A/N: Thanks again to everyone! Here's the next chapter! Doesn't actually mention Torchwood, but it's vital for events to come. So stay tuned…
CHAPTER 3
The sky above Cardiff was picturesque: clouds of pale vermilion interwoven amongst the diluted crimson background. A lone figure, that of Detective Inspector Maurice Beaumont, stood and looked out across Britannia Quay.
"A beautiful evening," he agreed to himself.
Maurice could often be seen in this particular spot; that is, if anyone else came here. It was why he loved it: tranquillity and isolation. Such an atmosphere could allow him to reflect on the day's events with a clear mind: seven reports of theft, four of break-ins and two of murder. The hectic life at the station was becoming too much for him in his old age; his legs were not as young as they once were, and a desk-job just didn't have the same satisfaction as going on the beat. Neither did it help that the headache, which had been lurking behind his eyes all day, was getting progressively worse. Maybe a new prescription would help...
Maurice was 64, and was looking forward to his well-earned retirement the following year. He and his wife Agnes had contemplated a little house by the sea, with a patch of garden for growing runner beans and tomatoes and a little cat called Sprout…
In 2007, Agnes had become seriously ill, the plans being put on hold as Maurice postponed his retirement to pay the medical expenses. The following year, Agnes passed away and Maurice, being at a loss of what to do, delved into his books, barely coming up for air. He prided himself in his vast historical knowledge; a subject that he loved and had always been good at. Perhaps, when he finally retired, he could become a tour guide at Cardiff castle; Agnes would have liked that.
"Agnes…" He dashed a tear from his eye, and continued his slow walk along the pavement, just as the sun was preparing to fall behind the horizon. Unbeknown to Maurice, who had lost himself in thought, a shadowed shape had just come into vision at the end of the road, gliding silently towards the hobbling old man. It advanced, nearer and nearer, until…
"Oh!" yelped Maurice, clutching his chest. He took deep, heavy breaths. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there! No one ever comes down here, see; you gave me a fright!" He looked up and paused. "Sir?"
There was no reply. Instead, a long, arm-like shape elongated and levelled itself against the crown of Maurice's head. The form, vaguely humanoid in shape, was neither solid nor translucent and appeared to flicker slightly with each movement.
Oh God, he thought, the pace of his breath quickening. "Y… you can have my wallet! I haven't anything else of value!" He was visibly shaking now.
Material possessions mean nothing to us. A second shape now emerged from behind the first, its arm raised also. However, the voice did not appear to come from either; it was as though the voice existed in Maurice's head alone.
"What… what do you want?"
Your mind…
"My what…?!" he choked.
You possess great knowledge of this planet. This we require. Our bodies are weak and must restore to full capacity. You will remain stationary…
Maurice looked on in horror as four tendrils uncoiled from the arm and plunged into the sides of his head, the second form mirroring this action.
He could neither run nor scream; his body was no longer his own. Excruciating pain ripped across his head, whilst white lights filtered through his vision.
All feeling had gone now; his physical body was still there, although nothing remained of Maurice Beaumont. Having lost everything, he let the darkness wash over him, and allowed himself to be dragged under into the black abyss.
Death had arrived.