Okay, this was not supposed to be the next chapter. This is a lot like chapter ten – completely spontaneous, bordering random, but it had to be done. It needed to be done. I started writing it and realised that I should have had this chapter in mind in the first place. It's a good thing I thought of it, really. I would have had too much background to cram in to later chapters if I hadn't written this. (BTW... nekst chap already finished!) Anyway, onward; before I give too much away!

Disclaimer: I only own Theresa, some Converse, all the other OC characters in this fic, and, to an extent, him. By the end of this, you'll prob'ly have guessed what I mean by 'him.' Lyrics belong to Evanescence. Don't own anythin' else.

Long lost words whisper slowly to me
Still can't find what keeps me here
When all this time I've been so hollow inside
I know you're still there

Watching me, wanting me
I can feel you pull me down
Fearing you, loving you
I won't let you pull me down

-Haunted, Evanescence

Chapter Twelve; Phantom's Game

The surface of the water rippled, teased by a small breeze. Leaves drifted in the makeshift current, floating calmly and delicately; they hardly disrupted the surface of the water as they meandered by.

Rose stared down at her reflection. The gentle ripples distorted her appearance, stretching and condensing her reflected image. She observed the distant, far-away look in the eyes of her reflection, remembered the words he'd spoken to her that day.

She'd only spoken to him twice – rather, she'd only heard him speak twice. Both meetings had lasted only seconds, moments. Neither time had she possessed the chance or tongue to say a single word; he always disappeared like a ghost, a phantom. It was like he didn't exist, only a figment of her imagination. But there was proof each time that he was real.

Rose had been walking. Not headed anywhere in particular – simply walking. It had become a habit of hers, the only way she felt she could escape the cramped box that was the Tyler Mansion. Even in the vast, open rooms of the house, Rose found herself feeling closed in; it was like there wasn't enough air, not enough space for her to breathe, much less think. Eventually, after months of dealing with the strange claustrophobia, Rose had started walking. Walking seemed to appease her craving for open space, allowing her mind freedom from whatever atmosphere thickened the air of her own home.

It had been evening, she remembered. The air had been chilly, temperature dropping in time with the sun. Her mind had been wandering, roaming through memories and thoughts as it usually did.

And then she'd seen him.

Five Months Prior...

He is standing about thirty feet away, leaning against the brick wall of an old building. His mouth is turned up into a small smile, eyes trained on her. She becomes locked in his gaze, mind faltering at the sight of him. At first she thinks her imagination has gotten the best of her, fuelled by vivid memories, but his smile grows when she meets his eye. She realises that this is no hallucination.

Her heart sputters, but then speeds up, pulse quickening. Her breath catches in her throat and she becomes immobilised; but then her legs are moving again and she is walking towards him, closing the gap between them. She stops but a few feet away, mind numb. The world becomes silent, as if she has stepped through a barrier that blocks all outside sound from her ears.

He smiles wider, but does not move; his hands are in his pockets and he stays leaning against the wall. She stares up at him, thoughts hazy, almost confused. She wants to reach out, to touch him, to make sure he is real, but her body does not respond to her brain. Instead she is locked in his gaze.

She says his name. It is hardly more than a breath, nearly lost to the chilly wind. His smile widens even more and he stands away from the wall; removes his hands from his pockets and leans over so his mouth is at her ear.

"Look deeper," he whispers; his breath teases her hair and brushes against her ear. She cannot move, but can feel his hands, solid and real, take one of her own. He leans back enough to look at her; his eyes meet hers for a single heartbeat. Her eyelids flutter closed as he presses a drawn-out but feather-light kiss to her lips.

He pulls away, releases her hand; her mind is hazy for a moment. She opens her eyes again, but finds herself staring into empty space.

He is gone.

Finally able to move, she looks all around her, but he is nowhere. Vanished, not even the flap of a coat to show he'd ever been there in the first place. Lifting a hand to her mouth, the feel of his touch lingers on her skin. She can still feel the air-soft brush of his mouth against her own, the solidness of his hands enclosing hers. But whether this is proof of his existence or hallucination, she does not know.

As she becomes fully aware of her surroundings again, she feels something pressing against the palm of her hand – the hand he had been holding. Looking down, she uncurls her fingers, revealing a small, folded slip of paper. A slip of paper he had left in her hand. A slip of paper that proves he was real.

She turns it over in her hands, unfolds the tiny parchment with delicate fingers. Inside she finds a single, handwritten sentence. She memorises it, reading it over and over; her eyes trace the curvy, slanted letters.

Pools of glass and groves of stone – deep inside I wait alone.

She closes her fingers around the paper and turns toward the Tyler Mansion. The sun has already dipped below the horizon.

Present

Rose swirled her fingers in the cool water, disturbing the smooth, glassy surface. The memory was still fresh in her mind, vivid and clear. She still had the slip of paper – stowed away in the wooden jewellery box on her office desk, along with all the other notes he'd left. There were five in all, each serving as a clue that always led her to him.

It had been obvious to her after the first few weeks that this was a nothing but a game. Each time she found him, each time he slipped away. If it hadn't been for the notes, she would be convinced he was nothing but a ghost of her memories; her own personal phantom. Even then, she wasn't entirely sure he was real.

She was now sitting in the exact spot where she had found him after solving his first riddle.

Rose had spent two weeks attempting to calm her mind over what had happened that day. The fist week, she spent most of her time trying to forget the incident, hiding away the little slip of paper and ignoring the steady stream of 'what-ifs' being produced at the back of her mind. What if he really had been real? What if he was back? Her mind would flitter back to the two words he whispered in her ear – "Look deeper." But she had fought herself every moment of the day, losing herself in Torchwood paperwork to keep her mind busy. It was like she had been afraid to hope, afraid that she would only end up disappointed.

But by the end of the first week, Rose had started going mad; she hadn't been able to withstand the nagging in her mind any longer – so she gave in. She dug out the piece of parchment-like-paper and set to work, trying desperately to figure out what the riddle possibly could mean.

In the end, her weeklong search came to a halt when she discovered the Cardiff Reflecting Gardens. The Gardens harboured a collection of round, stone pools surrounded by towering, maze-like hedges and stone overhangs that created shady, covered areas to sit beneath. There were bunches upon bunches of flowers bordering the pathways, and vines clung to the stone pillars like hundreds of narrow fingers. The very centre of the Gardens was the location of the pools themselves, and they sat in a clearing of sorts, bordered by the tall hedges and forests of colourful plants and flowers.

Rose had headed to the Gardens immediately, pushing the feeling of nervousness and unease from her mind. She hadn't known if he would even be there – again, if he was even real at all – but she had supposed that if he would be anywhere, it would be at the Gardens. After all, it had been the only thing that had matched his description, and she had thought it was best to give it a go.

By the time Rose had come upon the reflection pools, her confidence had increased considerably. She hadn't even bothered looking around when she arrived – somehow she'd known that she wasn't meant to find him – he would be the one finding her.

And he did come to her. She had been sitting on the edge of one of the stone pools, staring down into the water; his reflection appeared beside hers. She remembered that he had been wearing the same blue suit as the first time she'd seen him, but instead of a tan coat, he'd worn a dark one that she'd never seen before; it fluttered and flapped in the ever-existent breeze. Rose had stood and faced him.

She remembered standing very still – not because she couldn't move, but because she didn't trust herself of her own reaction. Rose still hadn't been sure if he was real – even after all her consideration, her mind had still harboured doubt. So she had stood there, stiff and unmoving.

He'd stared down at her with his familiar brown eyes, but Rose remembered catching glimpse of something... wrong in his expression. Something she still couldn't place, even now. He'd greeted her, voice low. She had barely been able to speak, managing a soft "hello" in response.

Rose could recall almost every second of their encounter.

"I see you deciphered the riddle."

No answer. He gestures all around him, grinning.

"What do you think? I supposed it would be a… calm setting for us to meet."

She finally works up the tongue to reply, but her voice is still soft as she stares up into his eyes. "It is quiet," she says, hesitates before continuing. "Why – why did you want me to come?"

"To see you, of course." He speaks as if she's just asked him if the sky was blue, still grinning. Rose doesn't know what to make of his reply, staring up at him with almost no expression.

"Don't you see?" He goes on, smile fading only slightly. "I came for you." He takes both her hands, leans down to be to her eye level. Rose looks down at her hands in his, trying to convince herself that his touch is real, that he's real, that she isn't being consumed by her own imagination. He seems to misread her actions and gently releases her hands, sliding his own into his pockets. She almost objects, but no sound comes out of her mouth.

"Unless, of course, you don't want to see me." His brows furrow a little, a familiar expression that briefly causes her stomach to flutter. She wants to say that of course she wants to see him, but her mouth falters again. Instead she can only manage a short objection.

"No, it's just…" Just what? She thinks.

After a short silence; he straightens and takes a small step back, eyes taking on a sad glimmer.

"It's all right," he says; Rose realises he is backing away. "I understand."

He flashes an almost mischievous smile, and before she can react he is striding away, heading toward the labyrinth of trees and plants. Rose's breath catches in her throat as her mind catches up with her body. She finds herself running after him, trying to call out, but her mouth doesn't connect to her brain. He's already disappeared into the maze of hedges, coat flapping out of sight; Rose rounds the edge of a tall bush to see him already at the end of the passageway. He flashes a grin over his shoulder, catches her eye for a split second.

She swears he starts walking faster.

Almost frantic now, she hurries down the pathway and turning the corner; she's just in time to see him turn left at the fork in the path, catching glimpse of his long dark coat flapping around the corner. She doesn't want to lose sight of him, doesn't want him to disappear; her conscience is striving to maintain every shred of proof he exists, and she can't bear the thought of him vanishing again, even if he was only imaginary.

Suddenly he's standing at the end of the next pathway, grinning broadly at her. She stops, breathing harder than normal; but his grin grows wider, and he trots around the bend again, disappearing behind the tall, wall-like hedges.

And Rose finally realises what he's doing.

He's toying with her. He's leading her somewhere.

She's running even faster now, but somehow he manages to always be just a flash around the corner, a glimpse at the end of the maze-like pathways. But suddenly she stops again, skidding to a halt. The path has split in three directions, and she hadn't seen which way he'd gone. She stands there, studying the split, trying to determine which way he might have gone; there was no pattern to his path, she already knew that much.

Rose takes a tentative step towards the split, moving slightly towards the path leading left. Maybe he'd gone left.

A twig snaps softly from somewhere behind her; her spine prickles. She can already feel his breath on her neck by the time her mind makes the connection. She's frozen, rooted to the spot. His breath is at her ear and she feels his hand brush against the side of her hip, near her jeans' pocket.

"Tag," he whispers. "You're it."

And then she hears the brush of the wind in his coat and the rustle of leaves on the ground. She knows this time that he is gone.

Rose turns around; staring at the spot where she knew he'd been standing. There is no sign of him, just as before. He's like a ghost, yet able to vanish at will. He is her personal ghost, a phantom brought into being by her imagination. Rose's hand goes to her jeans' pocket; she's only half surprised this time.

She gently pulls the little slip of paper from her pocket and lifts it to the light of the sun.

Rose memorises the words, crumples the paper, and shoves it deep into her pocket before turning back around to find her way to the exit.

Present, again.

Rose remembers how she had finally put all the pieces together after that day in the Reflection Gardens. The shards of facts she had collected were enough to form a considerably sized mirror. She found that, after she put those shards together, realisation stared back at her through the eyes of her reflection. And she knew – knew what she had become caught up in.

It was nothing but a game. A game she didn't know the rules to, a game she was only just beginning to understand. It was his game, and he was the master.

Every time it had been the same. Every time she found him, he slipped away, leaving cryptic notes and riddles in his wake. But Rose was beginning to play by her own rules – yet in that moment she'd tried to tranquillise him, the look in his eyes told her that he had known, from the very start, that she would learn the tricks to his game.

Rose now felt, perhaps from the last time she'd seen him, on the balcony of the church, that he was already changing his rules. The last note he'd left was no cryptic riddle; it was simple and straightforward, and that only made its meaning all the harder to believe. Rose un-crumpled the note in question; catching the still-sweet smells that wafted off its surface. She stared at the four words, eyes tracing the letters.

I want the Wolf.

There was no mistaking what he could have meant by the Wolf. But that was what Rose couldn't understand – the Bad Wolf was gone. The Doctor had taken it away, all those years ago, and she had never told anyone but her family about the Bad Wolf…

He'd given her the slip three times before Rose had finally made up her mind that he was real, not just a figment of her imagination. But at the same time, she knew it was not the Doctor – not her Doctor, anyway. She also made up her mind that she was going to do whatever it took to find out who he really was and why he wanted her. Why he wanted the Wolf.

But Rose had no leads this time, no little riddle or clue to where he would be. It was why she was here again, sitting in the Reflecting Gardens. She was almost glad he'd shown her this place; it was wonderfully quiet, almost secluded. And it was escape from work, from Torchwood. Most of all, it was outside, and she found that it was easier for her to think when she was outside, in open air.

Rose had hoped that coming here would be of some inspiration to her. She had come to the Gardens to think about where he might be headed next, if anywhere; but instead she'd ended up thinking through her memories. She stared down into the water, studying her gently rippling reflection as if she would find the answers there, as if there was some secret hiding deep beneath the surface of the water, just waiting to be discovered. But if there really was anything to be found beneath the reflective surface of the pool, Rose had not found it yet.

All she knew was that she was going to find him again. She was going to find out who he was, why he wanted her, and how he knew about Bad Wolf. She didn't care what she had to do in the meantime, as long as it happened.

The shrill ringing and vibration of her cell phone, tucked inside her jeans pocket, interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she pulled it out and flipped it open, studied the caller ID. Torchwood.

She held it to her ear, listened to the frantic voice at the other end of the line. Her eyes widened and her heart sped up.

Rose was on her feet and running towards the exit before her agent had finished his first sentence.

...

Dun-dun... dun? Hehe. Cliffhanger. I loves 'em.

Soooo, whatcha think? Who is he? What does he want? How does he know her? I would LOVE reviews, and just a reminder, the nekst chapter is COMPLETELY COMPLETE! Yes, that was redundant. And look! I don't care! Woohoo! (Cake!)

Bye! -Dots