Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [92]
‘What the hell is it now?’ said Brett irritably.
Ethan couldn’t answer. Blood slipped from his nose.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Brett. ‘What is it? Migraine?’ Ethan made a noise that sounded like ‘urgh’. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ He hauled Ethan to his feet again. ‘I wonder if one pain will drive out another.’
‘Well,’ Ethan gasped, ‘let’s find out,’ and he threw himself against Brett and drove him into the stove.
Brett screamed, and Ethan backed up. He couldn’t make himself hold Brett against the metal, and doubted he’d have the strength in any case. He tottered back and collapsed on his side. The pain in his head nearly made him vomit.
Brett had fallen on his face, and the non-thing, panicked, was slicing in and out of him. It shot toward Ethan, then snapped back, flashing around Brett in angles and planes, making no noise, though Ethan was certain it was screaming.
Brett didn’t move. He’s dead, thought Ethan. And it’s dying. The heat killed them both.
With what was left of his sleeve, he wiped the blood and snot off his face.
Telephone. Somewhere in the house there had to be a telephone. Of course, the farmer might have had the service cancelled while he was away. Think positively, Ethan told himself, and that struck him as so funny that he laughed until a spasm of pain shut him up. After that, he curled in a tight little ball, fighting nausea, and didn’t move for a while. He was still like that when he heard the front door open and, looking up, saw Molecross hurry into the room.
‘This is a joke, right?’ he said hoarsely. ‘Why are you everywhere I turn, Molecross? Are we psychically linked? Is it karma? What? Just tell me, what?’
‘I don’t think you’re quite yourself,’ offered Molecross, crossing to the hearth.
He gulped. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘He’s dead, you moron, that’s what’s wrong with him.’ Ethan’s head was beginning to clear, and a practical question occurred to him. ‘How the hell did you get here anyway?’
Molecross was backing away from Brett’s corpse. ‘I drove. Oh – I see what you mean. Well, after you disappeared, the Doctor and Ace were searching all over, went back down to Brett’s house, they may still be there. But I thought, Chapter Twenty-two
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perhaps he’s gone somewhere nearby. I mean, we knew it had to be Brett. Not likely you’d have a lot of enemies. So I thought I’d check here.’
‘Good reasoning,’ Ethan admitted.
‘How are. . . Are you. . . ’
‘I’m all right,’ said Ethan. ‘Particularly considering I’ve had an alien being shunted in and out of me. My back is. . . it’s. . . ’
‘Yes,’ said Molecross, looking. ‘Hang on a mo’.’
He went away. Ethan shut his eyes. The whole situation seemed unbelievable to him, like a dream; not only a bad one but any sort of dream – unreal, unretrievable, of another quality of being altogether. He had the peculiar feeling that if he opened his eyes he would be back in his flat, and none of the last week or so would ever have happened. Nor would he mind – except for Ace. Thank God Ace wasn’t here. It was getting embarrassing always to be discovered in a bloody heap. He sincerely hoped this was the last time it would happen.
‘The power’s off,’ said Molecross, re-entering with a towel, ‘but the water’s on. Try this.’ He’d soaked the towel in cold water; now he laid it gently across Ethan’s back. ‘Does that help?’
It didn’t actually help much, but Ethan murmured, ‘Thanks.’ He heard Molecross walk away a few paces.
‘There really is something wrong with him. Aside from being dead.’
What else could that possibly be? Ethan wondered distractedly. He didn’t feel able to concentrate on the question. ‘Never mind.’
‘I suppose the Doctor will know.’
‘Oh yes,’ Ethan muttered, ‘the Doctor knows everything.’
‘Sometimes I honestly believe he does. I left him a note.’
‘What?’
‘A note. At my house. I’m sure he’ll work it out.’
I’m sure he will, Ethan thought. Just