Torchwood: outside the government, beyond the police. Fighting for the future on behalf of the human race. The 21st Century is when everything changes -- and Torchwood is ready…
The light passing through the gaps of the boarded windows lit the room like a kaleidoscope. Shadows cast in unnatural shapes hiding behind them secrets of past times and worlds long forgotten. The smell of old damp wood filled the room and dust had collected in thick layers over shelves, book pages and cultural ornaments. The sound of water drops hitting the splintered floorboards and metal pans complimented the deep silence that occupied the moments between each drop like a prepared orchestration.
There was a presence however, but it wasn't in this room. That did not stop him searching through every drawer and every shelf. The print of his hand now a mark in time left in the collected dust. Each step he made conflicted with the perfect marriage of water drop and silence and he felt as though the walls were aware of it and they were not pleased.
Gently with his fingertips, he pushed the door open leading into the next room. The hinges were old yet strong but let out a whine of discontent as it let him through. The presence was strong in this room. He could feel it in his veins, flowing through him.
He stopped and silence followed him. The sounds of the next room could not be heard, he had entered an unnatural void between time and space, between life and death.
Perched on an old wooden desk was an electric fan. No electrical power had been through these walls in a very long time, yet the fan turned ever more. Cast between the light and the shadows was Captain Jack Harkness and his eyes had found what they were looking for.
Next to the fan was an old manual typewriter. The lettering on the keys had not only faded, and they keys had not only gathered dust, they were also fingerprinted in blood.
The blood was dark and dry and the typewriter was old and fragile and had not been used in a more than a decade. The ink on the paper was still wet.
He studied the letter carefully not wanting to overestimate or underestimate or misunderstand it's meaning, but its meaning was simple.
The letter simply read:
"The Eternal Captain who seeks the heart of Grace, look no further than the lily on the water"
The Captain turned his gaze to a pewter box, sitting on the floor by a half eaten stool. He bent down low and grabbed it. The box was now dull looking where it had once looked shiny and new. There was a embossing on the lid, a lily floating on a lake. Just below was an engraving: "To my darling Lydia".
The Captain's pulse was beating with the sound of drumming erupting from the pewter box. He flipped back the lock, and opened it up. The drumming now louder, reverberating off the walls until he was completely engulfed by it. He opened his eyes to find inside a bloody and still beating human heart.
T O R C H W O O D