Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [34]
‘Well?’ she asked. ‘Alien bodysnatching conspiracy or what?’
‘Hmm? Oh, all fairly humdrum, Ace. Centrifuge, gas chromatograph. Nothing particularly out of place.’ He looked vaguely disappointed and Ace’s face fell.
‘So we’re looking for a missing woman and someone with minimalist tastes in interior décor, are we?’
The Doctor patted his lip and cocked his head on one side.
‘And, of course, there are the lipmarks on that beaker.’ He gestured at it.
‘So? Someone wanted a glass of water and couldn’t be bothered getting a cup.’
‘Maybe, Ace, maybe. Only it’s not water. It’s ammonium sulphate.’
‘And that’s bad?’
‘For any human that drank it, yes.’
‘I don’t understand. What’s happened to you?’
George looked Harry up and down. Gone was the slightly tired, slightly feeble friend who could hardly remember – any more than he could – anything beyond last week. He’d been replaced by a somehow taller, somehow stronger man, whose eyes blazed where once they’d been tired and dull, whose chin jutted defiantly where once it had drooped. George sat on the bed in Harry’s room as Harry paced up and down, impatient, irritated and almost incandescent with energy.
Harry looked away, ran his hand through his hair. ‘It’s only a matter of time, and then you’l remember too.’ He turned back to his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. George almost recoiled at the pent-up anger and rage that he felt in that touch, that he could see in Harry’s eyes.
‘Trust me,’ said Harry.
‘So what is it that you remember? You said everything? So the treatment’s worked? Why are you so reluctant to talk about it?’ George reached out his hand to his friend’s arm, but something held him back, stopped him from actually touching him. ‘This is what we’re here for, what we’ve always wanted. For God’s sake Harry, don’t shut me out of it now.’
Harry gave a low chuckle – almost a growl – and shook his head slowly. ‘Believe me, George, when the time comes for you
– and it will – you’ll see it for yourself.’ Harry put his hand to his forehead and turned away.’D’you mind if I get some sleep now?’
he said, his voice suddenly a dry husk of what it had been before.
George hadn’t thought: this must be taking it out of his friend. He raised himself from the bed, knees protesting painfully, and crossed to the door.
‘Promise me you’ll bang on the wall if, well, if... you know...
if you need anything.’
Harry nodded slowly as George wished him goodnight and left.
Harry listened as George padded down the corridor and went into his own room, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the bed, cradling his head in his hands. It was all there – all the memories, all the images. As if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the walls around him, walls he’d known for so long that he’d forgotten they were there. He remembered places, faces.. everything. But ‘everything’ seemed too small a word for it. He had his life back – his life.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, unable to block out the torrent of sights and sounds that rushed through his head, a torrent so violent and chaotic that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hold anything for long enough to look at it, to listen to it. It was like someone had crammed huge slabs of someone else into his head, crowbarring them in willy-nilly. Surely the memories should have been familiar if they were his own. He opened his eyes and stared at the flowers on the curtains, trying to damp down the fires that burned in his mind. Relieved, he felt them subside a little although they continued to flicker, filling up all