'Try,' said Jack. 'Just this time, try. Please.'
Michael laughed bashfully.
'You're funny,' he said, shaking his head. 'Anyone would think you were going to miss me.'
'No,' said Jack. 'Don't g-'
But it was too late. Jack blinked and, in the split second that his eyes were closed, Michael vanished. A second later, the air around the Vondrax appeared to fold, as if they were slipping back through gashes in space itself, and Jack was alone with just one thought.
What about the others?
'OK,' said Owen. 'So we've worked out they don't like mirrors. Now what?'
The four of them were gathered at the base of the water tower, facing out into the Hub, and surrounded by Vondrax. The creatures clawed at the air, hissing and snarling but unable to advance.
'I don't know,' said Toshiko. 'That's all Jack said. They don't like mirrors.'
'So we could be stuck here for how long, exactly?' said Owen. 'Hours? Days? You see, I could really do with a pee about now…'
'Owen,' said Gwen. 'You're not helping.'
'So you got any ideas?' said Owen.
Gwen scowled at him and then looked back at the Vondrax. They were studying the water tower now, and glancing around the Hub, as if trying to work out some way of destroying the thing that was holding them back. How much longer did they have left?
'Hey!' A voice from the other side of the Hub. A familiar voice.
One of the Vondrax turned around, and came face to face with Jack Harkness.
'This is private property,' said Jack. 'I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave.'
He reached out and grasped the Vondrax by its throat, his fingers sinking into its flesh, its oily blood spilling out over his hands. The creature writhed in agony, a high pitched scream emanating from its gaping mouth, its limbs cracking with each contortion. The other Vondrax turned away from the water tower and launched an attack, but they too were seized with agonising convulsions, their bodies breaking up before Jack's eyes. As the screaming of the Vondrax reached an almost deafening pitch, the Hub was shaken by a series of crashing sounds, like thunder, and bolts of flashing energy exploded from the decaying bodies of the Vondrax, vaporising each and every one of them.
Jack stood in the centre of the Hub, looked down at his hands, and sighed. It was over.
'Jack,' said Gwen. 'What was that? What happened?'
Jack crossed the Hub in silence.
'So where is he?' asked Owen. 'Michael, I mean?'
Owen was angry; a walking embodiment of rage, but Jack had little time for it.
'He's gone,' said Jack.
'Gone? Gone where?'
'He's gone.'
'And what if those things come back? Because it struck me that there was bugger all we could do except stand with our backs against that thing.' He pointed at the water tower.
'You're right,' said Jack. That's all you could do. They don't like mirrors. I'm glad Tosh took the hint.'
'So no plan B, no get-out clause… We were stuck with our heads up our arses not knowing what to do.'
'You were lucky,' said Jack.
'Lucky?' asked Owen. 'You try telling that to Tosh. She's not feeling very lucky.'
Jack stopped in his tracks and turned to Owen, staring him down.
'You were lucky,' he said again. 'They don't usually leave survivors.'
'Well that's reassuring,' said Owen, sarcastically. 'And what if they do come back?'
'They're not coming back,' said Jack. 'They were here for Michael, and Michael's gone.'
'Oh yeah?' said Owen. 'And didn't you think you'd seen the back of him last time? How many more secret friends of yours are we going to meet, Jack? How many more skeletons have you got in your cupboard?'
Jack, now standing in his office, turned to face Owen one last time, and slammed the door shut.
EIGHTEEN
Ianto Jones sat down with a hot cup of coffee and kicked off his shoes. It was nearly one o'clock, but he wasn't tired. Adrenalin did that to him. It was better than caffeine, though he'd rather drink coffee than go through another experience like tonight's.
Jack had left the Hub without saying a word to him, and soon the others too had called it a night. Now he was alone, but Ianto didn't mind so much. He'd always thought there was something reassuring, something protective about the Hub, as if it were his own subterranean cocoon, and, though it made him chuckle to think so, he liked having the place to himself. It wasn't a flashy Docklands apartment, but for now at least it was pretty close to being home.
He hit 'play' on the remote control, and seconds later, and without a trace of self-consciousness, said, 'No, Mr Bond, I expect you to die', in perfect synchronisation with the film.
Owen Harper walked home that night. The city's streets were now almost deserted in the aftermath of a Sunday night; fast-food cartons clogging the gutters, broken bottles and spilt takeaways next to the taxi stands. A few clubs were still open, bass-heavy music blasting from their open doors, gaggles of smokers standing on the pavements puffing away like little steam trains, revellers with presumably no early start the next day.
It crossed Owen's mind that once upon a time he would have gone out. Maybe had a few drinks, to take the edge off and help him sleep. Maybe he'd have met someone. Anyone. Maybe he'd have met a girl, taken her home, and then put her in a taxi in the morning.
He stopped outside the entrance to one club, eyed the surly bouncers and the small queue of drunken teenagers, looked in through the doors at the flashing strobe lights, and then carried on walking.
The underside of Toshiko Sato's bed was a miniature cityscape of shoeboxes, each one covered in a fine layer of dust. It always shamed her a little to look at this untidy, cluttered corner of her life but, so long as it was hidden from plain view, she didn't mind so much.
She reached under the bed, sprawled across the mattress, leaning upside down over its edge, and dragged out one of the boxes. Lifting off the lid she took out one of the photograph albums that were stored inside and, sitting back on the bed, began to flip through its pages.
The photos inside had that certain, almost sepia quality that old photographs have — all faded and desaturated hues. There were photographs of her parents' wedding day, and of her mother cradling her in the hours after she had been born. There were images of their home in England, and of her first birthday party, with Toshiko sat in a highchair, staring bewildered at the single candle on a cake in the shape of the number 1. Then there were the pictures of their apartment in Osaka, and her grandmother, always sat in her favourite chair.
Eventually, she came to the image she had been looking for: her father, holding Toshiko in his arms, while behind them the fireworks exploded in the skies over Osaka and the decorated boats sailed down the Dojima River.
Toshiko touched the photograph, and smiled.
Gwen Cooper slid the key into the lock, pulled it back about a millimetre, pressed it to the left, and then turned it. That was the trick. The lock clicked, and she opened the door.
Rhys was on the sofa, watching television.
'You're home, then,' he said in a flat monotone.
'Yeah,' said Gwen, hanging up her coat before joining him. She sat next to him, and waited a moment before speaking again.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm sorry about the food, and I'm sorry about the sofa, and… I'm just sorry.'
'You're sorry about the sofa?' said Rhys, sounding genuinely surprised.
'Yeah,' said Gwen. 'I've been thinking about it, and it's not that bad.'
'Not that bad?' asked Rhys. 'You said it was the sort of thing Jordan and Peter Andre would buy.'
'Yeah,' said Gwen. 'But it's just a sofa. D'you know what I mean?'