Surprise, everyone! It's an early posting!

Chapter 11: The Resurrectionists

resurrectionist: noun, one who steals bodies from graves in order to sell them for dissection; a body snatcher

Edinburgh, Scotland, 1828

Will sat in an armless chair before a scuffed wooden table, staring bleakly down at the tin cup of water the constables had given him before they had vacated the room. It was a small room, hardly much bigger than his cell, with a single, tiny high window through which chaotic flashes of lightning filtered through, illuminating everything, sapping the wood and stones of all their color. Will waited with his hands fidgeting in his lap, waited for the imposing figure of Black and the unknown Scott to appear. Waited for some sort of news of his fate.

Such a wait was murder.

Sometime later, there came a cacophony of noise from the hallway outside the interrogation room. The shuffling sounds of footsteps, the echo of a pair voices: raised, arguing, parrying back and forth. One of them belonged to Black. Will caught snatches of words carelessly tossed back and forth from behind the door:

"...hands are tied, Alex..."

"...I don't care what Boyle says..."

"...it won't stand in court..."

"...Knox is just as bad, all the anatomists up on the hill are..."

Will's head perked up at the mention of Robert's name, and he felt a sudden sense of cold wash over him. What if all the things that he and Burke had done had somehow incriminated Robert, had somehow gotten him into trouble with the law? Will's heart began racing in his chest, its beats low and fast like a highland drum, as the door to the room was suddenly pushed open, and Black and Scott stepped inside.

Archibald Scott wore a tailored suit of fine gray wool with a cream colored cravat and a whimsical checkered kerchief sticking out of his left breast pocket. His face was open, amiable, and composed entirely of circles. Black, in contrast, was still in his dark, unadorned long coat, his face grim, its planes made up of a series of triangles-Scott's geometric opposite. Scott sat down directly across from Will, whereas Black took a seat far off to the right, as if he didn't wish to be anywhere near Will. Again, there was that distinct feeling of disgust, of animosity, emanating from the man, radiating like heat from an open flame. It was as if he could barely stand being in Will's presence.

And in response, Will felt himself shrink into his chair a little.

Scott placed a dossier of papers on the table before him and said, in conversational tones, "Good afternoon, Mr. Hare. My name's Archibald Scott. And how have they been treating you here, hmm? Well, I hope." Scott craned his neck and looked into Will's cup. "Let's see what we can do about scrounging up some tea, shall we?" Then, in a loud voice aimed at the doorway: "Andrews, can you please see about bringing a tea tray in here for Mr. Hare and Mr. Black and myself?"

There was a scuffling noise outside the door and a muttered, "Yes, sir, your honour."

"There's a good lad." Scott turned his attention back to Hare, his smile indulgent, benevolent, like a priest before an altar. "Well, Mr. Hare, it seems that you've gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, yes?"

"I don't know, your honour."

"Ah, but I know. I know that there is the possibility of some serious charges being laid at your doorstep." Scott paused and took one of the sheets from his dossier. "There is the matter of the disappearance of James Wilson, for one. And now two others. Mary Patterson and Elizabeth Haldane." Scott looked up at Will, waiting for a reaction.

Do not react, do not react, do not react. Will labored to remain perfectly still as the familiar names were read out, as he felt Black's piercing gaze burning a hole through his head from across the table.

The benevolent smile returned to Scott's face as he looked down at his papers. "You're not so very old, are you Mr. Hare? Your age is, what? One and twenty?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your associate, Mr. William Burke, is more than fifteen years your senior?" Will merely nodded, unsure as to where Scott was headed with these facts. Then: "I suppose, with Mr. Burke being so much older than yourself, that he might have been able to...exert a certain amount of influence over your actions. Yes?" Scott looked at him pointedly.

"I don't know what you mean, sir."

The door creaked open, and the constable with the tea tray entered and sat it on the table before Scott. Scott looked delighted. "Ah, let's see what we have here," he said, as he lifted silver lids. "Ooh, and biscuits, too! Bless you, Andrews." Scott watched the constable perform a curt bow before backing out of the room. All the while, Black was as still as stone.

Scott began preparing his tea, talking as he did so. "What I mean, Mr. Hare, is that we of the judicial system are not unfeeling, unsympathetic creatures of the law. We have it in us to understand the failings of our fellow man, to understand that mistakes are possible, even inevitable. No one is perfect. And you are a young fellow." Scott's silver spoon chimed merrily as a bell as it clinked against the side of his cup as he stirred in his milk. "What I'm saying is, we believe that it is quite possible that Mr. Burke may have led you into doing things, into committing acts, that you otherwise, left on your own, would not have done. Is that not correct?"

The spoon went silent, and Scott allowed the words to hang in the air, tossed out like a proverbial lifeline.

Will stared at Scott in slight disbelief and answered, somewhat hesitantly, "That is correct, your honour, sir."

Scott nodded at his tea cup. "Just as I suspected. So would you say then, Mr. Hare, that if it wasn't for Mr. Burke's influence, you would not be sitting here taking tea with myself and Mr. Black right now. Is that not so?"

Take the lifeline. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Scott nodded again. "And what would you say, Mr. Hare, if I told you there was a very simple way out of your little predicament. And one that would satisfy both yourself and justice's conscience all at the same time?" Scott's expression turned serious. "What I'm asking you, young man, is if you would consent to turn Crown's evidence against your associate-"

"-Archie!-"

"-Alex!" Scott hissed in warning across the table to Black. Will was startled by the familiarity of their exchange. He was surprised at the tense, mirroring expressions on the two men's faces. "Alex, this must be," Scott all but whispered. The two men glared at one another across the table, and Will watched as Black's jaw visibly clenched in anger, before he dropped his head in defeat. Then Scott turned his attention back to Will, back to the conversation at hand, and the words that fell next from Scott's mouth were as heavenly, as miraculous, as the words voiced by a choir of angels:

"Mr. Hare, if you are willing to agree to turn Crown's evidence against your associate, Mr. William Burke, and testify against him in court, then we have it in our power to grant you full immunity from prosecution underneath the law. Full immunity, you understand. Do you accept this proposal, young man?"

It was as if the golden light of heaven had washed itself down over him, as if fate had finally decided to smile upon him, and Will finally saw an end to what had been an intolerable situation, an end to all his grief and despair and powerlessness. An end to Burke. And so he said the only thing he could say in his situation; just a single word:

"Yes."

Edinburgh, Scotland, 1829

The wind howled and raged like an angry banshee out for revenge, shaking the gabled rooftops and rattling the limbs of trees all throughout the streets of the tiny town of Dumfries. It was just past nightfall, and a small, creaky coach was making its way up the dusty, dirt-lined road which lead into the village, its precarious bulk pulling up to a stop outside a little tavern known as the King's Arms Inn. A tiny crowd of people disembarked there, hurrying out of the cold and into the glowing, welcoming fires of the tavern's interior. The only person left outside was a single passenger, and the only one who had been sitting on the outside of the coach. He disembarked slowly, waiting as all the other passengers moved past, moved on to settle inside the inn. Once alone, the mysterious traveler dropped down to the ground, the wind snatching at the woolen ends of the long dark cloak and hood he wore as protection against the elements, its drapery also providing him with a necessary, and blessed, anonymity. Under the welcoming cover of night, the passenger moved towards the golden, lamp-lit entrance of the inn, his steps soft, almost silent, as he emerged into the glowing sphere of the tavern's swaying, flickering lanterns. At his feet, a twisted sheet of paper fell, tumbling like a rogue bale of hay across the dusty road, tossed there by the force of the wind. The man bent to pick it up, revealing the front page of a newspaper, its headline announcing, in big, bold letters:

MORE THAN 30,000 SPECTATORS TURN OUT FOR EXECUTION OF EDINBURGH MURDERER WILLIAM BURKE AT LIBBERTON'S WYND!

The passenger's eyes skimmed over the headline. Finished, he allowed the paper to drop, to be carried off into the cold arms of the night on the wind's relentless power. Then he turned and pushed his way through the inn's doorway, wrenching back his hood to reveal dark blond hair and blue eyes. Inside, William Hare's nervous gaze raked over the unknown denizens of the inn, his thoughts now thoroughly occupied by what was on the front of that newspaper.

Burke's trial had been a lurid, chaotic spectacle. It had gone on to become Edinburgh's own personal form of entertainment, its own version of bread and circuses, the details of which had been splattered across every newspaper and broadsheet and penny page hawked by sellers in every corner of the city. The trial itself, which ran for twenty-four hours straight, had been pure torture. Both he and Margaret had testified as key witnesses against Burke, and both of their names had been dragged through the proverbial mud, along with everyone else's who had been even remotely involved with the horrid events of the past year. Robert Knox's name came up frequently, and there had even been talk of a possible indictment for the good doctor. Fortunately, such a thing never came to pass. That didn't stop an enraged citizenry, however, from burning his likeness in effigy in the square, from calling for his head on the block, or from smashing out all of the windows in his beautiful Surgeon's Square home. Will himself had to be protected from the mob by the force of the town militia, remaining cloistered within a cell at the High Street police station until his release. And even then, he was smuggled out of the building in the dead of night, escorted by Fisher who placed him, hooded and cloaked, on a carriage out of town.

It was impossible for Will to remain in Edinburgh. His face was too well known, too well hated. And yet he had dared on this night to venture as close as the village of Dumfries, had dared to turn his course away from his prior destination of Ireland, to slink, like a bandit, back into the dregs of this small border town.

And the reason for his change in destination waited in the corner...

"Will, over here."

Will turned to find the figure of Dr. Robert Knox seated discreetly in a far-off corner, far away from the intrusive, flickering light. The doctor's hands and face were luminous against the backdrop of his pitch-black clothes, his spectacles flashing like fireflies in the dark. Will couldn't keep the eagerness out of his steps as he quickly went to join his lover at the small table; he could barely restrain his need to throw his arms around the other man, even though discretion forced him to keep his distance, forced him to keep his arms by his sides. Will found himself smiling his first real smile in months, as Knox reached out to take his hand beneath the table.

"My dear, Will. Did you not believe me when I said that I would not abandon you?" the doctor asked softly.

"I-I wasn't sure. Not until I got your message at Portpatrick." Will swallowed as he choked out his words. He felt his eyes glazing over with unshed tears, as he tried desperately to hold back a flood tide of emotions that had been dammed up inside him for months. "I didn't think...I didn't think, after all that had happened, you would still want me-"

Will felt Knox squeeze his hand reassuringly beneath the table. "Of course I still want you, Will. How could you doubt it? There is no one else." Then: "I love you, you know. And I want you to leave here with me. We can go away together. To London, perhaps. Or Paris."

Will dropped his head at Knox's proclamation, the delivery so heart-felt and sure. The tears he'd been valiantly trying to hold back finally spilled over, the dam of his emotions completely broken open by those three all-important words. "I love you, too, Robert. It's just that after all the trouble I caused, after all the pain that I've brought you-"

"Shh...there now! It wasn't only pain that you brought me, Will," the doctor said stoically. "All those subjects that you brought me, they weren't for naught. Not at all." And here the doctor shuffled forward, his tone conspiratorial, almost confessional, as he said:

"I think I've finally found it, Will. The thing that I've been searching for since my days in South Africa..."

Will's head jerked up in surprise at those words, as he remembered the details of their private conversations, all those secret desires and wishes whispered to one another in the dark. Robert's secret dream: the reason for all the dead bodies and the research and the experimenting. Will hesitated, and then he whispered, "Are you certain?"

Knox nodded vigorously, the light on his glasses covering his eyes. "I've done it, Will. I have it. It's mine. Ours..." Knox paused meaningfully, then he whispered:

"I have found the secret to immortality..."

Edinburgh, Scotland, Present Day

"I'm not Ianto..."

The captain's body went as still as frost as Will pulled out the needle and tossed it aside. He crawled off the couch, stood, and regarded the man on the sofa. Beautiful. Perfect. He reached out a hand, touched the planes of the sleeping man's face, his touch one of desire, of reverence. Absolutely perfect! It was hard for Will to turn away, to leave the sleeping man there; the pull of the captain's body on his own was incredibly strong, almost ridiculously so. Ah, the mysteries of chemistry at work. Reluctantly, Will turned his gaze away from the unconscious man's face, his mind returning to the task at hand.

The interloper had to go...

Will reached inside the slumbering man's coat and pulled out the revolver he knew was hidden there. He hoisted the gun, clicked off the safety, and made for the door. Frown lines of determination contorted his features, gave his face the look of anger. His footsteps echoed loudly down the hallway as he approached the elevator, and the man who was waiting there.

The Doctor had to go. There was no way he was going to allow him to interfere...

The Doctor was standing by the elevator looking a bit lost, with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He perked up the moment he saw Will. "Ah yes! Ianto! Where is-oh! Whoa!" The Doctor's eyes turned dark as they alighted on the gun, which Will lifted and pointed directly between his eyes. Despite having a loaded gun drawn on him, the Doctor said, almost nonchalantly, "I take it you're upset about something?"

"I want you to leave. Now," Will stated flatly, and he began to back the Doctor slowly toward the elevator. The Doctor had his hands raised, had his eyes trained on the barrel of the gun, and he said, calmly, "Uhm, are you sure you don't want to talk about this first?"

"No. Stay away from Jack," Will answered coldly, threateningly. "And don't come back here. Ever." Once he had the Doctor inside the lift, Will slammed the cage-like door shut and hit the 'up' button. His eyes regarded the Doctor's coldly through the metal grid as the elevator creaked its way back to the surface. After he heard it shudder to a stop, Will went around to the maintenance box, flipped open the lid, and cut the power to the lift entirely. There. No more of your meddling...

Will clicked the safety back on the gun and tucked it into the back waistband of his pants. Then he turned and went in the opposite direction of the lounge, toward the room with all the TV monitors. Smiling, he pushed open the door and went inside. Sitting before all the flashing screens was Albert Ferguson, his eyes trained on the various scenes. Without turning he said, "Did you do it?"

"Yes," answered Will, as he came up behind the other man and entwined his arms around him. "Harkness is sleeping like a baby. He never knew what hit him. Your plan was perfect, Robert."

Knox snickered. "Harkness is a fool. And he's going to pay for it. With that wonderful, undying body of his. Among other things." Knox turned in his chair; he took Will's face in both of his hands and said softly, "I must say, the body of his young associate looks good on you, Will. It suits you. I couldn't imagine a more perfect match."

Will smiled. "We'll be a perfect match, once it's all done." He bent down to kiss Knox softly on the lips. It was different from when he had kissed Harkness; there was a definite zing! with Harkness that wasn't nearly as strong as with Ferguson's body. "I can hardly wait," said Will giddily.

"Then let's not wait," said Knox. He got up, and shoving his hands way down into the pockets of his duster, made for the doorway.

"Let's go see about getting me a new body..."

End Chapter 11.

Thanks to all of you who have been kind enough to comment on this story! Your encouraging words did wonders for my flagging motivation. And since it is unlikely I will have any writing time next week, I will try my best to knock out 2 chapters during this one...