TTR: Traces of Possession, part one, by S. Daniel Wilson
The Odeon
back. The feedback I got based on the short bit that was posted was
positive enough to warrant continuing with the general direction it
seemed to go in. I'll try to post a new chapter of the story each week.
Please send feedback about the story--what you like, what you don't
like, etc. I'd really appreciate it.
I apologize in advance if there are any severe formatting problems with
the following. Though I've saved it in ASCII text format, and triple
checked it in countless word processors and text editors, you never
know...
--
This Time Round: Traces of Posession
copyright 1999 by S. Daniel Wilson
All Rights Reserved.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Part One
Turlough stared blankly into the eyes of the stranger sitting across the
bar
from him. Beads of sweat were beginning to form across his brow--the
humid,
muggy weather outside had forced its way in through the cracks hours
ago,
and the cooling system was losing the battle against it--and his hands,
both wrapped tightly around a small glass of something sharp and putrid,
were shaking uncontrollably.
"Think of Truth as being a dark room with darker corners," the voice
inside
his head--he assumed it was the stranger's--commented. "Hide in those
corners. Blend in with those shadows. Become the eyes and ears of the
non-light, seeing all, hearing all, forming your own subjective
realities
based on that which goes on around you. Become your own Truth." The
stranger
across the bar lifted an equally small glass full of foaming, green
sludge
and gulped it down. "Be careful though--he who knocks down the walls of
Truth gets squished when the roof falls flat on him."
The red-haired boy opened his mouth to speak, but cut himself short. The
stranger, gazing out at him from under a heavy, blue cloak, was using
strict
telepathy, and Turlough didn't particularly feel like shouting anything
across the room. "Who are you?" he thought, hoping that either he could
project his mental imagery or the stranger could read his mind.
"Kill the Doctors," came the unexpected answer, and he suddenly knew
exactly
who--or rather, what--the stranger was.
A Dark Guardian.
The glass in Turlough's hand shattered under the pressure of his grip.
He
threw his hands up and cried out in pain as the alchohol seeped into the
thin cuts on his palms. Blood and drink pooled on the bar while Adric,
tending the counter for the evening, went for a clean towel to sop it up
with. "Are you alright?" he asked worredly, tossing the towel onto the
bar
and trying to get Turlough calmed down enough to get a good look at his
injured hands. "What happened there?"
Tegan approached, alarmed at the sound of glass clattering onto the
floor.
Her eyes grew wide at the sight of Turlough's bloodied hands. She could
see
him shaking; his whole body convulsed rapidly. His eyes were the size of
saucers, his mouth hung agape, and the sweat just poured from him in
thick
rivelets.
The stranger didn't budge an inch, but kept on talking to Turlough's
mind.
"Not just one, either, you know that won't work. There are eight of him
to be found here, at any given time. You have the power and the will--"
"NO!" Turlough screamed, jumping back off of the barstool, nearly
falling
over backwards before getting his balance right. "Leave me alone!"
"Turlough!" Tegan snapped, partially out of concern but mostly because
she'd
been startled. Heads were turning now, people were forgetting their
drinks
and conversations and paying attention to the new scene.
"--It's what you've wanted to do, deep down inside, for a long time. No
one
ever escapes the will of the Black Guardian. Kill the Doctors."
Turlough shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, and when he opened his
eyes
again, the stranger was gone.
"Did you see..." He pointed to where the Dark Guardian had been sitting.
"Right there, right over there, did you see him? He was invading my
mind,
speaking to me
(he was speaking to me wasn't he? I couldn't have imagined it)
he told me to--"
Tegan eyed him, worry creeping over her face. "Who are you talking
about? No
one's been over there for hours."
Turlough reached up and wiped his shirt sleeve across his forehead,
soaking
it with nervous sweat. "Nevermind."
"Turlough...?"
He plopped down on his seat again and hunched over the bar. "I said
nevermind. It's nothing. I must have been half asleep and nightmaring,
is
all." He beckoned to Adric and ordered another glass of the vile stuff
he'd
been drinking all night. Tegan shrugged and went back to her previous
doings
as Turlough wrapped thin tea-towels around his hands.
"Kill the Doctors." The voice echoed in the back of his mind. He
shuddered
and took a stiff swallow of his drink as the customers started pouring
in
for the evening...
* * * * *
The fifth Doctor thoughtfully stroked his chin while Tegan recalled for
him the inordinate events from earlier that day. "How very odd," he
commented when she'd finished.
This Time 'Round was almost completely deserted. He, Tegan, and all
three
K-9's were the only customers, and Ian was tending the bar. Ron
Grainer's
greatest hits album played softly in the new jukebox, a gift from John
Nathan-Turner--purportedly pennance for 'Timelash', the current rumor
went.
"Are you sure Turlough said 'Dark Guardian?' Not 'Black?'" The Doctor
asked.
"Dark. I'm positive he said 'Dark Guardian.' He was sitting over there
at
the bar, drinking all evening, mumbling about it to himself. Your sixth
self finally asked him to please stop it, you're scaring Mel. A couple
of
drinks later and he left in a huff."
"Interesting." The Doctor's brow creased with thought and concern.
K-9 mark one waggled his ears. "Please define term 'huff,' mistress
Tegan."
Tegan glared down at him--she seemed to have something rather against
mechanical dogs with high-pitched voices, especially when there were
three
of them--but before she could come back with a snide remark, K-9 mark
three complied with the request. "An emotional condition concerning
agitation, frustration, consternation, agression, stress, and fatigue.
Often onset and amplified by overindulgence in alchoholic beverages."
Tegan folded her arms. "Doctor, do you have any idea what Turlough's
talking about? I thought he'd beaten his posession by the Black
Guardian
long ago."
"You're right, he did. But how completely is what I've always wondered."
"You think there's still a bit of that evil influence left in him?"
The Doctor's eyes beamed knowingly. "Well, our friend Turlough is not
exactly the very model of honor and purity, I'm afraid."
"You don't say? _I_ hadn't noticed," Tegan quipped sarcastically.
The Doctor ignored her and continued. "It would make sense that he was
never completely washed of the Black Guardian's influence, as powerful
as
it is."
"So then you believe what he was saying? You don't think he was just
drunk?"
"I do believe what he said, and I do think he was drunk, but the two
probably have nothing to do with one another. It's very possible that
the
Black Guardian is trying to use him again. It's no secret that the
Guardian wants me dead, nor is it unknown that Turlough is very
susceptable to negative influence. An easy target, to be sure." He took
a
sip of his tea, which had gone tepid, and turned to the bar. "Ian,
would
you bring me a new cup of tea? By the way, where's Adric? I thought he
was working a double tonight."
Ian was already reaching for the kettle, looking quite weary. "He
clocked
off for a break and Nyssa blew him up again. Bloody mess this time, it
was. I'm filling in for him."
He brought the Doctor a hot cup of tea. "I do wish Nyssa would leave the
poor kid alone. This whole 'Kill the Alzarian' thing is getting quite
old,
you know."
The Doctor eagerly took the mug from Ian with a smile. "Yes, I heartily
agree. What's the score now, anyway?"
Ian shrugged. So did Tegan. "Who knows?" she said. "I lost count around
the time she started playing with those blasted Gundam suits."
* * * * *
Turlough walked into This Time 'Round with a glowing crystalline cluster
clutched tightly in one hand and a warm gun in the other.
All eight Doctors sat around the bar, smiling and conversing calmly.
His own heartbeat pounding in his head like a funeral drum, Turlough
raised the gun and pulled the trigger in rapid succession. With each
flash
from the muzzle of the gun, his madness multiplied tenfold. Bullets flew
through the Doctors, shooting into their hearts or blowing chunks out of
their heads. Their bodies flailed and shuddered violently, each one
collapsing to the floor with a slick cracking and crunching of broken
bones.
"There, are you satisfied?" Turlough shouted angrily, jerking his head
around insanely, wide-eyed and overflowing with horror and deep anguish.
"I've killed them, isn't that what you wanted? Will you set me free?"
No response came. The bodies of the Doctor's incarnations lay bleeding
and
broken on the floor of the bar... and then they began to change.
Turlough
realized too late that he'd forgotten about the regeneration process. He
watched as the body of the first Doctor morphed into that of the second,
and the second into the third, and so on. The eighth simply faded into
nothingness. The door opened behind him, and the black-coated, white-
haired figure of the first Doctor stepped past him with a smile. Each
of
the fallen Doctors stood back up, brushed off their shirts or coats,
respectively, and took their former place at the bar. The ambient murmur
of their conversations once again permeated the air.
"You have failed me again, boy!" The menacing, powerful voice was
unmistakably that of the Black Guardian. He cringed as it echoed over
and
over in his mind.
"NO!" Turlough shouted. He raised the gun and fired again, hoping to
blot
out the sound of the Black Guardian's anger. The Doctors fell. And
regenerated. Turlough fired again and again and again...
Turlough sat bolt upright in bed, the image in his nightmare fizzling
away. His sheets and blankets were soaked with what he hoped to God was
sweat. Clenching his eyes shut, he took a moment to find his breath
again. His hands, still bandaged, ached and throbbed with each beat of
his heart.
It was light outside already. Another day. Another twenty-four hours of
paranoia and bitter fear. He hoped that the voices would stay away, at
least for just this day. Maybe he'd go see what particular ingenious
homicidal merriment a certain psychotic Trakkenite had in store for
Adric
today.
* * * * *
----------------------
"Say hello to the sofa of reasonable comfort."
Bradley Keith Willis
<The Odeon wrote:>
>This is based on that little 'Turlough' blurb I posted a week or so
>back. The feedback I got based on the short bit that was posted was
>positive enough to warrant continuing with the general direction it
>seemed to go in. I'll try to post a new chapter of the story each week.
>Please send feedback about the story--what you like, what you don't
>like, etc. I'd really appreciate it.
<snip>
Nicely done, with good characterization. My favorite part: Turlough's
nightmare, with the murdered Doctors regenerating into each other.
Keep up the good work.
BKWillis
--
"You're not the man you used to be. If you ever were." -- Molly McGee
David Hutchison
> poor kid alone. This whole 'Kill the Alzarian' thing is getting quite
> old, you know."
Bit of a hint there, eh people? ;)
--
____ __ __ __ __ ____
/ __// / / // \/ /__ / __/ DAVID HUTCHISON
/ / / /_/ // /\ //_// /_ runc...@powerup.com.au
/_/ /_____//_/ /_/ /___/ ICQ: 21118669
Brisbane, Australia -- Host City of the 2001 Goodwill Games
-----------------------------------------------------------
Paul Andinach
Paul
--
[This .sig currently vacant while a replacement is sought for the
previous incumbent, who was fired after a complaint from one of those
people you always get who don't know a joke when they see one.]
The Odeon
<Pine.LNX.3.96.99060...@mermaid.ucc.gu.uwa.edu.au>,I'm aiming for eight parts, though, due to the way the silly thing seems
to be evolving past what I plan for it, there may be more than that.
Part Two should surface sometime soon--I posted it last night, but it
hasn't shown up yet. My goal is to post a new part each Saturday.
--
THE ODEON
"Good villains never die... they just become cliche'."
Doctor Who fiction by S. Daniel
Wilson--http://members.xoom.com/doctorwho
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