Into the Silence

automatically zooming in to highlight the address.

Gwen frowned. But that couldn't be right. That wasn't where Jack and Ianto were. Her hand went back to her earpiece.

'Jack. We've got a problem.'

TWENTY-FIVE

His voice filled the church and, although the baritone wasn't supposed to sing the piece alone, Ianto was making it work as best he could. Jack was surprised at the richness of the sound and the power carried in it. He was impressed. But then Ianto had proved himself several times over to be quietly full of surprises. Gwen's voice cut into his thoughts.

'Jack. We've got a problem.'

'What do you mean?'

'It's coming, but not to you. The computer says it's going to Havannah Court. The Havannah Court Autism Centre.'

Looking up at the iconic images of the saints that peered down at him from the undamaged stained-glass windows, Jack fought an urge to scream. 'Are you sure?'

'That's what the bloody computer says.' She paused. 'Hell.' Gwen's voice sweated urgency in his ear. 'We've got less than eight minutes, Jack. I'm closer than you. I'll meet you there.'

'I'm on my way.' Running up the aisle towards the door, Jack heard Ianto's voice waver behind him. Not that it mattered. 'Havannah Court!' he called over his shoulder. 'I'll go with Cutler!'

Outside the rain lashed him with wet streaks, as if nature itself were siding with the alien and the Rift to foil their attempts to stop the chaos. His legs pumping, he raced towards Cutler's unmarked police car. They had no more than six minutes left. They weren't going to make it. Yanking the door open, he leapt inside.

'Why can't anything ever go according to plan?' Cutler demanded as Jack slammed the passenger door shut.

'Welcome to Torchwood.'

Cutler fired up the engine and the tyres squealed, burning against the tarmac.

Ryan had moved from 'Walking In The Air' to 'Where Is Love?' and was now starting 'Close Every Door' from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. The room filled with the mournful quality of the opening notes and, looking out into the trees and gardens of the centre, Adrienne idly thought that Jason Donovan would never have been able to come close to the emotionally perfect delivery her boy gave it. She should make a move and head to chambers where there was a stack of work waiting for her, but outside the heavens had opened, and she thought she'd wait for the downpour to slacken before leaving. She could only imagine what the receptionist would have to say to the nurses otherwise. That eager to leave she got herself soaking wet. And her a barrister too. It's a crying shame. Bad mother. Why give them the ammunition? And, to be honest, her hangover was still that bad, she couldn't bring herself to move from the chair. Her body felt like there was a lead weight in it. Driving had been no fun earlier, and she'd thought an abrupt brake might make her throw up all over her steering wheel.

Something shifted in the trees outside and, her eyes drifting and only half-focused, Adrienne waited to see a bird fly away in search of twigs to nest with or worms for its babies' hungry mouths. Nothing emerged, but the branches shook again, with more energy than the first time, as if someone were violently forcing its fruit to fall. Frowning, the throb in her skull for a moment forgotten, she leaned forward. Was there someone in there? Why the hell someone would be up a tree in this weather she couldn't guess, but then, with the children at the autism centre, you could try for ever and you'd never know their reasoning. She stared. Surely the nurses wouldn't let the children out to play in this weather.

'Ceri,' she said softly. 'I think there's a child in that tree.' She pointed at the swaying and jerking branches. 'See?'

Coming alongside her, the nurse nodded, her face puzzled. 'That doesn't look right. I'll bet it's Peter Allwood. He loves sneaking out into the grounds. I'll go and check.' Bustling out, she closed the door behind her, and Adrienne was about to look away from the grounds when a stream of dark shadow oozed out from the branches like a thick tendril of smoke. As her breath held itself locked in her chest, Adrienne's mind went blank as it scanned itself for any clue or explanation as to what was causing it. It came up with nothing. The cloud of blackness hung alone between the earth and sky, until another ghost of emptiness emerged, creeping round from the back of the tree to meet up with the first, two dark snakes intertwining and becoming one. Adrienne stared, her mouth falling open. That wasn't a child in the tree. This was something else. Something strange. Something other.

Her brain felt like glue, and she briefly glanced back at Ryan, oblivious on the floor. Oblivious to what, she wondered, curious at her own choice of words, and then her eyes turned back to the shadow forming against the backdrop of the old oak tree, the darkness that seemed to leak like rotten sap from within the space between its limbs. Oblivious to that. Something flashed at the core of the black mass as it seemed to jerk and writhe, pulling itself into some kind of solid form. Adrienne's breath formed steam on the window and, watching the thing in the rain on the other side, she wondered if she should try to scream or call out. But she couldn't find the mechanics in her chest.

Behind her, her baby was still singing. Her baby. Those words stayed solid in her head, fighting the flow of language and thought that fled her mind, leaving it hollow with only herself to fill it.

Her baby. The thing was coming for her baby. And in that thoughtless moment, Adrienne Scott realised she loved her son very much.

Gwen pressed her foot down on the accelerator so hard that the pedal was in danger of bursting through the floor of the car. Horns blared as she weaved dangerously through the traffic, cutting across cars coming the other way with so little space to spare she could almost smell the shavings of their paintwork. Fighting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, she pulled out to overtake a van and hoped she'd make it past. Holding her breath until she was back in her own lane, an orchestra of yells and curses coming at her from every driver's window, she glanced at the clock. Thirty seconds until the eight minutes were up.

Pulling into Havannah Court, the colourful sign of the autism centre just about visible at the other end of the road, Gwen wanted to scream and beat the steering wheel.

She wasn't going to make it. Damn, she wasn't going to make it.

Her baby.

Somewhere in the corner of her vision, Adrienne saw Ceri emerge onto the wet lawn, first of all looking at the tree, and then freezing as she caught sight of the black shadow that was moving towards the building, changing its shape as it did so. The nurse turned and fled. Standing on the other side of the glass, Adrienne didn't blame her. She knew she was breathing because of the damp mist blurring the window, but she couldn't feel the air moving through her lungs. She couldn't feel anything except the awful isolation coming from the creature on the lawn.

And it was a creature now.

The writhing mass had pulled itself together, solid patterned limbs almost human under its bald scarred head.

Almost human

If Adrienne had still understood the concepts of sanity and insanity, she would have thought she had finally flipped, or all the wine she'd drunk was making her see things, or come up with some other vain, desperate attempt at rationalising the monster coming towards her, but those concepts had fled when the terrible isolation invaded. If it wasn't for Ryan, she would have slipped silently and forgotten, even by herself, down the wall and into a heap on the carpet.

Ryan. Her baby. Those words carved themselves into her skull, fighting to stay acknowledged in the growing chasm of nothing. She loved him. When there was nothing left, that became so obvious.

Lifting her arms, their weight like dead flesh, she spread them wide across the thick glass. It wanted her baby. She could feel it in every cell in her body. Fighting the emptiness that threatened to consume her, she met the