Extraordinary - Chapter Four

"Get out!" Allie held the door wide, ignoring both the unwelcome blast of freezing air that gusted through into the little shop, and also the equally unwelcome Mrs Neeson hovering avidly in the background, unable to contain her prurient curiosity.

Terrence gave her an incredulous, accusing look, somewhat spoiled by the muffled effect of the blood-stained handkerchief held against his injured nose. "I think you broke my nose, you crazy bitch!" he said angrily, his voice sounding thick and snuffly, as though he had an extremely heavy cold. "I could do you for assault!"

Allie's eyes blazed in rage. "Just you try it, you miserable piece of scum! Because I'll be only too happy to tell the police about you coming into the private area of my shop uninvited, drunk out of your mind, and then grabbing me hard enough to leave bruises! Then we'll see who presses charges against who!"

"Spoil things between you and your new fella, did I?" Terrence sneered maliciously. "Did you a favour, I reckon. Never picked you to go for a skinny git in a suit, Allie, not your style at all."

"You don't know anything about me, Terry, and you never did," she sighed, all her anger draining away into sudden weariness. She didn't want to argue with him. The Doctor was gone – fighting with Terry wasn't going to change that. All she wanted now was for him to go away. "Why don't you just piss off and leave me alone? Go back home to Gillian and sober up!" Gillian Leigh was the bridesmaid Allie had caught him kissing the previous year. The two of them had been living together ever since Allie had broken her relationship off with him. "Unless she's come to her senses and chucked you out as well, of course."

He said nothing, patting gingerly at his swollen nose with the handkerchief, a furtive, almost guilty, look passing across his face. But Allie knew him too well and seized on it straight away. "Oh, she has, hasn't she? No wonder you turned up here, trying to get back in my good books! You've got nowhere to live, have you? What happened, did you cheat on her, as well?"

"Bloody women, you're all the same, you never know when you're on to a good thing!" he snarled defensively. "I'm the best you've ever had, Allie. You should be happy I'm prepared to take you back!"

She shook her head, wondering sadly what she had ever seen in him. In light of everything she had experienced in the last couple of days, he seemed so commonplace now, so narrow-minded, so... boring. Even as she looked at him, she could still feel the incredible, unearthly sensation of the Doctor's second heart beating steadily under her hand. I'm a Time Lord... the last Time Lord... I come from a planet a long, long way from Earth...I'm not human...

"You'll never get it, will you, Terrence?" she asked softly. "There's a great big Universe out there, full of strange, amazing, brilliant things... but you'll never see it, because all you'll ever care about is getting sloshed down the pub with your loser mates, and watching footy on the TV, and copping a quick feel whenever you can behind your girlfriend's back. I feel sorry for you. You're pathetic, you really are!" Then her voice hardened into cold, cutting stone. "Now get out and don't ever come back. I don't ever want to see you again!"

Terrence stared at her blankly for a few seconds, as if unable to believe that she meant it. Then, when she held his gaze icily and didn't relent, he swore vilely and pushed violently past her through the door. Allie shrank away from him, afraid that he was angry enough to hit her. "Fine!" he spat into her face, just before he disappeared into the street, his whiskey-laden breath nearly making her choke. "You were always rubbish in bed anyway! Frigid little bitch!"

Trembling, Allie slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, her eyes closed and her knees sagging in relief, overwhelmingly glad that he was finally gone.

"Well, he was rather a rude young man, wasn't he?" a voice trilled nearby.

With a sinking sensation, Allie realised she had forgotten all about Mrs Neeson. Now that all the interesting action with Terrence was over, the elderly lady had crossed over to Charlie and was busily inspecting her prospective purchase from head to toe. "Yes, Mr Smith was quite right," she said happily. "The more I think about it, the more I realise this statue will look just divine in my entrance hall. What does this inscription mean, dear? Is it his name?"

Still very shaken from her encounter with Terrence, Allie wanted to scream at the woman to get out too, but somehow she managed to bite her tongue. The asking price for Charlie had been reduced several times over the two years since her aunt had bought him, in an effort to make him more saleable. Currently, it was set at £2,500, making him the most expensive item in the shop. If the Doctor really had talked Mrs Neeson into buying the statue, there was no way Allie could turn her back on that - not if she wanted the shop to remain financially viable, anyway.

Forcing herself to make an effort, she walked over to where Mrs Neeson was indicating some tiny writing etched into Charlie's forehead. Bending closer, she saw that the miniature letters formed the word "EMET".

Odd, she thought with a puzzled frown. I wonder why I never noticed that before?

---

The TARDIS materialised slowly on a rocky hillside, the light on top rhythmically flashing like a warning beacon. Shortly thereafter, the doors creaked open and the Doctor emerged, dressed in an orange spacesuit. Looking around, he took in the scarlet, alien landscape, glaring harshly in the dawn light, wreathed in passing mist.

"The Red Planet!" he said in quiet pleasure at the spectacular sight. Mars hadn't changed much since he'd been there last. Just as he had told Allie, it was still red and still dusty. He wondered what she would have made of it, heading off in a spacesuit at his side to explore a planet she had only ever heard about, but never in a million years expected to see. Despite his best intentions, he found himself imagining the awe and the wonder that would have reflected in her expressive grey eyes. But then he resolutely shut the thought of her out of his head. The companion that never was. He had done the right thing, he knew that. For one, dangerous moment he had wavered, had convinced himself that this time it would be different, that he could take her with him and still keep her safe from harm. But Terry's unexpected arrival had changed all that, pointedly reminding him that she already had a whole, entire life, back on Earth. She had her own home and her little shop. Perhaps even a boyfriend, if she and her Terry had the chance to work things out. And he had no right to interfere in any of that.

His hearts heavy, he stepped out on to the dusty, red surface of Mars and began walking alone into the rising sun.

---

Allie closed the shop early. It was Friday night and she had been planning on joining two of her old school friends on a girl's night out. She didn't much feel like it now, but she had already bailed on them twice previously and she didn't think they would accept any more of her excuses. Besides, she told herself, a few drinks and some social interaction would probably be good for her. She had been turning into a bit of a hermit over the last few weeks.

As she locked up, she kept looking over her shoulder at Charlie, trying to picture how the shop would look with him gone. He had stood in that same spot for so long now, the idea was almost incomprehensible. But Mrs Neeson had paid over the required £2,500 and the couriers were scheduled to pick him up early tomorrow afternoon.

"I'm going to miss you, you big lump!" she said mournfully, patting him on the head, just as she always did when she left the shop. "Who will I have to talk to when you're gone? I just wish you were going to a nicer home than that old hag."

Her gaze fell to the tiny inscription engraved in his forehead, wondering again however she could have missed it before. Surely she would have noticed it at some point in the two years since her aunt had purchased him. It really was a bit of a mystery. EMET. She had no idea what it meant. Was it his name, as Mrs Neeson had suggested? It seemed like a pretty silly name for a Chinese warrior. But then again, when you came to think of it, 'Charlie' probably wasn't all that appropriate either.

"Still, you look much more like a 'Charlie' than an 'Emet'!" she told him, running her fingers lightly over the engraved letters. To her surprise, they felt oddly warm - much warmer than the cold ceramic clay that made up the rest of the statue. Unnerved, she snatched her hand away. Charlie stared straight ahead, as silent and as inscrutable as ever.

Allie gave a shaky laugh, annoyed at herself. This was the Doctor's fault, making her see mysteries where there were none. So what if she'd missed the stupid inscription? That wasn't a big deal, it could happen to anyone. And it wasn't as if Charlie had come from Africa, or Mexico, or even Cardiff, where the Doctor said those Rift things were. She was just jumping at shadows.

She reached for her coat, turned on the alarm system and switched out the lights. "See you in the morning, Charlie!" she said brightly, refusing to let her own silly apprehension get to her. "Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite!"

Stepping out into the white, snowy afternoon, she pulled the door firmly shut and walked briskly away.

Behind her, hidden in the darkness of the shop, two red eyes glowed like burning coals.

---

Far away in time and space, the Doctor strode away from Bowie Base One, his face twisted in helpless anguish as the screams of the dying crew rang in his ears through the comm-unit in his helmet.

It's a fixed point in time, it has to happen this way, he kept on telling himself, over and over again, pain lancing through both his hearts. I can't help them. I have to leave. I CAN'T HELP THEM!

But with every step he took, with every scream he heard, the words inside his head began to sound more and more hollow, more and more like empty excuses.

All at once, an enormous explosion ripped through the base, hurling burning debris high into the thin, airless atmosphere. The devastating impact of the blast threw the Doctor to the ground, fire raining all around him. Struggling to sit up, he looked back at the ruined shambles that had once been Captain Adelaide Brooke's pride and joy.

Nurse Yuri Kerenski's voice came over the comms, wild with fear: "We're losing oxygen! THE HULL IS BROKEN!"

He was a Time Lord. It was his duty to uphold the Laws of Time – that's what he'd sworn to, all those years ago back on Gallifrey, as an eight-year old initiate to the Academy. And now the weight of that duty rested even more heavily on his shoulders, because he was the only one left. The only one, out of so many...

His mind flashed back to his recent conversation with Allie.

"What happened to your people?"

"There was a war. They died."

"I'm so sorry, Doctor."

"Yeah, well, it's never easy to lose people..."

They died. They all died. All their rules and regulations hadn't been enough to save them. Even he hadn't been enough to save them, in the end. He hadn't even been able to save the Master, the only other one left, the once-friend who had died out of spite in his arms, twisted and broken from his own hate, leaving him alone all over again.

Remembering, the bitter rage and grief and loneliness assailed him in a pitiless, inexorable wave, mingling in his head with the frantic screams over the comm-unit; it felt as if the waters of Mars were rising up inside him, to claw him down and choke him in their murky depths. He looked back at the inferno that had been Bowie Base One and, suddenly, his brown eyes glittered with steely, impassioned determination.

He couldn't save his own people, he couldn't save the Master. But he could save these humans. He was the last of the Time Lords, the Lonely God, the Oncoming Storm. He was the Time Lord Victorious – it was his choice. And this time, there was no-one to stop him or to hold him back.

No Rose, no Jack, no Martha, no Donna. No Allie. He could do anything he damn well wanted to do.

The Law of Time are MINE, and they will obey me!

Rising to his feet, his body tingling with dark purpose, he turned and grimly retraced his steps back to the burning Base.

---

Much to Allie's surprise, she enjoyed the night out with the girls. It was just what she needed to unwind. Some drinking, some dancing and a lot of girlish chatter. She'd had a good old complain about Terrence and managed to get a lot things off her chest – even if she couldn't talk about what was really bothering her. Their night had gone on much later than she had originally expected, extending well into the early hours of the morning, so she had ended up crashing on the sofa at her mate Glenda's flat.

Consequently, by the time she slipped home a few hours later and got changed, she was rather late and somewhat hung over when she arrived at the shop the next day. She had been tempted not to bother opening up at all, but she was expecting the couriers to arrive to pick up Charlie. Besides, sometimes customers wandered down from the High Street on Saturday morning, and she couldn't really afford to lose the trade. Although, she thought wryly, looking at the weather, given that it was still snowing, it was probably going to be a big, old waste of her time.

Strangely, when she opened the shop door, she found that the alarm system was already off. She could have sworn she remembered turning it on the night before. It wasn't the most sophisticated of systems, being activated by a simple delayed-action switch located behind the counter, without even the benefit of a coded keypad. But it wasn't a particularly high-crime area and, up until now, it had always provided her with more than sufficient peace of mind.

Grabbing a handy antique cricket bat as a weapon, she cautiously explored the rest of the premises, only to find everything undisturbed and exactly as she had left it. Had she simply forgotten to turn the system on? She had never done that before... but it had been a weird week and she had been a bit rattled by Charlie just before she left.

Usually, she sang out a cheerful greeting to the terracotta warrior every time she entered the shop. It was a silly habit she had gotten into since he had become a permanent feature in the shop. But today, she felt awkward and restrained, as if Charlie, once so familiar and friendly, had become strange and a bit...unpleasant.

Crossing back to the front counter, she laid the cricket bat down on it and paused to stare at the statue. She frowned. His terracotta surface seemed unusually mottled, the pinky-brown colour of the baked clay quite dark in places. A little unwillingly, she put out a finger and touched it. The dark patches were damp. Somehow, in the night, Charlie had gotten himself wet.

With a groan, she looked up at the ceiling, expecting to see a big damp splotch on the plaster, signifying a leak in the roof. But the ceiling was white and unmarked, showing no traces of any telltale drips.

It's snowing outside, she thought absently, returning her eyes to the statue. Those patches look just like the pattern melted snow would make. Then she pulled herself up sharply, mentally berating herself for being a hysterical idiot. Oh sure, that had to be it. Charlie got a bit restless, so he deactivated the alarm system and went for a stroll in the snow. God, I really am losing it!

She was about to turn away from the statue in disgust, when the inscription in his forehead caught her eye. Did the writing look...bigger? Surely not. But it had been so tiny yesterday, almost microscopic. Now though, she no longer had to lean closely to read it.

EMET. The word sent chill of apprehension trickling down her spine and she took an instinctive step backwards.

At that moment, the bells over the exterior door jangled, the sharp, unexpected noise making her jump with fright. Two men walked into the shop, looking around as though they owned the place. The one in the lead was wearing a neat black coat over a charcoal-coloured suit, complete with a pristine white shirt and a striped tie. He had short, sandy hair and a hard, watchful face dominated by a pair of piercing pale blue eyes. The second man was wearing a brown suit and tie, and had greying hair and a weathered, pock-marked face with a calm, world-weary expression.

"Good morning," the first man said. "Are you Allison Castiel?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

The man pulled out a warrant card and flashed it at her. "I'm DCI William Bell of the Metropolitan Police. This is Detective Sergeant Cheweski. We need to ask you a few questions about a man named Terrence Milton."

Allie's fists clenched in anger as she realised what must have happened. That little worm! He'd gone ahead and pressed charges, just like he'd threatened!

"If you're here about the punch I gave him yesterday, that was in self-defence!" she said coldly. "He grabbed me first and wouldn't let me go. I've got the bruises to prove it!"

DCI Bell gave her a grave, considering look. "I'm afraid, Miss Castiel, it's much more serious than that. We're pursuing a murder enquiry. Mr Milton was brutally killed yesterday evening and you were quite possibly the last one to see him alive."