Head Games by Steve Lyons

Author:Steve Lyons [Lyons, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780426204541
Google: ffYIAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0426204549
Publisher: London Bridge
Published: 1995-12-14T08:00:00+00:00

. . bit of cognitive dissonance there. He’d never even met the 124

real Doctor? ‘I assumed you were complicit with his schemes, which is why I tried to trick you by pretending to be him.’ No, that sailed straight over his head. ‘I could see from your reaction that I was happily mistaken.’

Chris didn’t remember the cup being taken from him, but the brown stain on the sheets told him why it had been. ‘You’re still suffering an adverse reaction to some type of sleeping drug,’ the Doctor said (no, ‘Dr Who’ he had introduced himself). ‘I suggest you stay here and sleep it off. My friend and I have an important mission.’

Dr Who stood up, but Chris reached for him. He gripped his wrist with more strength than he thought he possessed.

‘Kat’lanna,’ he croaked. The alien looked confused, so he added: Detrios.’

‘Ah. I see. Well, maybe later. Right now, we have the Doctor’s most evil and dangerous sidekick to collect.’

‘No!’

Dr Who looked down on him pityingly. ‘This is more important, Chris. Whilst any of the Doctor’s friends remain at liberty, I feel sure they will press ahead with his plan to completely obliterate Detrios.’

That made sense, sort of. Chris let go, reluctantly. He felt oblivion rushing to claim him.

‘That’s good,’ said Dr Who. ‘You do understand. And you are on my side now, aren’t you?’

‘Your side,’ Chris muttered as he sank back into darkness.

He surfaced a second later to hear an unfamiliar young voice, enquiring in concern about his newest friend’s health.

‘He’ll be all right, Jason,’ Dr Who said confidently. ‘He’s seen the light now.’

125

14

The Bitch Is Back

20 January 1994. 7.59 a.m.

The older man had his arm around the woman’s neck. Her feet kicked out and found his shin. He dropped her and she twisted, knocking him aside. She seemed more interested in the guy behind him, the one with the blond hair and short pants.

She leapt for him.

And froze in mid-air.

8.55 p.m.

The picture raced backwards until the figures disappeared.

Will Beecham manipulated the controls and found their point of arrival. He paused the tape again. One frame, the café was empty — the next, it became a battleground. The image wavered, blurred by arrested motion.

He wondered if anyone had tampered with the film. He dismissed the notion immediately. What would be the point?

He watched the sequence again, in soundless monochrome, allowing it to run on. The time signature, a digital image in the screen’s bottom left corner, notched up another minute.

8.00 a.m.

The woman and her target crashed into tables and scattered chairs. The other — the older, shorter man with black hair and a question mark-patterned jersey — was on her, but she shrugged him of and drove her fist into his companion’s stomach. He doubled up in pain, and then both men were gone, as suddenly as they had arrived.

9.05 p.m.

Beecham blinked and the woman was gone too. The time 126

signature still read 0800. The whole event had taken place in under a minute.

There had only been two people in the building: Ian and Lisa, in the kitchens.

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