Skypoint

ELEVEN

Owen was angry with himself over what had happened with Toshiko. She was a good friend. When it came down to it she was in fact the only good-looking female he had ever been friends with that he hadn’t screwed.

Maybe that was his problem. Owen had known for years that Toshiko wanted to go to bed with him, and for years he had taken an almost perverse delight in denying her. By the time he’d got over that he had actually started to feel too close to her – he hadn’t wanted to screw things up between them and almost inevitably that was what sex would have done. But things were different now with Toshiko, he knew.

She loved him.

He had heard her tell him that after Copley’s bullet had put a hole in his chest and after Jack used that frigging resurrection glove to bring him back for a few minutes – but before they realised Torchwood was going to be stuck with a walking corpse on the payroll.

I love you.

Not many women had said that to Owen, fewer still that meant it. And none that had known him as well as Toshiko did. Even the woman he had been going to marry hadn’t known him that well – after all, that had been a different Owen Harper; that had been before Torchwood.

And maybe that was what got Owen so angry.

Maybe he could have been happy with Toshiko. If he hadn’t been dead.

Life was shit. And so was death.

Ten minutes after she left the apartment Owen decided to go and look for her.

He took the elevator. And went up.

The twenty-fourth floor was something special. It wasn’t every apartment block that had its own high-rise park. At least, that was how SkyPoint’s designers had seen it. They called it SkyPark.

The elevator doors opened onto an open area that had been laid out with plants and trees growing in pots. They hadn’t gone so far as carpeting the floor in artificial turf – thank God – but there was a good-sized pond with koi flickering just below the surface. There was even a small kids’ play area and what Owen guessed was going to be a coffee stall (he thought they probably wouldn’t get the franchise sorted out until the building had rather more residents).

As he stepped out of the elevator he was pretty sure that Toshiko wasn’t there. There were a few hidden corners to SkyPark, isolated by walls of potted bushes, but his senses told him straight away that he was alone up there. After all, all but a few of the building’s apartments were still empty, and it was a nice day outside – the odds were all against a busy day on the twenty-fourth floor.

There was always something strange about a park when it was empty, he thought, as he crossed the floor towards one of the benches that had been set to look out across the city below. He guessed it was like any normally busy public place that you came across deserted. It felt eerie and wrong. Like Oxford Street or Times Square in some post-apocalypse movie. He passed through the play area and pushed the small roundabout. It made a quietly oiled sound that was somehow disappointing – he had wanted it to make a sound, to squeal like a banshee or something. Something to add to the surreal feeling of the place.

‘It won’t go very fast.’

The little voice in the empty park made Owen jump.

He saw the little girl from across the corridor on the thirteenth floor. She was peering at him from behind one of the big tree pots. Owen walked towards her. She was sitting with her back to the pot, a big book balanced on her drawn-up knees.

‘Alison. Right?’

‘Alison Lloyd,’ she corrected indignantly.

Owen smiled and wondered if the girl was playing him. He asked her what she was reading. If she told him it was a book, then she was playing him.

‘Fairy stories,’ she said.

Owen crouched down. Maybe it wouldn’t feel quite so strange talking to a kid in a playground if he was kind of the same height. Next to her on the floor was some kind of pixie doll, faded and worn. It looked like the kind of thing that kids sometimes inherited from their parents’ old toybox. It looked like it had had a hard life; it had lost one pointed ear and a bright green eye. But the little girl loved it; it looked like she had been reading to it before Owen disturbed her.

‘Which fairy story?’ he asked.

‘Rapunzel,’ she told him.

The story of a golden-haired girl locked in a high tower. She didn’t seem to see the irony of it. Why would she? Did kids get irony at six, or whatever she had said she was earlier.

‘Mr Pickle likes it.’

It looked like Mr Pickle was the doll. Pickle the Pixie. Why the hell not?

‘Do you play with the other kids up here?’ Owen asked, casting a glance around him, wondering where Alison’s mother was.

‘What other kids?’

‘There aren’t any other kids living here?’

‘Not yet. Mum says there will be one day.’

‘Must be a bit lonely.’

Alison shrugged.

‘Did you have plenty of friends where you lived before?’

Alison frowned. ‘Don’t remember.’

See, this is why you don’t get on with kids. Always playing bloody games. And what the hell are you doing squatting on the floor with her like this? When her mum shows up what sort of a pervert is she going to take you for?

Owen got to his feet, feeling the child’s eyes on him. He couldn’t make up his mind if they were suspicious – maybe she already had him down as a perv (kids these days grew up too quick; maybe they had to) – or somehow betrayed, like she didn’t want him to go.

‘What sort of accident did you have?’ she asked.

She was looking at his hand again.

‘I shut it in a door,’ he lied.

‘That was stupid.’

Not so stupid as breaking your own finger to prove a point. That was stupid when you were alive, when a walking corpse did it and the damage was never going to get fixed – now that was really stupid!

‘Yeah,’ he admitted.

‘I had an accident,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘A car hit me and Mummy, and I died.’

Owen felt oddly like the world had just shifted around him. Not by much, just a couple of disorienting degrees. Just for a moment. He knew the feeling, it had happened to him before. The first time had been when he saw the thing that had been living in his fiancée’s head: the alien parasite that had killed her, the thing that had led him to Torchwood. The last time he had felt it had been when Jack had brought him back from the dead and he had realised what he was. It was the feeling that the world was never going to be the same again.

She wasn’t dead like him, he understood that. She had been hit by a car and either paramedics had got her heart going again at the scene or she had died for a few seconds later in the operating theatre. Either way, she had been to the same place he had. She had seen the same thing he had, she had felt it. And if his tear ducts had worked he would have wept for her. Inside, he cried anyway.

‘What happened?’ he asked, his voice little more than a whisper, and he found that he was crouched down with her again.

Alison looked at him, and it didn’t feel like he was looking into the eyes of a child, yet her voice was without drama, matter-of-fact: ‘Do you mean the accident, or after?’

‘Oh, there you are! Alison, I’ve been looking all over the place for you!’

It was her mother. She was crossing the strange twenty-fourth-floor indoor park towards them.

Owen automatically got to his feet and smiled at Wendy Lloyd.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Hello again,’ she said.

She smiled, but it wasn’t quite the same as before, when she had turned up on the doorstep. The smile was pulling against tension. Nothing strange in that, Owen thought: you find your daughter in a lonely park talking to a stranger (and some of the worst strangers can live just over the road from you). What mother wouldn’t be a little tense?

‘How many times have I told you to stay out of the tunnels, Alison. They’re not safe.’

Alison held up the pixie doll like it was his fault. ‘Mr Pickle says they’re pixie tunnels, and I’ll be safe with him.’

Owen was confused. ‘Tunnels?’

Wendy shook her head, despairing with her daughter. ‘The ventilation ducts. She just loves playing in them. I mean, it’s not like they’re that big or anything.’

She shifted her look from Owen to Alison as a warning. ‘I swear she’ll get stuck in there one day, and we’ll never get her out.’

She looked back at Owen, annoyed with her daughter but managing a smile. Compared to the dangers out in the big wide world, this they could really handle. ‘We keep taping the duct covers up, but she just peels it off and gets through.’

Owen smiled, and looked at Alison. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much, another six months or so and it probably won’t be a problem.’

Alison was going to grow out of her fascination pretty fast.

‘If I haven’t turned grey by then,’ Wendy said.

Alison folded her book under her arm and took her mother’s hand. ‘I was telling Owen about my accident.’

Owen saw the smile on Wendy’s face falter and die and she swung the child up into her arms. It was a protective motion, but Owen wasn’t sure that she was protecting Alison from him.

‘You know we don’t talk about that, Alison,’ she said to the child. Then she looked at Owen. ‘It’s a time in our lives we’d rather forget about.’

She and her husband had nearly lost their little girl – had lost her for however short a period – who wouldn’t want to put it behind them? Owen nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘One reason we moved to SkyPoint,’ Wendy said. ‘No cars running past the front door.’

‘Guess not,’ he agreed and looked around him at the area that had been designed for the SkyPoint community to relax in without fear. ‘It certainly is quiet.’

‘That’s the way we like it,’ said Wendy, and carried Alison away to the elevator with her.

Owen watched them go, and thought about Rapunzel.