Death, it always starts with Death (Torchwood, Ianto, PG-13)
Death, it always starts with death. It aggravates the dark feelings inside a human soul, sending it on a very destructive path. First comes the drunken nights at the bar, the self pity that comes from it; it’s sickening. Next comes the silence between you and the one that you love; but in the end you don’t care. The third thing, though, is surprising since you didn’t think you would end up standing at the edge of a river, not to kill yourself but to find peace. Well, I didn’t anyway.
It was three o’clock in the morning when I found myself leaving the flat, taking the car keys and ignoring the feeling that Jack would try to find me. It was a mystery as to why I started to feel this way since I never knew the poor victim. A bird twittered from the branches of a large oak tree as I closed my eyes, reaching back to the beginning. It had started with a death....
A boat was found abandoned by Tiger Bay with a body covered in blood sitting inside it. I remember that a letter was found nearby, full of gruesome details of how he was murdered. Like magic, Jack instantly recognised the handwriting and somehow took it personally; without enlightening us, he set us to work. I turned to see David, the new medic, shove his way past the cops with the Torchwood ID; not that they cared. I followed him towards the body.
“With the letter as guidance, I will be able to confirm the cause of death,” David explained, trying not to sound too excited, “Well by the look it of I could say it was quite violent.”
Somehow I had convinced myself to look at the body ignoring the growing nausea rising at the back of my throat. At this stage I was fine, no dark thoughts or feelings inside me. Even though the body was violently covered in blood and the head cut open to expose the brain, I had managed to block it out for now. Or so I thought.
“Ianto? Earth to Ianto Jones!” A voice called a few minutes later and I snapped out of my trance to realise that David was staring at me, “I need a body bag.”
“Oh sorry, yes right away,” I said and turned only to suddenly vomit, what looked like a mixture of phlegm and bile on to the pebbles, narrowly missing my black leather shoes. I felt David pat my back before footsteps heading back towards the SUV.
I opened my eyes to the sound of thunder in the distance. Bloody Welsh weather: it loves to rain here so much that it does it half the year. As a kid I would love to play outside in the mud like every other child in Welsh countryside, now the rain was just a bloody nuisance. When I used to live in London, the miserable weather was always a hot topic.
This led me to think about the hot topics around Torchwood, when the body arrived back at the hub it was the only thing discussed amongst us. There were so many whispers and secret meetings around the hub that I couldn’t keep up with them all, like David’s theories on the killer to Gwen’s worries on the victim’s family. Jack kept quiet, refusing to speak to me about the subject over coffee. Still while the others were focusing on the investigation I decided to take a look at the letter.
From the first sentence I couldn’t stop reading. The killer was certainly intelligent, using colourful language (‘...The blood oozed out slowly causing a pleasurable sensation’) and uncommon words (‘....I can’t believe he fell for my skulduggery’) to describe what he had done. It left graphic images in your mind, that I completely understood why the others had refused to read it. Darkness started to swirl in my mind but my eyes refused to leave the page. I was completely hooked but it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Morning Ianto, you’re brave,”
I had looked up to see Gwen standing there with a paper bag from the local bakery in her hand. She gave me one of her toothy grins and held out the bag.
“Yeah, well I thought someone should be,” I snapped taking the bag from her, “So what is it today?”
“The usual,” She replied sounding a little hurt, “We would have given the letter to Sophie but since that thing with Suzie’s ghost.....”
I hated when she gave me the guilt trip about Sophie.
I felt a few drops upon my head before the rain bucketed down. Right now I didn’t care that my suit was getting wet or I was going to catch a cold. Those normal routine thoughts weren’t there anymore thanks to the fear rising inside me. The letter kept going through my mind, repeating those wonderful, colourful words followed by the graphic images of a head being sliced opened, the blood pouring down the face. ‘The loud piercing screams created arousal I couldn’t please.....’
Gwen hadn’t been the only one to notice the interest I had. Sophie was one of the computer and alien technology experts that Jack had hired. Since the incident she had been relieved from her duties but spend her days helping me file and make coffee. She didn’t seem to mind and really was trying to recover.
“Are you ok?” Sophie asked me one day when we were alone in the archives, “It’s just I’ve noticed that you’ve been reading the letter.”
“It interests me,” I explained with a frown
“Well I have been warned that it’s quite dangerous by the others,” Sophie told me, “So are you?”
“Not really,” I replied deciding to be honest with her.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” She said, “I’m not trying to be....”
“It’s ok,” I said with a smile.
I should have confided in her that day but something held me back. Maybe it was guilt about what had happened to her? She was still recovering but Jack warned us that the slightest mention of the incident could drive her over the edge. I started to wonder if that was happening to me.
By now I was completely soaked from the rain. The fear began to be slowly washed away, leaving behind dangerous thoughts and feelings of a troubled mind the letter had managed to produce. The killer’s purpose was clear, to find someone who would appreciate what he had done to another human being. I wanted to block those inner thoughts designed to make me take notice, to congratulate him on his work, so I started to hit my head with my hands.
I had tried to forget those thoughts many times before....
“How many have you had?”
I refused to answer Jack’s question but kept my eyes on the beer glass in front of me. I tried to drown him out by focusing on the loud beats of the music at the Bar Reunion. His hand started to ruffle my hair while a kiss touched my forehead. I didn’t want his pity or his company.
“Who wrote the letter Jack?” I asked looking over at him, tears prickling at the back of my eyelids, “Why are you taking it personally?”
Jack bit his lip and stood up, “I should take you home,” He turned his back on me. That was the last straw, I was sick of him keeping secrets from us, even if I knew him more than most there were things he still kept from me. It wasn’t just Gwen that got frustrated. The empty glass stared back, taunting me with a small voice. Without thinking I flung my hand out. As the glass hit the floor it certainly grabbed Jack’s attention.
“You don’t know what I go through at night, the fear, the pain, the appreciation that I now feel for this person. His letter got me hooked Jack and now I’m scared I’ll end up as him, slicing people’s heads and leaving a record for someone to find......”
“I understand Ianto,” he interrupted calmly, “But I.....”
“Can’t or won’t is that it?” I yelled again, feeling more frustrated, my head started to pound, my gut twisted inside me. I had never felt like this for a long time “I’m going out of my mind Jack.”
“I’m sorry Ianto,” He apologised and just walked away.
Arms folded around my waist, soft lips touched my neck. I refused to open my eyes as hands started to feel around. A familiar scent of cinnamon lingered on my nostrils. He was here with me, the man that I loved, the same person who had walked away from the bar. We hadn’t spoken in three weeks but he insisted on staying at my flat.
Right now all I could hear was the rain, the thunder....
...and a voice telling me to wake up.