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By Root 331 0

and Taylor gasped as it punctured his vein. As a black shroud fell over his thoughts, it seemed to drag the faces of others to mask his own: Lucy, the kid, the old woman, Watson. They were large, shadowy grey behind his eyes. He smiled like a child as the lights were put out. Everything was going to be fine.

6.2

Cynthia was packing. Her life had been in this room for the past three years

- there it all was now in front of her, all her gear folded carelessly in a big pile on the bed. She'd always thought she'd feel sad when she came to move on from here, but she found herself feeling... well, nothing, really.

This was just a necessary task before she could leave here for ever.

She needed the large suitcase on top of the wardrobe, and went to get her chair to help her reach it. Then she jumped, startled. Russell Waller was standing in the doorway.

'Do you want any help?' he asked, softly.

'No,' she stated, flatly. 'No, I'm fine, ta.'

'Where are you going?'

'Don't know. Just away.' She carried the chair over to the wardrobe. 'My mum's, maybe,' she added.

'I can get that suitcase for you.'

'No, really, it's -'

He was already walking across the room. He looked different, somehow. It wasn't just his ashen skin that made him seem... well, older . It was in his bearing, too. He wasn't so gawky, he seemed more confident.

Reaching up with a fluid movement, he had the case in his hands before she could argue. He laid it on the bed for her.

'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.'

He wasn't normally so talkative. She got on with packing things away while he hovered behind her.

She glanced round in irritation, but he just gave her a hesitant smile. Even his hair seemed shinier, the lock that hung down over his forehead thicker and more lustrous.

'Look,' said Cynthia. 'I'm sorry if it seems rude, but I'd rather be by myself right now.'

'So you can hide in the wardrobe?'

She froze. He was looking at her expectantly.

'I don't know what you mean,' she said coldly, pushing more clothes into the large case.

'Reckon we might have a few things in common, you and me,' he said, moving closer.

She turned and backed away. 'Get out, please.'

'But I only want to talk.'

His eyes looked like polished marble in his grey face.

"There's something wrong with you,' said Cynthia.

'Don't tell me that,' he shouted at her.

'You should see Dr Roley.'

'And what can he do for me, eh?' He gestured down at himself. 'Give me a pill and make me all right?' His voice softened. 'I'm sorry... Look, you're right. I'm not feeling very well. Please...' He looked into her eyes. 'Would you hold me?'

Cynthia found herself in front of him before she'd even registered what he was after. For a moment she felt as if she were underwater, her arms floating upward in the soft currents to embrace him of their own accord.

Then she felt his own arms slip round her, and the cold touch of his skin jolted her back to her senses.

She broke away with a short shriek. 'Get your hands off me!'

Russell recoiled as if she'd physically struck him.

'Go on, get out!' she yelled.

Russell turned and fled.

***

Watson had sat in a dark room and focused on Peter Taylor, hunting for any trace of the man. He was sure he'd made contact, just now, sure it hadn't been just imagination. Now he was striding along the landing in the east wing, his heart full, like a young man leaving his country to fight some heinous threat in a foreign land. He felt he'd been handed some piece of new equipment for testing, something incredible, and only he could fathom its range, its purpose, its potential. And if Taylor could help them, and if the others...

Watson heard feet pounding on the floorboards, coming towards him.

Russell rounded the corner in the corridor full pelt, his face pained, and Watson neatly sidestepped to avoid a collision.

Deep in thought, he watched the boy run along the landing, then realised he was standing outside the Doctor's makeshift laboratory. The door was half open, and he walked inside.

By the