Images of Broken Light
Images of Broken Light
It hurt. Oh God but it hurt.
The girl moaned into her soaking gag, her head lolling to the side in the darkness of the stinking room they had locked her in.
She’d always joked with her mates about getting a tattoo, but if she had known how painful it was…and those people had done it to her body. Even her cheeks hadn’t been spared. Blood and pus oozed from where her wounds hadn’t healed; they would probably never heal.
But perhaps the worst part was the strange heat that was building under her skin, like liquid fire threatening to burn right through her very being.
Without warning, the room suddenly became flooded with light, causing her eyes to water and sting.
“Tonight’s the night,” a familiar voice announced, one that caused her to flinch away as much as she was able. “Are you excited girlfriend?”
“You’re scaring her,” the other one said as he approached her slowly. Gentle hands reached out to stroke her scarred face.
Whimpering, she shook her head in futile protest.
“Please,” she tried to beg around the gag.
“Nothing to be scared of,” the bigger one said, reaching to hoist her weakly struggling form over his left shoulder. “Nothing to be scared of at all.”
“Your fate will be glorious little one. Oh but how I envy you.”
***
Clara’s current companions were mostly stories pressed between the pages of old books, tales spun from the bottomless pit of human minds. Occasionally, she would pick up a tome and allow herself to get lost in an impossible tale or two, although those moments were far fewer than she would have liked.
Where before, her life had a never-ending and frenetic journey, her days now consisted of wandering amidst bookshelves, organizing collections and returning volumes to where they belonged.
It was a quiet life, one she was quite satisfied with. Barely anybody spoke to her, and if they tried, she had the perfectly courteous option of lifting one slim finger to her lips, reminding people that they were after all, in a library.
Of course, leaving the confines of the stacks meant entering a world of chatter and noise, and much as she would have preferred to spend all of her time in silence, unfortunately, that wasn’t a permanent luxury.
“Did you hear? The killer struck again last night,” Jemma said the moment Clara walked into the librarian’s office. Her coworker’s expression was a mixture of fascination and horror. “They found another body in the woods.”
“Ugh.” Clara made a face. “I don’t understand your fascination with this sensationalist garbage.”
“It’s not garbage Clara,” Jemma persisted. “It’s happening right here, and anyone of us could be the next victim.”
The former schoolteacher sighed as she settled behind her desk. “How you know it’s the same killer anyway?”
“The tattoos,” Jemma shuddered. “They found the same tattoos covering her body. And her eyes were burned out just like the others.”
“Poor girl,” Clara murmured, switching on her laptop. Peering across the room, she checked to make sure that the other girl wasn’t paying attention before sliding a manila folder out from a locked drawer.
Flipping it open, she studied for what felt like the hundredth time, the photocopied historical drawings and photographs laid out within. Tattooed dead faces looked back up at her in blank incomprehension from empty, burned out sockets.
Everything would be so much easier, she thought, if only she could have accomplished living the quiet life she had set out to achieve.
***
In hindsight, perhaps he should have called first, the Doctor thought as he slowly climbed the stairs up to her apartment. There was always the chance she was at the store, or she was out with P.E. or perhaps she had gone parasailing or something.
Downstairs on the lawn, the roof of the TARDIS - where he had just spent the better part of an hour perched, hesitating - glinted slightly in the moonlight, as if telling him that it wasn’t too late to turn back. There was still time for him to duck away, rather than having to explain to Clara why he was back, and how there might have been a slight chance that he hadn’t been altogether honest with her during their last conversation.
As he made his way down the hallway leading to her home, he reflected that he could have materialized in her bedroom the way he used to do. But the possibility that he might accidentally interrupt an intimate moment between herself and the soldier man was simply too much to bear. That was a sight he could absolutely do without.
Stopping at her front door, the Doctor took a deep breath and rapped on the painted surface with his knuckles. It took a long time, but eventually, the entrance swung opened and he found himself gazing into the wrinkled face of an elderly lady.
“Have you completely abandoned make up now?” he blurted out in surprise.
“Young man, do you know what time it is?” the woman was furious and showed no signs of recognition. It took him a moment to realize he was speaking to a complete stranger.
“I’m so sorry, I’m looking for Clara Oswald,” he said with the temerity to look embarrassed. “Is she in?”
“Who? Wait, I don’t care, because IT’S THREE IN THE MORNING. Go. Away.” the woman shut the door in his face.
He stood there, stunned. This wasn’t a scenario he had prepared himself for.
Turning back towards the stairs, the Doctor found himself face-to-face with a wholly unexpected, but extremely familiar smile.
“Hello Doctor,” Martha said from the entrance of the stairway. “How have you been?”
***
Clara shuffled impatiently in the doorway of the laboratory. Both astrophysicists she was staring at seemed oblivious to the fact for over two minutes, she had been staring at them, waiting for them to notice her presence.
Finally, realizing that she was going to continue being ignored, Clara cleared her throat pointedly, and said very nicely, “Hello,”
“Yes. Hello to you too.” the tallest astrophysicist stated. “Please leave.”
“Gary, that’s rude,” the slighter of the two said, looking up from his work with a sweet smile. “How can we help?”
“If he’s Dr. Gary Saunders, you must be Dr. Benjamin Peters,” Clara smiled, hoping she didn’t sound too nervous.
“Please, call me Ben,” he said, walking over to her. “And you are?”
“Clara,” she said, extending a hand to him. “Clara Oswald.”
“Ms. Oswald, as I’m sure you’re aware, the university provides us with a large amount to funding to research the nature of black holes.” the one named Gary drawled. “Not to waste precious time on post-graduate fangirls.”
“Kerrist Gary, what crawled up your ass this morning?” Ben rolled his eyes in his lab partner’s direction. He turned back to Clara. “Perhaps it’s best we step outside before Gary gets any ruder.”
Obligingly, Clara backed out of the room together with Ben, who closed the door behind him.
“You both don’t sound like you’re from around here,” she observed.
“No, we’re both from the University of British Columbia,” he replied. “We’re here on a research project funded by the University of Sheffield…for some reason, they think we’re brilliant and we really didn’t feel up to arguing. Well I didn’t. Gary insulted them before he took their money.”
“Fair enough,” Clara nodded. “I’m…I’m a student of Historical Linguistics. Actually. And I’m writing an essay on the significance of astronomy in old texts. I found some references that were quite interesting, and I was wondering if one of you would be able to help me out. I was told this was the right place to come for answers.”
“Yeah for sure,” Ben responded with interest. “If it’s something I can help with anyway.”
“I was wondering if the phrases I’ve recorded here were all referring to the same point in space.” Clara fished out a folded sheet of paper from her purse. “I found them from several different sources from various time periods.”
“Huh. Cool.” Ben skimmed through the contents as he dug around for a pen in his breast pocket. “I’ll take a look at it when I have a second. Why don’t you leave me your email or something?”
Clara smiled winningly at the astrophysicist before she scribbled her email and phone number down for him on a corner of the sheet she had given him.
***
“Soooo.” Martha broke the silence between them when they reached the ground floor. “How’s the weather in Gallifrey these days?”
“How did you know I was here?” the Doctor asked abruptly, turning to stare at Martha with narrowed eyes.
“I received reports of a blue police box landing in this neighbourhood.” she shrugged, shoving her hands in the pockets of her sweater.
“Reports?” he frowned. “Last time I checked, you were an independent alien hunter. Do you have a team now? Are you and Mickey running your own army?”
“UNIT wanted me back.” her smile faded slightly. “The price was right.”
“The price.” he repeated, staring hard at her. Martha held his gaze without flinching.
“I received a report that you had landed in an area we…I…had been keeping an eye on.” she said.
The Doctor took a deep breath, reminding himself who he was talking to, and why he should not lose his temper.
“What do you mean you’ve been keeping an eye on this place?” he asked tightly. “Where’s Clara?”
“Clara’s fine. For now.” Martha walked further out into the open field in front of the apartment complex, leaving the Doctor to follow in her wake. “She might not be for long though, if I’m guessing right.”
“Stop speaking in riddles Martha, I’m not the man you remember and my patience is at an end.” his voice lowered to a growl. “Where is she? Has UNIT does something to her?”
“Of course not,” Martha laughed, though there was no humour in the sound. “Clara left on her own free will. Can’t say I blame her.”
“Ah.” he said after a few seconds, his steps faltering. “She’s moved away to be with Danny I suppose.”
“Danny?” Martha sounded miffed as she turned to look at him. “Of course not. Danny Pink’s dead. Been dead since last November.”
The Doctor couldn’t do much else aside from gawping at his former companion.
***
In front of them, a basket of chips cooled rapidly, untouched and dripping with stale fryer oil. The booth they had settled in was one of the few occupied spots in the dingy twenty-four hour establishment, which smelled mostly like old grease and bitter coffee. At the bar, a lone waitress was perched on a shaky stool, sucking hard on a cigarette as she stared unseeing at the television that had been installed above the liquor shelves.
“She tried to tell me.” The Doctor said as he stared down at the cracking linoleum where his hands were resting. “She was trying to tell me what happened while I was busy making up some ridiculous story, right before I abandoned her. I really am Doctor Idiot.”
“She didn’t correct your…misconceptions.” Martha reached across the table to touch his arm, but at the last moment, she hesitated and withdrew. “Sounds like the two of you were trying to make each other happy. By torturing yourselves of course…and I suddenly understand why you and I would never have worked out.”
He peered up at her with a bemused expression.
“Are you’re telling me that on top of everything, she’s possibly managed to get herself involved in some ridiculously dangerous situation all on her own?” he questioned after a beat. “What is she thinking?”
Martha sighed. “What do you think we do when it’s all over and we set our feet back on the hard ground? What do you think happens when we step out of the TARDIS and leave the stars behind?”
“What?” he asked.
“We have to find some way to get our fix.” she replied with a bittersweet smile on her lips.
***
“Gary?” Ben’s eyes rapidly scanned the sheet in front of him.
“What?” the other astrophysicist snapped testily without looking up from his work.
“Gary you’re not going to fucking believe this,” Ben’s voice rose in excitement in a manner that caused his peer to finally give him his full attention.
“I think we’ve found her.” he looked up with an ecstatic grin. “I think we’ve found the perfect vessel.”