Doctor Who_ Camera Obscura - Lloyd Rose [24]
‘An interesting reading.’
‘One that suits my profession,’ said Chiltern drily. He opened his eyes. The Doctor was sitting huddled into a shadowy corner. Light from the passing streetlamps periodically hit his face and made his eyes glint like glass. Chiltern found the effect fascinating. He watched it for a while.
‘How are you feeling?’ the Doctor asked again.
‘Well,’ Chiltern replied placidly. He felt wonderfully calm, almost sleepy. And safe.
‘Would you like to talk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shall we talk about the past?’
Chiltern hesitated. Somewhere, fathoms deep, a current tolled some broken bell of warning. His breath shortened. He felt sweat at his temples.
‘It’s all right,’ said the Doctor, and Chiltern caught again the gleam of his eyes. What jewel were they the colour of?
‘Yes,’ he agreed.
‘Yes,’ repeated the Doctor. ‘Let’s go back. What’s the first thing you remember?’
There was a long silence, somewhere on the edge of which the horse’s hooves clattered noisily, competing with the drumming rain. Watching Chiltern’s face, the Doctor saw it slowly stiffen into blankness. There was no fear there, or pain. There was no expression at ail. The Doctor felt something cold at the base of his neck. He leaned forward. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ said Chiltern distantly.
‘What’s the first thing you remember?’
‘What’s...?’
‘The first thing.’
Another long silence. The Doctor watched the periodic street light pass across Chiltern’s motionless features.
Chiltern said, ‘There isn’t anything.’
The Doctor looked out of the cab window. A passing streetlamp turned the darkness into wet shards of light. He pulled his coat tighter around him; it was a chill night. Over the decades, he’d used hypnosis to help people into some dark places. But he’d never guided anyone into nothing, and he wasn’t going to start now. Abruptly he leaned over and lightly touched the back of Chiltern’s hand, The alienist blinked at him, confused. ‘I’m sorry. Was I away again?’
‘Just for a moment.
‘Ah.’ Chiltern rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘No,’ said the Doctor.
Chiltern wanted him to come in for a nightcap, but the Doctor pleaded an early train. Chiltern was sorry. He could have used the company. He always felt a bit queer after opium, a little disoriented, sad. And at night, when it was mostly quiet, he was aware of how large the clinic’s house was, how ancient and full of secrets. He’d never even been through the whole place; possibly there were rooms that for centuries hadn’t known light. His own office, outside the warm circle of lamplight on his desk, seemed vast in its darkness. In the gardens, the rain rattled on the brick walks and whispered in the trees.
Chiltern put his face in his hands. He’d had a sudden lurching moment of uncertainty. He’d been brought up in a relatively modern house in Chelsea. Why, for a moment, had he remembered being a child in a house more like this one? A huge, draughty, shadowed place, set in... moorland? He stared helplessly out at the night Yorkshire? Dartmoor? He’d never even visited either. It was an awful thing, this sensation that his mind was a platform balanced on a single strut like a see-saw, something that might tilt and let him slide off into... what? What was beneath the surface of his own mind? Perhaps, he thought drily, hypnosis wasn’t such a good idea after all.
The click of a latch made him look up sharply. The door swung open an inch or two, revealing a slash of darkness. Whoever was on the other side was apparently hesitant to enter. ‘Who is it?’ he said impatiently and then, in surprise, as the person slipped in, ‘Miss Jane.’
‘Please excuse me,’ she muttered, head lowered. She’d attempted to put her hair back up, but not very successfully. A thick coil of it had come loose and snaked over her shoulder. He stood up.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I just couldn’t sleep. She raised her face. Chiltern didn’t think she looked well at all. He came around the desk.
‘Are you ill?’
‘No, I... Bad dreams.’
‘Would you like a sedative? Or perhaps some tea?’
She looked uncertainly