Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [62]
‘No!’ Hopelessly, Chris tried to scoop up the Doctor’s ashes.
He screamed as a hand broke the surface of the muddy trench floor, pushing its way up into the air. Chris watched in horror as a young man pulled himself out of the floor of the battle-trodden trench and collapsed, naked as a newborn, beside him.
‘Is it. . . It is time.’ The young man’s voice was soft and full of wonder. His eyes lit up, innocent and the purest blue.
‘No!’ Chris yelled, pushing the young man away, wanting to push him back into the ground where he had come from. ‘No, it isn’t time. Bring him back.
Do you hear me? Bring him back!’
The light above the trench flickered once and then failed. The sky went out like a light bulb.
A long silver spear flashed in the darkness.
Chris woke up sweating and disorientated. He was in the carriage on the train. The blank-faced mannequin which had attacked him in the wood was standing over the sleepers. Absurdly, it was wearing a ticket inspector’s uniform.
A long silver spear flashed in the darkness.
Julia Mannheim sat, resting her head in her hands, at one of the functional tables in the deserted staff refectory of the Petruska Psychiatric Research Institute. She watched as the Doctor busied himself in the kitchen; he seemed to be taking an awfully long time making two cups of coffee.
There had to be a rational explanation for what had happened. A reasonable explanation. One that didn’t involve body-snatching. The details of the Doctor’s story weren’t clear: Julia still wasn’t sure who had been driving the taxi, but the idea that the ‘human material’ came from the streets of London horrified her.
She would have dismissed the Doctor’s tale out of hand, except she couldn’t find a more convincing explanation for the boy. Compared to their American counterparts, British hospitals were quite disorganized and Julia had never had much faith in them, but even they didn’t make basic mistakes like that.
If only she could find the director: Moriah would be able to sort this situation out. It was his responsibility after all. But the director wasn’t in his office, and there was no answer from the telephone in his private quarters.
105
The Doctor pottered over from the kitchen, wearing the striped pyjamas which Julia had hunted out from one of the empty wards. He was carrying two cups of frothing coffee in his hands.
‘Cappuccino!’ he declared proudly. ‘Not easy with only a battered saucepan, an egg whisk and sterilized milk. We’ll have to manage without powdered chocolate, I’m afraid. Now, how are you feeling, Doctor Mannheim?’
‘Julia, call me Julia please. Doctor Mannheim always makes me think of my father. I’m a little shocked to be honest. It’s not everyday that I share morning coffee with the dead.’
‘Or discover that someone in your organization is kidnapping people, perhaps killing them. I rather suspect that Jack and I weren’t supposed to survive the trip from London.’
‘Jesus H Christ,’ she breathed, and closed her eyes. ‘I’m still having a lot of difficulty believing that, I’m afraid.’ Julia opened her eyes to see the Doctor staring thoughtfully at her. Evaluating her. Did he think that she had something to do with this?
‘Look, you need to speak to Professor Moriah,’ she began, detesting the de-fensiveness in her voice. ‘He’s responsible for liaison with the other hospitals.
I just can’t believe that this is happening. This is supposed to be a hospital for Christsakes!’ She rooted through her labcoat pockets until she found her cigarettes. Her hands were shaking as she tried to light one.
‘I imagine it was easier when you thought that I was delusional.’
Julia giggled nervously, something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. She was embarrassed at how quick she’d been to diagnose the Doctor.
‘I’m sorry about that. You’ve got to admit that you’re pretty eccentric.’
If the Doctor was offended by her remark, he didn’t show it. ‘I should like to know about this. . . Institute. How did a nice American