"Yes. A woman with short dark hair and hazel-green eyes, about 5.5'', quite slim and athletic-looking. She was wearing black trousers and a red top. She should be injured too, even if it won't be noticeable at first sight," Gwen said, pacing up and down the Hub and talking on the phone. "No, I don't know what her name is, Andy; she's just a runaway that we need to question." She paused, listening to Andy. "Okay, thanks. Call me if you find her." With that, she hung up and turned her gaze to Jack.

"Well?" he asked.

"He said that they will keep an eye out for her."

Jack nodded. Ever since the team returned to the Hub, they had set themselves to work in order to find out anything considering the woman by the name of Aline Adler. Jack had contacted Martha and sent her the blood sample he had recovered from the burnt clothes. Though Martha had assured the former Time-agent that she would send him the test results and her deductions in less than an hour, Jack hadn't felt like remaining idle. So, he kept himself busy in any way he could, supervising Ianto and Gwen.

"Ianto, tell me what you've got," he said, walking up to the younger man's workstation.

"I had another look at the wedding announcement," Ianto replied. "Apparently, her last name was Jones."

"Now that's a rare name," Jack said dryly.

"I know. So, I dug a little further," Ianto said. "Apparently, she declared that her date of birth was on January 13th, 1966, and her father's name was Adam. So, I searched through any birth certificates that coincide with that data."

"And?" Jack asked, hopefully.

"And it appears Aline Jones is another alias," Ianto said. "There are no women by that name who were born on the particular date."

Jack pursed his lips. More lies then. Where did this web end?

"Okay, that's simply not possible," Gwen said. "She couldn't have come out of nowhere!"

"If she is an alien stranded here, she'd better not try and seduce either of you to get into Torchwood," Jack stated in a matter-of-fact tone. His eyes widened in the next moment, however, for it was then that the thought crossed his mind. Aline had said that her grandmother worked in Torchwood. That, and the nagging feeling that he had seen Aline's face somewhere before, was enough to make Jack realise that they had found their next clue.

"Ianto… where do you keep the files of the old Torchwood agents?" he asked.

"In the computer," Ianto said. "They've been there for the last two years."

"Good," Jack said. He instantly sat at the desk, typing on the computer swiftly.

"Jack, what are you trying to find?" Gwen asked.

"I'll tell you when I find it," Jack replied, and he left it at that as he focused on the screen.

Just then, the Hub's communication frequencies opened with a loud whistle.

"Jack, it's Martha."

"The voice of a nightingale," Jack replied, still typing. "So what's the verdict, doc?"

"Well, you were right, it is blood," Martha said. "But that's not why I called you."

The former Time-Agent stopped typing. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, I did the DNA profiling, and the blood matches with the third, unknown human who was at the scene of the crime."

"No surprise there," Jack commented.

"There's more to it," Martha said. "I didn't see it before because I was looking at the DNA sequences rather than anything else, but, Jack… this is amazing."

"What is it?"

"Blood contains amino-acids that create the proteins needed to perform all the chemical reactions in an organic body. Those chemical reactions are responsible for an organism's metabolism, which, in turn, determines the longevity of a body. The higher the metabolic rate, the longer a body lives."

"And what you found is?" Jack asked.

"Jack, the basal metabolic rate in these two blood samples is the highest I've ever seen in my life. In fact, it's higher than any other living creature on Earth by far."

Jack frowned. "I thought you said that it was human blood."

"Yes, that's the amazing part," Martha said. "If my readings are correct, this human will be able to live hundreds of years without aging. They're a moving, breathing fountain of youth!"

Jack felt his eyes widening. Was that even possible? If that were true, then that meant…

"Martha, I'll get back to you," he said, turning off the Bluetooth and typing on the keyboard, until he found what he had been looking for; a file dating from the late 1940s… and the face of one Alice Hapgood, looking back at him from the photograph. A face identical to Aline Adler's.

"Oh, my god, Jack…" Gwen breathed out.

Jack couldn't have agreed more to that.


Aline walked out of the Internet shop, checking the printed list with the names of about twenty pet shops, including their addresses. There were more pet shops across Cardiff, of course, but she had narrowed down her search to the ones who sold shock-collars with dial up settings and, thankfully, that simplified matters. More importantly, one of the pet shops was quite nearby, so she could start her search from there and then continue on.

As she walked down the street, however, the unsettling feeling of a pair of eyes locked on her made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Granted, it was more of a gut feeling rather than anything else, but, in the 3,000 years of her existence, she had learned to trust her instincts. If she were being followed, she would teach her stalker how bad an idea that was.

Keeping her eyes open, she spotted a large window shop across the street. Checking to her right and then her left, she walked straight towards it with eyes scrutinising her reflection… and of the man who was walking behind her. She clenched her fist and walked on, acting as if nothing was wrong, and then she stood in front of the window. Though she gave the impression that she was looking at a dress, she simply waited for the man to get close enough to surprise him.

She didn't have to wait for long.

"Excuse me, do you have the time?"

"The time? Yes, of course," the man said, looking at his wristwatch. "It's quarter part three."

Relaxed posture, unstrained smile, calm voice… No, just a passer-by, she decided and then smiled. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome." And the man continued on his way.

Aline supposed that he was fortunate; she could have ended up hurting an innocent person. Sighing, she resumed looking at the window in an absentminded manner. Maybe she was being paranoid.

All such thoughts vanished into thin air the moment that her eyes caught sight of another reflection across the street; that of another man, very thin, probably in his early twenties and wearing filthy, ragged clothes. Aline decided that he had the looks of a typical drug-addict who lived in the streets, and yet he was now staring at her. And it was no idle look that someone casts upon seeing something of interest, no. He had practically fixed his eyes on her, watching her every move.

Right. Taking a deep breath, she started walking away, keeping her gait casual and unburdened. As soon as she saw a small narrow alley to her left, she tossed her rucksack behind the garbage cans and then climbed the water-pipes as quickly as possible. The metal creaked slightly under her weight, making her wince; but they held her for now. All she had to do was just wait.

The man appeared soon afterwards, panting slightly. It was obvious that he had run after her the moment that he saw her entering the alley.

"Fuck…" he muttered, looking in every direction. "Where the hell did she…?"

It was the perfect time to strike. Letting go of the water-pipes, she landed straight to the man, throwing him on the ground. Such was the man's surprise that he didn't even get the chance to fight back as she pinned him down, holding hands behind his back and one of her knees against his spine.

"Fuck! Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean anything by it! I just wanted your rucksack!" he cried. He tried to get up but it was impossible. Her grip wasn't only tight, but also painful as hell.

"All this trouble for one rucksack? I don't think so," Aline replied, her voice resembling a growl. "What's your name?"

"What?" the man exclaimed.

"Your name. Now."

The man swallowed hard. "Peter. Peter Hobson."

"Well, Peter, Peter Hobson, why were you following me?"

"I wanted to rob you!"

"Nice try. There was man with a briefcase who looked like he had more money in his wallet than I," she hissed. "Now out with it, or I'll break every bone in your body and leave you here to rot! Something tells me you won't be missed."

"I'm not a snitch, okay?"

"True, you're a corpse." She tightened her grip and got ready to dislocate the right shoulder.

"Fine, I'll talk!" Peter exclaimed.

"Good boy," Aline said, yet she kept her tone cold and threatening. "Start talking."

"It didn't mean anything!" Derek said. "I just wanted some money, so this bloke came up to me and said he'd give me two hundred quid, and all I had to do was follow you and steal your rucksack. He said it was just a harmless prank!"

"An expensive prank, if you ask me," Aline said. "What did he look like?"

"Who?" Peter asked dumbly.

"The man who hired you!" Aline said, tugging the arms forcefully behind his back, making him cry out. "Don't try my patience. It's already wearing thin enough as it is!"

"Alright, alright!" Peter couldn't help but tremble now. "Tall, wiry man, late thirties, blue eyes, auburn hair, sounded like a Londoner… but that's all I know, I swear!"

"You had better be telling the truth," Aline said, "Or I swear that I'll hunt you down and chop your head off." The smell of urine reached her nostrils, making them twitch. It didn't take a great mind to guess that Peter had just wet himself. "That's right, Peter. You only have one life. If you value it, you will go home and never look back." She pressed a foot against his back. "Count up to thirty. Don't get up till then or I'll break your neck. Understood?"

"Yes. Up to thirty. Not earlier."

"Good. Now start."

"One, two, three, four…"

By the time Peter had reached number ten, Aline had grabbed her rucksack and taken off. Her search had just gotten a lot easier.

TBC...