Almost Perfect

by Goss, James

  Ross stands on the threshold, smiling. He is holding something small and blue in his hands. And then turns back into the room and closes the door.

  Curing Parkinson’s? Oh dear.

  Ianto is nervous on the deck. There’s a chill in the air and he’s not sure if he’s been followed. But there is definitely something up. He walks towards the bar and can see people spilling out of it onto the deck. He can still hear little gusts of music from the bar as people push through the doors. Everyone is standing, looking out to sea, or pointing vaguely with their camera phones.

  He glances out, trying to see what they can see – and all he notices is the distant, distant glow of Cardiff, and then higher up, a dancing spot of light, like a shooting star, but one that slices across the sky towards them, only to vanish momentarily before sparkling up again.

  ‘It’s the Northern Lights!’ he hears someone shout, only to hear them laughed down. Gradually, with muttering, gasping, camera snapping and moaning they realise that the boat is surrounded by a perfect circle of fog, a fog that blots out Cardiff and the stars, just leaving a little twinkling globe that flickers closer and closer. There is nervous excitement, a definite feeling of anticipation. Ianto has no idea what the light is – he just knows it is linked to whatever is in the cabin, and the mysterious figures he saw in the Bay before he left. This is it. He reaches for his phone. Still no signal. And then, with a sputter, no battery.

  He looks out across the deck, as the little twinkling fireflies of camera phones snuff out one by one.

  Oh god. No witnesses.

  The light comes closer and closer.

  At first like fireworks – a bright ball of light arcs twice over the boat. Then Lucky Debbie runs up and grabs Ianto’s hand. ‘It’s still! The sea!’ she hisses. All around them, the waves settle flat, bowing down like lions before the light.

  Then comes the sound – a roar of an ancient horn, like the loudest, most exciting, most frightening thing Ianto has ever heard.

  For a second, it is dark. Very, very dark. And utterly silent.

  And then the light comes back, a giant ball that sweeps over the boat, and then, with the sounding again of that awful horn, it splits into two, two balls of fire that circle round and round the deck.

  Then the horn sounds a third time. It doesn’t die away, but is followed by a deep boom – the shattering thud of something tearing deep underneath the water. There are screams from all around, but Ianto barely hears them. ‘Oh god,’ he thinks, realising how alone they are. In the distance, he can’t even see Cardiff any more. Just this fog bank. Blocking them off from the world.

  Something bad is going to happen – he knows it, feeling as afraid as he felt when in trouble at school, when he went on a date knowing he was going to be dumped, or when he’d gone back into Torchwood to find Lisa. Something terrible is going to happen and there is nothing he can do to stop it. No weapons, no technology, no Toshiko, no Captain Jack. Just Ianto Jones against this.

  The balls of light arc over again, and with a scream of tin, sheets of steel rip up from the deck and flutter into the sea.

  The shouts from the bar are louder now, all the more so for the completely still sea. The siren wail of the horn finally fades like a wounded beast and the balls of light glow and descend, floating along the deck until they are just above the surface. Dancing inside each sphere is… a shape. And he can hear laughter.

  The spheres contract, melt, each shape flowing into a human form carved out of sun. The two figures stride forward, their feet just failing to touch the ground. One turns to the other. It speaks, a voice thundering and echoing like continents slapping together.

  ‘We are here for one thing. And those who have it know what that is.’

  ‘Give it up!’ bellows the other. ‘Bring it out now.’

  ‘Please,’ the other sighs, like an avalanche.

  The other stretches out a hand, and light boils across the deck, wrapping around the mast, and then whipping across the lifeboats, shattering each one in a cloud of burning splinters. People start to scream. One of the figures turns, a hand forming a gentle sssshing motion against its glowing face. The first steps forward, past Ianto. Ianto feels a warmth like a furnace flicker across his cheek. ‘You have two minutes.’

  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?’ snap
s 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.

  ‘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 Iant
o. ‘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 IS MAKING A

  BREAKTHROUGH

  Jack stared at the map of Cardiff. ‘I’m tracking that energy cloud. There’s a spike building up.’