Doctor Who_ The Nightmare of Black Island - Mike Tucker [55]
‘Stop it!’ Ali’s voice was shrill and piercing. ‘Stop it, stop it, stop it!’
She pulled at her father’s sleeve. ‘Why are you shouting at Rose, Dad? She can stop it. She and the Doctor can stop the monsters!’
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Mervyn stared down at his daughter, not knowing what to say to her. Ali leaned across and picked up the sonic screwdriver, turning it over in her hand carefully. She looked up at Rose.
‘Can this thing really fix everything? Make it like it was before?’
Rose nodded. ‘The Doctor’s told me exactly what he wants us to do, but we’ve got to hurry.’
Ali hopped down off her chair. ‘Well, let’s go, then.’
‘Ali, no. . . ’
Mervyn reached out for his daughter, but she stepped away from him.
‘Dad, I don’t want nightmares every night. I’m tired of being afraid to go to sleep and letting the monsters get out. I want to be able to play with my friends without being scared. I don’t want you and Mum worrying about me.’
She looked over to her mother. ‘Mum, I know you cry every night. I don’t want you to be unhappy because of me. Rose and the Doctor can put it right. I want to do something to help. Please. Let me do something. I’m not a little girl any more.’
She turned to Rose. ‘What is it that you want me to do?’
The Doctor watched as Morton hauled himself painfully up the stairs, step after agonising step, towards the wheelchair that waited for him on the landing. One of the masked Cynrog reached down to help him, but he batted the proffered hand away angrily and slumped breathless into the ancient metal-framed chair.
The Doctor studied the old man carefully. He had refused all offers of help, determined to make the climb on his own. Peyne had rung down to his office from the cumbersome old phone that sat on the table on the landing. The Doctor hadn’t heard what had been said on the other end, but it wasn’t difficult to work out. Then Peyne had stood in the doorway of the room, her unpleasant little disintegrator gun pointed squarely at the Doctor’s chest, patiently waiting as Morton made his creaking progress up the once grand staircase.
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‘Stubborn, isn’t he?’ the Doctor whispered conspiratorially to Peyne as Morton wiped his brow. He raised his voice. ‘You should get a stair lift. Make things much easier in a big place like this. Get Miss Peyne here to send for a catalogue.’
Morton wheeled himself over to where the Doctor stood, staring up at him with contempt. ‘Always keen on airing your ideas, aren’t you, Doctor?’
‘Oh, you’ll find I’m full of good ideas, Mr Morton. Bursting with
’em. Everyone a winner.’
‘But you’re not a winner, Doctor, and it is we who are bursting with ideas. At this very moment Miss Peyne and her colleagues are working hard to put right the little hiccup that you’ve created and then, I’m afraid, it’s business as usual.’
‘And what might your business be, Mr Morton?’ The Doctor dropped down on to his haunches, bringing his face level with Morton’s. ‘Allying yourself with the Cynrog? Filling the lighthouse with psychic transmitters? oh yes, I’ve been doing a little digging, turning up all sorts of interesting things, and I really don’t like what I’m finding. Not one little bit.’
He leaned closer to Morton, staring him full in the face.
‘But what’s it all for, eh? You’re not doing all this just to terrify a village full of children.’
‘It is a. . . necessary evil, Doctor.’
‘No, Nathaniel, it is not necessary.’ The Doctor’s voice was low and dangerous now, all sense of flippancy gone. ‘It is very un necessary. It is a sick, twisted game and it is going to stop.’
‘You think so, Doctor? You think you have all the answers?’ A grim smile flickered over Morton’s lined face. ‘Well, come and see the prize in our. . . game, as you put it.’
Morton spun his wheelchair and rolled across the landing. Peyne pushed the barrel of her blaster into the back of the Doctor’s neck, catching him by the collar and hauling him to his feet. She marched him along the corridor, following Morton and his creaking chair.
‘I’m