Doctor Who: Bad Therapy (37 page)

Chris was making his way back to the TARDIS when he finally found her.

If it hadn’t been for the photograph outside the Top Ten Club he would never have thought to look for her there.

She had top billing. Her name spelt out in large glittering letters. The picture had obviously been taken when her husband was still alive. She looked alluring, but vacant. Presumably just how Robert Burgess had wanted her.

The foyer of the club looked dark and deserted through the window, but the front door was slightly ajar. Taking a final glance at the empty eyes staring out of the photograph, Chris slipped inside.

The Doctor, Tilda and Gilliam sat in a triangle around the blank-faced mannequin on the floor of the Tropics. The Doctor sat behind its head, the two women on either side of the creature. The solemnity of the occasion made 216

Gilliam want to giggle, just as she always had when girlfriends had staged seances at High School.

The Doctor reached over to Tilda and rested the fingers of one hand on her forehead. Tilda closed her eyes and a look of quiet enchantment crossed her face.

‘Oh!’ she breathed, opening her eyes a moment later, and smiling a little sheepishly. ‘Oh, I say.’

It was the first time Gilliam had ever seen the woman at a loss for words.

The Doctor’s eyes remained closed. He cupped the mannequin’s head in his hands, his brow creased in concentration.

And then the features of a young woman began to form on the empty face, pushing their way up through the flat surface of flesh. The woman the mannequin became was recognizably Tilda, only younger and more serene, lacking the worry lines of a mother. She was a fairy tale princess. A sleeping beauty.

Petruska.

The Doctor reached out his hand towards Gilliam to repeat the exercise.

However, he hesitated when he saw her anxious expression. ‘It’s your choice,’

the Doctor reminded her.

The idea of anyone – particularly the Doctor – having access to her thoughts scared Gilliam. ‘I don’t know if I trust you anymore, Doctor,’ she whispered.

‘I’ve been angry with you for so long now.’

The expression on his face was as expressionless as a mask but, somehow, perhaps precisely because of its stillness, Gilliam knew that he’d been really hurt by her words. He started to move, preparing to climb to his feet. ‘I understand. But there’s no longer enough of Petruska remaining in Tilda for this to work without you. We need to think of another way.

It wasn’t a trick. He was genuinely willing to make a new plan to defeat Moriah rather than compromise her feelings.

‘Wait.’ Gilliam reached out and grasped his hand, quickly bringing it to her forehead. Instantly, she felt his presence enter her mind, felt his surprise at her change of heart. And then he calmed, and slowly, delicately probed at her memories. She felt him hesitate when he encountered the bitterness she still felt towards him, and his shame when he glimpsed the isolation of the royal life to which he had abandoned her. He lingered for a moment over her achievements as a ruler, commenting on her wisdom and fairness – and Gilliam felt a quiet rush of pride – before he moved on to focus upon her discoveries of the last few days.

Looking through her eyes, he saw the hieroglyphs on the walls of Petruska’s chamber. She felt him, almost idly, give voice to the song the hieroglyphs contained even as he translated the meaning secreted beneath. Petruska’s 217

voice came to life with an individuality and clarity which Gilliam had never before heard. It wasn’t that her own translations were wrong, but they were crude; she’d missed the subtleties of Petruska’s language.

She felt Petruska’s defiance and anger more keenly than ever before. The frustration of a brilliant woman, a scientist and a thinker, trapped in a prison of boredom and terror. Gilliam felt Petruska’s pain when she learnt of her bodyguard’s betrayal. Petruska had loved Tol’ gar, but more precious than even this, he had been her only independent link to the outside world. A link which had turned out to be only another string of the web Moriah had spun around her. Gilliam felt Petruska’s decision to end her life and her eyes flooded with tears. The calmness and maturity with which she faced her final, terrible choice left Gilliam awestruck.

And then the Doctor released his hand and suddenly, she was back in the Tropics, blinking through her shock.

‘We remember you, Petruska, First Queen of Kr’on Tep,’ the Doctor whispered, as he placed his hands around the Petruska mannequin’s head and transferred the memories to the woman lying motionless on the floor.

She was standing in shadow on a small stage above the auditorium of the Top Ten Club, hugging a bottle of what looked like spirits. She was singing softly, wordlessly to herself, reminding Chris of a distressed child.

Chris paused at the back of the club, before walking across the empty dancefloor to the foot of the stage, his shoes sounding loudly on the polished wooden floor. He looked up at the woman on the stage. There were dark rings under her eyes; she didn’t meet his gaze.

‘Patsy?’ he said, even though he knew that it was her.

She took a swig from the bottle. ‘I don’t feel very well,’ she slurred. ‘There’s an emptiness inside of me. A hollowness.’

Chris swallowed, painfully.

‘I’m beginning to die, aren’t I? You don’t want me, so I am going to die.’

‘I wish I could help you –’ he began.

‘That’s ironic because I was made to help, Christopher. That’s. . . that’s what I’m for: therapy.’

Chris’s frustration surfaced. ‘Well it’s crukking
bad
therapy, Patsy. This isn’t living it’s like. . . oh I don’t know, it’s too easy being in love with you.’

‘You’re in love with me?’ She blurted out, taking a step nearer the edge of the stage, and the hope in her voice made Chris wince.

‘What? No! I don’t know. How could I be in love with you? You’re just the memory of a friend.’

‘I have no memory. It’s like looking into the mirror and seeing nothing but the mirror. Since you’ve gone I’ve lost sight of who I am. I only remember 218

myself in little glimpses.’

‘I didn’t ask for this, Patsy.’

‘And I did, I suppose?’ her voice flaring with anger, echoing in the empty hall. ‘Did I ask to be born? Did I?’

‘You lied to me, deceived me with that story of being a refugee, of coming from another planet. Goddess, I can’t believe I fell for that.’

Patsy smiled for the first time. ‘You wanted to play the intergalactic hero.

So I let you. You lied to me too. You never told me about. . . about her.’

‘Thank the Goddess!’ he exclaimed.

‘Who was she, Christopher? Who am I?’

Chris looked up at the tragic figure above him on the stage. There was little of Roz Forrester in her now. ‘She was my partner. My friend.’ He paused, before adding, ‘She died.’

Patsy nodded to herself as if this information helped her make sense of something inside her.

‘When I was with you, it felt so comfortable. I could almost cope with Roz being gone because you were so like her, even though I never really noticed.

I don’t think I wanted to notice. But I know the truth now. Patsy. . . couldn’t you. . . well. . . couldn’t you meet someone else?’

‘I don’t want anyone else. It’s too late for that. I only want you. I was born when you met me. I died when you left me. I lived for a few hours while you loved me. That’s all, Christopher. That’s all.’

Gilliam watched as the Doctor asked Tilda if he could borrow her car.

‘I can’t risk taking Petruska into the TARDIS. Who knows what dreams and needs the old thing might project on to her.’ The Doctor shivered to himself.

‘I don’t think I’m ready to face that.’

Reluctantly, Tilda handed over the keys. ‘That car is my pride and joy. If anything should happen to it –’

‘Don’t worry, I shall treat it as if it were one of my own.’

An image of the Doctor proudly polishing the paint-work on Sunday afternoons popped into Gilliam’s head. Somehow the idea of the Doctor owning something as mundane as a car seemed so absurd. She tried to imagine what sort of vehicle the Doctor, might drive. It wasn’t easy. ‘I didn’t know you owned a car,’ Gilliam said, hoping it wasn’t some obvious penis extension like a Porche.

The Doctor grinned, and as if reading her thoughts said: ‘It’s a vintage model, but it doesn’t go often.’

She laughed. ‘That sounds about right. Are you sure you don’t need some company for this trip?’

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The Doctor shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no. I can’t afford any distractions. None at all.’ He indicated the Petruska mannequin which stood patiently by the exit of the Tropics, still dressed in the white tunic of a hospital orderly. ‘I’m going to have to be in constant empathic contact with Nurse Petruska here. It’s going to be quite an effort to allow Petruska to love Moriah. Any interruption will allow Moriah’s unconscious guilt to tip the balance and turn her against him. He’s been his own worst enemy throughout his work to recreate his wife. On some level he must want her to reject him, so she does. I imagine that somewhere deep inside of himself he believes that he deserves her hatred.’

‘Well he does,’ Gilliam said, with feeling. ‘What will you do even if he does accept your copy of her?’

‘Try and persuade him to use the gateway to leave Earth. Send him somewhere where he won’t cause anyone any more trouble.’

‘Not back home to Kr’on Tep, then?’

‘Oh no. I think that Yr’canos can probably do without Moriah returning and trying to reclaim his throne, don’t you?’

Gilliam didn’t say anything. She watched as the Doctor led Moriah’s bride down the back staircase of the Tropics to begin his mission, just as his young friend Jack staggered in through the front door. His left eye was swollen a painful shade of purple. His face was full of panic and concern.

‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, looking at Tilda. ‘Have you seen the Doctor?’ He caught sight of the Doctor and his companion leaving and headed over to them. ‘Wait!’

Gilliam intercepted him. ‘Hang on, Jack. The Doctor’s busy. What’s going on?’

Jack was looking past her at the Doctor’s disappearing back. ‘I ran into the Scratons. Gordy was after Dennis – said he was gonna kill him. Notting Hill’s in pieces. It’s chaos. Worse than around here.’ Jack hurried through his explanations, eager to follow the Doctor. ‘Where’s he off to?’

‘He’s taking Tilda’s car to Healey. To the Institute.’

‘What? He’s gonna fight Moriah?’ Jack stared at Gilliam, his face contorted into a sneer. ‘And you let him go on his own? What kind of a friend are you?’

‘It’s not like that. This is the way the Doctor wanted it. He’s got a plan.’

‘And you believed him? He was just trying to keep you out of danger. Make it easy for you to back out of going with him. What a coward! No wonder he dumped you before.’

The nerve he touched was too raw. Gilliam had spent too many nights tossing and turning under the desert sky wondering what she had done to make the Doctor abandon her without a word. She’d slapped the youth across the side of his face before she’d realized that she was angry with him.

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Jack gave a little yelp – Gilliam winced – she’d caught his injured eye.

‘Christ, Jack, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –’

His already puffy eye began to bleed, a thick red tear rolling down his cheek.

He wiped away the tear, looking shocked when he glimpsed the red stain on the back of his hand.

He backed away from her, breathing in short, shallow gasps. ‘You’re worse than. . . than the Scratons, or even Moriah. At least I know which side they’re on.’

‘Jack. . . ’ Gilliam started, wanting to make him understand, but the youth had already turned and stumbled out of the Tropics.

The Doctor reappeared at the back of the club a moment later and looked between Tilda and Gilliam. ‘I heard shouting. I thought it was Jack’s voice. Is everything all right?’

‘You just missed him. He’s upset that –’ Gilliam glanced quickly at Tilda, suddenly unsure whether she really was backing out of helping the Doctor.

‘A bit of teenage angst, nothing to worry about,’ Tilda interrupted. ‘Poor kid was worried about you. You know what teenagers are like.’

‘Not really,’ the Doctor said, frowning. ‘I’ll speak to him later,’ he muttered, as if he were adding the task to a long list of chores, and then he ducked back down the stairs.

Tilda and Gilliam exchanged glances.

Chris sat on the edge of the stage of the Top Ten Club. Patsy lay on her back, her head resting on his lap. They’d sat like that for what felt like hours, him gently stroking her hair, trying to think of words of comfort. Part of him wanted to leave, find the Doctor; but the terrible consequence of walking out on her kept him there. He felt utterly trapped.

‘You’re going to continue travelling with the Doctor, aren’t you?’ Patsy asked suddenly.

He’d forgotten about her ability to know what he was feeling.

‘I don’t know.’ Even as he formed the words he knew that he had already made his decision. He didn’t belong here and despite his earlier anger with the Doctor, he wasn’t ready to leave him just yet.

‘I see,’ Patsy said sitting up. She swung her legs over the edge of the darkened stage and lowered herself into the auditorium. ‘No point in me hanging around prolonging the inevitable,’ she said, and walked out of the club.

Feeling like a murderer, Chris hurried after her.

The Doctor accelerated down a pitch-black country lane, navigating partly from memory and mostly by instinct. As the sports car rattled over a cattle grid he thought he heard a muffled voice cry out. He glanced at the silent 221

woman in the passenger seat; her face was still, her eyes fixed on some distant point in front of them.

Shaking his head in puzzlement, he returned his attention to the road.

A small white sign declared that it was fifteen miles to Healey.

By the time Chris stepped back on to the street, Patsy had disappeared. While they had been in the Top Ten Club, a thick smog had descended, coating the streets, and filling the air with its heavy, oppressive atmosphere. He heard the sound of a window smash a little way off and heard male voices shouting something unintelligible and triumphant.