Doctor Who NA55 - Damaged Goods by Russell T Davies

Author:Russell T Davies [Davies, Russell T]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 2011-07-13T01:05:17+00:00

At relative coordinates in a separate dimension, the Capper finished his interface with the telephone network. He giggled, and more and more the machine giggled with him. It ejected its internal alarm system into the Void.

New alarms grew in their place, but slowly.

The Doctor tried Mr Harvey’s flat, knowing that the late Mrs Harvey had been Winnie Tyler’s friend. He knocked on the door and then hammered, certain that someone was in, though no one replied.

In his bedroom-den, Harry Harvey entered the final cycle of his insanity. The morning’s drive with the devil-child had been bad enough, but the afternoon’s torments were somewhat more clever in their assault.

Harry shrank into a corner and hugged his knees and wept. In his eyes the room was blood-red, Satan’s pit of fire in which Harry deserved to burn.

The knocking at the door resounded in his head, but he perceived it as part of his madness, more thunderclaps to torment him. Sylvie cast a shroud of jade-green and diamond to protect him, but now her whisper was urgent.

She hissed Winnie Tyler’s name and said that her friend of old was in danger.

Sylvie said she’d once let Winnie down, had regretted it even in dying, but could not reach her now. Harry should go to her, help her. Harry did not 106

understand and did not move. He asked to join his wife in death as he stared at the wardrobe and the wardrobe stared back.

‘Bog off,’ Bev Tyler told the Doctor.

She had spent the afternoon in Irving Park, snogging Frank, Jan’s boyfriend, and then punching him and demanding money or Jan would be told. Five quid richer, Bev had decided to go home because she was sunburnt and hungry. She had been avoiding the flat all day, disturbed by the memories gathering there, memories stirred by that Doctor. And sure enough, as she emerged from the stairwell, there was the Doctor, approaching from the direction of Mr Harvey’s flat.

Bev turned back. Every time she saw the little man, her dreams broke into daylight, images of Mum, Christmas and the Tall Man flickering behind her eyes. Bev was heading for the stairwell, resolving to find the bottle of cider she and Maxine had stashed by the bins, when the Doctor called out, his voice sharp, a voice she had to answer. ‘I’ve got no time for your tricks, Bev. Things are quickening around us. Tell me, has your brother Gabriel ever been ill?

Has he been to hospital?’

Bev couldn’t stop herself turning back, couldn’t stop herself saying, ‘Yeah.

Eight months back. Appendicitis.’ Then she found her faithful, teenage hostility. ‘What’s it to you?’

He kept his distance but his soft voice carried over the gap. ‘Tell me about it, Bev.’

Bev’s head jerked to the left as she thought she heard a noise from inside her flat – a cry or a shout. She told herself it must have been the television and looked back at the Doctor.

‘Just a hospital,’ she said and she frowned, physically trying to clamp down on her brain and stop herself saying more.

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