The House That Jack Built

by Guy Adams

  Now time was trying to find a steady path, acting out every conceivable permutation. The house was built in 1906, then it wasn't. He bought it, then he didn't. As he walked out of the room and into the hall, it was like trying to fight his way through a piece of speeded-up film in which he was the only constant. Alison – the real Alison – was there, running naked down the stairs chased by the ever-hungry appetite of her strange lover.

  Miles appeared as Jack reached the next landing. Even at a glance, Jack could tell he was pleased to see him...

  'If only you could have been as happy in your body as I was,' Jack whispered, holding out his hand to stroke the ethereal chest of one of the many men he had once loved. His fingers jolted as if he had brushed an electric fence, and the image of Miles vanished.

  Jack kept walking, fighting the urge to look into the other rooms. He could hear other lives playing out in them, couples fighting and making up, children laughing, as they ran from one room to another before vanishing altogether, perhaps never to have existed there at all.

  He stood for a moment on the landing, as he felt the most bizarre sensation wash over him. Just over a hundred years ago, he had stood at this very same spot, showing Alison the house. The words he had spoken bubbled up from him, but when they reached his ears he knew it was his past self that was speaking them.

  'Do you like the house?' he had asked, leaning over the banister.

  'It could be lovely,' Alison replied, as she moved up towards him, 'with a woman's touch.'

  The ghost of Jack, smiled down at her. 'I say again: just like its owner, then.'

  'Anyone's touch will suffice for him,' came Alison's reply.

  'But your touch is the sweetest.'

  The present-day Jack found himself cringing at the way such easy lies and promises fell from him time and time again.

  Alison stepped onto the landing, and he had to remember that she was not looking at him but rather the man he had been all those years ago. 'So you say today,' she said, 'but who will it be tomorrow?'

  Ah... and didn't he know the answer to that from his vantage point in the future?

  His past self took Alison in his arms. 'Stay the night and find out.'

  Jack reached out to them, spreading his arms to cover them both, ignoring the sting of temporal flux that clung to the lovers' shoulders. The ghost of Alison shivered.

  'You all right?' asked the Jack from her time.

  She nodded. 'It felt like something touched me.'

  Jack let go and stepped back. They were not his to hold any more.

  'Give me a few moments and it certainly will,' his past self replied.

  'Really...' Alison said. 'Perhaps you've got ghosts...'

  He certainly did. Moving past the translucent figures, Jack ran down the stairs, knowing that by the time he reached the bottom they would have vanished for ever.

  The fluctuation was near breaking point by the time he got to the front door, the roar of the hundreds of residents who had lived – or might have lived – between these walls becoming deafening in his ears. He grabbed the door handle, wrenched it open and stepped out into...

  ... daylight and shouting.

  The SUV was still parked at the front of the house (though it was now pointing out towards the road), and Alexander was lying on the pavement cradling his broken wrist.

  'How dare you!' he roared at Ianto, who was standing over him. 'Do you know who I am, boy? I will not be treated like that by anybody, let alone a jumped-up little shit like you.'

  'Shut up,' Gwen muttered, wheeling the old man's wheelchair over from where she had found it further up the road. 'You should be glad you're alive. Not everyone is, thanks to you.'

  'Problem?' asked Jack as he joined them on the pavement.

  Ianto grabbed him and gave him a stifling hug. 'Not that I was worried or anything,' he muttered self-consciously as he let him go. 'Plan worked, then?'

  'Guess so.'

  Jack turned and stared up at Jackson Leaves. It looked the same and yet... not. It was tidier, more looked after, no longer the abandoned relic it had once been. 'What happened?'

  'We made it out,' Alexander hissed, pulling himself into his chair and gritting his teeth against the pain in his wrist. 'No thanks to your lot, I might add.'

  'He killed the girl,' said Gwen, suddenly feeling even worse as she realised she didn't even know her name.

  'I dealt with that lunatic you saddled us with,' Alexander replied. 'The girl was caught in the crossfire. If I hadn't acted, I doubt any of us would still be here. If you got down from your high horse for a moment, you would do well to realise you should be thanking me rather than wailing about a little collateral damage.'

  'Thanking you?' Gwen said. 'If I had my way, we'd be locking you up.'

  Alexander smiled, and it was one of the most unpleasant things Gwen had seen all night. 'You just try it, girl. I've dealt with worse than you've got to offer.'

  'Shut up, Alexander,' said Jack, 'before I do what Gwen suggests. Let's just look after these two.' He pointed at the still unconscious Julia and Joe, whose exuberant mood had well and truly faded, leaving him confused and hung over, leaning against one of the lamp posts.

  'By all means,' Alexander replied, unable not to have the last word in the matter. 'Just so long as you remember you would do well to keep me sweet. I could be a considerable irritant to you otherwise.'

  'You mean you're not already?' Ianto lifted Julia into the back seat of the SUV as Gwen took Joe's arm and led him over.

  Jack looked down at Alexander. 'Don't do it,' he whispered.

  'What, my dear boy?' Alexander replied, that oh-so-false smile still in place.

  'Bite off more than you can chew.'

  Alexander shrugged. 'I don't want to make enemies.' He gave Jack a look that was altogether more powerful than one would expect from such a frail-looking man. 'So don't force me to.'

  Jack shook his head dismissively, and they headed over to the vehicle.

  They dropped Alexander back at the rest home.

  'What about my wrist?' the old man whined as Jack pushed him towards the building.

  'Physician, heal thyself,' Jack replied, leaving him at the front door and dashing back to the car.

  'You're just going to leave him?' Gwen asked as he got back in. 'Knowing what he does?'

  'His biology is so far removed from ours, I wouldn't have the first idea what to do about it,' Jack admitted as he turned on the ignition and drove away.

  'Well, I don't trust him,' Gwen said.

  'Me neither, but he'll have to be a problem for another day. We've enough to deal with for now.'

  'At least the house is safe,' Ianto piped up from the back.

  'No more ghosts,' Gwen added with a half-smile.

  'Oh, I don't know about that,' said Jack and drove back to the Hub.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TORCHWOOD CARDIFF: INCIDENT REPORT

  Unexplained Conflagration

  Penylan, 17th March 1906

  Visited the site of last night's explosion, found residue of non-contemporaneous explosive material and signs of temporal flux. (Gaskell's Chronometer Device threw a fit, solely, it seems, by virtue of being in the same street as the bomb damage!) Bizarrely, the target seemed to be nothing more than a building site, nothing of imaginable value. Harkness proved little help – one had hoped his knowledge of futuristic methods might have helped to shine the light of clarity on some of the more outré elements of the incident, but he pleaded ignorance so well that one might be inclined to believe him, were it not for the fact that he lies with such ease. No matter; no civilians were hurt and, while the evident intrusion of foreign agents in our jurisdiction is alarming, there is some consolation to be found in that. Our investigation will, of course, continue.

  AG

  Ianto smiled and dropped the sheet back into its folder. Alice Guppy's writing about Jack always reminded him of a strict teacher's report on an errant student.

  He glanced o
ver at his workstation, where his screen was a blizzard of files and news reports, history rewriting itself both physically and digitally as things settled into their own neat time line. He would be a few hours yet, trying to cover Torchwood's traces in the matter of Penylan.

  Still, his efforts were nothing compared to those of time itself, the ultimate cover-up as people vanished or reappeared, new histories establishing themselves seamlessly over the hundred years or so of Jackson Leaves's influence. Those of them that had been at 'point zero' still had a perfect memory of the night's events – though he, Gwen and Jack had been working hard since then to alter that fact.

  Some things had still played out the same. Joan Bosher had still lived – and died – at Jackson Leaves before bequeathing it to her niece. Rupert Locke's face still stared from the grainy print of old newspapers on his desk as the police took him into custody for his crimes (though there was no mention of where he'd lived), and his statement had become a more honest – if sordid – admission of guilt due to 'his needs'. There were others, though, who had avoided their fates, Kerry Robinson for one. No longer a suicide victim, she had moved to America, and Ianto had tracked her a little as she had worked as a singer for a few years, before family and middle age had tamed her ambition.

  At least a few had got away...

  Alexander looked up at the cloudy sky and, for the first time since his arrival on the planet, found himself wishing for home. Not that he would be welcome there, of course, but then, the last twenty-four hours had seen him become distinctly unwelcome here, too.

  'Mr Martin.' Nurse Sellers was walking across the lawn towards him. 'Perhaps you'd be good enough to tell me why you're getting all this extra attention?'

  'What are you talking about, you silly woman?' He wasn't in the mood for her insinuations today.

  She bristled at his tone. 'That doctor's here again,' she explained. 'You know, the one from the Council. Says he's got to follow up on a few things. I do hope you haven't got anything terminal.'

  'Ha!' Alexander laughed to see her drop all pretence of kindness. 'Don't you wish, my dear?' He watched Jack Harkness walking towards him. 'Now bugger off inside while we grown-ups talk business.'

  She made an exasperated noise in her throat and stormed off towards the house.

  'You do love to make friends,' Jack said as he drew up alongside Alexander.

  'It's a skill. I take it this is you firing me from my temporary position?'

  'It is.'

  Alexander nodded. 'Thought as much. That girly didn't take a liking to me in the end. Can't think why. We got out safely, didn't we?'

  'Not all of you.'

  'That was always a risk,' Alexander sighed, 'and you know it. Your gallivanting about altering history was far more cavalier and life-threatening, but nobody questions you, I notice.'

  'You'd be surprised.' Jack began to push Alexander towards the oak tree.

  'You'll go too far one day, my boy,' Alexander said. 'And when you do you'd better hope they're more forgiving of you than they were me.'

  Jack didn't reply. They stayed in silence beneath the shadow of the tree for a few minutes, each thinking their own thoughts.

  'How is that young boy, Joe?' Alexander asked.

  'You care?'

  'Not particularly,' Alexander admitted.

  'He's fine. Had a bit of good fortune, actually. Won a car in a magazine competition.'

  'One he doesn't remember entering, I assume?'

  'Oh, he remembers it. That and more – doesn't mean any of it happened.'

  'Ah... You continue to rewrite history, even now. What are you going to do to me?'

  'I don't know,' Jack said softly.

  'Yes you do. You just haven't got the balls to do it. You don't know if you can trust me any more, and if you were half the secret soldier you pretend to be you'd act on it. You'd identify me as a problem and take the appropriate action. Given that you can't make me forget – and rest assured you can't; Torchwood may be far more progressed scientifically than the rest of these monkeys, but you're a long way from having sufficient skill to get around my physiognomy – there really is only one way you can solve a problem like me. I'm just interested to know if you're strong enough to carry it out.'

  'Maybe I'm not as pragmatic as you,' Jack said, walking away.

  'Don't kid yourself,' Alexander called, stretching in his wheelchair and closing his eyes for a doze.

  Jack cut across the lawn, avoiding Trudy Topham's waving arms as she pretended to be a butterfly amongst the sparse blooms. There were times when his inability to age or die was a blessing. At least dementia would never get him. Lunacy, perhaps, given his lifestyle, but never dementia.

  'Is he ill?' asked a voice from the patio. He looked over to see an elderly man straining over his stout walking cane and glancing between Alexander and Jack.

  'Nothing serious,' Jack said, walking over to him. There was something very familiar about the man, but nothing he could place.

  'Shame!' the old man chuckled, and the ghosts of twenty Capstans a day rattled around the brittle cage of his chest.

  'He doesn't seem to have many friends here,' Jack replied.

  'Or anywhere,' the old man agreed. 'Nobody visits him either. Mind you, there's nothing unusual in that. They shove us in here to forget, don't they? Not like in my day. My mother, bless her, lived with us until the day God took her, and I would never have had it any other way...' The old man's voice wavered as he thought about his past. Jack recognised the look only too well, lost in memory...

  'I'm sure she appreciated it.'

  The old man nodded. 'She did, she did... Poor woman had been abandoned altogether too many times in her life. I certainly wasn't going to add to it.'

  'You were a good son.'

  Jack smiled, and kept wracking his brain to place the old man. There was definitely something recognisable there, something in his smile... He stuck out his hand. 'Doctor Harkness.'

  The old man took it. 'Gordon Cottrell. Pleased to meet you.'

  A cold feeling ran through Jack, his skin erupting in gooseflesh. He would have said someone had walked over his grave – he'd certainly had enough of them.

  'Cottrell?' he asked. 'What was your mother's name?'

  'Alison,' Gordon replied, rather befuddled by the question. 'Why? You're rather young to have known her, I suspect!' Jack nodded. 'Of course...' He fixed a big, false smile in place. 'Best be off! Patients to see.'

  'Aye, well, good talking to you. Maybe see you around again.'

  'Maybe.'

  Jack had to fight the urge to run as he made his way back towards the car park. He took off his white coat, got back in the SUV and stared out of the windscreen, heart pounding and his breath coming in shallow bursts. After a moment, he pulled a medical tin out of his pocket, opened it, took out the syringe filled with an overdose of anaesthetic he had intended to give Alexander and squirted it out of the window. He put the syringe back in the tin and drove away from Mercy Hill Care Home.

  'Hello there,' Gwen said, as Julia opened the door of Jackson Leaves. 'Sorry to disturb you, but I'm from the Council and I just need to ask you a couple of questions.'

  Julia checked the identification Gwen was offering and nodded reluctantly once she admitted it all looked in order.

  'It's a bit of a mess at the moment,' she said, letting Gwen in and leading her through to the kitchen. 'I still haven't finished unpacking.'

  'Never fun, is it?' said Gwen, sitting down at the kitchen table.

  'No,' Julia admitted. 'Especially when you're by yourself.'

  'Just you then, is it?' Gwen asked. 'Big place for someone on their own.'

  'I inherited it from my aunt,' Julia said. 'She rattled around in here for years. I don't think I will.'

  'Oh?'

  'No... Can't say I like the place much. I'm planning on letting it out. Students, maybe.'

  'Oh yes? Why not, eh? Plenty of room.'

  'Yeah. I've advertised, but no takers
yet. If nobody turns up, I might just sell it, get one of those new apartments at SkyPoint.'

  Gwen squirmed. 'I hear they're not all they're cracked up to be.'

  'Really?' Julia sighed. 'Just fancied something a bit more modern. Place like this, it's just too...'

  'Full of ghosts?' Gwen smiled.

  'Something like that.' Julia wiped pointlessly at the kitchen worktop, nervous and wanting something to distract her. 'Well, whatever I decide to do, I need to smarten the place up a bit. Don't suppose you know anyone cheap and reliable, do you? I'm hopeless at that sort of thing. My ex used to do it all, but he's...'

  'Yes?'

  'Accident at work... I'd rather not go into it.'

  'Of course,' Gwen said, getting to her feet. 'I quite understand, and it really is none of my business. Look... This is obviously a bad time. Maybe we can do this over the phone in a couple of weeks?'

  'That would be better. Thank you.'

  They walked back along the hall to the front door, Gwen stepping outside and smiling as she handed Julia a fake business card. 'I'll call you next month,' she said. 'It's nothing major, just some work we're doing in the area. Oh...' She bent over to pick something up off the gravel. 'Don't leave that lying around. You never know, do you?' She handed the lottery ticket to Julia.

  'That's not mine,' Julia said. 'I never do the lottery.'

  'Well, it's definitely not mine,' Gwen said. 'I always play the same numbers, my husband's birthday... You may as well hold on to it – never know your luck!'

  'I suppose.' Julia didn't seem at all convinced but put the ticket in her pocket anyway.

  'Maybe you won't have to worry about finding workmen after all.' Gwen smiled and walked down the drive, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

  'Well?' Jack asked as she moved past him and headed for the SUV.

  'She's fine. False memory's holding.'

  'Good.'

  'Excuse me,' came a voice from behind him.

  Jack turned to see a young woman jogging towards him.

  'Help you?' he asked.