Dead of Winter - James Goss [33]
‘Well there we are, the perfect crime. I was improvising.’ The Doctor flashed a reassuring smile. ‘It’ll take the parasite a while to realise that it’s just getting a few holiday snapshots of the Greater Crested Glebe and nothing juicy. Not a whisker of the real Amy Pond, the little girl who has travelled through universes. And absolutely nothing about her friend the Doctor. No. It absolutely mustn’t read my mind.’ The Doctor’s voice was very firm. ‘Now I’m myself again. Took me quite a while. Luckily someone threw me off a cliff last night and things jogged back into place on the way down. Result! When I came to, I was pretty much myself again. Not too sure about the colour puce, mind, but it’ll come back, eventually. Anyway, pretty much normal service, just in time to stop that thing out there fooling you by sending in the clones. Knocked its copy of me out into the sea and came and rescued you. It’s all good.’
‘What about Rory?’ I asked. This was very important.
‘Oh, he’s back to normal,’ the Doctor said. ‘Lots of my memories ended up in his head – lots of spare room in there. Bit of a rushed job. Not my finest work, but bits of brain were flying everywhere. I had to move my mind in a hurry – and let’s face it, Rory Williams is the last place anyone would look.’
I glowered at him. Sometimes he can be SO rude. I stamped on his foot and he winced.
‘Sorry. Anyway, he’s fine now – all my memories have snapped back. Still missing my favourite chutney recipe. New fact – that boy really does hate kippers. Which is annoying because I really fancy one now.’
‘Enough kippers.’ I prodded him, gently continuing to waltz to the ethereal singing. ‘What are we up against? An alien version of Strictly Come Dancing?’
‘Oh, Amy Pond, you are absolutely my favourite,’ sighed the Doctor. ‘Look at our fellow patients. About three minutes ago, each and every one was dying of a dreadful, incurable disease. Now look at them. They’re dancing!’
I looked. Even grumpy Mr Nevil looked years younger and happier.
‘The brain parasite out there gives them someone they love. A little bit of itself that they trust enough to let it wrap around them and heal them.’
‘Aw,’ I said. ‘That’s quite nice.’
The Doctor’s face stopped me.
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No, Amelia, it is very wrong indeed.’
As we stood there, surrounded by the dancing dead, he told me why. It was utterly terrifying.
A Letter from Maria
St Christophe
7th December 1783
Dear Mother,
Oh, what a wonderful night! It was like the best game of hide and seek – you remember for my seventh birthday party when all my friends came and we hunted over the entire house and then had meringues?
It was like that. Only without meringues. And a little bit scary.
Monsieur Rory Williams and I were being hunted throughout Dr Bloom’s clinic. We hid in cupboards, under beds, in a cellar, and even, at one tense moment, under the desk in Dr Bloom’s study.
It was when we were there, curled up in a ball, that I whispered to Rory, ‘Sir, what do you think will happen when they find us?’
Rory shook his head sadly, his voice even quieter than mine. ‘I don’t know. Nothing very good. I’m not exactly lucky.’
‘What was that creature we saw last night?’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
‘I have seen something like it before,’ I told him. And I had, I just cannot remember how or why. But I know it was here. Oh Mother, when you get this, can you try and remember for me? If you can, do write back and tell me. I know I am sending you ever so many letters at the moment, but this is the most EXCITING time of my whole life.
We spent some of the night in the kitchen. I ate some cheese and two slices of cake. Rory did not eat. We heard a squeaking of wheels, and we looked through to where Amy was being wheeled stiffly past by a man who I had thought was Monsieur Pond, but Rory put me right.
‘That is my wife,’ he said, sounding ever so sad. ‘And the man with her is the Doctor. And they’re just not right.’
‘Should we go to them?’
Rory shook his head and slumped down on Cook’s chair. ‘Something