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Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10
Chapter 11. Tortures of that inward hell
Title a quote from Byron, "Nor ear can hear, nor tongue can tell, The tortures of that inward hell!"
Childe Harold (canto III, st. 42)
‘Rose! Rose, is it really you? Oh, thank heavens! I thought I’d lost you!’
Rose staggered backwards slightly as her mum enveloped her in an enthusiastic hug. This was wrong. She shook herself free, violently. She’d just left the flat, why was she back in it again? There had been pods. Wires. People trapped.
The Doctor! She had to find him. Where was he? Where was the TARDIS?
‘I love you, mum,’ she sobbed, as she ran from the flat. If she could just find the TARDIS, everything would be all right.
*****************
The Doctor thought for a moment that his knees were going to give out.
‘What have you done?’ He shouted, his eyes wide and terrified as he absorbed the sight before him. It was not the sight of Rose encased in one of the energy milking pods that had almost floored him, he had anticipated that; no, it was the pulse of purple on the diagnostic screen above her. Rose was not in a stable state of mindscape; if he was reading the display correctly, she had received a potentially lethal dose of telepathic sedative and hallucinogenic. Even without the debilitating and destructive effects of the energy siphon the drugs in her system were at dangerous levels; combined with the depletion of mental and physical resources … the Doctor refused to acknowledge the almost inevitable conclusion.
We are not monsters, Doctor, she is where she wants to be.
‘NO she is NOT. She belongs with me, not dying in one of your bloody machines!’
Are you quite sure, Doctor? Her pain was so great; we felt it the moment she set foot on this planet – it screamed to us.
‘Pain? What, in the name of chaos, are you talking about?’
She grieves, Doctor. How could you not know? And now she is where she wishes to be, reunited with her mother.
‘No. She is trapped in your machine and you are killing her’.
We are extracting her energy, yes, she is a rich seam indeed. But, Doctor, she believes she is with her mother. She will leave this life contented. It is a small price to pay, surely, to be released from her pain and reunited with bliss? So few have such an exit. It is our gift to her, in gratitude for what she in turn gives us.
‘She is not giving you anything. That implies a choice, Silva, and that is something you have not given to Rose or to any of the other poor souls imprisoned here’.
We offered, she came. It was a choice.
‘Oh, I don’t have time for this,’ the Doctor announced and, with a swift flick of his sonic screwdriver, rendered the woman unconscious. For several long moments he stared down at Silva, fury barely contained. He closed his eyes against the rage and, in an effort of will that left his hands shaking slightly, he forced himself to step over the fallen woman and hurry to Rose’s side.
The Doctor hurriedly evaluated the pod then began to retract rapidly the electrodes and devices attached to Rose’s skin, flinching as blood welled to the surface and trickled sad little trails down alabaster skin. Finally, he released the clamp holding her within the pod itself. She slid, bonelessly, into his waiting arms. He eased her to the floor, scanning her nervously with his screwdriver. As he had feared, the levels of drugs in her system were dangerously high and her life functions horribly weakened. He had to get her out of there, and quickly. Pulling her into his arms, he stood up.
His hearts clenched as he looked down at her, cradled in his arms.
‘We’re making a bit of a habit of this, Rose,’ he observed, striving for light-hearted but hitting mournful instead. Swallowing against sudden tears, he shifted her tighter against his chest and strode quickly towards the lift and the way out.
They had almost made it back to the entrance desk when the sound of a klaxon filled the air, its piercing shriek a clear indication that their escape had been noted. He should have taken the time to immobilise Silva but he knew that, had he touched her again, he might well have killed her. Rose would not have wanted that. He stilled, recognising the use of the past tense. Rose would not want that, he corrected himself.
The sound of the klaxon penetrated his frightened introspection and he began to run, clutching the sonic screwdriver before him in the hope that it would be mistaken for a weapon and deter anyone they chanced to encounter. He was so focused on the exit he nearly missed the ominous sound of bulkheads closing behind him; it was only the sudden drop in the volume of the alarm that alerted him. He swung back, noting the blocked corridor. He hesitated for a moment, puzzled by their decision to trap him outside of the complex, rather than within. It was that momentary hesitation that saved them. Seconds after the bulkhead thudded into place a tremor rippled through his time sense; some part of the Doctor recognised it and was flinging them to the ground, sliding them up against the solid mass of the bulkhead door, even as the concussion wave of the explosion hit them.
***************
The Doctor opened his eyes and was surprised to discover that there was still light. Above him, dislodged from its casing but still operational, was an artificial light. Beneath its dull illumination the Doctor surveyed their situation. The ceiling and much of the surrounding walls had collapsed. Rose and he were wedged in a small space no larger than a decent sized cupboard. He scanned the bulkhead door with his screwdriver – it was deadlocked and refused to budge. Scanning in the other direction indicated several feet of unstable rock debris. ‘Terrific,’ he mused, ‘Stuck underground again. Really, this is becoming a most unfortunate pattern!’ The scan of the rock showed traces of high explosive; it would seem that Silva and her colleagues had planned for an attack and had planted explosives strategically at the entrance to their complex in order to hinder infiltration. Even as the thought occurred to him, he heard the gloating tones of Silva within his mind;
You may have robbed us of the prize that was Rose, Doctor, but you will not rob us of the others.
He winced at the inference, knowing that Jack would never make it back in time now. When they stormed the complex there would no longer be any survivors, only empty husks, drained dry of all life. He bowed his head, grieving for those he had not been able to save.
At least, he thought, he had rescued Rose from that fate.
I doubt she will live long enough for you to enjoy even your small victory. Silva’s laughter chilled him to the bone. You should have left her with us; at least she would have passed in peace. But enough. Time is short and I have work to do. Goodbye, Doctor.
Silva’s consciousness winked from his mind. Unnerved by her prediction, he shifted so that he could feel Rose’s pulse. It was steady beneath his fingertips and he sighed in relief. Still, her skin was chilled and damp; he needed to get her to the TARDIS and flush the drugs from her system before either the overdose or sudden withdrawal triggered a final catastrophic collapse of mind and body.
Reaching out he tried to connect with her mind, but the narcotic Silva had dosed her with was still too potent in her system, effectively smothering any and all telepathic impulses. He hoped, even if she could not sense him in her mind, she would be able to feel him physically. He needed her to resist the lure of the mindscape Silva had sent her into and come back to him.
He hugged Rose against his chest and settled down to wait for Jack. He only hoped his friend would reach them in time.
******************
Rose was searching for the TARDIS. She couldn’t find it. She was alone. They had left her. Everything, everyone, had gone. No mum, no Mickey, no Pete, no Jack, no Doctor. She was entirely alone. She cast outwards with her mind and found only the echo of her own thoughts, rebounding back at her. There was nothing but her. With horrified realisation, Rose comprehended that she was in the void. She had fallen and was lost. She curled herself into a ball. She was in hell. She felt despair well within her, tearing her soul asunder. Rose flung back her head and howled, a lonely desperate plaintive scream against the silence, as her mind fractured.
Chapter 12
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*Wonders how many more uses that excuse has left before it become even less credible*
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Opps, sorry. Mistook you for someone else. Clearly your interest in my journal is purely based on the finer points of web design and I am sure