Fanfic Flashback: SJA - The Patron Saint of Time and Space
You know, I'd forgotten I'd written this story, based on the Sarah Jane Adventures' "Eye of the Gorgon." Kind of had me wibbling at the end.
"It's hard, I know," Sarah murmured. Her eyes squinted slightly, the meticulous observer, and Rosemary felt vivisected, exposed, studied. "It's hard, coming back to real life after being exposed to such…amazing things."
The line sounded rehearsed. She wondered about this woman, this Sarah Jane Smith. Perhaps she ran some sort of halfway service for humans caught between the world of man and the world of demons and aliens. Perhaps she merely ushered them through, like Cerberus at the gates of Hades.
"You have no idea about anything," Rosemary said hoarsely, sipping her tea. "I dedicated my life to a God that does not exist, and wound up serving a devil that no one ever believed in. There's no coming back from that."
"So you wish to atone? Throw yourself at New Guinea with all the force of the greatest of martyrs?"
"There has to be a point. If I can't find it in heaven, I'll find it on Earth."
"Let me help you," Sarah urged gently.
But Rosemary was already up. She rose awkwardly, still not used to being unhindered by the heavy robes of her habit. Sometimes, she felt she would smash through the ceiling and hurl herself into cold, black space from the sheer effort of standing. "I'm traveling by ship, if you can imagine. In this day and age. If you'd like, I can send you post cards."
"Helena…"
"Helena is dead, Miss Smith," she said curtly, handing her the cup and saucer. "But I'm sure her spirit is lurking around here somewhere. I suggest you check the gardens at St. Agnes."
She said no more as she left the house on Bannerman Road, got into her tiny car, and drove to the flat she'd let for the month. The car would go to charity when she was gone. She had no use for it. The flat would be snapped up in a heartbeat.
And Sarah Jane Smith would continue what she did, ushering lost souls from one reality to another, the Patron Saint of Time and Space.
"It's hard, I know," Sarah murmured. Her eyes squinted slightly, the meticulous observer, and Rosemary felt vivisected, exposed, studied. "It's hard, coming back to real life after being exposed to such…amazing things."
The line sounded rehearsed. She wondered about this woman, this Sarah Jane Smith. Perhaps she ran some sort of halfway service for humans caught between the world of man and the world of demons and aliens. Perhaps she merely ushered them through, like Cerberus at the gates of Hades.
"You have no idea about anything," Rosemary said hoarsely, sipping her tea. "I dedicated my life to a God that does not exist, and wound up serving a devil that no one ever believed in. There's no coming back from that."
"So you wish to atone? Throw yourself at New Guinea with all the force of the greatest of martyrs?"
"There has to be a point. If I can't find it in heaven, I'll find it on Earth."
"Let me help you," Sarah urged gently.
But Rosemary was already up. She rose awkwardly, still not used to being unhindered by the heavy robes of her habit. Sometimes, she felt she would smash through the ceiling and hurl herself into cold, black space from the sheer effort of standing. "I'm traveling by ship, if you can imagine. In this day and age. If you'd like, I can send you post cards."
"Helena…"
"Helena is dead, Miss Smith," she said curtly, handing her the cup and saucer. "But I'm sure her spirit is lurking around here somewhere. I suggest you check the gardens at St. Agnes."
She said no more as she left the house on Bannerman Road, got into her tiny car, and drove to the flat she'd let for the month. The car would go to charity when she was gone. She had no use for it. The flat would be snapped up in a heartbeat.
And Sarah Jane Smith would continue what she did, ushering lost souls from one reality to another, the Patron Saint of Time and Space.