James Goss - Almost Perfect

A pause. Then the other figure turns and steps almost shiftily towards the passengers who bunch up against the advancing heat. It speaks, its voice lower, more discreet.

‘Anyone got a fag?’

What? Ianto is moved and not surprised when Lucky Debbie steps forward, fumbling in her handbag for a Superking. The figure reaches out a hand and takes it, leaning over her. ‘Thanks,’ it says, its voice dropping to almost a whisper.

Somehow it holds the cigarette in its glowing fingers, and then lets the end spark into life by itself. It pauses, leaning closer, conspiratorially. ‘This had better not be menthol.’

‘No,’ says Debbie, very quietly and firmly.

The figure takes a drag. ‘Lovely. Thank you. You’ll be the last to die.’

Debbie nods, but her face is set into the Swansea-girl look which says, ‘You’re not all that.’

The figure strides above the deck, gently smoking away, while the other rises up, expanding and pulsing dangerously.

‘They’ve not come out.’

‘No, I know that.’ There’s a petulant note. Almost disappointed. ‘I’d expected better of them.’ A long sigh that rolls out across the sea. ‘Fine.’ Both fists burst into giant balls of flame that lash out, smashing into the bar, scattering tables and glasses and people. There are screams and cries and the smell of burning nylon carpet.

‘Do you hear us, Christine and Ross?’ boom both of the figures together, their voices louder than a storm. ‘We’re getting violent. People are going to die soon. You’d better not be hiding, cos we’re going to put on a bloody great show.’

‘You selfish pricks,’ snaps the smoking figure, bitterly.

The shapes come down, floating in front of Ianto and Debbie. Ianto can feel the hiss of the air starting to boil, can see those fists split and crack out into flaming, angry spheres. He feels Debbie tense up next to him – brave up to the end. Not so Lucky Debbie, he thought sadly. Then, swallowing, he opens his mouth.

‘I…’ His voice vanishes.

One of the figures flashes up next to him, fire scorching Ianto’s face. As it stares into him with eyes of coal, he feels his flesh begin to smoulder and burn. He cries out slightly.

‘Yes?’

‘I…’ He finds his voice, and is saddened to hear it is a yelp. ‘I know who you’re looking for. I can take you to them.’

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.