Dead of Winter - James Goss [31]
There she sat, her head nodding slightly, those pretty eyes wide open, listening to The Sea as it washed in, waves folding over and over, calling out ‘forget, forget, forget’ as it washed across the beach. Her hair was the brightest thing in the world that morning, red against all that grey. Her skin was so pale, pale as a freshly laundered sheet. She was probably cold, but she wouldn’t feel it – not as The Sea reached into her.
I watched as the fog came up from The Sea, rolling out along the beach, little fingers stretching up across the beach, and dancing around her feet. The fog glowed slightly, a faint green, as if thousands and thousands of little candles flickered inside it.
It would not be long now before it knew everything it needed.
The figure of the Doctor stood behind Amy Pond, his hands resting on her shoulder. Gentle, but firm. There was no escape for her. Not any more. Soon she would remember, and then everything of hers would belong to us.
What Amy Forgot
So the TARDIS had crashed, and there we were on a beach, spilling out of the blue box in a dazzled heap.
Rory and I were just glad to be alive, but the Doctor was already bounding around as excitedly as a dog chasing after a rubber ball. His sonic screwdriver was held out in front of him, lighting up the night like a torch.
‘We’ve arrived!’ he boomed, then repeated the phrase, testing the echo. ‘Côte d’Azure, lovely spot for a holiday but not in… ooh, early December. 1780s. Just around the corner from the French Revolution. Not perhaps the best time for topping up the tan and reading John Grisham. But hey, what do I know? Suit yourself. There’s beach towels aplenty in a trunk somewhere in the TARDIS and… Ow!’
The Doctor stopped and stood very, very still.
We caught up with him. We hadn’t been badly injured by the crash, even though the TARDIS now lay on its side, door open, light spilling out of it weakly. Rory was rubbing a bruised elbow.
‘It’s Baltic,’ I said, huddling closer to Rory for warmth. ‘It is absolutely freezing.’
Then I realised the Doctor had stopped moving. ‘Are you OK? Doctor?’
‘Ow, sorry.’ The Doctor spun round on the spot, facing us. ‘Sorry. Ow. Something out there. Tiny little psychic probe, tugging away at my head. Reading my mind. Which it Must Not Do! Bad Psychic Thing!’ The Doctor flapped a hand. ‘Get out, get out, get out!’ He grinned, tapping his forehead. ‘I’ve got expert mental shielding. But ooh, it’s having quite a go.’ He threw the sonic screwdriver to Rory, who just about caught it, bless him. ‘Torch setting, see if you can see anything. I can’t move at the moment. Due to… ouch.’ The Doctor winced. ‘If that’s you again, Derren Brown, show yourself, you bad boy.’
‘Is that what brought us here?’ asked Rory, casting about the beach with the sonic screwdriver. All I could see was sand and rocks, sea and fog.
‘Um, possibly.’ The Doctor frowned. ‘Something alien and a bit wrong twinkling away in space-time. The old girl couldn’t resist that and… Oh dear.’
‘Warp transfer coil,’ said Rory.
The Doctor’s face fell. ‘I was afraid you’d say that. Naughty psychic thing, still jabbing away. Causing a bit of brain spillage.’ He tapped Rory on the forehead. ‘Sorry about that. If it’s any consolation I now know that you really don’t like kippers. Who does?’ He screwed up his face. ‘Stop that! Stop that at once! My name is the Doctor and I can help you if only you… stop…’
‘… If only you stop reading my mind,’ said Rory. ‘Keep out. Beware of the Dog. Here there be dragons.’
‘Rory?’ I grabbed him. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Dangerous.’ Rory’s head spun to face me, but his expression was very odd. ‘Amy Pond,’ he spoke, his voice all wrong. ‘Something very bad is about to happen. Very bad and a bit painful. Run.’
‘I’m not leaving you.’ I was firm. ‘Either of you.’
‘Get back to the TARDIS, please…’ begged Rory, as the Doctor’s hand jerked out, pointing. ‘Quickly now, hurry up, bits of brain going everywhere. Get out of the way. Doing what I can. That thing is less of a mind probe, more of a food processor.’
‘Whizz,’ said