Music leaked out of Clara's headphones as she stirred in her sleep. The three-day journey from her most recent hide out had drained her of energy. She was constantly on the edge. Even after ten months of going completely undetected she couldn't help but be on the lookout everywhere she went.
"Next stop is Kings Cross station," a loud voice boomed over the old train's speakers. All around her people began to pick up their coats and bags and head towards the already crowded exits.
"Shit!" she gasped, jolting awake suddenly. The woman sitting next to her quickly put her arms around her child protectively and gave Clara a strong, disapproving stare.
Quietly, she mumbled her apology before beginning to gather up what little things she had with her. The key to being on the run was travelling light. That was what she had always been told. You needed to make sure that it would be easy to pack up and move on to somewhere safer if the time came.
For the first time since she had left the country to go on the run, Clara stepped out onto the dark yet busy platform. She had taken the latest train available in the hope that it may have been a little quieter than the others.
Slipping through the bustling people with ease, she found a quiet place to sit whilst everyone left the station. Clara dug her hand into the pocket of her skinny jeans and began fishing for whatever change she could find. She didn't need much, just enough for a quick phone call to her dad.
After her mother died when she was a teenager she had found herself getting into the wrong crowd. Suddenly, instead of studying for an exam she would be hanging around in the streets until three in the morning. At first she used to be afraid of what would be outside at that time of night, and then she gradually learnt that she had become the thing that people were afraid of.
Her friends did this for the thrill of it; for the chance to scare a woman that was walking home late on her own. But Clara was different, all she wanted was answers. Day and night she would pester everyone she knew about her mum's death. No one knew how she died, and if they did then they wouldn't tell her.
That was when she met Jack- a long time member of the secret organisation 'Torchwood'. He gave her answers to everything she was curious about and more. But the more Clara knew, the more questions she had. It quickly got to the point where she would do anything to get what she wanted.
At eighteen years old, Clara already had a growing criminal record that ranged from shoplifting to possession of a lethal weapon. She acted tough but being naïve was her downfall. Manipulating her was easy. People told her that they had answers but they came at a price. It was much easier to force someone else to do your dirty work than to do it yourself; especially if they believed that they would gain something at the end.
Ten minutes later the platform was cleared and Clara made her way towards the tattered pay phone towards the exit. Inserting her carefully counted coins, she tapped her foot and keyed the phone number into the machine.
"Hey hey, it's Clara. I want to see Ellie, okay?" she said, even though in her heart she knew she wouldn't be allowed. "Well that's not fair, is it?"
Another woman had walked onto the previously empty platform now. Even through her dad's loud lecture that was coming from the other end of the phone her sobbing could be heard. She placed herself at the edge of the pavement, looking over at the cold and empty tracks.
"Can I at least speak to her?" Clara retorted persistently. She ran her hand through her long, dark hair that was hanging messily down her back. Not long after her dad had started another rant, the line went dead.
"Hello?" After fumbling in her pockets for even the slightest bit of change, she gave up and slammed the phone back down onto the handle. Her heavy bag was lifted back onto her shoulder as she began to wander down towards the other woman.
Almost ritualistically, the stranger knelt down in front of a sign and put her bag on the floor. Her shoes were next as she removed them and laid them down delicately next to her bag. Stifled sobs could be heard when she finally stood up again and looked up at Clara with red, tearstained eyes.
For a moment, Clara found herself unable to believe what she was seeing. All she could see was her own face looking back at her. Despite the different hairstyles and outfits, they were identical in every way shape and form. Her mind raced with hundreds and thousands of questions, each one more desperate to be answered than the last. Not one of them was ever answered though as not even a moment afterwards the stranger swiftly turned away from Clara and headed towards the tracks.
Without a second of hesitation she stepped off the pavement and into the path of the oncoming train. Clara rushed forwards, only to be held back by two official looking men.
"STOP THE TRAIN! STOP THE TRAIN!" A man in a fluorescent jacket shouted as he ran out onto the platform. As the train steadily grinded to a stop, a crowd began to gather around the edge of the tracks. Beneath them, the mangled body looked up with glassy eyes.
Clara's attention quickly turned to the unguarded bag that had been left behind by the woman. Even though something inside her that she may as well have been grave robbing, she couldn't help but snatch the bag up and slyly stuff it beneath her arm before running off. The clothes that the woman had worn hadn't looked cheap - an obvious indication that she had money, and that was exactly what Clara needed right now.