MISS COOPER

Miss Cooper:Chapter 4:Part 1

Bilis Manger

Disclaimer: Only the Gelbin is mine.

Author's Note: Oh I've missed this. I really have, I've missed writing this sooo much. It's really good to be back. Properly, this time! In a Doctor-style voice Did you miss me? My exams are finished now (YES!), though I've still got to do school work...start my new courses and all that drivel. This story has been neglected for long enough, so here's my much-needed update. As I did with the last chapter, chapter 4 is in two parts; largely because yes, they're rather long and this bit ends on a...oh you'll find out! Just a quick reminder; the plural of 'Gelbin' is 'Gelbi' and at this point, Gwen doesn't know anything about the labs or P40; she's the only one still in the dark. Poor Gwen. Now, on with the story!


When she was a child she used to hate going upstairs on her own at night. Even if her mum turned the landing light on for her she'd still feel wary and nervous and would creep up the stairs like a little shadow with a coat hanger or a hairbrush held out in front of her to use as a weapon…just in case. She'd step into her bedroom quietly, and then skitter forwards to check behind the door to see if there was anyone hiding there.

Then, she'd pull out her dim, toy torch from underneath her pillow and get down on her hands and knees to check underneath her bed, peering into its cave-like depths and reaching out just to make double-sure, rolling dust balls beneath her fingertips. Next came the curtain check. She'd fling her curtains aside with enough force to pull them off their rails to see if there was anyone lurking behind them.

Finally, she would pull open both of her wardrobe doors to check that there was no one crouched beside her green frog wellies and scuffed school shoes, hiding in the folds of her clothes. She did this every night without fail. Not because she was scared of child-eating monsters and slimy aliens like the rest of the girls of her age, but because she was afraid of burglars. Afraid of strange, frightening men wearing balaclavas creeping around in the darkness wielding clubs and baseball bats.

She couldn't consciously pin point why she used to behave in such a paranoid manner, why she used to stand there in the living room and fidget with the arm of the settee whenever she was told to go to bed, until her mum or dad would eventually grow tired of her restlessness and would disgruntedly trail upstairs with her, a reassuring hand on her small shoulder. It was perhaps no surprise then, that Gwen grew up to be a police officer, reveling in getting kitted out in riot gear and kicking doors down during drug raids, or racing around Cardiff's streets, blood pounding in her ears in pursuit of the scummy criminals she'd been so afraid of.

Now though, as she forcefully checked behind the heavy door, a stale pungent smell clinging to her nostrils, she knew that it wasn't her many years of police training suddenly switching on, or even all her invaluable experience she'd gained at Torchwood influencing her; it was something else. It was her old, childhood uneasiness kicking in. Something about the feel of the air in the room made her feel acutely afraid.

No matter how angry she was with him, she almost wished she had not been so cruel in her dismissal of Jack's offer to search Ty Enfys together, just so that she would have somebody beside her. She stood in the middle of the room with her gun pointed at the bed and the large mound underneath the bedclothes. The room was tidy and modest; similar to a room you might find in a motel. The carpet beneath her trainers may well have been a rich and luxurious green at one point, but was now thin, faded and stained. There was a cheap-looking ply board wardrobe that stood in the corner, with a matching unsteady bedside table, decorated with a yellowing, off-white doily.

Though she tried to avert them, Gwen's eyes picked out two photographs in pewter frames that stood proudly on the bedside table. One was an old black and white one, showing a pretty woman wearing a fancy lace veil trimmed with ribbons, standing next to a tall thick-set man in a military uniform; taken on their wedding day during the second World War, judging by their clothes.

The second photo was a modern, coloured one of the same woman; she had the same pointed face and glittering eyes, yet she had obviously aged by at least sixty years. Her face was sunken, her cheeks hollow and her white hair was thin and wispy. Standing or sitting around her were three middle-aged women, who were sisters by the looks of it, and beside them were about seven girls and boys, aged roughly between the ages of eighteen and three. Her children and grandchildren, evidently; they all had similar characteristics. The tall man from the first photo was conspicuous only by his absence.

Gwen tore her eyes away from the photos, feeling that she had no right to look at them, not when the subject of the photographs, the woman who had regarded them so dearly that she kept them by her bedside, was lying dead beneath her bedclothes.

She would have to check; horrible though the prospect was, she had to be sure, and it was her job, what Torchwood had been called out for. She owed it to Andy and to all the other grief-stricken relatives of the poor patients that had been attacked.

Swallowing her nerves, Gwen took a reluctant step towards the bed, and with a sweaty hand, gripped the covers and pulled them back…

What she saw chilled her to her very stomach. She seemed to be watching herself from above; she saw her face drain of what little colour it already had, watched her fingers slacken on her gun as it plummeted to the floor, watched her knees buckle as she stumbled to the door and was terribly sick in the plastic bin.

Acid burning her throat, tears of shock and convulsion streaming down her face, she wiped away a trace of sick from her mouth with the back of her hand and, rather unceremoniously replaced the covers, pulling them up roughly so she wouldn't be able to see the awful, awful body any more, but it was pointless.

It was like blowing hot air into a stale room, she could still see it in her mind's eye; it was etched across her consciousness. Feeling disorientated, her legs shaky, as if she'd just got off a waltzer, Gwen stumbled out of the room and into the corridor outside, where she slammed the door and leaned heavily against it.

Beneath the sheets had been the most disfigured, mess of a body that she'd ever seen in her life. Up until now, she'd thought that nothing could ever be as bad as the bodies they'd seen at Brecon Beacon last winter; that she'd seen the very worst that Torchwood could possibly throw at her…she'd been wrong.

The remains of that old woman were…indescribable. When she'd died, she'd been wearing a white floral nightie, which had been partly destroyed; covered in white-tinged gloopy liquid. The skin of the woman's torso had been loose and free, with the appearance of rotten banana skin. It clung to her bones, like melted wax, but her collarbones and ribs had cracked through her decomposed skin; white spikes peeking through perished, liver-spotted flesh.

As for her face; it had gone completely. All that had been there were the shards of the back of her skull; the front, her nose, her eyes…they had all been reduced to bloody powder. What was left of the human being on the bed was unrecognisable from the woman in the photos. The worst, most unforgettable victim she'd ever encountered. There wasn't a word strong enough to sum up Gwen's feelings. Pity? Shame? Fear? Revulsion? None of them could even hope to do her justice.

Closing her eyes, she breathed heavily in through her nose, out through her mouth, willing herself to remain conscious and not to be sick again. She gave herself a mental shake, scolding herself for falling apart and flicked her fringe out of her eyes, which was sticking to her forehead with perspiration.

"Stay focused", came a nagging voice at the back of her mind, which sounded suspiciously like Jack's. "I'm trying," she thought to herself, somewhat angrily. Nevertheless she obeyed the voice, and pushed herself off the wall. Jack had said that there'd been multiple murders…ten of them at least. Would all of them be in the same state? How had the Gelbin got in and where was it now? So many questions coursed through her mind. In this job, it was necessary to expect the unexpected. She'd had to learn to cope with all the frightening, alien situations that entailed with following a man like Jack Harkness.

She was good with pressure, she wasn't one to normally lose her head but this…this case she now found herself working on; this was something entirely different. She was in an empty, smelly run-down old nursing home, that didn't look fit to house cattle never mind ill pensioners, surrounded by decomposed bodies. Bodies of defenceless old people who had been murdered by aliens. Well, the 'alien' part wasn't completely unfamiliar to her; she dealt with aliens every day.

What set this case apart from all the others was Jack. In every other situation they'd known, or had at least half an idea of what they were dealing with. They'd had Jack to lead them, to act as their moral compass, to cajole them. This time, Jack knew more than he was letting on, and it made her feel uneasy. The thought that he'd been lying to them, to her especially upset her even more than she could consciously describe.

It was like he didn't think they were worthy of his trust. Her angry bitterness at Jack's betrayal threatened to overwhelm her again, and she had to really concentrate on not losing her temper and letting out a furious scream. Yet screaming would do no good, crying wouldn't help in the long run either, she realised, balling her fists and beating out a fast, tense rhythm on the door behind her. She had to stay brave, stay in control…the sooner she checked the rest of the rooms in the East Wing, the sooner she could report back to Jack and she could go home. She didn't care about de-briefing and security protocols and unsettled arguments…all she wanted to do was go home, to sit and cry in the bath or to down half a bottle of wine, curled up on the sofa…

In a fatigued, half-defeated trance, Gwen inched down the dank corridor and came to the next door. It was a laminated wooden door, smeared with the mucky fingerprints of its thoroughfare, identical to the first one. Feeling more resigned to the possibility of what she was about to see than apprehensive, Gwen pushed open the door and went inside, a large shiver, like an electric shock coursing through her as she passed through the doorframe, and for a moment she felt extremely dizzy.

However, her dizzy spell passed as quickly as it had come and she decided to ignore it, taking in her surroundings. This room was even smaller than the last. There was an imposing wardrobe with mirrored sliding doors in the corner and a split wicker table acting as a bedside table, that looked as if it belonged in a jumble sale, rather than in somebody's bedroom, beside the bed, which was decorated with a rather moth-eaten old blanket bearing a loud, orangey-brown garish pattern; the sort that had been popular in the 60's.

The atmosphere in the room was just as still and sad as it had been in the other room. Death and loneliness seemed to cling to every atom; it caused the hairs on the back of Gwen's neck to stand on end. The sad feeling of foreboding was so great; it was as if someone was silently watching her.

Her breath catching in her throat, Gwen approached the bed slowly, her hand creeping to her lower back, once more reaching for her gun. It was not there. With a jolt, she remembered that she'd dropped it in the previous room, and in her haste to get out, to get away from the terrifying corpse she'd left it there.

However, the prospect of finding herself unarmed in a situation where a mysterious, sinister alien had been running amok did not daunt her as much as it normally would have done. She didn't need to feel the smooth, cold metal in her grip to look beneath the covers; didn't need to be armed to know that she'd find a digested body wrapped up like a mummy in the knots of its moth-eaten, holey duvet similar to the one she'd come across in the first room.

Gwen was about to turn on her heel and leave when she'd spotted it; a knobby, wrinkly hand peeking out from the bedclothes and flopping towards the floor. Her eyes softened. Whose ever room this was, the patron had been robbed of every ounce of dignity they had possessed. The mere fact that they'd been a resident at Ty Enfys meant that they'd probably been suffering from dementia, or had at least been too old and frail to be able to take care of themselves properly. Unable to take a shower by themselves, unable to cook for themselves, unable to make decisions; they were adults, but they were as dependent as the youngest of children.

If that wasn't undignified enough, they'd died alone, without the love and support of their families and carer's around them, with no one to hold their hand, to share their last moments. They'd been killed during the night by an alien. An alien who had ravaged their bodies so that they would be no longer even recognisable to their families…and it was Torchwood's fault. However hard she tried to escape it, Gwen couldn't shake off the guilt-ridden feeling that Torchwood was responsible. It was their job to protect the human race against alien threats and yet this time…they hadn't. They hadn't been able to prevent the deaths of these residents; they hadn't carried of their job properly. Torchwood had failed. Again.

Unaccountably ashamed of herself, of Jack, of the rest of the team and the supposedly benevolent institute she worked for, Gwen stepped forward. The least she could do was give this poor person a shred of respect. They didn't deserve to have their dead limbs hanging out of the bed like a poorly trussed up turkey. She felt that it was only decent, only right to tuck the person's hand back under their quilt, like a child being tucked up at bedtime, yet in this case…their sleep was eternal. Extremely gently, and taking great care not to disturb the rest of the body, Gwen grabbed a hold of the old person's dead hand. The skin felt papery thin and soft as satin; arthritic and covered with age spots.

Yet…it didn't feel brittle and limp as it should have; it felt sturdy and strong, and rather than it being ice-cold, it felt surprisingly warm. It was only when the warm, firm hand enclosed in hers gripped back that Gwen let out a loud, piercing scream...


As an ex-police officer, and with Jack as her mentor, Gwen prided herself on the fact that she was a woman who wasn't easily taken advantage of and manipulated. She was bolshy and quick; when it came to breaking up pub brawls and street attacks, she had been fairly adept at defending herself. Working for Torchwood, she wasn't afraid to sock a good punch, and was perfectly capable of standing on her own two feet, as she hoped she'd demonstrated at lunchtime back at the Hub. If the situation called for it, certainly she wasn't afraid to put up a physical fight.

Yet, all the police defence training in the world, and hours upon hours on the firing range with Jack could not have prepared her for what happened next. It was beyond even what Torchwood could have taught her.

Quite without warning, she found herself in the middle of the room with her hands pinned behind her back in a vice-like grip; her ear com ripped out, her mobile along with it.

Unknown hands had twisted her wrists into an unnatural position, sending shoots of pain through her upper arms and shoulders, her wrists aching. She mewled like a kitten and tried to shake herself free, but the hands were too strong.

"Good afternoon, Miss. Cooper," said a smooth, oily voice in her ear. Hot breath misted over the back of her neck, causing shivers to run down her spine. She knew that voice; she would recognise his soft, clipped tones with his impeccable cut-glass English accent anywhere. This was the man who had killed Rhys, the same chillingly calm man who had brainwashed them and caused them to open the Rift, to unleash his God, who had destroyed and maimed half of Cardiff. The man with the sinister smile.

Bilis Manger.

"You!" she shrieked, accusingly, doing her utmost to wriggle free from this cold, terrifying man. How had he managed to overpower her? One minute she'd been bending over the body on the bed, like a benevolent nurse, the next she'd had her arms wrenched behind her back. Surely she was better than this?

Furious with herself, she began to stamp, kick and writhe…Jack and Own would have been proud of her ferocious display. Anything to get away from him. He terrified her; he made her skin crawl. A fresh tide of dread washed over her; nothing good ever came about at the arrival of Bilis Manger. In his wake, he brought death, suffering and destruction like ominous old friends. Last time, Rhys had died, Jack had died…Cardiff had fallen apart. She could not, would not let it happen again.

"Jack?" she shouted, pleadingly, in her distress forgetting that she was still furious with him. She couldn't afford to be petty and childish, she realised, swallowing her pride and annoyance like a bitter tablet. If Bilis Manger was here, then she needed Jack; they needed to work together.

She could scream and shout and rollick him until her throat swelled later. Now, though she hated to admit it to herself, she needed his help. With Ianto dealing with the public, and Toshiko and Owen patrolling the grounds, only Jack would be able to hear her. That is, if he was still in the building. She'd been rather cutting as she'd walked away from him to search the East wing. It would be just like Jack to take himself off on his own to lick his wounds and nurse his hurt pride.

"Oh yes, your gallant Captain," murmured Bilis, stale breath tickling her ear. "Tell me, has he murdered any more deities? Of course, social courtesy also begs me to enquire after your fiancé, Mr. Williams. I trust he is in better health than the last time?"

Bilis was standing directly behind her, so she could not see him properly. Yet she knew he would be wearing an immaculate pinstripe suit, silk cravat and neatly slicked back silver hair. The image of a perfect gentleman; dapper and well presented. In spite of his pale eyebrows and yellow-tinged skin she had an awful feeling that he probably wasn't as old as he seemed. His strength was too great, too powerful to be that of an old man. Come to think of it, she wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't as human as he looked either.

With this evil man, anything was possible.

"What do you want?" she spat, ignoring his references to Jack and Rhys, still struggling to free herself, but she was succeeding only in making her arms hurt; her eyes were watering with the pain.

"My, my," he said softly, " You really are quite a spirited young lady." Ever so slightly, he loosened his bruising grip on her forearms and slid his fingers ever so delicately down to her wrists. Lightly, almost tenderly he caressed her pulse points with his thumbs, and Gwen felt herself still, in spite of her sense of panic. An overwhelming feeling of calmness drifted over her and she felt her legs go numb. There was a quiet ringing in her ears as she felt the fight go out of her, and she stopped resisting, her body going weak in Bilis' grasp.

"That's better," said Bilis. "I was beginning to grow extraordinarily tired of your fighting."

"What do you want?" she repeated, bitingly. Her body may have given up on her; she felt dazed and shaky, as if she'd just been clobbered over the head with a frying pan, (no doubt this was Bilis' doing) yet her mind, and certainly her tongue were as strong and sharp as ever.

Bilis bent close to her, so close that she could smell the mustiness of his skin. "Torchwood," he said, simply.

Gwen let out a cold, sardonic laugh. " Really? What exactly do you want with us? Would you like to have another go at killing us? 'Cause we might not be able to fit you in. Jack doesn't like dealing with lunatics, and frankly, Ianto looks far better in a suit than you do."

Gwen knew her talk sounded cheap and petty, as if she was simply making her mouth go about an infantile squabble over whose turn it was to do the washing up, yet she felt like she had to do something to fight back…she couldn't just stand there. She had to keep him talking…find out what he was up to, if she could.

"Come now, Miss. Cooper," he said with a faint, menacing chuckle. "There's no need to be quite so unfriendly. You're in no danger, here."

Gwen scoffed; blind panic and fear giving her adrenaline, making her feel overly reckless and confident. She discovered that she felt far braver than she'd thought possible; but maybe that was nerves kicking in, too.

"No danger!" she shrilled. "You've just killed ten patients…I've seen the bodies!"

Bilis' grip on her wrists became painful once more, and she heard him growl deep in his throat. It appeared that she'd taunted him too far.

"I resent that, Miss. Cooper," he snarled into her hair. "Their deaths are not my responsibility. They died as a result of a Gelbin attack, as you are well aware," he said, dangerously.

Gwen felt her temper rising, her shoulders stiffening. She couldn't think of anyone else she detested quite so much as this man. He was hateful and cruel…he didn't seriously expect her to believe that he had nothing to do with their deaths, did he?

"You set the Gelbin on these people!" she stormed, venom dripping from her every syllable. " The Gelbi came through the Rift ages ago and you captured them, didn't you? You brought them with you? What are they, your pets?" Gwen flung accusation after accusation at him at the pace of a speeding train, not caring if she sounded potentially unhinged. She was bluffing, of course she was; she was taking wild guesses, shooting in the dark…but it was worth a try. For all she knew, she could be right.

" Did I?" said Bilis, sounding mock incredulous. "That's an interesting theory Miss. Cooper. Completely wrong, of course but I do like your deduction. Oh yes, that's tickled me somewhat," he told her with a nasty laugh, giving her wrists a painful squeeze.

The most awful thing about it was that he did in fact sound genuinely amused. His laughter was manic and disconcerting, striking uneasiness down her back. Gwen felt like a fly ensnared in a sticky, messy web, about to be pounced on by a grotesque spider.

"Oh, so the Gelbi have nothing to do with you, then?" snorted Gwen, clenching her teeth together and grinding them in suppressed fury.

Bilis leaned forward and rested his chin on her shoulder, causing Gwen to flinch and to turn her head away in horror.

"Ah, now that would be telling," he breathed, his putrid breath hitting her cheek, making her shudder. He was scolding her as if she were a petulant child. "But seeing as you asked…yes. These beautiful, beautiful creatures were in my care at one point, until your institute saw fit to remove them from my hands."

Gwen's eyes widened like saucers, confusion coursing through her. His admission had completely caught her unawares. What ever did he mean? 'Her institute'? By that, he must mean Torchwood but, 'remove them from his hands?' Had Torchwood taken them off him? The foul, vile creatures had once belonged to him, but then Torchwood had taken them from him? If so, then good. But then, how come she'd never heard of them before? If the Gelbi had been under Torchwood's care, where were they kept?

She was surprised at how her feelings towards the Gelbi had changed; only this afternoon she'd been in tears at Jack's tactlessness, at the thought of a Gelbin losing its partner but now…now she'd seen what the Gelbi were capable of, what a single Gelbin had done to a group of sleeping residents and it sickened her. She felt repulsed. These poor old people had been ill; ill and defenceless and they'd been murdered in the very worst way possible. As hard as she tried, she simply could not muster up any pity for the lone Gelbin; all she felt was disgust.

"If your Gelbi...," began Gwen furiously, her voice hard and bitter.

"You are getting tiresome, Miss. Cooper and it does not become you," he told her softly, sounding very much like a hissing snake. "I do beg you to contemplate upon the issue at hand. The Gelbin is now of no consequence."

No consequence? How could it not be of any consequence? The stray Gelbin was the sole reason why they had been brought to this rotten, stinking dump. Gwen opened her mouth to reply, but Bilis dug his nails into the soft flesh of her inner wrists and she yelped in pain.

"I apologise for having to interrupt you," he said regretfully, rolling the words around on his tongue. "But it appears that we are about to receive company."

Gwen drew a small intake of breath, her words dying on her lips. She tensed, feeling Bilis still behind her, but he still did not let go of her wrists. Head cocked to the side, she turned to look at the door, listening intently. Faintly, she could hear the sound of familiar footfalls growing steadily closer; the clump-clump of heavy boots thudding a thin carpet. A man running. Running to her.

There was an almighty bang and the heavy wooden door flew open, crashing noisily against the wall, causing a crack to form in the thin paint.

"GWEN!"

With all the urgency of an attacking army, Jack Harkness charged into the room like an angry inferno, his eyes blazing in fury and concern, panting heavily, his Webley drawn and held aloft.

" Get off her!" he roared, pointing his gun between Bilis' eyes. " One move and I'll pull this trigger and use your brains to decorate this God-awful wallpaper!"

Bilis leered at him, his eyes like chunks of coal and roughly shoved a pale and shaking Gwen in front of him like a limp, human shield.

"Ah, Captain Jack Harkness," he remarked smoothly, as if he had not been threatened by a very tall, angry man wielding an ancient handgun. " That is the name you go by these days, is it not? I must say, I think I prefer your real one. Though, seeing as 'Jack' is what your team call you," here he shook Gwen like a rag doll, a twisted smile playing across his face. "I suppose I must follow their example. I would like to say it is a pleasure to see you again, but it is not."

Jack did not move, nor did he lower his gun. For a second, his blue eyes flickered over Gwen, cautiously, and she pressed her lips together in a pursed smile; tried to tell him with her eyes that she was all right. He nodded at her slightly, though not looking quite satisfied, before he turned his attention back to Bilis, a look of intense dislike and mistrust pinching his features.

"Let her go," he growled, his fingers dancing over the trigger of the gun.

Bilis smiled lazily back at him, breathing down Gwen's neck. "Put down your weapon, Captain Harkness. It is not a toy and so should not be treated as such. I do not believe you will open fire and risk hitting your pretty friend. I repeat, put it down."

Jack ignored him with a dismissive raise of his eyebrows. "Let her go," he repeated, through clenched teeth.

"Put down your gun, young man, and I will release your Welsh companion."

Jack looked into the inky depths of Bilis' dark eyes and saw only steely emptiness. No warmth, no compassion; just black pools of malice and suddenly, he felt less sure of himself, less confident. The intensity of Bilis' unforgiving gaze made the back of his neck prickle. A fluttering of panic bloomed in his stomach; he could not trust him, not at all. What's more, he could tell that he had done something to Gwen. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and she seemed to be struggling to stay upright. From what he could see, Bilis was not armed, but that was no consolation. Gwen was probably in more danger than even she had realised, and he didn't want her in Bilis' grasp for a second longer. Not his Gwen... Torchwood's Gwen, he corrected himself, quickly.

Mechanically, like a defeated warrior putting down his sword and holding his hands up in helpless surrender, Jack let his Webley fall to the ground with a faint thud, the thinly carpeted floor cushioning the sound. His face was paler than usual and unsmiling. He held Gwen's disbelieving gaze for a moment in what she recognised as proud defiance. Despite their tumultuous day, and the tattered state of their relationship, it was clear that he held Gwen's safety above all else, and he wasn't about to chance anything until she was safely back at his side.

Trying to ignore the strong shower of feelings that seeing Jack had provoked Gwen thanked him, wordlessly. What was this overwhelming emotion that she felt for this insufferable man? Gratitude? Pride? Relief? Exasperation? Or something else? Surely it wasn't…no it wasn't that, Gwen told herself firmly, giving herself a mental shake for being so inexplicably sappy. Nevertheless, she couldn't get rid of the feeling of nausea, because, at the same time as she'd dismissed the thought as ludicrous, she'd known innately that it was true. She'd been bitterly arguing with him only hours before, yet seeing Jack selflessly give up his weapon out of concern for her, it dissolved any remaining feelings of anger and betrayal that she held for him…for the moment, at least. Seeing his treasured Webley fall from his hand made her realise that what she felt for him was...

"Now," spat Jack, his eyes hard, as if they were made of granite. "Let go of her."

Bilis Manger gave an icy, dangerous smile.

"Oh, I will," he whispered, darkly, laughing against Gwen's white neck; making her squirm in revulsion.

His pale, spider-like hands skittered over the sensitive skin of Gwen's inner wrists once more and he pressed his thumbs forcefully into her pulse points; pushing down and down, as if he wished to sink holes into her flesh.

Then, with an expression of a murdered pulling a bloody knife out of his dead victim, he released his grip on her, flinging back his arms as if she had scalded him.

Her lips parted in a tiny 'o' of surprise, Gwen's eyes rolled to the back of her head and her limbs went stiff and leaden. Dark, dense fog shrouded her head and torso, clouding her vision. It seeped into her chest, burning her lungs; making it difficult to breathe. Panic, deep-seated panic rushed through her body; a useless adrenaline. Like a puppet with cut strings, Gwen crumbled to the floor.


Did you guess that Bilis Manger was coming back? I left a clue in the Visitor's Book :) Let me know what you think.

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