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Weevil attack
Feb. 20th, 2013 11:55 amThe dreams are getting worse. Most nights Tosh can barely sleep, too many images of a life she can barely remember filling her head. It’s never in sequence, never anything that makes any real sense. In the dreams she’s running and then they start. Flashes of memory, she’s sure, snippets of a life that has to be hers. Or is it?
She sees him the most, Owen. Sees him, hears his laugh, whispered words floating over another. But is he talking to her or to someone else? She can never tell, and when she wakes and scrambles for the book she leaves beside her bed now to try and capture all of this it fades. There’s only a page filled, and mostly it contains names. Jack appears over an over, as does Owen, Gwen, Susie, Ianto. But there are others too. Mentions of Mary, of Adam, Tommy, she knows these are important even if she doesn’t know how.
Tonight is another night of failed rest. Tosh has given up, packing her notebook in her bag, intending to go to Torchwood and see if she can help. Owen has to have something by now, this has been going on for weeks. He has to have fixed this.
She’s just texted to let him know she’s a block away and will be there soon when she feels it. Eyes behind her, watching her. Tosh freezes, wishing now that she’d agreed to carrying a weapon. “Who’s there? What do you want?”
Tosh doesn’t get an answer, other than a low growling. It’s dark, dawn still a good hour away, the streets deserted. Yet it’s not the police that she calls, but Owen, something inside of her trusting him more than any other authority. Tosh doesn’t get to say anything, the thing upon her before she can talk. It claws at her and she screams, dropping the phone, trying to fend it off with her hands. She tries to run but it’s faster than she is, catching her and knocking her to the ground.
A weevil. It’s a weevil. Tosh remembers, screaming again, this time calling out for Owen.
She sees him the most, Owen. Sees him, hears his laugh, whispered words floating over another. But is he talking to her or to someone else? She can never tell, and when she wakes and scrambles for the book she leaves beside her bed now to try and capture all of this it fades. There’s only a page filled, and mostly it contains names. Jack appears over an over, as does Owen, Gwen, Susie, Ianto. But there are others too. Mentions of Mary, of Adam, Tommy, she knows these are important even if she doesn’t know how.
Tonight is another night of failed rest. Tosh has given up, packing her notebook in her bag, intending to go to Torchwood and see if she can help. Owen has to have something by now, this has been going on for weeks. He has to have fixed this.
She’s just texted to let him know she’s a block away and will be there soon when she feels it. Eyes behind her, watching her. Tosh freezes, wishing now that she’d agreed to carrying a weapon. “Who’s there? What do you want?”
Tosh doesn’t get an answer, other than a low growling. It’s dark, dawn still a good hour away, the streets deserted. Yet it’s not the police that she calls, but Owen, something inside of her trusting him more than any other authority. Tosh doesn’t get to say anything, the thing upon her before she can talk. It claws at her and she screams, dropping the phone, trying to fend it off with her hands. She tries to run but it’s faster than she is, catching her and knocking her to the ground.
A weevil. It’s a weevil. Tosh remembers, screaming again, this time calling out for Owen.
