Another round of late night editing, for me. Cheers. Playwrite27.

Doctor Who: Time Lords Don't Cry

CHAPTER 5: Well of Despair

The Doctor stared down at the floor. The blood lay in a huge puddle, with no indication as to where, or what, or from whom, it may have come from. Unexpectedly, a loud thump seem to reverberate from somewhere underneath the barn's wide wooden floorboards. The Doctor started with surprise, looking around wildly.

This was followed by more thumping, in what appeared to be a regular pattern. The Doctor cocked his head, puzzled. Curious, he noticed that the noise seemed to come from a far corner, near what appeared to be a series of feed bins. He walked over there. As he shone his torch on the bins, another set of three thumps seem to come right from under his feet. Looking down, he saw that he was standing on a padlocked trap door.

Stooping down, the Doctor tested the lock. It was rusty and stuck fast. Using his torch, he began searching the barn for something to pry the lock with. “What I really need,” he muttered, “is my sonic screwdriver.” He stopped, with a confused expression on his face. “Sonic screwdriver? Sonic….” A light seemed to dawn on him. “Of course!” He shouted with an ecstatic grin. It immediately fell from his face. Patting down his jeans pockets, he said, “How could I not have my screwdriver?” Another pause as he winced from a pain in his head. “There’s something more…I’m…...I’m the…” But whatever the thought was, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Another thump sounded from below, more urgent this time. Then the Doctor distinctly heard a faint sob. A horrible thought dawned on him. He rushed back over to the trap door. “Marie? Marie!” He shouted, “Is that you?” The result was more frantic thumping and a louder sob. The Doctor glanced wildly about him. The torch’s beam alighted on a metal bar, one that had probably come loose from something and had been carelessly tossed into a corner. He snatched it up and began working at the lock with it. “Hang on Marie,” He called, hoping she could hear him, “I’ll soon have you out of there.”

With much sweat and effort on the Doctor's part, the lock finally broke with a metallic clank. He flung open the wooden trap door. His light barely adequate in the deep black darkness, he saw he was looking into an old disused well, filled with mud and decades of farm refuse. There, with her back to him, clinging to a support beam, stood Marie, waist-deep in the mud, and apparently still sinking.

Even though her back was to him, The Doctor could tell Marie was crying. She held what appeared to be a piece of an old carriage shaft in her hand, and had been using it to bang on the floorboards above her. “Heaven only knows how many hours she’s been down there, poor wee thing.” The Doctor murmured.

The Doctor could tell from her posture, that Marie didn’t want to him to see her cry. His hearts went out to her. “Such inner-strength in someone so young, these humans will never cease to amaze me.” He said to himself. A perplexed expression crossed his face briefly. “I’m not human, am I? Then who…what?” He murmured, but another very faint sob from Marie disrupted the thought.

“It's alright. I'm here. Hang on sweetheart, I’ll soon have you out of there,” he said gently, reasuringly. The Doctor remembered seeing a coil of rope hanging from a peg on the wall, near the window where he came in. He retrieved it and, making a loop, dropped it down to the girl. He shone his light on her. Brushing her sleeve against her face, Marie caught the rope and put the loop around her. “I’m t-too heavy” She said in a small voice. “You won’t be able to lift me.” “Nonsense!” The Doctor called down to her, “Just you let me know if the rope is hurting you.” With that, he began to pull up on the rope with all of his considerable strength.

Minutes later, a muddy and disheveled Marie stood before him. She was pale and trembling, but seemed otherwise unharmed. After making sure she was truly uninjured, the Doctor had sought out an empty bucket and some reasonably clean rags. He'd filled the bucket from a spigot on the wall, and was now kneeling beside Marie, helping her to clean the mud off of her. “I’m--’m alright.”She said quietly, rubbing her hands with the wet rag. “Of course you are,” The Doctor whispered, “but I think you’ll feel better with some of this muck off of you, don't you?” Hesitating, she nodded.

When he reached up to wash some of the dirt off of her face, Marie flinched back suddenly. “I--I can do that.” She said, in a stubborn voice. “I’m not a baby, you know.”

That’s when the Doctor noticed the spreading black bruise on her cheek. He looked into her face, regarding her gravely, anger darkening his eyes. “Who did this to you?” She looked away, biting her lip. He touched her arm, and she involuntarily flinched again. The Doctor withdrew his hand, looking quite sad. Suddenly, quietly, he gathered Marie into his arms and very gently hugged her. He simply held her, and whispered that everything would be alright. It’s something that he’d done once for…for who? It was a name, a simple name, so why couldn’t he remember?

At first Marie struggled, her eyes wild with fear. But, as the Doctor continued to hug her, the fear gradually became replaced with wonder. She began to sob, quietly at first, then great big tears rolled down her cheeks as she let her anxiety out. “That’s right,” he whispered, “let it go, just let it go. Everything’s going to be alright. I’m here now. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

The same promise he’d made to…the Doctor squeezed his eyes tight, trying to remember…it seemed vital that he remember a certain name, a certain face...and yet, there seemed to be some inner pain associated with the memory, so why was it so important to him? Marie's muffled voice interrupted his confused train of thought.

“It was him.” The Doctor released Marie, and asked, “Who? Who did this, and why?” He smiled encouragingly. “It’s alright." He whispered, "We’re friends, aren’t we? You can tell a friend, surely.” Her eyes widened, sheer terror reflected in them. She pointed at something beyond the Doctor’s back. “It was him,’ she whispered.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Demanded a harsh voice out of the shadows. The Doctor turned. Standing there, illuminated by the faint wavering light of the Doctor’s torch, stood the very man, whose dried out body had turned to dust on the river bank--looking very much alive! “It was Uncle Tobias,” whispered Marie.