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Authors: Trevor Baxendale
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trigger. That all took a good three seconds. Sorry.’
Jack waved the excuse away. He found it difficult to speak and his mouth tasted like he’d been sucking batteries.
‘Just sit there and get your breath back,’ Ianto advised.
‘I took the charge too, you know,’ Jack complained. He felt suddenly, ridiculously old, and he knew it would be a minute or two before he recovered properly.
‘Well, there I did have to be careful,’ admitted Ianto. ‘I set the voltage to disable Kerko but not you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Fish are more susceptible to electric shocks than humans.’
‘Is that a fact?’
‘Well, more of an educated guess, actually. But I’ll check it for you later if you like.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Jack forced a grin. ‘Three seconds , huh? Not bad.’
‘What do you want done with him?’ Ianto nodded at the fallen Blowfish. A dark stain had spread across Kerko’s pants where the surge of electricity had scrambled his autonomic reflexes and caused his bladder to void.
‘Back in his cell,’ Jack said. ‘And don’t clean him up.’
FIFTEEN
It was just starting to rain again as Ray and Wynnie got on the bus. It was full, so Ray ended up sitting a couple of seats away from Wynnie.
Her mind was in a whirl as the bus rumbled away from the stop. She couldn’t look out because the windows had steamed up with all the damp passengers crowded inside and she found her gaze resting on the back of Wynnie’s head.
He dotes on you.
To her amazement, Ray found herself looking at Wynnie properly, perhaps for the first time. He wasn’t good-looking, not a bit of it, but you couldn’t honestly say he was ugly either. He was a bit funny-looking, actually, Ray realised. His ears stuck out through the blond dreadlocks, and his face was a bit too long and angular. But there was something about Wynnie, something beyond what he looked like, that made Ray feel relaxed and happy in his company. But she didn’t fancy him. She couldn’t fancy him.
Wynnie looked around, sensing her attention, and smiled.
She looked away, forcing her mind onto other things. The funeral cortège. Gillian. What was it all about? What had Gillian seen? Could it really have been the same thing that Ray had witnessed? How could it have been?
A mile or so further on and the bus had emptied a little, and Wynnie came to sit next to Ray. ‘Not far now,’ he said. ‘Next stop.’
‘You definitely know where this Black House place is?’
‘Yeah. I thought everyone did.’
‘I’m not a local, remember.’
‘I know, but we try not to hold that against you.’
‘So what is this Black House thing anyway? A pub?’
‘No way. I think it used to be a church, or part of one, a long time ago. You can still see where the graveyard was, but I think the actual building is empty or demolished.’
Ray shivered. Her vision had suddenly filled with a memory of the church she had glimpsed through the trees last night, where the funeral cortège had been. Could that have been the Black House?
Then she remembered the casket. And what was inside the casket.
Stop. Don’t even think of it.
‘Do you think it’s got something to do with your visions?’ Wynnie asked.
‘They’re not visions!’ A couple of people looked up sharply at this, and Ray hastily lowered her voice. ‘They’re not visions. I saw that funeral cortège. I saw the pallbearers and a. . . coffin or casket. I saw them.’
‘But there’s no cemetery at the Black House, not any more. Why would a funeral cortège go there?’
‘Don’t ask me. But that’s where Gillian says she saw it and that’s where she’s meeting us.’
‘OK.’ Wynnie rang the bell and stood up. ‘This is our stop. Come on.’
They got off the bus and stood in the rain for a minute. Wynnie fiddled around with the collar of his jacket until he had managed to extract the foldaway hood. He put it up and tightened the drawstring. Ray didn’t know whether to be ashamed of him or
Jack waved the excuse away. He found it difficult to speak and his mouth tasted like he’d been sucking batteries.
‘Just sit there and get your breath back,’ Ianto advised.
‘I took the charge too, you know,’ Jack complained. He felt suddenly, ridiculously old, and he knew it would be a minute or two before he recovered properly.
‘Well, there I did have to be careful,’ admitted Ianto. ‘I set the voltage to disable Kerko but not you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Fish are more susceptible to electric shocks than humans.’
‘Is that a fact?’
‘Well, more of an educated guess, actually. But I’ll check it for you later if you like.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Jack forced a grin. ‘Three seconds , huh? Not bad.’
‘What do you want done with him?’ Ianto nodded at the fallen Blowfish. A dark stain had spread across Kerko’s pants where the surge of electricity had scrambled his autonomic reflexes and caused his bladder to void.
‘Back in his cell,’ Jack said. ‘And don’t clean him up.’
FIFTEEN
It was just starting to rain again as Ray and Wynnie got on the bus. It was full, so Ray ended up sitting a couple of seats away from Wynnie.
Her mind was in a whirl as the bus rumbled away from the stop. She couldn’t look out because the windows had steamed up with all the damp passengers crowded inside and she found her gaze resting on the back of Wynnie’s head.
He dotes on you.
To her amazement, Ray found herself looking at Wynnie properly, perhaps for the first time. He wasn’t good-looking, not a bit of it, but you couldn’t honestly say he was ugly either. He was a bit funny-looking, actually, Ray realised. His ears stuck out through the blond dreadlocks, and his face was a bit too long and angular. But there was something about Wynnie, something beyond what he looked like, that made Ray feel relaxed and happy in his company. But she didn’t fancy him. She couldn’t fancy him.
Wynnie looked around, sensing her attention, and smiled.
She looked away, forcing her mind onto other things. The funeral cortège. Gillian. What was it all about? What had Gillian seen? Could it really have been the same thing that Ray had witnessed? How could it have been?
A mile or so further on and the bus had emptied a little, and Wynnie came to sit next to Ray. ‘Not far now,’ he said. ‘Next stop.’
‘You definitely know where this Black House place is?’
‘Yeah. I thought everyone did.’
‘I’m not a local, remember.’
‘I know, but we try not to hold that against you.’
‘So what is this Black House thing anyway? A pub?’
‘No way. I think it used to be a church, or part of one, a long time ago. You can still see where the graveyard was, but I think the actual building is empty or demolished.’
Ray shivered. Her vision had suddenly filled with a memory of the church she had glimpsed through the trees last night, where the funeral cortège had been. Could that have been the Black House?
Then she remembered the casket. And what was inside the casket.
Stop. Don’t even think of it.
‘Do you think it’s got something to do with your visions?’ Wynnie asked.
‘They’re not visions!’ A couple of people looked up sharply at this, and Ray hastily lowered her voice. ‘They’re not visions. I saw that funeral cortège. I saw the pallbearers and a. . . coffin or casket. I saw them.’
‘But there’s no cemetery at the Black House, not any more. Why would a funeral cortège go there?’
‘Don’t ask me. But that’s where Gillian says she saw it and that’s where she’s meeting us.’
‘OK.’ Wynnie rang the bell and stood up. ‘This is our stop. Come on.’
They got off the bus and stood in the rain for a minute. Wynnie fiddled around with the collar of his jacket until he had managed to extract the foldaway hood. He put it up and tightened the drawstring. Ray didn’t know whether to be ashamed of him or
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