Into the Silence

Even at the edge of the void, the night was coated in quiet. Disembodied, it could feel the echo of pain where the metal had pierced its flesh. The pain and the metal and the addictive sensation of the physical were gone now, but the taste remained.

At least here, hidden in the breathless strangeness that had brought it so far from the silence of home, it could make out the gentle hum of the noisy world so close by. It sucked the sounds in, even though they weren't what it wanted or what had called to its despair.

The parts it had absorbed refused to function as they had in their original locations, and the rage of frustration bubbled out from the shapeless form and, somewhere outside the rim of nothing, a random bolt of lightning struck the surface of the peaceful sea. Fear rippled through its consciousness. Something was trying to pull it back across the universe, to correct the error that had brought it here. There wasn't much time left to take what it needed. Alert and ready, it waited.

In the Havannah Court Autism Centre, sleep had claimed Ryan Scott several hours earlier, his throat resting as his body shut down. He didn't move throughout the night, his small muscles relaxed and face peaceful; finally at rest in a black oblivion where he didn't have to be anything at all. Where he simply existed, self-contained and completely detached from those who disturbed him with their touches and their noises and their refusal to let him be alone. His chest moved up and down, air silently passing through the mechanics of his small form as he dreamed of blissful nothing. If he was capable of loving anything at all, Ryan Scott loved the night.

Sitting on the side of his oversized double bed in his suite in the St David's Hotel, Martin Meloy's nose ran in a constant stream. His eyes blurred with tears and he hiccupped out a sob before tilting his head back and trying to get control of his emotions. He needed to write this. His hand shook and he stared at the half-empty bottle of pills and the vodka bottle littering his bedside table. He didn't have a lot of time. 'I'm sorry,' he scribbled on the fine textured paper with the hotel's name and address embossed on the top.

He squeezed out a few more words before lying back on the bed, the paper balanced on his chest. His eyes drifted shut and he thought of his Mary Brown, who'd transformed herself into the great Maria Bruno, and hoped she would approve. He may never have been dramatic enough for her in life, but he hoped his death would be Hollywood enough for his gorgeous, glamorous, talented wife. His breathing slowed.

Adrienne Scott had drunk too much, and her head pounded as she crawled out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Not waiting for the tap to run deliciously cold, she filled the glass and drained its lukewarm contents greedily before letting it overflow again. She drank the second more slowly, a shaking hand finding the paracetamol easily in the dark. She'd had plenty of practice. Swallowing the pills, she stared blearily out of the kitchen window and into the night sky. Life couldn't go on like this. And it was visiting day tomorrow. Crawling back into her bed, relieved that there were at least three or four more hours of darkness before she had to move, she wished the idea of seeing her son didn't fill her with so much dread.

High above the Millennium Centre, Jack Harkness let the rain run through his hair as he watched over the city, standing firm; his jaw set and eyes grim.

And, slowly, the clocks of Cardiff ticked round to dawn.

TWENTY-THREE

The Church of St Bartholomew was a little way back from the hum of traffic on Lloyd George Avenue but still quite near the busy centre of Cardiff Bay. Jack figured there wouldn't have been enough hours in the night to search through all the potentially perfect rehearsal spaces, and this one ticked most of the right boxes. It was up to Ianto's voice to bring the alien to them, after all, and it seemed it could turn up pretty much anywhere. Still, the church had a certain charm, he had to admit, and outside the traditional grey structure the grounds were filled with enough leafy trees to provide a sense of protective cover, but not so many that each couldn't be watched for movement by the well-placed armed police units placed carefully both in the car park and the roads immediately surrounding it.

From the inside, Jack looked up at the decoratively stained windows. There were five at the front of the building and four down the side of each wall.

'If it wants some glass to play with,' he muttered, 'I'll give it glass.'

He gritted his teeth and scanned the edges, locating the small charges rigged at the corner of each window designed to go off on impact with the glass, not to kill the alien but to send it tumbling in the direction Jack wanted it to go, disorienting it enough for him to trap it when it landed.

He checked his watch and felt a buzz of excitement flutter through his stomach. 10.50. Almost now or never time.

Ianto was checking the CD backing track for what seemed like the thousandth time since they'd arrived, his finger clicking play, then stop, then play, over and over.

'You ready?' Jack smiled at him. 'You're on in ten.'

For once, the press had done what it was told and the two minutes' silence had been advertised on all news programmes and radio shows. Even the other judges had announced that they would expect all the contestants in the show, whether they had reached the finals or not, to honour the silence and remember the dead. Rehearsal spaces were staying locked all over town. As much as any one person could control the volume of Cardiff, Captain Jack Harkness currently had his finger on the remote control.

'I'm ready.'

Jack touched his earpiece. 'Gwen?'

'I'm ready. Although what I'm doing stuck here when all the action is out there…'

Jack didn't have to see her to know that she'd be on her feet behind the desk, leather jacket zipped up, eager to be out in the field rather than Hub-bound.

'Hey, you amended the program, so you're the best one to operate it.'

'I should have done the work on the remote computer instead of here.'

'Well, it's too late for that now.' He grinned. 'And if you ask me, the geeky thing is working for you.'

'Yeah? Well, don't get too excited, I'm never wearing that white coat and glasses.'

'Shame. It's a sexy look.'

'Sod off, Jack.'

He laughed. 'Just stay in touch. Soon as you see any activity, I want to know about it.'

'Got that.'

Disconnecting, he checked his watch again. Five minutes to go.

'I don't mind going back to the Hub and wearing the white coat.' Standing still in front of the altar, Ianto looked nervous, one hand tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.

'You look best in a suit.' Jack winked.

'I thought you'd say something like that. Is it time?'

'Couple more minutes.' He pressed his earpiece again. 'Cutler?'

The gravelly London voice came straight back at him. 'Here. Out in the bastard rain. All quiet so far.'

'Good.'

Jack took a deep breath. All the preparations were done. All they could do now was sing and hope for the best.

Cutler leaned back in his seat and sighed. The window of the car was open so he could clearly see anything that might appear out of the grey skies or from behind the trees and bushes, and rain splattered his face in fine drops carried on the wind. His nerves jangled and he resisted the urge to light a cigarette. If only he had some idea of where and how the alien might appear, at least then he could focus. It seemed that right now he could use a spinning head like that girl from The Exorcist had. It was the only way he was going to see everything that was around him.

Movement in his wing mirror made his heart leap for a moment, and then he frowned, more wrinkles appearing in his already crumpled face. The figure wandering down the quiet street wasn't an alien. Well, technically not, but the next best thing to one as far as DI Cutler was concerned.

'Bloody students,' he muttered under his breath.

The girl with the long dark hair was definitely one of Cardiff's university types, he had no doubt about that.