Doctor Who_ Loving The Alien Part 32

Mullen's head lolled in the Doctor's direction. His eyes flickered slightly, his tongue moved slowly and uncertainly about his open, drooling mouth. He tried to formulate a word...

'Don't... Don't make me...' It was barely a whisper. 'Don't make me...'

His head slumped again and his eyes closed.

'Has he said anything to you?'

The Doctor hadn't heard O'Brien enter.

'You were right: he's heavily sedated. He's a friend of mine. His 153 name is Joe Mullen.'

'Shee... I'm sorry, Doc.'

'So am I,' said the Doctor.

'They'll be in to feed him pretty soon. It's heartbreaking to watch.

I'd come away if I were you.'

The Doctor followed O'Brien back into the other ward.

'How often does he have his pills?' asked the Doctor.

'Four times a day.'

'They must be very mild doses. Probably afraid he'll die, which is ironic it's this place that's killing him.'

He lowered his voice.

I want you to do something for me, Davey.'

'Sure, Doc.'

'I want you to make sure he doesn't take his next medication. Just keep an eye on the nurse and be quick. A sharpish tap between the shoulder-blades should be enough if you're quick, or failing that a couple of fingers down his throat.'

O'Brien winced.

'If we're to get him out of here, he'll at least have to be awake.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Find a means of escape,' said the Doctor. 'First I must have a proper look round, try and formulate a plan. Come with me, you can be my tour guide.'

The Doctor peered out at the darkening sky, slyly testing the window's strength. The gla.s.s was reinforced with wire, the frames metal, sunk deep into the brickwork, and beyond the Doctor could see a grid of iron bars. He exited the ward, O'Brien at his heel, and looked down the broad stone staircase. A pair of guards on every landing.

He pa.s.sed into a further ward, empty, guarded like the others.

There was no guard at the far end, and no door. The room ended in a painted metal hatchway. The Doctor touched it, then withdrew his hand.

'What's this?' he asked quietly 'Furnace,' said O'Brien. 'Just a big old chimney a chute down to a furnace. This part of the building's ancient. They don't care if you look there's no escaping that way.'

The Doctor opened the hatch, peered in and coughed. It was hot in there and choked with rising, billowing clouds of smoke. A deep, dark pool of red glowed far below him.

Above him the shaft rose a good fifteen feet into darkness.

'It's too dark to see now,' said O'Brien, 'but there's a metal grille at the top.'

154.

'Sssh!' the Doctor suddenly hissed. 'Listen.'

Dimly, over the muted roar of the furnace below, the Doctor could hear another sound, less even... Dull clanging thuds, like mallet blows somewhere overhead. And something else. A sort of howling, crying, almost animal in its despair.

'What is that? Stick your head in here.'

Instead O'Brien drew back from the hatch.

'Something wrong, Davey?'

O'Brien shook his head. 'I'm OK,' he said, but still ventured no nearer.

Behind them the guard was being relieved. The newcomer sipped at a steaming mug and called to them.

'You won't get out that way guys.'

The Doctor strolled over to the guard. 'No, I don't suppose we will.'

He fixed the guard's eye, locked his gaze.

'But if I had to leave, you could help me, couldn't you?' the Doctor said, his voice imperceptibly slowing and deepening as he rummaged for his pocket watch.

The guard smiled. 'So you could go running back to Russia? Guess again, buster.'

The Doctor smiled thinly. This one at least wouldn't succ.u.mb to hypnotism. He guessed that none of the guards would.

He released the watch. His fingers brushed against something small.

His smile broadened. In the darkness of his pocket he began to crush Mullen's sedative pill between his thumb and forefinger.

'How long have you been posted in London?' the Doctor asked.

'Long enough,' the guard replied.

'Where are you from originally?'

'Wisconsin, why?'

'Just making conversation, said the Doctor. Good day oops!'

His hand brushed against the side of the guard's coffee cup, causing it to splash. The Doctor steadied the cup.

'Clumsy of me,' he apologised. 'I'll leave you in peace.'

And with that he strode back across the landing to his own ward. He glanced back to see O'Brien following him and the guard watching, sipping at his coffee. He beamed back at him, and at the two stair-guards.

Back in the Doctor's empty ward he sat on his bed and fiddled with his shoelaces.

'What now?' O'Brien asked.

'We wait for the powder I slipped into his coffee to take effect. It's 155 Inspector Mullen's medication. It might take up to an hour.'

O'Brien grinned.

'And what then?'

'I'm going up the chimney.'

'There's practically nothing to hold on to,' said O'Brien. 'And that fire down below. And I told you the top is barred.'

'I'm not aiming to escape not yet. Dr Hark told me that we were on the top floor. Judging by the height of the chimney, and by the noises I heard in there, he lied.'

'Just pipework clanging,' said O'Brien. 'That and the wind.'

He sensed O'Brien flinching.

'What is it, Davey?'

'Nothing.' He sounded stressed.

'Nothing?'

'What do you think makes those sounds, Doc?'

'A human being in pain,' said the Doctor.

'They go through me,' O'Brien whispered, shuddering again. 'It's like someone's walking on my grave.'

Rita was beginning to doubt her dream theory. It felt too real. It was too consistent.

So she must be mad. She didn't know what to do.

She decided to seek refuge in Regent's Park. Surely there would be fewer people there. She tried to keep to side-streets and alleys, away from the main, terrifying throng of racing people and cars. When she had to venture onto a main road she hugged the wall like grim death.

Those infuriating pedestrians the ones who insisted on just standing motionless on the pavements, their backs pressed against the walls actually provided her with some shelter from the torrent of pa.s.sers-by, which never quite touched them. She found they generally moved on after ten minutes or so, rejoining the throng and allowing her to gain another few yards of wall before having to wait again. It was a slow business, but safe.

She had made Bloomsbury Way before she heard the voice.

'Rita! Rita Hawks!'

She spun around. A woman of about her own age was standing behind her, smiling broadly.

'It is you, isn't it? Stella Williams don't you remember? We were in college together.'

Rita remembered.

'Stella!'

She felt boundlessly glad to have run into this dimly remembered 156 acquaintance. She gave her a sudden hug.

'How've you been?'

'Oh, very well,' said Stella. 'Of course who isn't nowadays? But what about you? You've become a bit of a celebrity!'

'Me?'

Top reporter for the Daily Briefing Daily Briefing...'

'You read that?'

'Don't be modest who doesn't?'

Rita shook her head. The Briefing Briefing was a low-circulation rag. was a low-circulation rag.

Stella was still smiling fondly.

'Rita Hawks...' she said again, then checked herself. 'Of course, it's not Hawks any more, is it? Didn't I read you'd married a handsome millionaire?'

'I did?'

'Well, if not a millionaire, he certainly wasn't poor. I suppose that made it easier for you to stay over here.'

'Stella what's going on?'

'What do you mean?'

'This place. I mean... We went to college together, yeah?'

'Of course.'

'Night school in Bromley. It closed when the war broke out.'

'Yes.'

'And since then?'

'Well, I'm married too... He's an accountant. We've two lovely children. A boy and a girl they're away at school.'

Rita shook her head impatiently. She didn't know what she was trying to say.