by Gary Russell
He nodded. ‘Good job, too. The earthquake could’ve damaged this place more than the last couple did.’
Suzie shrugged. ‘You keep too many secrets from us, Jack. Teamwork, yeah?’
Jack smiled. ‘I’ll deal with Mr Hopper,’ he said and waved a bottle of amnesia pills at Suzie.
She shrugged and went back out to talk to the other two.
Jack thought about how he’d had to stay down below a month before. Because there was another him up above, 150 years younger but identical to look at. There’d not only been the risk of confronting himself; if Toshiko, Suzie or Owen had seen his earlier self, he’d have had to explain his past to them. He adored them, yeah, but that was a step too far.
He knew he’d have to deal with poor Idris now. He took a level two pill out of the box – twenty-four hours would be enough to have Idris forget seeing him without causing too many problems for him at work.
Now, how to get it to him.
That new Italian restaurant, on the corner of Mermaid Quay, by the fish and chip place (he’d never understand twenty-first-century humans and the allure of fish and chips).
He left the office, grabbed his greatcoat and went back to the elevator.
‘Using the lift wise, Jack?’ asked Suzie.
‘Nope,’ he replied. ‘But it’ll get his attention.’
Which it did.
Jack stood there, facing Idris. ‘Idris Hopper, no one else but you can see me. Quite an achievement on your part. Well done you. Fancy a drink?’
Idris said nothing, just looked at the passers-by who were ignoring Jack completely, although one woman gave Idris a very peculiar look.
Jack stepped off the stone and a teenager instinctively swerved round him, muttering a ‘sorry’ as if it were perfectly normal.
As they walked to the Italian, they chatted about Idris (he was single), his family (his mother was dead, his father had moved to Newport six years ago), the movies he watched (he utterly hated the movie version of Hi Fidelity and had seen Finding Nemo a few more times than might be considered healthy) and his hobbies (he loved rare and antiquarian books, spending most of his less-than-stellar salary on them, and restoring some of them, which he’d then sell on at book fairs and suchlike). Once they’d sat down and ordered, Jack explained Torchwood. And perception filters. And aliens. And the missing Mayor. And the aliens that came through the Rift.
Three hours later, Idris was agog, untouched spag bol on a plate in front of him, utterly convinced by Jack and his explanations.
‘You know, Idris, Torchwood could use a guy like you in a position of authority. Keep an eye out at City Hall for weird happenings, let me know. I’d really like you to be our point man, a sort of affiliated agent.’
‘I can’t, I work for the Council,’ Idris said. ‘I mean, they take precedence.’
‘Oh sure, of course,’ Jack said. ‘No one would ask you to betray the office. No, it’s just more if we get something, and we think we could do with a gap filled in, maybe I could call you and you help me. And of course, if it’d break confidences from the new Mayor, then I utterly understand, yeah?’
Idris wanted to think about it and excused himself. As a waiter went by, Jack asked for Idris’s food to be put in a microwave for thirty seconds.
‘ We don’t use microwaves here, sir,’ said the snooty guy.
So Jack put the pill in Idris’s food, burying it in the sauce. Making sure no one was looking, he aimed his Manipulator at it and gave it a tiny burst of energy. Not enough to hurt Idris, but it’d certainly warm the food up.
When Idris returned, they finally ate.
‘You live locally?’ Jack asked.
‘Century Wharf,’ Idris replied.
‘Nice. Gonna make me a coffee?’ Jack smiled.
And now, here he was, smiling at the memory in Cathays Park.
This time, Idris wasn’t smiling. ‘You’re thinking about that night, aren’t you? When you poisoned me. Or whatever.’ Then Idris gasped. ‘My God, for the first time I just realised. I could’ve had sex with you that night – that’s what you wanted. And if your pill had worked, I’d never have known.’
‘Oh I think no pill is strong enough to completely erase the memory of me in bed,’ Jack laughed. Then stopped.
Idris wasn’t laughing.
‘So, add moral corruption to the list of Jackisms, yeah?’
Jack shrugged. ‘Nothing happened. God, did nothing happen. I wasn’t used to being turned down, you know.’
‘And just like your perception filter not working on me, nor did the pill.’
‘One in 80,000, Tosh reckoned. Completely immune.’
‘So tell me, Jack. What happens when aliens raid the supermarket? And you drug everyone, but someone like me doesn’t get the effect. And they remember everything. Do they turn up a week later, face down in the Bay? Or wake up in hospital a vegetable? Or get swallowed by an earthquake?’
Jack had no answer. Because, yes, once that had been the Torchwood way. That was a Standing Order from Torchwood One in London. But things had changed, and Jack had broken direct contact with London. And thrown their rulebook away. Since then, the problem hadn’t arisen.
‘I’d like to think that, like you, I could convince them to help us. For the greater good. But the situation hasn’t arisen. And the amnesia pill hads been revamped since then anyway. It’s closer to one in 800,000 now. Better odds all round.’ Jack grinned.
Idris stood up. ‘So, what do you want? And don’t say “another kiss” because no, not now, not ever.’
Jack threw his hands up in protestation. ‘Furthest thing from my mind,’ he lied, convincingly he hoped. ‘I need information. And not just PR-level stuff, but deep stuff. The who, why, how and did I say why?’
‘About?’ Idris checked his watch. ‘Thirty seconds, and I’m gone.’
‘Tretarri.’
‘The redevelopment? Why?’
‘How involved do you want to be, Idris?’
Idris looked at him. ‘You got a USB reader on you?’
Jack produced his PDA.
‘Nice,’ said Idris. ‘I’ll be back in ten. If I’m not, it means I’ve changed my mind and I never want to see you or anyone else from Torchwood ever again. Is that clear?’
‘As crystal.’
And Idris headed back to City Hall.
Jack wasn’t sure if it was worth waiting. But then, he was a pretty good judge of character – and Idris was, at heart, a good guy, with a Jack-sized chip on his shoulder.
Jack stared at the people milling around the park. And again, that feeling of pride in humanity hit him. So much wrong with the planet, so much wrong with their lives if only they realised, and yet nothing would stop them. As a people and as individuals, calamity might hit, but they always found a way to bounce back. Twenty-first-century humans were great.
And somewhere was an ancestor of his. Walking around, unaware that one of the descendents from a colony world 3,000 years into the future was sat in Cathays Park, Cardiff. At least he hoped they were unaware.
Assuming he was descended from humans. Hmm… A bit of family tree research might be in order. If he ever got the chance to go home, which he was in no hurry to do.
‘Excuse me, Captain Harkness?’
Jack looked up. A young brunette, early twenties, was standing in front of him. She smiled and passed him a USB flash drive.
‘Idris asked me to give you this. And something else, which he said I’d have no trouble giving you.’ She smiled. ‘And he was dead right.’
And she snogged him, passionately. Hard, long and very probingly.
After a good minute, she slowly drew back, and ran a finger across his lips.
‘Wow,’ she breathed, then turned and walked away.
‘Wow indeed,’ Jack said quietly. ‘God I love these people.’
He watched her retreating figure, slim, tight ass, nice legs… and blew air out of his cheeks, then got his PDA out and inserted the flash drive in
to it.
Info copied across and he read it quickly. Details of the redevelopment, plans, conveyancy reports, recommendations for construction crews, requisitions for trucks, concrete, trees.
Details of a fast-tracked licence for food, drink, music and street performers for a week-long party, stipulating no sale of alcohol in case of minors.
And the architectural plans.
It all seemed innocuous enough, but he’d get Gwen and Ianto to plough through it, check dates and so on. There had to be something.
Idly he opened a few reports. Nothing on the surface. He was about to give in for a bit, when he clicked on the architects’ plans.
And saw the architect.
He considered going straight back to Idris, but decided his time would be better spent back at the Hub. Instead he sent Idris an email via his PDA.
Thanks for the information. So, this guy doing the architectural design. He intrigues me. Tell me whatever you can about Mr Bilis Manger x
Extract from the testimony of student Owain Garrett, 1986. In attendance, DI Laurence and WDC Meredith. With Garrett was his tutor, Professor Edward Nicholls. Legal representation was waived.
There was one house in Coburg Street that no one went near. No one really knew why, some put it down to the general feeling about Tretarri, but no one stayed long enough to work out why.
It wasn’t true, all the newspaper reports, the ones that said no one ever lived in Tretarri. We did. Group of us on Bute Terrace. Number 9. We were on the corner of Coburg Street, and number 6 was the weird house.
Michele and Janet had done some research on the area. During the war, people had tried hiding here to escape the Cardiff Blitz, but had ended up taking their chances on the streets of Butetown. Martin found out by going through the local papers that as far back as the thirties the place was rumoured to be haunted. I mean, people would turn up here, move in, settle, whatever. Then inexplicable events occurred, lights, phantasms they often called them, noises. Dogs and cats died, fresh food went off, light bulbs would die then come back to life, brighter than before and objects would move around the place.
Michele and I woke up one morning to find our bed had moved across the room in the night. We assumed Janet or Marty had done it while we were asleep, but Marty hadn’t come home that night, and no way could Janet have done it by herself.
There were a few other student houses in Tretarri, but people didn’t stay long – and we realised after a few weeks, one house wasn’t occupied at all. I mean, never. We looked into the windows, I swear it hadn’t been touched since it was built, no sign of anything modern.
Marty talked to some old guy who’d lived on the streets for years in the area, and he was chatty – especially if there was a few pounds and some chocolate in it for him. He said he’d seen people come and go from every home, but not number 6.
Because it was haunted. He said it was haunted by the lights. We weren’t sure what he meant because he also said there was a man in the house too. Who lived there sometimes, but he’d never seen him. We didn’t understand that. He said no one ever saw him, but they knew he was there.
So we all decided to break into number 6 and spend the night there, like… like a ghostwatch, I think.
We took a camcorder and a cassette deck too as back-up. Marty suggested a ouija board, but I thought that was a bit… stupid
(Interruption by DI Laurence, asking if Mr Garrett considered a ouija board to be dangerous.)
No, I mean, it’s just a bit of crap really, all that “mediums” and “Doris Stokes” stuff. But Janet, she was scared I think, so I put my foot down. Said no.
So anyway, that night, we got in. I don’t know who actually got us in, I was a bit late cos I’d had to check the camera out of the student union, so the other three were there with sleeping bags and beer and stuff by the time I arrived. I set up the camcorder by the door, so it took in the whole of the, well, living room I s’pose. It meant we were on camera all the time.
I turned it on around eleven, when Michele went out to get the Chinese, and I’d stocked up on 90-minute tapes, so it meant one of us had to wake up every so often to change tapes. So we sorted out a rota. I said I’d stay up first, till the first tape ran out. Michele would do the next and so on.
I sat up while they slept, changed the first tape but was still wide awake so let Michele sleep on. I had a book for class to get through, which was fine. I changed the second tape about two and thought I’d wake Michele up.
But I must’ve dropped off cos the next thing I knew, Marty and Michele were giggling to each other, and it was about four thirty.
And he had the bloody ouija board and was moving the glass around with his fingers. God knows what Michele thought Marty was doing, it was so obvious he was spelling I AM A GHOST or whatever but she thought it was funny.
I watched them for a few minutes and hoped Janet wouldn’t wake up or she’d freak.
Then I noticed the camera wasn’t recording, so I whispered to them but they ignored me.
So I got up. And that’s when they looked at me. Straight at me.
And that was… that was when it must’ve happened. God, it must’ve been then, and I didn’t understand.
I didn’t notice their eyes at first, I saw the smiles. I can see the smiles now, I mean, not really smiles, something so cruel, so twisted… Then I saw the white eyes. Not just white, but like, like bright lights, I’m telling you, it was freaky. I thought maybe something was reflecting into their eyes, cos I couldn’t see pupils or anything, just white… light I s’pose. But there was nothing else on, nothing to reflect.
Janet woke up, I know that cos I heard her swear and yell at them about the Ouija board.
And that’s when I was really scared. Yeah scared, cos they ignored us both then and went back to the board, and I’m telling you, mate, that glass was moving by itself.
And it spelt out two words, I dunno what they meant. Torch and Wood. I thought it meant they were going to burn the building down.
And I can still hear Michele now speaking but it wasn’t… I mean… it just wasn’t her voice, you know? Someone… something else spoke, I dunno, through her? Hold on, let me think about this. Can I have something to drink please?
(Tape stops, then resumes, DI Laurence reidentifies everyone on the tape and states the time and date. See separate report for exact timings.)
OK, thanks. Yeah I’m OK. Right. So, the voice. Janet is well freaked now, and I’ll be honest, mate, I’d almost wet myself. That voice. So cold, it felt like we were in a freezer suddenly. An abattoir or something.
And Janet and I staring at them, our mates… and Michele spoke to us but it made no sense. She just said about the darkness and Phyllis and the lights. It made no sense. And Janet and me, we ran, I mean just got the hell out of there. But we tried to get to the front door and that’s when we saw the ghost. I saw the ghost. Janet says she’s not sure what she saw, but I’m telling you, it was a bloody ghost. A bloke, sort of there and not there. I’m not talking the whole white sheet, Scooby-Doo thing, but a bloke stood there. I could see he was speaking, shouting almost, but couldn’t hear anything he said.
And we were out of there.
But this is important because I think, yeah, yeah, I’m sure sitting here now, I think it was saying what Michele had been saying – the mouth, I’m picturing it, “darkness” and “the lights”, I’m sure that’s what it was yelling.
And then you lot turned up the next day at uni and arrested me. But I’m telling you, that’s what happened. We didn’t hurt them or anything. Why would I kill Michele – we were together, if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t do that to her.
Where’s Janet – she must be able to tell you this… I mean, she was at uni too, wasn’t she? You must’ve got her when you got me, she’ll tell you they were… They weren’t dead when we ran… ran away… from them…
TEN
Ianto closed the file and added it to the pile on Jack’s desk, just as Owen
sauntered in.
‘Just us chickens, yeah?’
Ianto nodded. ‘Looks like it. We sit around at home while the womenfolk go out and do all the work.’
Owen grinned wolfishly. ‘Don’t let Jack hear you call him a woman!’
Ianto managed a smile back.
Owen nodded at the files. ‘Heavy going?’
‘Yeah. And nothing concrete in any of them. Just read about some poor kid whose two mates, were found immolated in number 6 Coburg Street. One of them was his girlfriend. The police tried to pin it on him and another girl, but there wasn’t enough evidence. Poor kid said it was the ghost.’
‘Once upon a time,’ Owen said, sitting on the edge of Jack’s desk, ‘dunno ’bout you, mate, but I’d’ve laughed at that. But in our world, ghosts and all that, who’s to say what is and isn’t real?’
Ianto shrugged. ‘S’posed to find out, aren’t we? But I’m not seeing anything that links the Tretarri area with Jack’s weirdness. You got anything?’
‘Nah, same old test results you always get from Jack – normal for him, less normal for us, but at least he’s consistent.’
Ianto pondered on this. ‘Look, I found out he’s been doing this for… years. I mean with back-from-the-dead Jack, how many years is open to interpretation, but well over seventy-five. So it’s not something new. And we know he’s not always been based at Torchwood, although he’s been in and out of here for a long time. So whatever it is that stops him going in, it’s before Torchwood. It’s something in him.’
‘Ask him,’ Owen suggested. ‘Seriously. Say it’s time for some answers.’
Ianto thought about this, too. ‘I’d like to offer him some options, cos you know him – he’ll just clam up, brush it aside. But if we can piece some stuff together from what we do know, we could challenge him.’
‘You can challenge him,’ Owen corrected. ‘I’ll just get my head bitten off.’
‘Maybe you will. So what do we know?’
‘Bugger all, frankly. I sit down and try and put two and two together where he’s concerned and always get five.’