by Doctor Who
Weird place.
Cheggers stopped in the corridor, facing the three friends and pointing at opposite doors. 'Your rooms,' he said.
Rory was about to point out that he and Amy could share when she smiled at him. '1936,' she said, mimicking the Doctor earlier.
Amy took the left-hand room. With a sigh of resignation, Rory went right. He didn't see where 66
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the Doctor went but quickly realised he was next door — seconds after he'd closed the door to the corridor, a connecting door in his room burst open to reveal the Doctor standing there.
'No en suite,' the Doctor said. 'Shame. Only three stars for this hotel, then.'
'What's going on?' Rory demanded. 'I mean, why are we here?'
'No idea, Rory.'
'But you brought us here.'
'The TARDIS did.'
'Don't be smart,' Rory snapped. 'You pilot the TARDIS. You brought us here.'
'Actually, this time I didn't. I promised you Rio, and we got Norfolk.'
'I didn't believe you really meant to take us to Rio.'
'But I said I would!'
'Yeah. Last time you said Rio, we ended up in Tibet. The time before, it's a world of dragons and jousting. I'm not sure if Rio is in Brazil or is actually some mysterious distant galaxy that's just called Rio to confuse us.'
There was a gentle tap on the door, and both men said 'Come in, Amy' simultaneously.
'Sorry,' the Doctor said to Rory. 'Your room, your calling out "come in" thingy, right, permission stuff.'
'My girlfriend, too,' Rory added although he wasn't quite sure why.
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'Aww, are my boys fighting over me?' Amy said as she came in. 'And I think he means Rio in Brazil.'
Rory and the Doctor frowned at her.
'Old house, but thin walls and doors. Who knew?' Amy sat on Rory's bed so he sat beside her.
The Doctor stayed in the connecting doorway to his own room.
'Bite to eat, then exploring. Information-gathering time,' the Doctor said.
'You notice how mein host responded to my mention of the age difference between the old and new Mrs Porters?'
'Thankfully, he ignored you,' said Rory.
'Ah, but don't you see?' asked Amy. 'Anyone else would have reacted in some way. Said something. It was like... it was like it had never occurred to him.'
'Or,' offered the Doctor, 'he's too much of a gentleman to react to rude young Scots ladies.
Particularly after making a joke about her being dead before knowing she actually was dead!'
Amy shrugged. 'I'm not convinced.'
'Anyway,' Rory tried to bring them back to the subject. 'Why are we here?'
The Doctor sighed. 'Not gonna let that one go, are you? I don't know, Rory. Which is weird for you, I'm sure, because you're used to me having all the answers, but I don't. Not this time.' He wrung his hands suddenly. 'And I don't like me not knowing any more than you like me not knowing. Not knowing is not good.'
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'Hence post-lunch investigating,' Amy said. 'I can meet up with Tom, see what I can find out.'
'Good, you do that. Rory, I want you to go to the school. Bound to have a library, find out stuff.'
'Stuff? What sort of stuff?'
'Stuff stuff. Stuff about stuff. The sort of stuff that tells you stuff. Libraries are good at stuff.'
'OK,' Rory said. 'Stuff finding outing. After lunch.' He took Amy's hand, stroking the back of it gently, licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak then stopped.
'Rory?' Amy said.
'Well, I... you know...' He couldn't finish.
'If I may,' the Doctor said. 'I mean, your room, your rules, your girlfriend, but what I think Rory wants to know, Amy, is, ummm, who the hell is Tom?'
Rory nodded mutely. Because that was precisely what he wanted to know.
'Farmhand bloke,' she said. 'After you were finished messing around with sheep, he came and found me and pointed me in your direction. Said you'd spoken to him.'
'Oh,' the Doctor grinned. 'That Tom.' He looked more at Rory rather than Amy. 'Big, muscular, square-jawed Tom, nice tan from working in the fields all summer Tom. Big, strapping—'
'Yes, thank you, Doctor,' snapped Rory. 'I remember who Tom is.' He frowned at Amy. 'Why are you going on a date with Tom? Where's he taking 69
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you? When will you be back?'
'Ooh, not over-protective dad at all,' she said. 'He lives in the village, will know things. And is quite charming. And we have to get information. You get the library books, I get Farmer Tom. Handsome Farmer Tom.'
'Don't forget that tan,' the Doctor laughed.
Rory couldn't make up his mind whether he should be punching the Doctor, Tom or both of them, but what was the point?
His thoughts were interrupted when there was a tap on the door and the manservant entered. If he was surprised that all three were in Rory's room, he didn't let it show.
'Luncheon is served,' he said. 'The master will join you shortly but requests that you start without him.'
'Ooh, déjà vu!' Amy said suddenly. 'Seen that moment before!'
Rory raised an eyebrow. 'It's cliché day in Shalford Heights.'
The Doctor asked him what he meant, so he told them about his feeling of someone walking over his grave as they entered the village. 'But it probably happens all the time. It's only since hanging out with you, Doctor, that I've started looking for significance in the insignificant.'
'Ooh, very deep,' said the Doctor, slapping him on the back. 'So, lunch then, yes?' He looked to Nathaniel Porter's manservant for a beat and said, THE GLAMOUR CHASE
'Lead on, sir.'
Instead, the man just pointed to his left and went right himself, away from the dining room.
The dining room, which was well lit with natural light from panoramic French doors which looked out onto a garden that, whilst not a disaster, had clearly seen better days. A magnificent willow tree was at the centre of the grassed area, tall and in full blossom, its skinny branches sweeping up and then down to the ground like a voluminous skirt that could hide anything within.
Rory remembered a school friend who'd had one like it. Alec. As kids, they'd run around his garden, hiding themselves among the tree's branches, pretending they were being eaten alive by a giant tree monster. Or it was the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. Or it was the caves that Indiana Jones would explore. Or it was the inside of the truck, as they waited to throw themselves out, armed to the teeth, catching the bank robbers in the act.
Years later, Rory had discovered Alec in a ward at work, victim of a car accident on the M5. He sat with Alec as much as possible, and they talked about their childhood, about friends they'd lost contact with as they'd grown up. Grown apart. When alien, human-eating tree monsters were no longer as important as CDs, DVDs or the girls from Gloucester on a Friday night.
Alec once told Rory he was mad for chasing after Amy for so long. 'Mate, there's a whole barrage of 71
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girls out there. Why waste time on the loony one?'
But Rory had always known Amy wasn't mad (well... OK, not that mad) and, despite the insult, Rory had been there for Alec throughout their teens.
Throughout Mandy. And Claire. And Nazeem. And even Tess.
Then, aged 19, Alec's car had come off the slip road from Junction 8. The police said he'd been going way too fast, but at least he'd not been drinking. And for three weeks he'd been in ICU, and Rory had been one of the first people to speak to him when he woke up, and he'd been the person who'd called Alec's mum and dad and made sure they came to see him, and he'd been their point of contact over the next couple of weeks as they visited each evening.
So it had been Rory who had volunteered to tell them when they arrived one night, chocolates and magazines in hand, that Alec had had a massive heart attack an hour earlier. That his body
wasn't strong enough. That it had been instantaneous. It was probably the bravest thing Rory had ever done up to that point in his life. Volunteering to face that grief, that shock. To hold Alec's mum as she cried.
To take them both in to say goodbye.
Then there'd been the cremation, helping them choose music for the service. At the wake afterwards at the family house, he and Amy had gone out for air. Into the back garden.
God, that willow tree had looked so small and THE GLAMOUR CHASE
insignificant then. It wasn't a flesh-eating monster any more. Or a spaceship or a truck or a cave or anything else it had been to two young boys, full of life and adventure. It was just a silly old tree that needed trimming back.
Rory had cried a lot that night. Whether it was just for Alec or for the realisation that childhood was gone for ever, he'd not been sure.
Amy had been great, too. Like she understood what it was to lose something that mattered when you were a kid.
He felt her now, her breath on his neck, her hand on his arm, as they both stared at Nathaniel Porter's willow tree.
'Yours made a better spaceship,' she whispered.
And that was why he loved Amy so much.
She knew. She understood. They understood one another so well.
The reverie was broken as the dining room door was pushed open by the manservant, who was pushing a man in a wicker wheelchair. The man looked about 35 at most, Rory thought, but his hair was prematurely grey. Shockingly so. People talked about hair going grey overnight, but it rarely did.
There were always a few strands of black or brown in there. But this guy looked like he'd had it dyed grey. Not an attractive silver but a dull, sheen-less grey.
His face was... odd. Like there was nothing there, no expression, no life.
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Which was weird, because he was actually quite alert and physical. He was moaning at the manservant, saying it was embarrassing to be in the chair.
'I can walk, you know,' he said sharply, by way of explanation to the time travellers as well, Rory suspected, as to the manservant.
'Oliver Marks, I presume,' said the Doctor, stepping forward and offering a hand. Rather than shake it, Oliver grabbed his arm and hauled himself up.
Rory's training kicked in, and he took Oliver's weight on the other side to the Doctor, and they slowly walked Oliver to the table.
The manservant eased the wicker wheelchair away and left the room without speaking again.
'Thank you,' Oliver said. 'But I could've coped.'
The Doctor stepped away. 'Then Rory and I apologise for assuming you couldn't.'
'Oh, you weren't to know,' said Oliver. 'I'm sure Nathaniel Porter has been filling your head with stories about me, how weak and useless and mad I am. Well I am none of those things.'
Amy took a seat beside him, making eye contact and smiling. 'Hi, I'm Amy, a pleasure to meet you, Mr Marks.'
Oliver stared at her maybe a beat longer than Rory would have liked, but it did the trick, and the man smiled. 'Sorry,' he said.
Rory and the Doctor sat at the table, the Doctor THE GLAMOUR CHASE
passing food around to them all as he talked. 'So, Mr Marks, how come you know our host? I gather you live here? A whole wing to yourself.'
'It's hardly a wing, Doctor,' he said. 'Two rooms and a bathroom. But it's comfortable and he's generous to let me stay here despite... well, everything.'
A my p a sse d h im some s a lad ton gs .
'Everything?'
Oliver filled his plate. 'I'm a friend of Mrs Porter's.
But he lets me stay anyway.'
'The archaeologist?' asked Rory.
'Oh no, not her,' Oliver said. 'Although bless Enola, she is very sweet. No, the first Mrs Porter.'
'Ah, her again.' The Doctor started tucking into his food. 'Blimey this is good.'
'Good cook, Mrs Stern,' Oliver agreed. 'Worth her weight. Not that Nathaniel Porter really appreciates her. Hardly ever eats. Half the time, I wonder if he only keeps the staff on for my benefit.'
'And what benefit is that?'
Oliver looked at the Doctor. 'I'm not well, for the most part. I have good days and bad days. Today, you're seeing me on one of my good days.'
'That's very self-aware of you, Mr Marks,' the Doctor said.
'Call me Oily, please. It's my name. At least it was, until I started living here. Then it was "Mr Marks"
this and "sir" that. Drives me bonkers. Or would, if I wasn't there already.'
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'You don't seem bonkers to us,' said Amy.
Oliver laughed. 'As I say, a good day, so far. But rest assured, I'm not well.' He looked at the Doctor.
'I smell things, you see.'
'Really? Like what?'
But Rory cut in with a different question. 'How old are you, 011y?'
'Thirty-seven.'
Rory nodded. 'I see. When did you start smelling things?'
Oliver didn't answer. He just shot Rory a look as though he hadn't understood the question, and carried on eating.
The Doctor started to ask something else, but Rory tapped his forearm and shook his head. The Doctor looked quizzically at Rory for a second then back to Oliver and changed the subject. 'We're here to investigate the dig. Lots of complaints. We're from the Ministry.'
Oliver shrugged. 'I don't hear complaints,' he said. 'Mind you, can't remember the last time I went into the village. Can't imagine why anyone would complain though. Schools are on holiday, most of the village is away.'
'Away?'
'Yes, apparently in the summertime, the villagers often go away. Been away for a long time... I think.
But at least there's less noise out there. I... I notice noise, you see.'
The Doctor gave Amy and Rory a told you so THE GLAMOUR CHASE
look. 'Unusual for a village to empty itself though,'
he pushed on.
Oliver shrugged. 'May be to do with the dig.
Knowing Nathaniel Porter, he probably paid for them all to clear out. Just the farmers and a few shops left, I should think.'
The Doctor popped a piece of cold ham into his mouth. 'Wonder how Mrs Stern gets her fresh produce if the villagers are all away.'
Oliver tapped his plate with his fork. 'Cold store, in the basement. Keeps it fresh for months.'
'In 1936? I don't think so,' said the Doctor and got his sonic screwdriver out, and activated it, trying to get readings of some sort.
Amy looked quizzically at him as the little device screeched away to itself, and the Doctor muttered.
'Hmm, no alien tech registering. But then, maybe I need to be in the basement.'
Rory was still watching Oliver Marks. He had stopped eating. He was staring straight ahead, apparently at a bowl of salad.
Except he wasn't really, Rory could see that. He was just... staring. And his hands were rigid, like claws. His whole body had stopped.
'Turn it off, Doctor,' Rory hissed.
The Doctor looked affronted, but when he saw Oliver he switched off the sonic. 'Oliver?'
No response.
'What's up with him?' Amy wondered, but Rory shushed her, got up and went to Oliver's side.
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Very quietly, he spoke. 'Oliver, when you said you could smell things, what did you mean?'
No response.
'Are you with me, Oliver?' Rory continued.
'Oliver, what are you smelling right now?'
Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. Then finally he spoke. 'I can smell them.'
'Who are "them"?'
Oliver flattened his hands on the table top. 'I can hear them, too. Through the vibrations. I can hear screaming. Smell gas. And fire. So much fire...'
'He can smell burning, Doctor,' Amy hissed. 'Is this place on fire?'
'Please, Amy,' Rory said. 'He can't smell burning, he can smell fire. It's different.'
The Doctor nodded. 'Of course.'
'Oh great,' muttered Amy. 'I'll sit back and wait to be told what's going on.'
Oliver's hands had relaxed, but he was sweating badly, shaking a little. He looked at Rory, as if realising he was crouched beside him for the first time. 'They're coming back, you know,' he said.
'Coming for me!'
Before anyone could speak, the door opened and Nathaniel Porter strode in, followed by Chuggers, or whatever he was really called, and another man, much older, with a pronounced limp.
'We'll take care of Mr Marks,' the manservant said, almost shoving the wheelchair towards him, as 78
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the limping man got Oliver up. Oliver didn't resist or anything, he just allowed the two men to put him into the chair and wheel him away.
'Now hang on Rory started, but the Doctor intervened.
'Will he be all right?' he asked Nathaniel Porter.
Their host nodded. 'My staff will look after him, he'll be fine after a little sleep.'
'You drug him?' asked Rory.
'Usually. It's why he has the wheelchair - they keep him tired and exhausted, so the chair is a safer option than walking.'
'What's wrong with him?' Amy asked.
Nathaniel Porter looked at them. 'My friend is...
unwell. It was why the first Mrs Porter had him brought here. Their families were old friends. After my wife... disappeared, I still felt I had a duty to care for him.' He went to the door. 'Forgive my manners, but I wish to check that he is comfortable.'
And he was gone.
'Welcome to the Addams Family and the Munsters all rolled into one,' said Amy.
'Rory, what do you think?'
'Sorry?'
'You're the nurse, you're our expert, I need to know your thoughts.'
Rory was surprised - the Doctor had never actually sought his opinion on much before. 'God if this is the 1930s, they'll be using psychotropics and sedatives on him because they haven't got a 79
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clue what they're dealing with! He's suffering badly from PTSD.'
'Come again,' said Amy.
'Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,' the Doctor said.
'He's mid-thirties, would have been early twenties in the war, so he could have shellshock.' He looked back at Rory and Amy. 'Back then PTSD hadn't been diagnosed, so they called it shellshock. Their treatment of it and its sufferers was not a particularly proud moment in mankind's history.'
