inspector Cutler.'
'So, what's going on, Mr Cutler?' She grinned cheekily. 'Are you on a stakeout?'
He forced himself to smile back. The girl was engaging, but this wasn't the time or the place for dealing with bloody youthful enthusiasm. He walked forward, forcing her to subconsciously match his pace. 'Something like that. Now, if you could just head back to uni or your digs or wherever you're going, then I'd be grateful. And without the music.'
She frowned, and he could see her gearing up for another question.
'Now.'
His gruff word cut her off and, although he could see she was still curious, she did as she was told and, with a smile and a wave goodbye, she picked up her pace and headed back towards the main street.
Cutler watched her until she was safely round the corner and, satisfied that she'd left the music off, he climbed back into the warmth of his car. The problem with the young was that they had no fear. They'd learn, though. Everyone did.
Feeling his own fear dancing with nerves in the pit of his stomach, he sat back, stared out of the window, and waited.
TWENTY-FOUR
Adrienne Scott's head was thumping, and even though she'd got up for water in the night she still felt as if her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if she'd stopped after the bottle she'd shared with Katherine in the pub, but instead she'd come home and opened another one. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she was regretting it now.
Pulling up a chair, she sat by the window and watched as Ceri eased Ryan's arms out of the stripy, long-sleeved T-shirt that he'd managed to get most of his breakfast down. Eating and singing didn't go together and, since Ryan wouldn't stop one, Ceri had to virtually shove the food into his throat to force him to swallow as a reflex while doing the other. Ryan ate a lot of soft foods. And Adrienne avoided visiting at mealtimes. It was hard enough accepting Ryan's unusual ways as it was. She wasn't cut out for the messy stuff. Even with her own son it made her feel sick. But then that was hardly a surprise. She was, after all, a bad mother.
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.
&nbs
p; 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.
Into the Silence t-10 Page 13
