I plucked a paperback book off the shelf, flipping it around to read the summary on the back before reading the title. It was pretty thick; 485 pages weighed down my hands. I scanned the title -- City of Bones by Cassandra Clare -- and nodded slightly at it. I had heard good things about it, so I decided to give it a go.
I slumped into the pukey-green coloured armchair wedged into the corner of the living room. Despite living here, in Rebecca and Jason's house, for two and a half weeks, I still couldn't call my foster parents' home my own yet. The bedroom that held the small collection of possessions I had didn't even feel like my own.
I sighed contentedly, throwing my legs over the arm of the chair, sitting sideways on it so I could get more comfortable. I had only gotten into the third page when the doorbell began ringing rapidly, like someone was just standing there banging on it for fun. I sighed, annoyed this time, rolling out of the chair, onto the floor, onto all fours, and into a standing a standing position. I gently placed the book down on the chair, slowly walking to the big, red, wooden front door.
I ran over the list of people my "parents" had introduced me to; I was 99% positive that they all knew the adults worked on Fridays. Today shouldn't have been any different. I sighed, glancing at the black Converse high tops on my feet as they made hollow footsteps that echoed through the empty house. I smiled a little at all the scuffs on the now discoloured white toes.
The figure that I could see through the frosted glass around the door had resorted to banging with what sounded like two fists on it. I sped up, swiping my hands over my jeans and straightening the hem of the cream-coloured sweater that hung off me one last time, and whipped open the front door.
The figure, who I could now see was a tall and lanky man, at least a foot taller than me, stood with his hands raised in the air. He dropped them down to his sides, shooting a toothy grin at me. He straightened the red bow tie that hung around his collar before reaching into an inner pocket of his tweed jacket. He moved his head down a bit, making his floppy brunette hair bounce slightly.
"Hello!" He stated, pulling out whatever object he had been reaching for. He flashed it at me; merely just a piece of blank paper in a little leather sleeve. "Just here to do a bit of inspecting."
"They're not home," I replied, attempting to block the door frame besides our height difference. "My parents, I mean." I kind of spat out the word parents; I still couldn't feel comfortable saying it casually. It didn't seem that either of the spouses even cared--they barely noticed me, and they probably wouldn't for a while.
"Oh, that's quite alright. Grown-ups are boring anyways," he insisted. He shoved the paper back into his pocket and held out a hand. "I'm the Doctor by the way."
"Doctor...?" I held onto one of the ledges of the frame of the door, hanging off it and leaning across the doorway.
"Just the Doctor," He smiled again; he looked exceptionally eager to 'inspect' the simple two-story, three-bedroom house. I looked at him skeptically. He was a doctor, wasn't he? I couldn't get in trouble for letting a man in medical profession into the house; what was the worse that could happen?
I smiled a little, swinging on the door frame again to expose the entrance into the house for the Doctor. I closed the door behind him, following him as he made his way back into the living room. "Good one," he said of the book I'd left on the armchair. "My favorite part's when--"
"Spoilers!" I interrupted him, because I would just have to find out what happened in the book for myself. "Do you just go around, ruining books for people and inspecting houses?" I teased, picking up City of Bones and placing it on the coffee table instead. "What kind of doctor are you, anyway?"
"The good kind," the Doctor answered, turning on his heels a few times to see all around the room. "I didn't catch your name."
"Annabelle...Palmer," I hesitated, unsure of what to use as my last name. It took a couple seconds to recall my parents' surname, then to contemplate whether to use that, or my real parents' last name. The Doctor nodded.
"Upstairs, upstairs... May I go look upstairs?" He wrung his hands repeatedly, growing more and more fidgety by the second.
"Uh...sure? Just don't break anything, I guess," I said, sitting on the edge of the armchair and pulling my book back into my lap.
I settled back into the chair, resuming the sideways position I had previously in. I listened to the creaking of footsteps on the second floor, making it all the way through thirty more pages until I heard a dull thump and the sound of glass shattering. I jumped from the chair, abandoning City of Bones.
I didn't rush up the stairs immediately; I thought of what arrangement of words I'd use to chastise him, that the only rule I had was don't break anything. It wasn't really that hard of a rule to follow.
I checked rooms as I walked by them, eventually finding the Doctor stood, a jumbled look of shock, horror, and anger on his face. He was standing in the middle of the room that held my small collection of the possessions I had collected over the years. But, even for 13 years, I didn't really have much. A small pile of books, a shoebox full of jewelry, two suitcases full of clothes and a pair of flats shoved into the closet, a little case with a couple photo albums packed inside, one picture left out in a picture frame.
At the Doctor's feet lay said picture frame, the protective glass shattered around in clusters of shards, the frame cracked in a few places. For a few moments, the Doctor stared at the floor, pointing at it. Then he pointed at me, his mouth opening and closing like he was gasping for air that he oh-so-desperately needed to form the right words. He pointed back and forth, between me and the mess at his feet, a few times.
"That's--that's you, isn't it?" The Doctor asked, his voice notably higher than it had been minutes ago, pointing down to the glass/frame mixture.
I nodded. I remembered when the picture had been taken, eight years ago when I was five. Now, at thirteen, I was still recognizable; same medium-brown hair that was in between being curly and straight, same grey-green eyes, but not much taller. The Doctor nodded, like he was accepting the most important information in the world.
He bent down to pull the actual picture from the rubble. He stared at it for a few more delayed moments before speaking again. "And that's you with..." He trailed off, pointing to the other person in the photo. He was still crouched over the ground.
"River," I raised an eyebrow as he put the picture down, dragging both hands over his face. "She was a friend of my parents, she's like my aunt." I smiled lightly, picking up the picture gently.
"Your parents?" Now the Doctor seemed confused.
"Well, real parents. The couple I'm staying with now are temporary," I said bluntly. The Doctor nodded again, slowly this time, like he understood everything with just a couple sentences. Now he stood, reaching into his jacket pocket. "What's that?" I asked; he'd pulled out what looked like an extremely slim torch, decorated with different areas of varying metals, complete with four claw-like clamps arranged around a green bulb.
The Doctor pressed a button, making the bulb glow, and scanned the device around the room. "Sonic screwdriver, but it doesn't do wood."
I hummed, pretending I understood. I thought hard as I watched him scan; the hum of the sonic screwdriver made me feel like I had heard of it before. I shrugged at myself, turning to watch the Doctor scan the room one last time before walking out.
"You waited to tell me your full name. Why?" The Doctor spoke as I followed him down stairs and back into the living room. Before I could reply, he went on. "What was your original parents' last name?"
The Doctor's back was turned to me; he paced around the living room. "Pond," I shrugged again. It couldn't mean that much, could it? "At least that's what I'm told."
The Doctor stopped pacing. He turned back to me, letting out a low chuckle. "Pond...Pond! Annabelle Pond...sounds like a fairy tale!" He stopped laughing, the smile fading from his face. "Oh, oh. That means...oh! Pond, Pond, Pond!"
I stared at him, cocking an eyebrow yet again. The Doctor was switching moods like a madman--that's probably what he was, too, just a madman.
"What's that got to do with anything?" I asked, the picture still in my hands.
"So many things," the Doctor was back to that laughing; he did a 360 turn on his heel a single time. "So many wonderful things. And I'm going to show them to you whether you like it or not."
"What?" The grip I had on the picture tightened. What was the Doctor on about?
"I've got something to show you," He put the sonic screwdriver back into his pocket, holding out a hand. "And I think it's pretty wonderful."
I gave him the skeptical look again. I glanced at his outstretched hand, considering my options. Stay here, in boring old central London, left to live out my days reading and fantasizing over the worlds in books; or go off with the Doctor, practically a complete stranger. A man I didn't know, but a man whose eyes made me feel like I could trust him with my life already, within fifteen minutes of meeting him.
I looked into his eyes for a few moments, taking notice of how they held the same hue as mine--that grey-green color, that of which seemed to be lightly clouded with a faint layer of age. His looking older than mine seemed to be the only difference.
He caught me staring. "Oh, come on. A madman comes up to your doorstep, promises something that you shouldn't miss for the world, and you're hesitating?" He smiled widely, a hint of a teasing tone in his voice.
I nodded. "How could I trust you, just waltzing in here like you own the place?" A little burst of confidence had exploded inside me. "You even just ragged on yourself--you're a madman, you said so. You come in, break a picture frame, scared of it, then promise what could be an inevitable number of lies."
"Fair argument..." the Doctor thought over what I'd just said. "But there's just one more factor you should consider."
"And what's that?" Still skeptical of him, I took a step back from the Doctor.
"That I'm taller than you!" He yelled out, darting towards me. I yelped, turning to run away; before I could move even a foot away, the Doctor effortlessly threw me over his shoulder, heading towards the front door. I used the hand that didn't hold the precious picture to pound on his back.
My blows went by unnoticed by the Doctor, who had just shut the front door and aimed his screwdriver at it. I heard the locks click into place.
Great, I thought. Not even a way back in now...
I hit him again, realized that I didn't hear the usual buzz of people's chattering or the rush of cars on the road. And no witnesses to this, either...
Instead of hitting him again, I attempted to push myself up with both hands so that I could at least see where we were. The Doctor had stopped; I heard him snap his fingers a single time before continuing forward.
I watched the scenery change around me. The outside world basically disappeared onto the outside of two wooden doors that snapped shut as me and the Doctor were both inside. I lifted myself further, tapping him on the shoulder. "You've got me; can you put me down now?" I asked, annoyed at his actions.
"Don't bother running off, doors are locked," he said casually as I was placed on the ground.
"Is that supposed to be threatening?" I asked, dusting myself off before looking around the place.
We were standing on top of a glass floor, held together in panels by different metal fittings. The ground about five feet down resembled coral, different holes that were full of darkness speckled around; a swing bound with different bits of rubber and tubing and leather hung from the floor we stood on. Steps led down to the under level visible through the glass; different staircases led to other areas that branched off from the room. In the middle sat a glass tube that extended from floor to ceiling, encasing more green glass parts inside of it. The middle was surrounded in different panels, each one holding more buttons and levers than the last; a few even contained knobs that spun and one had a computer keyboard that hooked up to a screen that spun around the whole console. A yellow pilot seat was bolted to the ground in front of the railings on the other side of the console.
"Woah..." I mumbled. "What...what is this?"
"She's called the TARDIS--Time And Relative Dimension In Space," the Doctor moved forward to stroke a piece of the console. He spoke like he had rehearsed the words hundreds of times before. "She's a time machine, and she's mine--weeeelll, I'm more hers than she is mine."
I walked around the console, running my fingers over the assortment of buttons resisting the urge to press them all at once; I wondered what each lever did. Only then did I actually listen to the Doctor's words. "Wait--time machine? How can that even be?"
"I come from a place where it is actually extremely common," the Doctor moved to stand next to me. I looked upwards, following the straight path of the middle cylinder. "Time traveling--well, I guess it explains itself."
He shifted around again, his contorted image visible through the middle of the console; he jumped, as if realizing why he'd dragged me into his time machine. "I'll be right back!" he shouted over his shoulder, traipsed up a set of stairs that led down a long corridor. "Just...explore--but don't touch any buttons or levers! Unlabeled self-destruct gear; stupidest idea I ever had."
I listened to his fading footsteps, laughing quietly to myself. A time machine. It sounded wrong just thinking about it; time travel was only the stuff you could read in books; only limited to whatever your mind could think up. Something I'd wished since I was little, and now here I was.
In a time machine. Unsupervised. Left alone to explore the depths of what seemed like an endless ship.