Doctor Who_ The City of the Dead - Lloyd Rose [78]
The incidents formed a connected loop. The Doctor had the charm so he brought it to New Orleans and started a series of events that enabled him to go back and get the charm so that he could bring it to New Orleans& You got used to this sort of seemingly impossible closed event system when you travelled in time, and it wasn't the paradox that bothered the Doctor. It was that the boy had, almost deliberately, set the whole thing in motion. And now he was caught in this turning wheel, rolling who knew where, to satisfy who knew what plan or purpose?
How was it possible that anyone, even the son of a magician, could have twisted time into such a Mobius strip?
And if Delesormes Jnr wasn't Acree, then where the hell was he hiding?
'Oh,' said the Doctor. He was suddenly fully conscious. He opened his eyes. The room was dark and the street still. He sat up, swinging his bare feet down to the floor.
What if he had been going at things backwards? Never mind the empty grave for a moment, never mind the boy in the ruined house. If whoever was behind all this was powerful enough to warp time, then faking a catastrophic death would be child's play to him.
The Doctor stood up. Unexpectedly, dizziness made him stagger. He sat down again, waiting for it to pass.
Not only powerful but disciplined. Disciplined enough to wait for decades.
Disciplined enough to mutilate himself for power.
Like a flashback from a dream, the Doctor saw Thales on his crutches moving away down the hall, the straining muscles of his strong back. His uncreased shoes.
He started to stand again, and the dizziness swept through him like freezing air. He fell against the bed, slid to the floor. His bones were heavy as lead. Sluggishly, he tried to sit up. This couldn't be happening. He was awake. But not for long, he realised as he began to sink. The room receded and his senses shut down and even his fear slid away, as he was dragged down into sleep.
The Doctor dreamed.
He didn't know he was dreaming. He thought he was lying on his back with his eyes shut, trying to figure out why he was awake. He felt as if he'd been lying here for hours, heavy-limbed yet restless, his mind skittering from one trivial thought to another. Wondering why his hand ached .Wondering why his chest stung. Wondering where he was. The TARDIS? Surely he must be in the TARDIS. But not in his bed. On the floor for some reason. Why was that?
Crack!
'No,' he whispered.
That was a mistake. Now it knew where he was. He sensed it swing its attention towards him like some great, blind head. He had to move, he had to run, lying still wouldn't work, because it had heard him now, it had found him and -
Something patted at the door. The sound was tentative. Exploratory. like a palm placed flat against the wood, but softly. Very, very softly.
The Doctor couldn't move. His limbs felt like clay.
The door smashed open.
The Doctor gasped. It stooped on the threshold, listening. Then it crept forward, bent over and sweeping at the area in front of it, groping its slow way towards him. He strained to move. He strained to -Wake up! Yes, that was it. He was dreaming. Something leaned over him. Wake up! There was a weight on his chest - Wake up!
He jolted out of sleep.
There was a weight on his chest. A hand gripped his mouth, fingers squeezed his throat, lips breathed in his ear:
'Can't wake up out of this one.'
PART THREE
Dead End
'My father's character was shadowed By his fascination with Nature's dark secrets, Which he studied with an ardour and sincerity That was yet obsessed,
peculiar, even mad.'
- Goethe, Faust
Chapter Sixteen
Rust Never Sleeps
Anji pressed the bell and pounded on the thick wood for what seemed like hours before the door finally opened and Rust peered blearily out.
'I'm so sorry,' she babbled. 'I am, honestly. But something's happened to the Doctor. I know it's your first day off in over a week and that this isn't really your