Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [123]
A young man ran up to him, eyes wide with shock and blood streaming down his face, a rounded shard of brown glass protruding from his cheek.
Some bastard had pushed a beer bottle into his face. Harris tried to calm him down and sat him in the doorway of a shop.
There was a police box up ahead, Harris hurried towards it. If he could get through to Charing Cross then he could call for reinforcements and an ambulance. The plaque with its reassuring message was ajar, he pulled the little door open and reached for the receiver inside.
It wasn’t there. Someone had ripped it out of its socket; the cord hung limply down the side of the box. With mounting frustration, Harris tried to slam the little door shut, but the cord prevented it from closing properly and he was denied even that small satisfaction.
Damn. There probably wasn’t much point anyway as all of the available cars would have been sent to Notting Hill. Cursing, he made his way back to the injured boy.
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15
Whatever Happens, I Love You
The Doctor stood at the window of the Tropics looking down on the activity on the streets; the lights from the fires below flickered over his stern expression.
Gilliam joined him just as three young men ran down the street, yelling gleefully, one of them brandished a burning torch.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘About this? Nothing. It’s just the pages of history turning.’
‘And Moriah?’
‘Ah, yes, Moriah. What do you think should be done?’
She turned and leant against the windowsill. The Doctor continued to stare at the chaos beyond her. ‘He won’t stop,’ she said. ‘He’s spent thousands of years building up to this moment. He’s not going to let it go now, not without a fight.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘He’s not going to let the Toys have what he has been denied.’
‘He’ll be back?’
‘Oh yes, you can count on that. I don’t think he makes idle threats, do you?’
‘Then he must be stopped, before he kills anyone else.’
‘I agree. Are you volunteering for the job?’
She’d been expecting this question. ‘I’ll come with you if you need me.’
‘And would you kill him?’
‘What?’ Gilliam looked away for a moment. ‘I. . . I don’t know. Will it come to that?’
‘After what happened this afternoon, everyone is assuming that I’ll lead an attack on the Institute. Rally the troops. Start a small war. You know, the usual boys’ stuff.’
‘And will you?’
The Doctor sighed and hooked his umbrella handle on to his top pocket.
‘People will get hurt. And I include Moriah in that.’
‘It sounds like a difficult decision.’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘Oh, not at all. Not for me. Not anymore.
Deciding that you won’t use violence to solve your problems is relatively easy.
It’s working out a viable alternative that’s the tricky bit.’
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‘And have you got an alternative, a better idea?’
‘Oh yes,’ the Doctor smiled, looking down at the chaos on the street. ‘There are always better ideas than fighting.’
At that moment, Tilda’s barmen entered the room, dragging one of Moriah’s inert mannequins between them. It was still dressed in its orderly’s uniform.
Andrew and Saeed looked expectantly at the Doctor. ‘Where do you want it?’
they asked in unison.
‘Anywhere on the floor will be fine.’ The Doctor tipped his hat in thanks and turned back to Gilliam. ‘What would be the simplest way to get rid of Moriah?’
To kill him? Gilliam thought, but she didn’t give voice to her opinion.
‘Why not give him what he really wants? Why not give him his queen?
Wouldn’t he be a happy little maniac then?’ she said. ‘Can you do that?’
‘Perhaps. Or at least the illusion of her for a little while. But I’ll need your help.’
‘Doctor, I said I’d come with you.’
‘I don’t need a companion for this trip,’ the Doctor said, waving away the idea with his hand. ‘In fact, I won’t be able to afford the distraction. No, I need your knowledge of Petruska. I need your memories.’
Chris had spent the evening searching Soho for Patsy. He’d tried the bookshop, the Tropics and the restaurant