Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [19]
* * *
They were alone in the corridor except for the vacuum units, travelling over the carpeting and in and out of the offices. The Doctor was walking, moving very quickly, but Maria wasn’t having any trouble keeping up with him. She hadn’t felt like this in years. ‘Is that it?’ she said.
‘For now,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ve got what I came for.’
‘So what happens next?’
‘I have to travel to certain places and meet certain people.’
‘Are you coming back?’
‘I’m far from finished here,’ said the Doctor. He turned and looked back down the corridor. Two tiny lights shone in the darkness, moving. The cat came trotting out of the shadows and joined them. The Doctor looked at Maria. ‘Thank you for your help.’ He picked the cat up and turned away, moving down the corridor. Maria stood and watched him. When she opened her mouth she intended only to speak the words, but they came out as a shout.
‘Take me with you.’
The Doctor stopped. He turned and looked at her. The cat wriggled out of his arms and dropped to the carpet. It walked off around the corner.
‘No,’ said the Doctor.
‘Why not?’ Maria moved down the corridor, closer to the Doctor.
‘Because of 51,’ said the Doctor.
‘What?’ Maria’s voice was shaking. She could hear it herself.
‘The fifty‐first floor in this building. You know what goes on there.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. You’ve known for years, and you’ve let it happen.’ The Doctor turned away from her and walked around the corner, after the cat.
Maria didn’t try to follow him.
There was a blast of blue light, like a giant taking a photograph, a sound she couldn’t describe, then a rush of air. An indoor wind, gusting past her from behind, rushing around the corner, sucking dust from the carpet. Too long since that carpet was vacuumed, she thought numbly. After a moment she made herself look around the corner. There was nothing there, of course.
* * *
It was about seven o’clock when Maria got home that morning. She found a space for her Toyota, pulled in and switched off the car. It wasn’t until she tried to get out of the car that she realized something was wrong. She first noticed it in her hands as she reached for the door handle.
Shaking.
And it was as if noticing it made it worse. Now her hand shook uncontrollably. She pulled it in, tight to her body. Now her body began to shake, too. The tremors began hitting her in waves. Her legs as well. Maria looked out the window, wondering if it was an earthquake, but the storefronts and the passing cars remained steady.
Anyway, this wasn’t earthquake country. This wasn’t home. Was it? Outside the car were palm trees and hot blue sky shining through a moving film of fumes. Maria could feel the warmth through the glass of the window. She moved her hand to the button to open the car window. She wanted to open the window and feel the summer heat rush in on her, breathe the sweet hot tarry air.
Breathe.
Maria took a breath and found she couldn’t get any air at all. Her hand was twitching feebly on the car seat. She tried to move to the window button but her hand just lay there.
But it didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter that her body was shaking like this. There was something familiar about the shaking. The shaking and the rhythm and the heat. Her mind was growing more remote but she could still recognize the rhythm and the heat.
Maria stopped fighting it.
She let herself go. Lost herself in the trembling of her body. She didn’t feel any fear. The music kept the fear away. A steady pounding, echoing off concrete walls. She let her body follow the beat of the music. The warmth washed over her, the beer‐sweat‐and‐basement smell.
As she went she started losing everything.
Jerome went. The sunlight on her face