Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [136]
‘But they were all out of it at the hardware store.’
‘What have you done with Chris?’ repeated the Doctor patiently.
‘Through here.’ He led the Doctor into the dining-room.
Chris Cwej was on the floor beside the table, lying motionless among the loose-spooled folds of his orange robe.
‘I had to leave him in here so as not to disturb Justine’s delicate sensibilities.’
The Doctor immediately knelt and checked Chris’s pulse.
His eyes were closed and there was blood caked on the young man’s bald head.
‘See, he’s fine.’
The Doctor looked up angrily. ‘This is hardly fine.’
‘Let’s not split hairs, Doctor. He’s alive. Now let’s go back into the living room.’ He waved the gun as he led the Doctor back through. ‘Sit on the couch if you like. Get comfortable. I was in the middle of something when you rang the doorbell.’
Vincent went over to the piano and sat on the low stool, near Justine. Her eyes flickered fearfully above her taped mouth, trying to keep him in view.
‘I was just filling Justine in on what we might call the missing years. The years since we split up.’
Vincent hitched the piano-stool forward, nearer Justine.
The room was hot and still in the evening light. There was a heavy smell of flowers and fruit in a fruitbowl was slowly turning from ripeness to rot. ‘Doctor,’ he said, ‘you might remember the strange things I used to do.’
‘Of course I remember,’ said the Doctor.
‘Naturally, you would.’ Vincent’s eyes had an odd look to them. ‘You used me as a weapon, so naturally you remember the powers that lent me to that use. I learned a lot from that experience. In fact, you might say that I’ve achieved all this.’
Vincent waved his gun in a vague gesture to encompass the current situation. Above the wide black gag of tape, Justine’s eyes worriedly followed the movement of the pistol. ‘You might say that I’ve only got where I am today with your help.’
‘Do you blame me for what happened to you, Vincent?’
‘You used me, Doctor. You used me then discarded me.
That would be obvious to anyone.’
‘You can force that interpretation on to things, I suppose,’
said the Doctor, his eyes steely. ‘But we all weave our own destinies, Vincent. And this is the one you’ve chosen for yourself.’
‘And I’m as happy as a pig in shit,’ said Vincent. He leant back on his piano-stool and lazily stretched his leg out so his foot touched Justine’s where it was fastened to the chair. She couldn’t avoid his touch. ‘That’s now, though. It wasn’t always like that. For a long time, for years, in fact I wasn’t happy at all. Can you imagine that, Justine?’ Vincent began to rub his foot playfully against her tethered foot.
‘Justine, baby, after what you did to me I was so screwed up I lost the gift. It was like impotence. When you left me I couldn’t function any more. It’s funny. I’d spent years wishing it would go away so I could lead a normal life. But when it really did go it was like losing my right arm.’
Vincent looked at the Doctor sitting silently on the couch.
‘Which was kind of a pity,’ said Vincent. ‘Because I was counting on my special talent to get me a job with the security services. Imagine my embarrassment. I was once a human weapon they would have killed to get their hands on. But there was no way I could prove it to these government guys.’
Vincent got up, turned to the piano and played a few simple chords. They echoed harmoniously in the warm dim room.
‘But the story has a happy ending,’ he said. ‘It turned out it didn’t matter, they believed me anyway.’ He grinned crookedly. ‘My fame had preceded me. They already had me on their computers. So that made it easy. They gave me a job, in special weapons development. And I had some pretty good ideas about special weapons.’
He swivelled on the piano-stool to face the Doctor. ‘I figured I didn’t have the gift any more, but maybe my child had inherited it. My boy. Ricky.’ He nodded at Justine. ‘You know, when I told Justine what