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.
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
