Happy For Deep People

Chapter 2

 

7 Hours Ago

Sally placed the flowers down gently.

Lilacs. They were Kathy's favourite.

Had been her favourite.

She fought back tears as she thought of her best friend, lost in time and lost to her. It had been like losing anyone suddenly and tragically, but the manner of Katherine Nightingale's departure from this world had been unlike anything either of them could have possibly imagined.

Kathy had lived a full, happy and healthy life, and died an old woman surrounded by a loving family including children and grandchildren. And she had died aged just twenty-two, having disappeared, never to be seen again.

In reality, Kathy had been sent back in time 87 years to 1920 by a race of beings known as the Weeping Angels; beings that looked like ordinary, run-of-the-mill stone statues, but were actually living creatures from some far-flung alien world who could only exist when not being observed. When being looked upon by those unfortunate enough to encounter them, they would freeze into rock – the most perfect defensive mechanism ever evolved.

That had to be the weirdest piece of evolution.

To this day it still sounded insane. Unfortunately, that hadn't been the extent of their abilities. Their modus operandi had been to displace their victims in time – to zap them into the past – and in the present, consume the potential energy of all the days those victims might have lived. The victims of the Weeping Angels were trapped in a time that was not their own, unable to return and condemned to live out the rest of their lives in the past. Kathy had lived most of her adult life in the 20^th Century, marrying and having children. Towards the end of her life she had written a letter to Sally, explaining what had happened and expressing her deep feelings of friendship for her, and then left it with her grandson Malcolm with explicit instructions that it be delivered to the exact time and place that Kathy had left 2007.

Sally still had the letter. She had photocopied it for inclusion in a file that she had compiled on the events surrounding the Angels; photographs, her personal written account of what had happened, a transcript of the one-sided conversation found on the “Easter Eggs” of seventeen DVDs – which had turned out to be a conversation between her and the mysterious time traveller known only as “the Doctor.” She thought of him often, wondering who he was and where he came from. The strange man with his blue Police Box that was bigger on the inside, who had so expertly defeated the Angels. He was an alien, like them, Sally had decided. He simply had to be. Or at least a human being from the future; another time, another world.

He had seemed normal enough in many ways, if not more than a little eccentric, with his talk of “wibbley, wobbly, timey-wimey stuff.” He had had a travelling companion with him, named Martha. Or was she his wife? He had mentioned his wedding, albeit to proclaim himself “rubbish” at them. She had spent a year trying to make sense of it all, unable to let it go and move on. Larry, Kathy's brother and now her boyfriend, had chastised her for it. Well, how could she let it go? Losing your best friend to the mists of time, being scared out of your wits by statues that could kill you as soon as you stopped looking at them, being spoken to across time in increasingly bizarre ways by a man with a blue box that was larger within than without; these weren't exactly things that happened every day.

It had all thrown up so many unanswered questions. How did the Doctor know where to write the words on the wall at Wester Drumlins? How did he get the transcript? Where did he get all that information from? Those questions had been answered by the Doctor's surprising reappearance a year later. He had stepped out of a taxi, along with his friend, Martha – the attractive young woman who had appeared with him in the video – carrying a sling of arrows on his back. Suddenly it had all fallen into place; none of it had happened for him yet, it was all still in his future. She had given him the transcript, along with the rest of her file, like some massive ontological paradox.

“OK. Listen,” she had said. “One day, you're going to get stuck in 1969. Make sure you've got this with you.” She had then handed him the plastic wallet containing the documentation. “You're going to need it.”

Martha had called for him then, talking urgently about something “hatching.” The Doctor had looked at her apologetically. “Yeah, listen, listen, got to dash. Things happening. Well, four things. Well, four things... and a lizard.” She had excused him with a polite, “Okay. No worries. On you go. See you around, someday.” She had felt a momentary sense of disappointment that he was going to run out of her life so quickly, coupled with the conflicting emotion of satisfaction that it was over – her questions had been answered and she could move on. That was when Larry had returned from the newsagent's next door with his pint of milk, and had frozen, dumbstruck, at the sight of the Doctor. The mysterious time traveller had then asked her her name. “Sally Sparrow,” she had answered, smiling.

“Good to meet you, Sally Sparrow,” he had replied, and then looked at Larry, his expression unreadable. Sally had grown increasingly distant in the previous year, becoming almost obsessed with solving the great mystery, feeling that she owed it to Kathy. He had grown increasingly fond of her, and clearly wished to pursue a relationship, but she had remained aloof, telling him; “We just run a shop together. That's all it is, just a shop.” Now, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders – not completely, but enough to be able to start living again. As Larry had stared at the Doctor, she had taken his hand and looked back at the time traveller. “Goodbye, Doctor”, she had said, and led Larry back into their shop.

Their shop. “Sparrow and Nightingale.” Sally allowed herself a small smile. That was one good thing to have come out of the whole episode. Kathy would have been happy for them; her brother and her best friend. They had vowed to keep her memory alive, and would continue to do so, not least by the naming of the shop in tribute to a suggestion of Kathy's, despite Sally's own opinion of it being “a bit ITV.”

Together, Sally and Larry had begun to lead a normal life once again, but they had never forgotten the Doctor, and their desire to lead a life free of supernatural incident had become increasingly difficult to realise in the nine months since they had said their goodbyes to him. A few short weeks after the Doctor had run out of their lives, Prime Minister Harold Saxon had appeared on TV to address the nation. He had spoken of how just a few short years ago, the world had been so small... “And then, they came, out of the unknown, falling from the skies.”

Aliens.

“You've seen it happen,” Saxon had said. “Big Ben destroyed. A spaceship over London.” Big Ben. Or rather the clock tower; Sally always hated it when people made that common mistake. Although, technically, she supposed that the “spaceship” had actually flown through and destroyed the bell. “All those ghosts and metal men,” Saxon had continued. “The Christmas star that came to kill.” He had then spoken of having been contacted by a new race of alien visitors, with a message for mankind; the Toclafane.

Sally had always been fairly sceptical about such things, even in light of such apparently incontrovertible evidence. These events had long been generally thought of as hoaxes; terrorist strikes with the likes of Al Qaeda using psychological attacks to destabilise the populace by faking UFOs and putting psychotropic drugs in the water supply. In light of the manner of Saxon's apparent assassination of the newly-elected US President, Coleman Winters, and the Dalek invasion of just a few months ago, it was becoming a lot harder to explain away such things as mass hallucinations and simple tricks of the light.

After Saxon's speech, all eyes had been on the news. Sally had been watching a bulletin on the TV, which in addition to updates on the Toclafane story had carried a report of three terror suspects who were at large, and “known to be armed and extremely dangerous.” The BBC had then flashed up a picture of said suspects, and Sally's heart had almost stopped. There on the screen were pictures of the Doctor, his companion, Martha, whose last name she now learned was Jones, and another man whom she didn't recognise.

Sally had sat, stunned into silence, for several minutes until Larry had knocked on the door, startling her from her reverie. An almost eerie calm had descended upon the streets, and all Sally could think about was the Doctor. She and Larry both knew for certain that the Doctor and Martha, and by association probably the other guy – apparently known as “the Captain” – were not terrorists, but they had felt utterly powerless to do anything to help clear their names. Events had then taken a strange and disturbing turn; the President had been killed on live TV, then the “Toclafane” had seemed to disappear, and Saxon had been publicly decried a madman – a far cry from the decent and honest man he had seemed to be. The “Special Relationship” between Britain and the US had become exceptionally strained after that incident.

Then, there had been the Daleks. The one event in the last twelve months that was pretty hard to explain away as anything other than a genuine extraterrestrial encounter had been the apparent Dalek invasion. Twenty-six planets had appeared in the sky from nowhere – although some said that it was the Earth that had moved across space – to be followed by an all-out invasion by fearsome creatures resembling giant pepper-pots, and seemingly bent on the total extermination of humanity.

Cities had been levelled, the death toll was in the low millions, and still half the world was denying the existence of aliens. Others though, had refused to believe the cover-ups any longer and had started to accept the apparent fact that the Earth was under continual threat from above. Sally Sparrow, for one, was much less sceptical than she used to be.

She had felt sure that she had caught a glimpse of the Doctor on TV just before President Winters' death, just out of the corner of her eye. She knew he was involved somehow, and what's more she knew it had to be as a force for good. She had thought back to the “Christmas Invasion”, as it had come to be known – the appearance of an apparent alien spacecraft over London on Christmas Day 2006 – and then-Prime Minister Harriet Jones' subsequent removal from office due to “health concerns.” Jones had actually won a large extent of public support following her decision to obliterate the retreating vessel, owing to the climate of fear that the incident had encouraged in the public, but she had been hoisted on her own petard by going on a live national TV broadcast and calling for a doctor. Apparently, Jones' detractors in the media had then leapt upon this and played a significant part in spreading a hate campaign against the woman. Others, including certain members of her own government, had then jumped on the bandwagon and succeeded in forcing her out. Sally had liked Harriet Jones, and voted for her, and although clearly anyone would have been better to have running the country than Saxon, she had been particularly disappointed to lose Jones despite her flaws. After all, what politician didn't have flaws? Certainly something about the recently-elected new PM Brian Green made her feel uneasy.

With the benefit of hindsight, and in light of subsequent events, Sally had since wondered whether Harriet Jones had been calling out not for just any doctor, but the Doctor? It just seemed to make sense, somehow, like some giant jigsaw puzzle falling into place without one even knowing what the big picture was supposed to be.

She had run this theory past Larry, who had stopped in his tracks, as if she had just proven the existence of God. “Hey,” he had said, “I think you might be onto something there!”

Together, they had decided to start searching the Internet for references to the Doctor. The word “doctor” was of course one of the most common in the English language, but typing simple combinations of words like Doctor+Police Box into search engines had turned up some surprising results. Political diaries, conspiracy theories, even ghost stories, stretching back centuries, all contained references to a mysterious “Doctor.” One website in particular, “Who is the Doctor?”, turned out to be an invaluable repository of information on the man – if he even was a man. The site had been maintained originally by a Clive Finch, and then upon his untimely death by one Mickey Smith, but now seemed to be completely defunct, not having been updated in over a year. Sure enough though, there on the site had been photographs of several “Doctors” throughout history, including the man Sally and Larry had met.

Bingo.

Accounts and theories about the Doctor, or Doctors, had made interesting reading. One spoke of an eccentric-looking man in an outrageous multicoloured monstrosity of an outfit, including yellow trousers and a vulgarly-coloured coat, whom Sally thought bore an uncanny resemblance to Ronald McDonald, while another talked about a tall man with an absurdly long scarf and a wide-brimmed hat atop a mass of dark curly hair. Sally and Larry had of course been most interested in the reports of a man in a pinstriped suit with a long camel coat and short, gelled hair. Sally had suggested that the “Doctor” title was one that was passed down through a long line, while Larry – with an ever more childlike imagination – had put forward the possibility that all these different Doctors were the same man. Somehow. Sally had raised her eyebrows and replied; “It's possible, I suppose. I mean, after what we went through... anything's possible.”

As her mind returned to the present, Sally took one last long look at Kathy's gravestone, at her married name beneath that of her husband.

Katherine Costello Wainright

1902 - 1920

Sally still smiled at that every time she visited here. Upon arriving in 1920, Kathy had told her future husband, Ben – the first person she had met in that time – that she was 18, the lying cow. She chuckled, pressed two fingers to her lips and kissed them, and then planted them softly against Kathy's name, engraved in the stone.

Stone.

A fitting testament to the manner of her friend's departure. She shivered lightly, then wrapped her coat more tightly around herself and got up to leave. Her legs had gone numb from kneeling in one position for too long, and she felt the onset of pins and needles in her left foot. She winced, and began to make her way toward the heavy cast-iron gates of the cemetery.

The feeling in her legs returned slowly as she walked, her breath misting in the crisp January air. This day had not been unlike the day she had first visited here; cold and overcast, with the occasional drizzle of that horrible fine rain. Her thoughts returned to the Doctor. She and Larry had read eyewitness and second-hand reports of strange goings-on involving the Doctor all over the world for many years. Most tales, strangely, were from right here in London, and most about a mysterious appearing and disappearing Police Box. Some of these had not been small occurrences either. There were reports of strange metal creatures matching the description of the Daleks appearing in Shoreditch in the early sixties, and of stomping metal giants marauding through the city streets a few years later – an event which seemed eerily familiar. There were fantastic stories of shop-window mannequins coming to life and terrorising the streets! Some had even claimed to have had encounters with such ridiculous-sounding things as dinosaurs (although Sally remained a little more sceptical of those things that were most difficult to swallow), and there were accounts of London being evacuated on more than one occasion because of strange disturbances. In fact, her mother had remembered being evacuated from London for several days as a child sometime in the late sixties or early seventies due to some kind of gas attack. That was the official story anyway – Sally's research had suggested several alternative explanations.

If these stories were true, it would seem that all sorts of strange phenomena had been going on for decades, and that only since the development and expansion of the world's media had they become more difficult to cover up. Still, even in the old days no system was so crude that it should have missed several attempts to invade the planet! Sally wondered how certain older events, most of which had occurred long before she was born, had ever been buried. The human capacity for wilful blindness and self-deception never ceased to amaze her. People, she considered, had a strong tendency to rationalise what they could and repress what they couldn't.

Throughout all these stories and events – however dubious some of them may have been – there was one constant element; the Doctor. Somehow, Sally found this strangely reassuring; throughout history, throughout every attempt to take over and subjugate the human race, he had been there. That strange man in his Police Box, watching over humanity and defending the Earth. 

She smiled to herself as she rounded a corner onto Queen Street and approached the shop. The shop was open to trade, and the bell above the door rang out as she opened it and entered the premises. Larry was just finishing serving one of their regular customers, a guy of about 35 wearing glasses and a black leather jacket, who took his bag of DVDs with a smile. “Your receipt's in the bag, mate,” Larry informed him.

“Thanks very much,” the customer replied, and turned to leave.

“Cheers,” Larry said again as the man acknowledged Sally with a smile as he passed her on the way out.

Sally walked over towards the counter. “Busy?” she asked.

“Not really,” Larry answered, closing the till. “Bit dead, actually.”

Sally nodded, and moved around behind the counter.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“To see Kathy,” Sally replied.

Larry sighed, feeling her turn of phrase to be a little disrespectful, but he let it slide. “I'd have come with you,” he said with a hint of disappointment.

“Someone had to mind the shop,” she pointed out.

“We could have shut for a bit. It's not exactly heaving,” he countered.

“It was just a whim,” Sally said, not entirely truthfully. “I just thought it had been a while, that's all.”

He nodded, seeming to buy her justification. “I'll pop along myself, maybe tomorrow or Wednesday,” he said.

Sally smiled and nodded, then went through the archway, through the multi-coloured hippy beads that hung there, to the back of the shop to put the kettle on. Larry turned to follow, but remained in the archway. “You know, I still talk to her,” he admitted wistfully.

Sally took a mug down from a cupboard and set it down on the worktop slowly, seeming to pause for thought. “Yeah, me too,” she replied after a moment.

“Stupid really,” Larry continued, fighting back tears, “but sometimes I even have arguments with her, like when we were kids. Like, I know exactly what she'd say in a situation, and when I'm trying to work something out I hear her voice in my head, telling me what I have to do.”

Sally gave him a faint smile that masked her pain. “That's not stupid,” she assured him. “She'd be proud of you. Proud of us.”

He smiled again, and brightened up a little. “By the way,” he said, changing the subject, “I've been meaning to run something by you...” he trailed off, his smile fading, “and this probably isn't the best time...”

“What?” Sally asked cautiously as the kettle began to boil.

“Well, you know Banto's coming back next week?” he continued.

“Yeah...” she replied. Banto had been the proprietor of the shop before them, and a good friend of Larry's, who had gone on an extended trip to America. Sally didn't completely dislike the man, and in fact she owed him one for giving her the idea to go to the police during the Weeping Angels incident, but she had found him to be a bit too much of a nerdy bore – he was every bit as much a self-confessed Science Fiction geek as Lawrence, but with none of her boyfriend's wit, charm or social skills – and a little bit rude. The first thing he had done upon her entering the shop for the very first time, looking for Larry, had been to demonstrate his excellent customer service skills by shushing her with his finger while he watched his TV programme. In truth, he had always reminded Sally of the Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons.

“Well,” Larry continued, “there's a bit of a problem with his old flat. Damp or dry rot or something, so I was wondering...”

Sally sighed, her shoulders dropping. “And you want to know if he can stay with us,” she said, not even needing to phrase the statement as a question.

“Just for a few days,” he said, his tone almost pleading, “until he gets back on his feet.”

She rolled her eyes. “Doesn't he have anywhere else he can go?” She and Larry had been living together for only three months, and Sally wanted to enjoy the experience a little more before having a lodger move in, even for just a few days.

“I'm his best mate here in London,” he replied. “You won't even know he's there! Besides, I'd let any of your friends stay with us.”

“You fancy most of my friends,” she commented wryly, and before he could protest, she added; “I bet he's really untidy too... He doesn't do anything all day – just sits at his computer, watches TV or reads his comic books.”

“Graphic novels,” he corrected with emphasis. “Anyway, you won't have to worry about him then, will you. Just leave him be.”

“I'll have to worry about the electricity bills, though.” Sally thought for a moment, mulling it over, then sighed again. “Just a few days?”

He nodded. “Just a few days.”

As Sally was about to speak, the ring of the doorbell signalled the arrival of a customer. Sally bent down to open the cupboard where the coffee was kept, as Larry turned to see the new arrival.

“Hmm, I don't know,” she said, still thinking about it.

“Sally...” Larry said, his voice suddenly grave.

Sally rolled her eyes. “OK, he can stay. But just for a few days, and I'm not cleaning up after him...”

“Sally!” Larry said again, more urgently this time.

“What?” she asked, startled slightly by the strength of his summons. He suddenly darted out from behind the counter toward the front door. Sally followed urgently, and when she reached the doorway onto the shop floor and saw who was standing before her with tears streaming down her face and her clothes dishevelled and torn, she froze, catching her breath.

“Hannah?!” Sally cried out to her sister, launching herself around the counter to join Larry, who had already reached the teenage girl and was supporting her arm. “My God, what happened?!” she exclaimed, joining them and taking Hannah's other arm.

The girl didn't look either of them in the eyes, but broke down, her legs buckling beneath her. Sally and Larry quickly supported her as she began to sink to her knees. “Hannah!” Sally cried again.

This time, the girl seemed to react slightly to the sound of her name, and then collapsed into her older sister's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Larry, shut the shop,” Sally said quickly and frantically. Larry got to his feet and locked the door, sliding the bolt across the latch and turning around the shop sign to display; Sorry, We're Closed.

“Help me get her through the back,” Sally commanded. Larry immediately helped Sally to help Hannah to her feet, and he noticed that his girlfriend was fighting back tears.

“Hannah, darling...” Sally pleaded as the three of them made their way into the back. They helped the young woman to sit down. “Hannah,” Sally kept saying, as softly as she could manage while still being forceful. “Hannah Sparrow, look at me!”

Hannah flinched, and Larry winced at Sally's tone. “Sally...” he warned softly.

“Sorry,” she replied, though more to her sister than to him. “I'm sorry, Hannah. But you have to tell us what's happened. Who did this to you?”

Larry didn't want to think the worst, but he could tell that both he and Sally were thinking the same thing; had she been raped? Or at least could someone have tried to sexually assault her? Definitely a physical assault of some kind.

“Sally,” came a tiny, frightened voice.

Sally and Larry both breathed a sigh of relief that she had finally spoken.

“Hey,” Sally said, the hint of a relieved smile playing across her lips. “You with us?” She wiped away a tear from her sister's cheek.

Hannah gave a slight nod. She seemed languid, and her skin was deathly pale as if she were about to pass out. She appeared to be dressed for a night out, with a low-cut top and stylish leggings, rounded off with high-heels. Her hair had obviously been styled nicely before being dishevelled, and her mascara – Sally always thought she wore too much – had run down her face. Sally worried that she might have been out all night. “You're freezing,” she said, unable to hold back a single tear.

Without prompting, Larry said; “Hold on, I'll get my coat. I left it in the car.” He placed a comforting hand on Sally's shoulder for a moment, and then disappeared out to the front door, which he unlocked and stepped outside, leaving the sisters alone.

“I can't leave you alone for five minutes,” Sally said, forcing a slight chuckle, then cursed herself for making such an insensitively crass comment in her vain effort to... lighten the moment?! What the hell was she thinking?

It didn't seem to matter anyway, for Hannah simply continued to stare into the middle distance.

“Hannah,” Sally said desperately. “Look at me.” She turned the girl's head towards her. “What's happened? Where have you been? Were you out all night?”

Her sister took a deep breath, seemingly to steady her nerves, and nodded. “I wandered around,” she said quietly, her voice weak. “I didn't know where I was. Sal, I was scared...” she crumpled and began to cry again as the bell signalled Larry's return with his coat.

“It's OK,” Sally said soothingly. “Shh, it's all right. Take your time...” She took Larry's coat – a big heavy thing designed for extreme weather – from him and placed it around Hannah's shoulders.

“We were... out last night...” Hannah began as Sally stroked her hair lightly.

“Who were?” Sally asked. “You and who else?”

“Some friends. Tina... Paul... Ryan...” She took another deep breath. “We went to Revolution.”

Sally's jaw tightened. Revolution was a nightclub that she and Kathy had frequented a lot in their first year at University, when they had first known each other. It had been newly-opened at the time, but had acquired something of a rough reputation since then, and they had stopped going to the place after seeing one too many fights break out. “What happened?” she pressed.

Hannah closed her eyes, as if fighting to remember. Or fighting not to. “We...” she began eventually, then took another breath. “We were on the dance floor. These guys came up to us... and two girls. They... asked if we wanted to dance with them... bought us drinks... One thing led to another...”

Sally and Larry exchanged worried glances.

“They seemed so normal...”

Sally was crying now. “Hannah, did they...?” Her words trailed off, and she placed a hand on her sister's arm. “What did they do to you?”

"They... turned into...” She looked her sister in the eyes now. “Sally, they weren't human!”

A chill passed down Larry's spine, as if someone had walked over his grave.

Sally recoiled, then leaned away slowly. “What do you mean?” she asked nervously, unsure whether she really wanted to know the answer.

“They wanted to...” Hannah gulped before continuing, “they invited us back to their place. They said they shared a flat. They led us through a short cut...” She hesitated. “An alleyway.”

“Hannah...” Sally admonished, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What are you doing following strange people down dark alleys? You should know better.”

“I know,” Hannah admitted. “They weren't strange though. We thought we were safe. And there were four of us. Strength in numbers.”

Larry blinked. The group had been drunk too, no doubt.

“They... their faces... changed. They had black eyes... like... vampires or something...” she shook her head in disbelief. “Then they turned into something else. They were like...” she struggled to find the words. “I can't describe...”

“Try, please,” Larry said, emphatically. Sally turned to him sharply, but something had flickered in his memory; a glimmer of recognition that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Hannah thought for a moment. “Like... those aliens you see in films.”

“Like the Roswell autopsy footage?” Larry prodded.

Sally looked at him askance, before Hannah finally said; “Yeah.”

Sally wondered whether she had just said this to silence him, but she also wondered what Larry was getting at. Before she could ask him, Hannah continued.

“We screamed,” she said. “We struggled. They held us up against the wall. They were so strong.”

“It's OK. You're safe,” Sally assured her. “You're here with us.”

“Then they... did something to us.”

Sally's heart skipped a beat. “What?” she prodded.

“I didn't see it,” Hannah answered. “I'd shut my eyes. I felt it, though. Like an injection... in my neck.” She inclined her head sideways to show them a small puncture wound in her neck. “I felt... dizzy for a second. Then... I'm not sure what they were going to do, but...”

Sally squeezed her arm. “What happened?” she said.

“Then these cars came screaming 'round the corner. There were these men, with guns...”

Sally looked at Larry. This was getting even more bizarre by the minute.

“There was a lot of shouting,” Hannah went on. “Then the... things... they let us go. We all fell down... They put up a fight. The armed men, they moved in as soon as we were out of their grip. There was a fight. They were so fast... they just... went for the men. The men opened fire. I managed to get up, and... I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I saw... While some of them were shooting at the... creatures, some other men and a woman, went and got Paul, Ryan and Tina. They were out cold. I heard one of the men shout; “They're infected!””

Sally and Larry exchanged horrified glances.

“There was a lot of noise... gunfire, and...” Hannah shut her eyes tightly and breathed deeply. “The... things... the creatures... got away. Sally, it was... You had to see it... They jumped and... sailed through the air, like they could fly!” Her voice carried an incredulous tone, as if she were relaying a horror story, rather than something that had actually happened.

Sally could believe it. “What happened to the others? Your friends. What happened to them?” she wanted to know.

“The men picked them up and... just bundled them into an Ambulance... this Ambulance that just turned up. I legged it. I could hear them shouting; “Get the other one! Get the girl!” But I just ran. I hid. I don't know what happened to...”

“It's OK,” Sally said. “You've done really well.” She didn't know whether to be relived on the one hand that her sister had not been sexually assaulted, as had been her initial suspicion, or horrified on the other that yet again her life was becoming mixed up in extraterrestrial affairs. Why couldn't the bastards just leave her alone? “Just try and relax,” she said. “It's all over now.”

“But what if it isn't?!” Hannah demanded. “Where did they take my friends? If they're infected, does that mean I'm infected too?! Infected with what?!” Her voice rose in terror.

“I don't know,” Sally replied. “Do you feel ill in any way?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “Sally, I'm frightened.”

So am I, Sally thought, but that wouldn't be what her sister needed to hear right now. Aloud, she said simply; “Don't worry... We'll work it out. We'll get through this.”

Will we? Larry thought, incredulously. He knew that they were out of their depth on this one. He knew something else, though; something about all this seemed eerily familiar. He felt certain that he had read a similar account during his research into the Doctor. Now, it was a case of having to trawl back through that research to find it.

Sally was cradling her sister now, who was crying softly in her arms. “Shh,” Sally was saying. “Shh... It's alright.”

* * * *

Larry set the glass of water down on the table. Hannah picked it up shakily and raised it to her mouth slowly. She began to glug it down like someone who had traversed the Sahara for three days and found an oasis.

“You might want to sip that carefully,” Larry advised as he heard Sally on the phone to her mother in the next room.

“It's fine, mum. She's here,” Sally was saying. “Yeah, she crashed here last night.”

Larry hoped that the girls' mother wouldn't want to speak to her youngest daughter. They had taken Hannah back to their flat, after putting up a sign in the shop window explaining that they had had to close due to “unforeseen circumstances” and apologising for the inconvenience. He had suggested to Sally that they take Hannah to the hospital in case she was carrying something harmful, but Hannah had overheard and flatly refused to go. Sally had tried to talk her round, despite her own worry about having to come up with a plan to explain her sister's experience to the doctors; Larry supposed that they could claim that she had been injected with a syringe during an assault, which wasn't far from the truth, but then there was the issue of trying to convince Hannah to go along with it and report the incident to the police, and at this point the young woman felt no inclination to do either. Sally had supposed that she was frightened of what such a visit would reveal; of being found to be carrying some alien virus that was slowly killing her.

He watched her intently as she failed to heed his advice, and finished her glass of water quickly. She looked up at him then, and for a moment he thought he saw a faint smile play across her lips. “Thanks,” she said sincerely.

He smiled back. “Don't mention it.” She looked a lot like Sally, he thought, like a miniature version of her sister with the same elfin features and button nose and cute dimples when she smiled. He considered their shared upbringing. Their father had been absent for some time, having run off with his secretary when Sally had been only eight years old, and Hannah had been a toddler. Or rather, Sally had explained, he had had an affair with his secretary, which his wife had discovered and had turned him out on his ear. Then he had run off with the secretary. Although he had wished to maintain a degree of contact with his girls, their mother, in her hurt and resentful state, had made the “executive decision” as Sally had called it, to cut him out of their life. Their father had then moved to Australia, putting up little of a fight. By the time Sally had reached an age where she had been mature enough to get in touch with him, she had grown to resent her father's absence and lack of contact so much that she had no desire to do so. Hannah had been so young at the time of his departure that she barely remembered him anyway, and had simply gone along with her sister's wishes.

She looked up to Sally a great deal. In return, Sally had in many ways been like a second mother to Hannah, helping her with her homework and cooking dinner for her and babysitting when their mother was out. Sally had not regretted taking on such a degree of parental responsibility, for she had never really known any differently. It had had the effect, however, of making her mature and wise beyond her years. Hannah, by contrast, had not taken on such a premature responsibility at an early age and therefore was much less restrained than Sally. Having just recently turned 18, she was a little less bookish than her sister had claimed to be at that age; a little more outgoing, and... flirtatious, he had noticed.

“Yeah, I'll get her to ring you later,” Sally said to her mother as she entered the room, still with the phone to her ear. She gave Hannah an apologetic shrug in response to her sister's look of protest, as if to say; What can I do? “Yeah, I'll speak to you soon... Take care. Love to Gran. Bye.” She ended the call and turned to her sister. “Sorry Hannah, but she's worried about you. She'll get suspicious if you don't talk to her. You know what she's like.”

Hannah nodded, but the last thing she really wanted to do right now was talk to her mother.

“You should put your head down. Get some sleep,” Sally said, displaying her maternal instinct toward the young woman.

Hannah thought for a moment. “Can I have a bath?” she asked.

Sally hesitated, wondering whether that would be a good idea, thoughts of 'contaminating evidence' filling her head. She quickly – and perhaps foolishly, she considered – dismissed the thought. After all, they weren't dealing with a conventional assault; whatever was wrong with Hannah was inside her. “Of course,” she answered, nodding. “I'll go and run it for you.”

“I can do it,” Hannah replied, a little too forcefully. “Thanks,” she added quickly.

Sally regarded her for a moment, feeling an overwhelming sense of protectiveness toward her baby sister. No, she reminded herself, she's not a baby any more. “OK,” she said.

Hannah eased herself out of her chair and moved toward the door.

“You know where it is?” Sally asked. Stupid question, she thought, for it was hardly a large flat anyway.

“Yes,” Hannah replied brusquely, the single word carrying a distinctly teenage tone of; Stop fussing, I can take care of myself.

Sally nodded, but she would never stop worrying about her.

Larry spoke then. “Sal, I'm just going to check for something,” he said as he picked up his Laptop, which he had just switched on.

Sally only barely heard him as she watched her sister lumber away towards the bathroom.

“Sally?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Sorry. What is it you think you can find?”

“Hannah's story reminded me of something... Something I read while I was looking into the Doctor. One of those sites with stories and accounts of strange things... I'm sure something like this has happened before.” He noticed the look on Sally's face. “She'll be okay,” he assured her, trying to sound as convincing as he could, “she's got you looking out for her.”

Sally smiled. “Thanks,” she said, although in truth she didn't have nearly as much confidence in herself as he seemed to. She didn't believe that she could do much that would make a difference.

Larry spent a few minutes searching the 'net history – it amazed her that he hadn't deleted it at some point – while Sally paced the floor. After a while, he found what he was looking for. “Ah-ha...” he said, more to himself than to her.

“Found something?” she asked, eagerly.

“Yep,” he replied. “Here you go, check this out.”

He stood up from the table, gesturing for Sally to sit down in his place. She did so and studied the Laptop monitor. Displayed on the screen was an account from 1991 of an incident that had taken place right here in the local area. Several people had gone missing, including a group of teenagers in similar circumstances to what Hannah had described. She raised her eyebrows in surprise and carried on reading. According to the article, more people had subsequently been victims of attacks – some had escaped and some hadn't – those who had lived to tell the tale had spoken of “feral creatures”, like demonic versions of the “grey” aliens traditionally depicted in popular culture. The victims had been exposed to some kind of hypnotic or chemical influence that had caused them to exhibit “unusual behaviour.” The intervention of an organisation called UNIT – references to which had turned up several times in their earlier research – had apparently prevented the situation from worsening.

“See?” Larry said from behind her, sounding somewhat self-satisfied. “I knew I'd read something similar.”

Sally scrolled up and down the page. The article failed to elaborate any further, but the acronym “UNIT” was highlighted in blue to indicate a link to its own page. Apparently, the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce was a military intelligence-gathering organisation that operated under the auspices of the UN. Sally read the opening lines;

The UNIT Dossier

The United Nations Intelligence Taskforce is a covert paramilitary organisation which operates in plain view of the public, yet seems to arouse no suspicion. It is funded in the United Kingdom by the British taxpayer, yet is directly linked to the United Nations. It draws its troops from the regular British armed forces, yet seems to have no liaison with NATO or the objectives of NATO. And it has been involved with most of the great crises to face Britain in the past four decades while remaining virtually anonymous.

This intelligence taskforce seems to operate from the shadows of British society, while the repercussions of its actions have affected every man, woman and child in the country.

She skimmed over the rest of the article, enough to gather the gist; apparently the true purpose of the organisation – or so the article claimed – was to investigate and combat paranormal and extraterrestrial threats to the Earth.

Extraterrestrial.

Sally returned to the previous article and skim-read it again, a sinking feeling arousing in her gut. Once again they were dealing with something not of Earth-origin. First the Angels and now this. First her and now her sister. Why does this keep happening to me? Thinking of Kathy and Hannah, she added; and the people I love?

“They injected something into her neck,” Sally said. “This article talks about some kind of hypnotic or chemical influence, but it doesn't say what kind.” On the last word she banged the table in frustration. “What if they've done something to Hannah, like they did to the other victims?”

“I'd keep your voice down if I were you,” Larry said, quietly. After all, Sally's sibling was only just down the hall. They could still hear the water running, so it was thankfully unlikely that Hannah would have heard.

Sally suddenly rose from her seat and made her way to the bathroom. Larry didn't try and stop her.

“Hannah?” Sally said, knocking on the door three times. “Hannah?”

“Yes,” came a terse reply from inside, “give me a chance.” Sally heard the water stop running and after a moment the door opened just a crack and Hannah peered out. “What?”

“Are you OK?” Sally asked. “Do you feel any different? Unwell or anything?”

Hannah eyed her suspiciously. “No... no different. Just still a bit... I don't know... tense.” She had undressed and was now clad only in Sally's dressing gown. “Why?” she added.

“No reason,” Sally lied, forcing a smile and trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Just a bit worried about you, that's all.”

Hannah looked at her for a moment, and Sally thought she was going to call her bluff. “I'm fine,” she said simply. “I just need to relax for a bit.”

“OK,” Sally said, smiling. “No worries, just give us a shout if you need anything.”

“I will,” Hannah replied. After a pause, she added; “OK?”

“Yeah,” Sally said. “I'll be just out here.”

“Sitting by the door?” Hannah said dryly.

Sally sighed. “In the kitchen.” The girl had been through a lot and was obviously shaken up, but Sally really wished she wouldn't keep snapping at her when she was trying to help.

Hannah nodded, gave her a perfunctory half-smile and closed the door.

Sally went back to the kitchen to find Larry still perusing the website. “She OK?” he asked.

“Seems to be,” Sally sighed, “'though I don't think she'd tell me if she wasn't.”

“Sally, I might be onto something,” he said. “The article doesn't go into too much detail but there are contact details for the web-master.”

Sally stared at the screen, where Larry was indicating an email address.

“He might be able to tell us more,” Larry continued. “Want me to fire off an email?”

Sally thought for a moment. “I'll do it,” she said finally. “I need to feel useful.”

Larry nodded, and once again gave up his seat for her. She took it, and spent five minutes composing an email explaining the situation – not in too much detail, but enough to get the attention of whomever it was she was writing to – and their approximate whereabouts. She clicked 'Send', and then paced around the flat a little more, all the while keeping her ears open for anything that might indicate that her sister was in trouble. She could hear the faint sound of the water splashing as Hannah moved about in the bath, and thankfully it sounded as if she were OK – if she started to hear too much thrashing about in the water, or none at all, then she would start to panic.

“You'll wear out the carpet,” Larry said after a little while. “Why don't you sit down, take the weight off your feet for a bit, and I'll make us a coffee?”

“Coffee's the last thing I need right now,” she said, “I feel jittery enough as it is.”

He nodded. “Good point.” A soft 'ping' sound suddenly turned their attention to Larry's Laptop. “We've got an email,” he said expectantly.

Sally's heart leapt. “Open it, quickly...” she said, a little forcefully.

“OK, hang on,” Larry replied.

Of course, if it was one of Larry's usual email notifications that someone had bid on some collectible Sci-Fi item he had put on eBay, she was going to scream.

“It's not anyone I know...” Larry said as he clicked to open it. They read it together.

Dear Miss Sparrow,

I'm very sorry to hear of your predicament. Meet me at the park opposite King's Avenue at 1:30pm. Come alone.

The message was unsigned, and something about it gave Sally an uneasy feeling.

“Bit melodramatic...” Larry commented. What is this, he thought, The X-Files?

“Yeah, but it's something,” Sally said. She looked at her watch. “Ten-past-one. Twenty minutes... That park's about fifteen minutes away.” She launched herself toward the front door.

“You're going to go?” Larry said, following her out. “Alone? It could be anyone waiting for you.”

“I know,” she said as she took her coat off the peg by the door and reached inside the pocket for her car keys. “I have to risk it.” Before he could voice further protest she offered a reassuring, if slightly forced, smile. “I've faced worse,” she said, clearly referring to their experience with the Weeping Angels.

He drew breath to speak, but bit his tongue as he realised that she had to do this. If there was any way that they could help Hannah... “Be careful,” he said firmly.

She smiled, and this time it was genuine. “I will,” she said. “Look after her.”

“Wait,” he said, “what am I supposed to tell her when she asks where you've gone?”

Sally thought for a second. “You'll think of something,” she replied.

He smiled awkwardly as she left the flat, closing the door behind her.

* * * *

Sally pulled up opposite King's Avenue, pulled up the handbrake, turned off the ignition and sat for a few moments, looking around. She saw no one who could be described as odd-looking or out-of-the-ordinary, just a woman and two young children, who were having a whale of a time playing in the park. The woman looked to be in her late sixties or early seventies – too old to be their mother, most likely their grandmother.

Sally took a deep breath, and got out of the car. Though still overcast, there was now a gentle breeze whistling through the trees, and the birds twittered away contentedly as if it were any other day. She was beginning to doubt the wisdom of what she was doing; coming to meet a complete stranger who, for all she knew, could be a deranged lunatic. Why hadn't she listened to Larry?

She knew the answer to that of course; Hannah. She was doing this for her sister. If there was a chance that she could help her, she had to take it.

She central-locked the car, then wandered over to a nearby bench and sat down. She looked at her watch. 1:27.

She half-expected her “contact” to arrive dead-on half-past, coming out of the bushes behind her with a sinister message like: “Don't turn around...” Some dark, deep-voiced spectre of a man in an ominous disguise. She shifted uncomfortably, anxiously, and checked behind her, seeing no one there. She shook her head, chastising herself for having watched too many of Larry's SF programmes.

The older woman who had been pushing her grandchildren – or so Sally presumed – in turn on the swings, now allowed the swing to come to a halt. Its occupant, a boy of no more than six or seven, groaned in protest. “That's enough now,” the woman said, “Nanny needs to rest her arms!” She helped the two children down from the swings and sent them off to run around the park excitedly. “Stay where I can see you!” she called.

She sighed, and moved to join Sally on the bench. “They grow up so fast,” she said, laughing, as she sat down. “They're getting too heavy for me!”

Sally forced a smile, but her mind was obviously elsewhere, and she hoped that the woman wouldn't think her rude.

“Do you have the time?” the woman asked.

It took a few seconds for the question to register, before Sally looked at her watch again, despite having only just done so. “Half-past one,” she answered.

“Perfect,” the woman remarked. “You're very punctual.”

Sally stared at her in surprise for a moment, as sudden realisation set in. “I'm here to meet you?” Sally said. “You sent the email?”

“Yes,” the woman nodded. “I gather you've been reading the website. It's not actually mine – my husband set it up a little while ago. He felt that in the current climate, people should know the truth about what's really been going on the last few decades. I only found out about it recently. At first I tried to get him to take it down before they silenced him, but then I started to come around to his way of thinking. After all, the cat's out of the bag about aliens now, and I think people should know the truth. They can only take it down. Mind you, anyone who stumbles across the site tends to think he's a bit of a fantasist anyway, bless him. It's been a good thing in this case, as you wouldn't have found me otherwise. Sorry about the meeting place but I have my grandchildren with me, you see. I couldn't just leave them on their own...”

“This is fine,” Sally interjected. “Fresh air'll do me good.”

The older woman smiled thinly, then extended her hand. “Doctor Elizabeth Shaw.”

Sally shook her hand. Doctor? It was fair to say she hadn't been expecting that. “What can you tell me?”

“Down to business,” Dr. Shaw said, taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry about your sister. I've seen it before.” Her expression was grave.

“Where? When?” Sally pressed.

“Almost twenty years ago,” Shaw replied. “What I'm about to tell you, I really shouldn't be telling you...” She another breath. “I'm about to violate the Official Secrets Act, and various other pieces of legislation that carry lengthy prison sentences – or worse – as punishment. There was a time when I wouldn't have breathed a word of this to anyone, for their own good as well as mine... but things have changed now. We live in a new world... and I think you're a special case.” She drew a deep breath, as Sally blinked in surprise. Shaw continued; “I've been involved – for many years, on and off – with a military organisation called UNIT, as a scientific advisor.”

“And what's UNIT?” Sally asked, as the woman paused. She had read about it on the website, but wanted to hear this woman's definition, out of curiosity.

“The UN Intelligence Taskforce,” she replied. “They deal with the odd, the unexplained... anything on Earth, or even beyond.” She smiled, as if remembering a distant fond memory, before continuing. “UNIT is essentially a government security organisation, set up to investigate and, if necessary, defend against alien invasions and threats. They'll be all over this again now. They would have taken your sister's friends.” Sally had explained about the abduction in her email.

Dr. Shaw paused again, seemingly to allow Sally time to process and absorb what she was being told. Sally didn't flinch.

“You seem very open-minded,” Shaw observed. “Not nearly as sceptical as I was when I was introduced to that world. But then...” she considered, “that was a long time ago. As I said, we live in very different times now.”

“I believe you,” Sally said firmly. “I've seen things...”

“Haven't we all,” Shaw replied, taking out a pipe from her handbag and lighting it. “These days it's getting much harder to cover up and deny them.”

Sally inhaled slowly, trying to breathe as little of the smoke as possible. More than anything, she just wanted this woman to cut to the chase.

“Sorry,” Shaw said, apologising for the smoke. “Dreadful habit, I know. Anyway, in 1991 I was working on a project at a base very near here,” Liz continued, perhaps sensing Sally's impatience. “The aim was to reverse-engineer technology from a ship that crashed in Shropshire – a vessel of extra-terrestrial origin.”

“An alien spaceship?” Sally asked, without a hint of incredulity. After all, she had apparently been inside one.

Liz nodded. “There were three survivors – humanoid, with large craniums, large almond-shaped eyes... The classic 'grey' alien.” Her lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile.

Sally's blood ran cold. The description of the aliens matched Hannah's to the letter.

“It was described by some as “Britain's Roswell”,” Dr. Shaw went on, smoking her pipe. “Two of them escaped, one was taken to a secret UNIT base for study – Moonbase.”

“There's a moonbase?” Sally asked incredulously, sudden doubt creeping into her mind as to whether she could really trust this woman.

“Now, that would be rather silly wouldn't it,” Liz replied with a wry smile, as though she were addressing a child. “Moonbase is a code name. It's where I did most of my more recent work with UNIT.”

Sally nodded, feeling a little foolish.

“I was brought in due to my... expertise in dealing with matters of this kind,” Shaw continued. “I'd tried to leave the organisation years earlier but they kept drafting me back in. Lord knows I'll be summoned to the Moonbase again before too long...” She allowed herself a soft chuckle, despite the gravity of what she was saying. “It was interesting,” she said. “It was found that the ship's technology was organic in nature.”

“Organic?” Sally asked. “You mean it was alive?”

“In a way, yes,” Shaw replied. “We never discovered whether or not it was actually intelligent, but it did have certain... living qualities.” Her expression changed to one of utmost seriousness. “We discovered something, contained within the ship's computer – hard-wired into its brain if you like – an intelligent virus.”

“What sort of virus?” Sally asked, growing more worried.

“Its composition was unlike anything we'd ever seen before,” Shaw explained. “It was found to hyper-stimulate the production of various hormones from the pituitary gland,” Dr. Shaw continued. “Those who were infected exhibited signs of hypersexuality, predominantly in women. It was also found to hyper-stimulate production of testosterone in males.”

Interesting, Sally thought; those would seem to be two completely unrelated side-effects.“'Who were infected'?” she repeated. “Did you test it?”

Shaw sighed. “No. We intended to test it on rats, but were unable to before...” she trailed off, pausing and inhaling deeply. “I'll start at the beginning. A long time ago, an alien expedition set off from a distant planet on a search for food. Their world had been devastated in an interstellar war. Their food sources were depleted, and they had become an endangered species. Teams were sent off into space to find alternatives.”

It sounded like a children's story, and Sally wondered how the doctor knew this, but allowed her to go on.

“Upon arriving here,” Shaw continued, “something went wrong and the vessel crashed. As I said, we captured one of them – and the ship, which was taken to the Black Archive, the UNIT vault. They had the ability to assume human form, and the other two escaped and set about capturing human beings as a food source.”

“A food source?!” Sally exclaimed.

“Yes,” Shaw confirmed. “The alien we captured woke up, frightened and alone. Using translation software reverse-engineered from alien technology captured previously, we were able to communicate with it – that's how we learned all this. Eventually, it managed to escape. There was absolute chaos – the base went into meltdown! There were alarms going off left, right and centre. We had a hostile alien on the loose! Eventually it escaped completely with the unwitting help of a UNIT officer – a Sergeant Hathaway. It captured and forced him to help it escape. He was a Sergeant with Level 2 security clearance – he knew all the access codes. Once it was off the base, presumably it found its friends, but as we had their ship they had no means of getting off the planet. The aliens were never found.”

“You said they were capturing people for food?” Sally pressed. “The article on the website mentioned people going missing and others being attacked, just like my sister and her friends. They were exposed to some kind of 'chemical or hypnotic influence', it said?”

“Yes,” Dr. Shaw replied. “Unfortunately we weren't able to prevent some victims from being...” she trailed off. “Well, let's just say I wish we could have.”

Sally shuddered. “My sister was injected through the neck. Was that how they did it before?”

“Yes,” Shaw said. “Is she alright so far?”

So far? “She seems to be,” Sally said warily. “The people who were infected, were they alright?” she asked.

Doctor Shaw fixed her with a haunted stare. “Most of them, ultimately, yes. There was no permanent damage from the virus itself. It took a little while – a day or two – for the symptoms to show themselves, but once they did it was just as if they'd been drinking, or were on drugs, and... well, as if they'd been administered a powerful aphrodisiac.” She shook her head at the memory, as if still incredulous at the whole thing all these years later.

Of course, Sally thought, remembering that the online article had mentioned the victims exhibiting “unusual behaviour.” “But... why?” Sally found herself asking. “What was the point? You said they wanted to find an alternative food source. They didn't come all the way to Earth just to increase people's libidos?” Then, a thought struck her and she looked at Shaw intently. “What happened to the ones who weren't alright?”

Shaw sighed. “Sally, this isn't going to be pleasant...”

“Tell me,” Sally said, a little more forcefully than she'd intended. “Please.”

With a sigh, Dr. Shaw looked at the ground. “They were eaten.”

Sally's stomach turned over, and she suddenly felt sick. “What?” she asked, her voice tiny.

“The alien... before it escaped, it...” Dr. Shaw clasped a hand over her mouth as if about to retch. There were tears in her eyes. “It fed on two people. They would have killed more too if we hadn't been after them. I was lucky to get out of there alive myself.”

Sally couldn't move. She suddenly felt consumed by the shocking realisation that her sister was lucky to escape becoming a snack for an aggressive alien species.

“So... what was the point of the virus?” she asked, forcing herself to speak.

“We were never entirely sure,” Shaw said, “but our theory was that it was some kind of... How can I put this?” She thought for a second. “Sweetener? For want of a better word.”

Sally's face was a picture of perplexity. “You've lost me.”

“Well, you put gravy or tomato sauce or whatever on your food to make it taste better. As these aliens eat humans, it's possible that the virus was a way of doing that to us. Infecting their victims with some kind of substance to make them more appetising. If that's the case, then the physical and emotional side effects were completely incidental.”

Sally looked away, deep in thought.

“Sally, your sister,” Shaw began, earnestly. “It should only be a matter of time before she starts displaying signs of infection – and she's, how old...?”

“Eighteen,” Sally answered quickly.

Shaw sighed. “Then her hormones are all over the place anyway.... There's no telling what effect it could have on her.”

“Then I need to get her to a hospital!?” Sally exclaimed.

“No, they won't know how to deal with it. You have to get her to UNIT,” Liz said urgently. “Here...” She took out a pen and a notepad from her handbag, and scribbled an address and some directions. “This could get me into a lot of trouble,” she said, tearing off the slip of paper and handing it to Sally, “but you didn't get this from me. This is where they would have taken your sister's friends. The base is underground. Just take her there, they'll be watching.”

Sally snatched the paper and put it in her coat pocket. “Thank you,” she said, sincerely.

“Don't mention it,” Shaw replied. “Just leave my name out of it. Now, go. Help your sister!”

Sally leapt up from the bench and ran to her car, calling out a final, “Thank you!” to Dr. Elizabeth Shaw as she ran.

She slammed the car door, turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. She pulled away quickly and drove without much thought to the speed limit. They could go ahead and give her a ticket; the important thing was getting back to the flat. She hoped to God she wasn't already too late.

* * * *