Concerning Death

Prologue

New year's eve, on a rooftop in NYC

"10,9,8." A small breeze flies in to playfully tug on Sally's skirt. "7,6,5." Zoe catches Zack glancing at her and quickly looks away. "4,3,2." Mr. Jones puts his arm around his Mrs. "1!" everyone shouts simultaneously and clink their glasses together. Mr. Jones pulls Mrs. Jones close and dips her low in a kiss. Sally has her arm around Mick's neck. Zoe looks down at the new shoes she bought for the occasion, avoiding Zack's shy look. Sally grabs the champagne bottle in what I'm sure is supposed to be a stealthy escape. Everyone seems to be having the time of their lives. I smile and look up, raising my glass, and offering a silent 'thank you' to the star-spangled sky above us.

"It's been a great year - I'm sure the next will be just as wonderful," I whisper in blissful denial of all the little bumps in the road I went through this year and knowing that I will probably do the same next year. This is going to be a year like so many others. We are going to have 365 days, all with 24 hours, time will pass us by in its own tempo, regardless of our wishes, and it will be our own choices that determine if it's going to be a good year, or if's going to be TORCHWOOD series 3. It is, after all, our choices far more than our abilities that define us.

"So, no date. Again." Mrs. Jones has separated herself from her husband and come to practice her interrogation skills.

"It's quite a party you've managed to put on." I smile and take a sip of fruity sweet champagne.

"Even at my age I am allowed a few hobbies, aren't I?" she says with a laughing smile.

"When you can pull it off to this standard, then yes. Most definitely." Her loud laugh mixes with my slightly less profound version. Zoe catches my eye and comes smiling to my rescue.

"There you are Nicaa, I've been looking for you." She smiles and winks at me.

"Hey, Zoe." I smile back. "How was Christmas with the family?" She sighs deeply and turns her eyes skyward.

"It was good to see them again," she laughs.

"I bet your mom was happy to see you again, honey," Mrs. Jones inquires.

"Actually mom was just concerned if I was eating right and remember how much laundry detergent to use."

"I hope you told her we'll take care of you," Mrs. Jones says. "It's your father who should be worried." She looks pointedly at Zack. Zack was Zoe's plus one, so Mrs. Jones hasn't had time to properly vet him yet.

It doesn't matter how old you are, when you move into this building you automatically gain an extra mother. Zoe and I look at each other and try not to laugh.

"I guess it's time for me to turn in and let the young ones have their fun," Mrs. Jones laughs as she notices our shared smile. For some reason, despite my being about 10 years older than Zoe, she treats us both as if we were 16. Unmarried equals child. We both get a tight hug goodnight and she leaves to track down her husband again.

"I really have been looking for you," Zoe tells me. "I have something for you." She hands me a small box with a red bow tied around it. I look up at her with a crooked smile. I do like presents. "Go ahead, open it," she urges. It contains a leather bracelet with tree silver pearls. She's wearing a matching one. "You said you liked it." She shrugs awkwardly and looks down.

"I remember," I say and pull her in for a hug. "Thank you, it's beautiful."

The next morning, a hotel

"You're phone's ringing again," the woman calls. She's tall and beautiful, with long brown hair falling over her shoulders and almost to her waist.

"Leave it be," the man shouts back from the shower. He's tall too, and he stands tall, like someone used to being in a position of authority or power.

"That's 15 missed calls," she reminds him.

"Ignore him. Come join me instead," he requests, his voice low and teasing.

"Well, that's an offer I can't refuse," she says with an equally teasing smile in her voice. She drops his phone back on the bed. When they come back an hour later the missed calls count has reached 49.

"Don't you think you should call back? It seems kind of important." He stops drying his hair and throws the towel rather forcefully at the chair before picking up the phone as it rings again.

"What?" he bites.

"Do you know where Elena is?" the man on the other end asks.

"Elena is perfectly within her rights to ignore you today of all days. Leave her alone." He hangs up the phone and throws it on the chair across the room. It starts ringing again.

"Where were we?" he asks the woman, but his smile has a forced edge now.

"I think I should probably go," she says, fidgeting with her wet hair.

"Sure. Whatever." He falls down on the bed, looking up at her.

"I've had an amazing night," she says. "If you ever want to repeat it..."

"Sorry, no. I don't do that." He puts his arms behind his head and closes his eyes. She gets dressed and leaves. New Year's is over.

"Back to real life," he says to the empty room. The phone rings again. With a deep sigh, he gets up again and walks to the chair. Staring down at the interruption he pauses for a while, but then he grabs the phone, hangs up, and switches it to silent. He tries calling Elena himself. His jaw clenches and his brow furrows more and more with each bib telling him she's not picking up. When the voicemail greets him, the phone takes another trip across the room with a flip of his wrist. He runs his hands through his wet hair, pausing for a moment to stare down at the floor.

"It's past noon, she'll be home by now," he tells himself. He calls down for a cab and gets dressed in a hurry.

"A lady left this for you," the hotel clerk tells him and hands him a note as he's checking out. He looks around quickly, as if looking for something, a trashcan maybe, before thrusting the note into his pocket.

The cab takes him to an apartment complex where he gets out and takes the stairs and hallway at a run, only pausing when he's standing outside apartment 12b, hammering in the door.

"Elena, open up, it's me," he calls. There's no answer. He tries the handle. Unlocked. He pushes the door open. A foul smell of burnt meat makes him cringe up his nose.

"Elena?" he calls. He walks into the living room. A massive figure is taking up most of the free floor space, and blood is leaking out from it.

"Elena?" his voice is broken and hushed. He takes a step towards the iron maiden, careful not to step in the blood pool. It's open slightly. Inside you can see a young woman strapped in, staring out at him with her ribcage cracked open.