Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [15]
The man gave him another curious look and went into the room Guy had indicated. As soon as the door closed behind him, Guy turned and staggered towards the stairs. He was shaking, his head pounding, his body full of a desperate need. The itching was so bad it was like his skin was being torn by tiny hooks.
He was stumbling like a drunk by the time he reached his room. He fell to his knees beside the bed and scrabbled beneath it. His hand closed around the jar and he yanked it out, almost salivating at the sight of the clear, jelly-like substance inside. He unscrewed the lid, put the jar shakily down on the floor and tore off his T-shirt.
His chest and arms were covered with tiny black quills that had sprouted from his skin. He fingered them for a moment, shivering at the ripples that coursed through his body. He was fascinated and awed and oddly proud of the transformation he was undergoing He picked up the jar with his left hand and delved into it with his right, scooping out a lump of the jelly. Without hesitation he smeared the stuff on his arms and chest where the itching was most concentrated.
Instantly the gel acted like a balm, cooling and soothing his inflamed skin. Guy crooned like an animal and sank to the floor. Soon, when the itching had subsided as much as it was going to, he would go out and find something to kill.
„There‟s something he‟s not telling us,‟ said Tegan. „I just know it.‟
„Feminine intuition?‟ Turlough smirked.
Tegan flashed him one of her dangerous looks. „Don‟t make fun of me, Turlough.‟
„I‟m not,‟ Turlough said contritely. „I just think you‟re reading something into the situation that isn‟t there.‟
Tegan glanced anxiously across the hotel foyer at the Doctor, who was standing at the reception desk booking rooms for them all. „You don‟t think he‟s behaving strangely?‟
„No stranger than usual.‟
„You don‟t think he‟s being… secretive? Evasive?‟
Turlough sighed. „The Doctor‟s always secretive. You might as well face up to it, Tegan. You‟re never going to be privy to his innermost thoughts.‟
She glared at him. She still wasn‟t sure whether Turlough meant to belittle her when he spoke like this or whether it was just his way. Whichever, his condescending manner was like a flame to her all-too-short fuse. „Well, I‟ve known him a lot longer than you have,‟ she snapped, „and I reckon he‟s up to something‟
It had started in the fairground, this vague and distracted manner of the Doctor‟s, which Tegan felt certain meant there was something rather substantial on his mind. It couldn‟t still be the events on Sea Base Four which were disturbing him, could it? Tegan knew that the Doctor abhorred violence and regarded violent death as a senseless waste, but he had seen so many tragedies, so many atrocities in his long lives that he tended to put them aside quickly, sometimes forgot them within minutes of re-entering the TARDIS - or so it had always seemed.
No, Tegan felt certain it wasn‟t that. So, what was it?
Maybe Turlough was right. Was she simply looking for trouble where there wasn‟t any?
Her anger evaporated and she sighed as doubt crept in to replace it. The thing was, travelling with the Doctor had made her expect trouble wherever she went. If she hadn‟t been captured or shot at within ten minutes of arriving somewhere she became suspicious. Which, to be honest, was no way to be, was it? Perhaps she ought to think about getting out before she became so battle-hardened that her encounters with death became no more distressing than... than breaking a fingernail or stubbing a toe.
The Doctor strode back across the hotel foyer, oblivious to the strange looks he was attracting, and dangled room keys in front of each of his companions‟ faces. Turlough took his, but Tegan looked up at the Doctor with a frown and asked,
„Why are we staying here?‟
The Doctor looked surprised. „You don‟t like it?‟
„It‟s not a case of like or dislike.