Title: Spirit Mirror Part Four
Author: Emma

Characters: Canonical Torchwood Three members… sort of.

Rating: Some chapters definitely not safe for work.

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: A cursed mirror sends Owen on a quest for justice… and Gwen stumbles upon a secret.

Author’s Note: This is Owen’s bike: here

            Owen stopped the motorbike one inch away from Andy’s leg. “I should have known. Did Jack send you?”

            “Nope. I just wanted to remind you of something. It is mine to avenge; I will repay.”

            “Deuteronomy 32. Don’t look so surprised, Andy.  Unbeliever doesn’t mean ignorant.” He stared into the distance. “That girl… I can’t get her out of my head.”

            “I would think less of you if you could, but…” Andy stopped abruptly. “Well.”

            Owen twisted slightly to see what Andy was looking at. “That’s Bernie.”

            “Indeedy. And coming out of Ed Morgan’s house.”

            He started to cross the street. Owen watched and tried to settle his own mind. He wanted Morgan’s head on a platter with a ferocity that startled him. Lizzie’s face had been haunting him all night. He couldn’t sleep, so he had done some research. She had been nineteen. She worked at a millinery shop, for God’s sake, and helped her cousins with their babies. All she had wanted was a short walk on the safest part of the wild side. Instead she had gotten Ed Morgan.

            But he had a responsibility. It would surprise his colleagues, he knew, but he took his work seriously. Katie’s death had driven him to despair, but Jack Harkness had dragged him back by giving him something to fight. Ed Morgan would still be around when it was all over. He turned his back on the cottage and followed Andy.

            The constable had cornered Bernie against a fence and was doing a very good job of terrorizing the little thief.  Owen was always amused by Andy’s transformation. The pleasant face took on a crimped, sinister cast, and there was something mad gleaming in the eyes. The choir-trained voice acquired a nasty undertone that promised serious damage to anyone giving him any backchat. There were toughs in Splott who pissed their pants at the thought of being at the receiving end of that voice.

            “Bernie, Bernie. What am I going to do with you?”

            The squeaked like a mouse in a trap. “I’ve done nothing. Honest!”

            “Bernie, honest is the one thing you’re not. Now, you know how this goes. You make me happy, Bernie. And when I’m happy nothing happens. Yeah?”

            “Okay, Mr. Davidson. Sure. What do you want to know?”

            “How did you come by the mirror, Bernie?”

            “Hermia… Mary, she’s a pack rat, goes to all those car boot sales and things….”

            “Bernie. That mirror has gone from princes to cardinals to sorcerers to multimillionaires. It has never seen a boot sale in its whole privileged life. Try again.”

            Bernie swallowed hard. “My cousin asked me to come to London. Help out as it were. They told us to make it look like a robbery, so we took some things…”

            “And you poor sad arse ended up with a cursed mirror and hairbrush. Bernie, if you didn’t have bad luck you wouldn’t have any luck at all.” Andy grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shook him a little. “So where is it?”

            “At Hermia’s place. She and I we used to… well until…”

            “You used to play the blackmail game until Allie Grifith jumped in front of the bus.” Andy pushed him. “All right, we’re going over there. Owen, call Jack. I have a feeling there’ll be some other artifacts in Bernie’s stash he’ll need to confiscate.”

            At Mary Saunders’s cottage, Bernie led them upstairs to a shabby, dirty little room with a bed, a table holding a small television, and an old-fashioned wardrobe. He dug around at the bottom of it and pulled out a cardboard box. Reaching into it, he brought out a lady’s hairbrush. It was obviously meant to be a companion piece to the mirror, except that on the back, instead of a gorgon’s head, a small oval piece of metal was enclosed within a wreath of rubies and pearls.   

            “Here. Here. You can have it. Gawd, I don’t want the thing.”

            “Why?” Owen asked. “You were fine with the mirror. Why does the brush scare you?”

            “It’s not the same, is it? The mirror, well, I could find out things about people and it was fine, but the brush tells you what’s going to happen to you!” He was shaking now. “I saw it. I saw me in hospital, there were tubes and things, and I couldn’t breathe!”

            Owen picked up the brush. It didn’t feel like the mirror. This felt…alive, as if it were laughing at him, and it pulled and wouldn’t let go. Andy’s strangled Owen, don’t! was lost in the roaring in his ears. He looked into the metal.

            He was standing in the street in front of Ed Morgan’s house. There was a bloody knife in his hand. Ed Morgan lay at his feet, pressing down on the hole in his stomach.

            A hard slap to the side of his head sent him tumbling onto the bed. He looked up to see Jack standing over him, holding the brush easily in his hand. “How many times have I told you not to play with the toys, Owen?”

            “I’m going to kill Morgan.” He whispered. “I’m going to kill him.”

            “Maybe. And then again, maybe not.” Jack glanced at the mirror casually. “The future is not as simple as that. Gwen, anything interesting?”

            She had been looking through the box. “Nothing to write home about. Well, the stones on this one are real. Unfortunately, they’re rose quartz, not pink diamonds, so if Bernie thought he had made his fortune, he’s out of luck.”

            “All right. Andy, you can take Bernie. Another year or so in HMP Cardiff will do him a world of good.”

            “Hold on a moment, Jack.” Owen stood up, rubbing his temple. “What were you doing at Ed Morgan’s house, Bernie?”

            “Well, he owed me a bit of money…”

            “Bernie…”

            The warning rumble in Andy’s voice made Bernie jump. “All right, all right! I knew about the girl. I went out one night with the mirror. I passed Morgan’s house. It was like somebody had put a big spotlight on it. So today I went to see him, borrow a few quid, but the bloody sod doesn’t say anything, just sits there playing with his knife, on, off, on, off, so I just left, all right?”

            “Maybe we should pay a visit to Morgan after all,” Jack said. “Owen…”

            “Jack.”

            They looked at each other. “All right,” Jack said, “as long as you’re willing to accept the possibility.”

            Owen just nodded.

            When they reached the Morgan house they found him standing by the gate. In the full light of day Owen saw that the monster in his nightmares was a flabby old man with rheumy eyes and drool crusted on his shirt. The knife in his hand snicked on and off, but Owen didn’t think he even noticed.

            “Oh, Great Mother.” Gwen whispered. “Oh Brid.”

            “What is it?”

            “He’s done it more than once. Before Lizzie.  But she stayed. She won’t let go.”

            Jack walked up to the old man. “Mr. Morgan, I think you need to come with us. You don’t look well.” The rheumy eyes flickered at him. “A few days in hospital and you’ll be all right.”

            The rheumy eyes flickered, looking past Jack to Gwen. “There you are. I knew you would come for me.”

            Almost without a pause he launched himself at her. Jack simply held his arm out. Morgan slammed into it and staggered back as if he had hit a solid barrier. The knife flew out of his hand and landed at Owen’s feet. He looked at it, mesmerized, but took a step back, keeping his hands in his pockets.

            Andy helped the old man to his feet. Morgan was docile, almost subdued, shuffling along and muttering. Gwen and Jack were standing by the gate, speaking to someone Owen couldn’t see, but he could guess who it was. For the second time in his life he wished his gift was different than what it was, so he could say goodbye to Lizzie.

            As Morgan passed the knife, he seemed to come to life. Tearing himself from Andy’s light grasp, he lunged for it and came up swinging it in a wide arc. Andy tried to step in under his guard, but the blade flashed down and Andy bit back a scream as it sliced into his arm. Bellowing, Morgan turned towards Gwen.

            “I knew you’d come back. I won’t let you take me. I won’t!”

            Owen threw himself in his path and the two of them went down. Owen grabbed for Morgan’s wrists and pushed, trying to get him to let go of the knife. The old man had the strength of the mad, and he used his weight to turn them so he was above Owen, bearing down. Owen strained upwards, twisting. He felt the knife slip into the man’s soft stomach. Morgan slumped against him, pinning him to the ground for a horrifying moment before he pushed him away and stood up, knife in hand. It had all taken less than a minute.

            Owen felt Jack come up and take the knife. “Gwen, take Andy to A&E. I’ll handle…”

            “No,” Andy said. “You all go. I’ll call it in. I came to see him because one of my snitches called me. When I got here he jumped me. We fought for the knife and he lost. Don’t argue with me, Jack.” He turned to Owen. “Mother Katherine will be expecting you tomorrow morning. Don’t argue with me either.”

            Owen nodded meekly. He hadn’t committed murder, but a man had died. He would need the help.