James Goss - Almost Perfect

‘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 bay, 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 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.

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.