The Always More (Doctor Who Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty-four

This changes things. The nagging sense in my brain that whispers how something is off about this situation surfaces again, and this time I believe it. Some thing must be wrong.

"Were they jumping into a pool?" I ask hopefully. Maybe they were just playing around. They're just having fun.

"I don't know," he admits. "I saw you appear and came to help."

Something catches my eye. The inside of his wrist is red, like it was rubbed against carpet. Something about this is familiar to me.

Hesitantly, I ask, "Can I... can I see your hand, please?" I hold out my own.

He glances down at his hand briefly, and places it in the palm of my outstretched one. I flip over one and inspect his wrist. Where is my bag? Last I remember, I had my bag, and I was battling some kind of wind. My bag has a tiny magnifying glass tucked away that would be great right now. Instead, I am forced to squint. What I see instead of a rash or carpet burn is a hundred of the tiniest red specks possible.

"What happened to your face?" Asks the Mayor. I grind my teeth together, and taste the sharpness of blood before I realize I caught my cheek between them.

"Radiation," I reply. A peppermint breeze wraps around me, towing after it rays of golden sunshine. Something is wrong. It's on the tip of my tongue. "What cliff did they jump off of?" I demand all of a sudden. I have to find them. What if they were pushed? What if they're mangled messes of blood and meat at the bottom of a steep incline, and I'm eating strawberries in paradise? My vision clears, like I have been seeing only a foggy reflection of every thing around me this whole time. With nothing to round the edges, everything about this oasis seems sharp and hostile. "Where are they?"

He points. In the distance, over a hill of swaying yellow grass, I see only the sky. I storm through one open building of people and creatures who dance and laugh, dining on sweets that invite me to pause for a moment. But I can't.  Every one of the creatures have the rash somewhere on their bodies. Those with wings or flippers instead of arms have it on the backs of their necks. Those with unnatural heads or gills have it on their wrists or collarbones.

I run. My shoes propel me forward, and a key memory rushes back to me.

In it, remember at the manor of Madame Vastra, seeing those vines. The ones that were covered in thorns that burrowed into skin and induced a dream state for the recipient. Whoever stole those vines returned them. Were finished with them.

"I am an idiot!" I exclaim. I wade through the yellow grass, praying that my brother isn't dead.

I reach the dropoff abruptly, and look down. Immediately, I regret it. Below me, dark water set in turmoil crashes against the cliffside. I shut my eyes.

"No... don't be dead," I murmur to no one in particular. What do I do? What's next? Who do I turn to? I press the heels of my hands against my temples. My mind is as chaotic as the water below, deafening, darkening with the setting sun, and losing form.

"This whole town is trapped here, and I'm the only one who knows," says Mayor Wenchil. "My son is probably dead. I don't know who you are, or your friends, or where any of you are from. You look young, but today is a day of impossibilities. So please. If you can help us, I will do anything you say."

I breathe out shakily. The fading warmth on my skin feels so real, but at the same time, no, it doesn't. I feel shaken, spooked, like someone walked over my grave.