Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [64]
How could he have changed so much in only a couple of months? Shrunk from a tall, dashing man with unruly white hair and a rather dapper – as much as she could judge these things –
sense of style, to a little, Scottish man with unruly dark hair and a rather silly umbrella? Was she being strung along? Was whatever happened to her messing up her mind, distorting her judgement?
She swung her legs onto the floor and buried her head in her hands, almost wishing she could cry about some of this – any of it. If nothing else, whatever Mum was going through should be upsetting her, yet she hadn’t shed a single tear since she’d watched her sleeping. When was that? Yesterday? The day before?
She heaved herself to her feet and crossed to the dressing table mirror. She’d never looked so tired, so pale. So ugly.
She looked down at the photograph of herself, Terrance and Michael. And suddenly she felt desperately sad that Mum wasn’t in the picture too. A scrap of paper was folded up against the frame. Opening it, she read the Doctor’s note: From one member of the family to another. The Doctor.
She had a sudden vision of how they’d once played cards, a long, long time ago, sitting up late at night and drinking cocoa in the Doctor’s laboratory.
Happy Families.
Noise of broken-white and hammerings on the insidelong tunnel with blue-how many of us are there in here-long tunnel-wetandwetandwetand-closing down essential-fire burning-closed of just us now-is this how it ends-goodbye-goodbye-oh-who are you-sorry, I couldn’t help it-my head-my arms-my-I can feel it but I don’t know-cough, taste of blood, my blood, this isn’t right, oh no my boy, this real y isn’t right Chesterton. Comfy leather Chesterton. I really must sit down for a while, get my breath back. Thank you, thank you my dear. Yes, Just a few minutes and-and then we can return to the... blue, blue. Not the tunnel. No it’s blue. It tastes blue, I’m sure of it. Can’t you taste it? Warm blue. Pass me the... yes, that. What is it Tegan? I can hear it, silver noise, turn it down, turn it down! Just a nip, there, that’s better.
All deep now. Sort them out, make them behave.
No, no, sit down for a while. On here, on this, this... yes. Thank you my dear, thank you.
The Doctor’s body shook and spasmed, waves of muscle contraction travelling down his entire length. One arm flopped loosely at his side, fingers almost touching the stagnant water that pooled on the floor.
The figure that had entered the chamber paused, surveying the berserkly flickering displays on the instrumentation column above his head. Then, limping painfully but moving as quickly as it could, it crossed to him and reached under his head to where the strands of the implant had buried themselves in his neck.
The stranger knew that there must be a better way to remove them - but there wasn’t time.
With a short, sharp jerk, the fibres were severed. The Doctor shuddered once more and lay still – breathing, alive, but still.
‘So how did this spaceship get there?’ asked Alexander. ‘And why?’
Ace shrugged. ‘We’ve not worked that one out yet.’
‘We?’
‘Me and the Doctor – a mate of mine.’
‘And is he down in the ship as well?’
‘No, he’s back at a nursing home – no, not in a nursing home.’ She caught sight of his expression. ‘We’re looking for a friend of ours who’s vanished. I must have gone through some sort of matter transmitter and found myself on board the ship. I got chased by some creepy little man called Sooal and managed to get out of the ship’s airlock.’ She spread her hands wide. ‘And here I am.’
‘So where’s this nursing home? On one of the islands?’
‘Dunno – is Dumfries on one of the islands?’
‘Um, not quite – here, look at the map. He unfolded a map as Ace moved the teapot and mugs aside, and spread it out on the table. Within seconds, the truth was horribly dear: Graystairs and the Doctor were nearly three hundred miles away in the southwest of Scotland, whilst