Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [3]
But he went shopping in the market on Guatemala Street, and bought three courgettes and a bag of tomatoes. He carried them in a string bag that bumped against his leg. He put down the bag as he stopped at a refreshment stall to buy himself a slice of watermelon. He never did pick it up again.
It was 4:33 in the afternoon when the Hallowe’en Man came to life. Witnesses would later remember that he had been standing there all afternoon, his face blank, his arms slack by his sides. No one really took any notice of him and his pale North American face.
At 4:33, the Hallowe’en Man pushed aside his coat to reveal a Chinese SKK semi‐automatic rifle. He pulled it out, snapped off the safety, and shot six stall owners, thirteen passers‐by, eight children, four police and a dog.
* * *
Why?’ said Bernice. ‘What for?’
‘What do these people do anything for?’ said Cristián quietly. ‘It is as though the gun needs a reason for existence, so it attaches itself to someone. Someone weak or afraid. It makes them insane.’ He looked at Bernice, and his face was as blank as it had been throughout his story. ‘The insane do not need a reason to do anything.’
The Doctor said, ‘But you think you know the reason. Don’t you, Cristián?’
For the first time, the chilango’s face took on an expression. It was fear.
* * *
If you had asked Cristián X. Alvarez what he would do if a man pulled out a gun in the marketplace, he would have laughed. Such things do not happen in la Republica. If you had insisted, he would have said something sensible. Run away. Dive to the ground. Get behind cover.
For thirty‐seven seconds, Cristián X. Alvarez stood with his mouth slightly open, a slice of watermelon held tightly in his hands. The juice ran down into his sleeve as he watched. As bullets thudded into the walls around him. As people screamed and fell down for no reason his brain could get a grip on.
And the Blue was there.
It ran out of the Hallowe’en Man like a stain, like paint pouring from an overturned bucket. It coloured everything, the walls, the scattered vegetables, the blood. It filled up Cristián’s eyes, forced its way into his lungs, expanded inside his mind. For the first time in decades, Mexico City had a Blue sky.
He wanted to faint, but he couldn’t. Something was holding him up.
The Hallowe’en Man’s eyes were Blue. They looked into Cristián’s.
He shot him.
And then he shot himself.
* * *
‘They were blue?’ said the Doctor.
‘No. They were Blue. Like – a bit like yours.’
‘Tell me about the time we first met,’ said the Doctor.
Cristián nodded. ‘I was living in London.’ He spoke slowly, as though choosing his words with care. ‘London was full of Blue in those days. I thought I was going mad. You found me. And you told me that I wasn’t.’
‘And what did I tell you?’
‘You said – you said I’d had a profound psychic experience.’
‘You’re telepathic?’ said Bernice.
Cristián shook his head. ‘No. I can’t read anybody’s mind. But the Doctor said I was sensitive. To things. To events and places. Zeitgeist, you said.’ He smiled fleetingly. ‘I had to look that up.’
The Doctor sat back, looking thoughtful. ‘Normally, when a human has psychic abilities, it’s very obvious. Psychokinetics can juggle without using their hands. Telepaths can tell you what you had for breakfast, and the word you are thinking of right now.’
‘You said my powers were dormant. That just the tip of the iceberg was showing.’
Ace said, ‘This colour Blue – what do you think you were sensing?’
The Indian’s eyes dropped to the floor. ‘Something frightening. Something so frightening that I spent over a month in a mental hospital.’
‘Was that where we met you?’ said the Doctor gently.
‘No, that was after –’ He stopped short.
‘After what?’ asked Ace.
‘After the Happening,’ said Cristián. ‘I don’t think I’d better tell you about that.’
* * *
And so, at midnight, the Doctor stood on Guatemala Street, straining his senses for any trace of what Cristián had described.
He had left