Chapter 1
"Hello? Mrs. Amboni? Is anyone home?" I shut the door behind me, shaking the rain from my hair and pulling off my thick coat. This day's been terrible. Which is pretty bad, because my whole life sucks, and if a day is terrible, that means it's especially bad. On average, any day in my life would be terrible if anyone else lived it. The security cameras and alarm system kept getting tripped at the bank where I work, and I found a note on my desk telling me not to go home, probably from some idiot co-worker having a go. I walk down the hall, checking the spotless living room and kitchen for my landlady. Normally she comes and makes me do chores the second I walk into the room, but she's nowhere to be seen this time. I'm renting a room from her while I look for a job and a flat of my own. I moved to London two months ago, after finally getting out of the foster system in America. I'd hoped for a new life, but apparently there weren't many job opportunities for an eighteen year old girl in London. So now I'm stuck working at a bank, not even a cat to keep me company. I kick off my boots and turn on the heat to get rid of the shivers going down my back. All the sudden, a strong feeling that I'm being watched comes over me and I spin around. There's nothing, of course. I rub the tiredness from my eyes and head for the kitchen, going through the mail from the table. There's a single letter with my name on it. I sloppily rip it open and a single sheet of paper falls out. I pluck it from the floor and unfold it.
run and don't look back. beware the angels
I sigh and toss the paper in the trash, then check the envelope for a return address. There's none,of course.
As I walk through the living room, I notice a strange angel statue in the backyard, standing over Mrs. Amboni's garden. It looks old, probably marble, about human sized, with large wings and a toga sort of dress. Its hands cover its eyes, and when I step to the other side of the kitchen I notice another one, identical to the first, standing across from it. Beware the angels. My brain says. Shut up. I tell it.
"That's new…" I mutter, checking in her room. "She must've gone out. Strange, the car's still in the driveway. Taxi, maybe?" I think aloud. I head back to the kitchen to make myself some tea to warm up. I cross the room to the cupboard. Taped to the cabinet door is a torn piece of paper with a messily scrawled note on it.
dont go outside. no matter what. dont go outside
I sigh, tossing the note aside. This was really starting to get annoying. Same as the one I found at work, on my desk. As I wash a cup, I notice the angel's in a different spot. It's closer to the house, and the other one has moved over, close to the window I'm looking through.
"What the-" I step into the backyard, examining the angel closer. I run a hand over the wing. Solid marble. "I must be imagining things..." I shrug, turning to go back to the kitchen and finish my tea. I hear a rustle and spin as quick as I can to see the angel a foot from me, arm outstretched and clawed fingers an inch from my face. A strangled cry gets stuck in my throat and I back up against the door, my breathing suddenly lightning fast, and adrenaline already pumping. The angel's face has contorted, long fangs showing and blank eyes staring at nothing. I try to calm down, and I start looking toward the other angel, but the second I look away from the first, my vision goes black, and a brilliant pain explodes in my temples, but it only lasts for a second. I groan and open my eyes to find myself lying in a dirty alley, a strange man staring at me suspiciously.
He's standing halfway in a blue telephone box, like the one's they had in England years ago.
"What?!" he asks, his eyebrows arching up in confusion. "What?!"
"Where the heck am I?!" I push myself to my feet and look around, still recovering from the sudden headache.
"What?!" The man says again. He's tall and skinny, wearing a blue pinstriped suit with a maroon tie. His brown hair is seemingly defying gravity, sticking straight up all over his head.
"For goodness sake, can you just tell me where I am?!" I demand, glaring at him.
"New York. 1950. Weeell," he scrunches his eyebrows, drawing out the word. His heavy English accent becomes evident as he speaks. "1952."
"What?! How can it be 1952? You're insane. It's 2015. I was in London." I look around, then walk down the alley and look about. It looks like New York. In the 1950s.
I turn around to see the man has followed me, leaving the blue box behind him. He picks up a wrinkled newspaper from the ground. At the top it says June 14, 1952.
"Do you remember what happened? In the future, I mean?" He asks, studying my leather jacket and skinny jeans, which are pretty obviously from modern times.
"Uh, I was looking for Mrs. Amboni, my landlady, and I saw this angel statue outside that wasn't there when I'd left, so I went outside to check it out, because I could've sworn it'd moved, then I turned around to go back inside and all the sudden I'm here!" I end up shouting in frustration. "What kind of stupid trick is this?" I keep glaring at the man.
He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Was the angel sort of like this, covering her eyes a bit?" He puts his hands over his eyes.
"Yeah, why? What does that have to do with anything?" I ask exasperatedly.
"It was a Weeping Angel. They're a sort of alien, if they touch ya, you go back in time, then they feast upon all the days you would've lived, in the right time. The Lonely Assassins, they used to call them. You're lucky, you landed in just the right spot." He says, turning back to his blue box.
"What do you mean 'just the right spot'?" I ask, following him.
"Well, You just so happened to land right next to me and my time machine! So come along, let's get you back to your time." The man says, grinning and opening the door of his box.
"Time machine? That's not- never mind. Who knows what's possible nowadays. But who the heck are you?" I ask, staying a few feet away from the strange box.
"Me? I'm the Doctor! Hello!" He grins, giving a cheesy wave. "Now come along."
I follow him into the blue box. I step inside to see an enormous dome ceiling held up by an enormous glass tube surrounded by some sort of console full of complicated mechanisms and covered with hundreds of buttons and levers. The room is enormous.
"Wh-alright." I start freaking out, then realize it's probably to be expected, everything that's happened so far today. I glance at this Doctor man, and he has a disappointed expression on his face. "What?" I ask.
"You didn't say it. Normally they get confused and say 'It's bigger on the inside!'" He says.
"Well I think after being teleported to the 1950s by a living statue, this is the most sane thing that's happened to me all day." I shrug, crossing the room to stand by him as he pounds button and throws switches.
"What was the date, of the day you came from? I can take you back." He says.
I start to say something about 2015, but then I get an idea. "June 18, 1998. San Francisco." I give him the street name. He gives me a funny look, and for a moment I fear he might know what I'm doing, remember that I said something about 2015, but he goes back to his buttons. Something in the big glass tube starts pumping, and the room lurches. I almost fall over, but grab the console to steady myself. During the few minutes we're lurching about, thousands of things run through my brain. Does this thing really go through time? Can I trust this man? Did he remember that I said 2015? The box comes to a stop and I run to the door, throwing it open.
Sure enough, not thirty feet away stands my mother, about to cross the street. A big brown purse on her arm, wearing skinny jeans and a pink top, looking absolutely gorgeous. I take a moment to stare at her, the way the light bounces off her shining dark hair, so much like mine, the way she taps her foot impatiently and shoves her hands into her back pockets, the same way I always do. Just as I start running toward her, strong arms wrap around me from behind, lifting me a couple inches off the ground. The cross walk light switches, and she steps off the sidewalk.
Almost immediately, utter panic sets in. My eyes go wide "LEMME GO!" I scream, struggling against the Doctor's arms as they tighten around me, pinning my arms to my sides and holding me in place. She's halfway across the road. "THAT'S MY MUM, LEMME GO!" Desperation floods my voice and adrenaline rushes through my muscles as I writhe and struggle. White fear blocks out everything else. Tears start streaming down my face as I wriggle, flailing my legs around and trying to loosen the vise grip I'm stuck in. An old truck speeds past the light on the other side, tires and brakes screeching as it spins. My mother turns, starting to run, her eyes wide and the truck hurtles toward her. The Doctor's arms loosen a bit, but he still holds me just off my feet, so I've got no traction to try to run. I try to look away, i do, but I can't. My eyes are wide open as the truck flips around, knocking my mother completely off her feet and dragging her twenty feet before the truck slams through the windows of the department store across the street. Three cars are scattered all over the intersection, one smoking and with broken windows, another on its side. Not a minute later, two police cars and an ambulance speed by, sirens blaring. The Doctor keeps his grip on me, but I go totally limp as I take in the scene before me. "I hate you." My voice is low, almost a growl. "I HATE YOU! I COULD'VE SAVED HER!" I scream at him, my throat already raw. I keep wriggling and crying and yelling in his arms for who knows how long. After a while, I realize I'm sitting on my knees, hands limp in my lap, tears dripping down my face as I stare at the ground.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The Doctor crouches beside me, his voice low and sadness clear in it. "I couldn't let you do anything. There'd be a paradox, and half the people in the city would die." He talks like it's happened to him before.
After a long moment, I start talking. "I haven't got anyone. No brother, no sister, no aunt, no uncle, no grandmum, no friends...No mum. Not even a landlady, anymore, thanks to those blasted crying angel things." My voice is hollow and raw.
"I understand. It's the same for me, actually." The Doctor says. "I had a whole planet of family. But it-it burned. In a war. I'm the last of my people. I know what it means to be alone."
I wipe the tears from my face roughly. "What- er, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly are you?" I study him for a moment. He looks pretty human to me.
He chuckles a bit at my question. "No, I don't mind. I'm a Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey. I'm nine hundred, and I've got two hearts."
"You're looking pretty good for nine hundred." I give a weak smile. He grins, looking off into the distance. "So you're all alone, then? It's not much fun, is it." I study the ground.
"It isn't." he agrees. Even though he smiles a bit, it's a bitter smile, and it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Deep brown eyes, full of loneliness and defeat, but still with a fire of determination. I can tell he really knows what he's talking about. Funny, I feel bad for him all the sudden, wanting to comfort him, forgetting my own hurt. Strange. "You know, you could travel with me." he says suddenly, turning toward me.
"What do you mean, travel?" I ask.
"Well, I travel through basically all of time and space. I've seen almost every planet and star and society and race. It's enormous, this universe is. It gets a bit dangerous, now and then, but most of the time it's good fun. When there's someone with you, at least." His voice dies out, and he stares at the ground a moment before looking back up, the bright grin back on his face. " And you could come with me. If you want." he shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, but his eyes are pleading, desperate for a companion, someone, anyone to share his life with.
"Well it's better than working at a bank. Why not?" I give a small grin. "Oh yeah, I'm Riley. Riley Mackenzie Jackson." I remember I haven't even told him my name yet.
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Jackson. Now come along, Riley Mackenzie! We've all of time and space to explore!" He exclaims, shooting to his feet and helping me up.
