Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [103]
Moriah released the safety on the handgun.
Click.
‘Enough Moriah!’ Julia heard a woman’s voice order. ‘That is enough!’ A deep tremour of fear ran through her body when she realized that it was her own voice. She was shouting orders at the director.
Moriah’s gaze flickered in her direction for a moment, but he kept the gun trained on the boy in Mikey’s arms. ‘You really are a very sentimental woman, Doctor Mannheim. I suspected as much. You are no longer required here. You may leave. Do so now.’
It took a moment for Julia to realize that everyone in the room was waiting for her to respond. And she had absolutely no idea what to do. All she could feel were her legs trembling violently beneath her. She felt as if she might topple over at any moment.
‘No,’ she breathed, barely audible even to herself.
‘Pardon?’ The huge man asked, he actually sounded surprised at her disobedience.
‘I. . . I won’t,’ she said, more loudly and with greater certainty. ‘What you’re doing is wrong. What we’ve been doing is wrong.’
179
‘It’s a little late in the day to start getting qualms about research ethics.’
‘Better late than never, deah,’ Tilda commented, striding across the room and stepping in front of Moriah, blocking his line of fire.
For the first time since he had walked into the room Moriah looked as if he wasn’t quite in control. Julia noticed a slight tremour grip the mannequin nearest to her just as Moriah looked shaken. Somehow these warped versions of the therapeutic mannequins were connected to him, acting on his will.
‘Petruska,’ Moriah began, staring at Tilda, an expression of disbelief on his face. The gun wavered slightly in his hand. ‘How. . . ? No. For a moment I thought, but no,’ he said, recovering his composure. ‘I remember you now.
The Petruska Programme, you were the one that escaped.’
Tilda raised an eyebrow and curtsied, a parody of modesty. ‘The very same,’
she said, curtly. She pulled a fresh Guilloise from its soft packet and tapped one end of the cigarette on the back of her hand. The flames of her petrol lighter illuminated her face from below, highlighting her chiselled features.
Moriah took a step towards her. ‘You are the image of her,’ he said, his voice full of longing and awe. ‘It is as if Petruska is standing before me. I could almost believe it is true.’
Julia watched him extend his arm to touch the woman’s face, tentatively.
Tilda grimaced and stepped back out of his reach; Moriah only received a cloud of smoke in his face. ‘Bugger off,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve had enough of being felt up by sad old men. And I’ve had enough of you.’
Moriah retracted his hand, as if it had been scolded. His face creased with the pain of rejection. ‘No!’ he whined, pitifully. And then the hurt in his face was transformed into anger. He swung his body forward, putting his entire weight behind a punch that sent Tilda flying backward across the room. She hit the far wall, making a small noise in her throat before crumpling, limply, to the floor.
‘I made you!’ he hissed through gritted teeth, as he staggered forward to where Tilda lay motionless. ‘You have no life of your own. Can you not understand something as simple as that? No life without me.’
Shocked by the sudden violence, Julia froze, feeling her breathing spiralling out of control as she started to hyperventilate. She forced herself to breathe more slowly and more deeply, before beginning to move to where Tilda lay.
The Doctor’s reaction was far quicker than Julia’s. He placed himself directly in Moriah’s path, holding up the flat of his hand. ‘Stop,’ he commanded.
‘I will not permit this violence. It’s over, don’t you understand? Whatever you were hoping to achieve here with your obscene experiments is at an end.’
Moriah paused, his sudden burst of wounded rage had passed and he was calmer now. He looked down at the little man in front of him like Goliath amused by David’s audacity. And the Doctor didn’t even have a slingshot.