Vincent drew back into the shadows as a strange wheezing, groaning sound filled the alley, accompanied by a strong breeze, despite the evening being still and clear. To his amazement, a large blue box appeared, seemingly out of thin air. It bore signage identifying it as a Police Public Call Box. How very strange. He'd seen them before, in a book of old photographs of London. Whatever was such a thing doing here in New York, an ocean and several decades out of place?
His inquisitiveness piqued, Vincent edged forward and laid his hand upon the box. Curiouser and curiouser…the box didn't feel like wood. It felt…alive…somehow. And there was something else about it. Despite the very clear image of a blue box before his eyes, and wood under his fingers, it was as if there was some other image there, dancing around the edges of his senses.
Suddenly the double doors opened, and a man who at first appeared quite young popped out. He had reddish hair that fell to the shoulders of his green velvet frock coat, and a friendly, open smile.
"Oh, hello!" He caught sight of Vincent's hand, before he could snatch it back under his cloak. "Have I got the coordinates wrong again? I was aiming for Paris, early twentieth century, but from the looks of you, I'd almost say I've landed on Leonia Prime or some such."
"This is New York," Vincent replied, struggling to keep his face hidden under his hood.
"Really?" The stranger glanced around the dirty brick walls of the alley. "This still looks about like the twentieth century…there shouldn't be aliens wandering about yet. Well, present company excluded, of course."
"It is 1982," Vincent told him.
"Ah, good. I've had quite enough of the new millennium, thanks all the same. But what about you? Are you lost? I'd be more than happy to give you a lift home. I'm the Doctor, by the way."
"You…you're not afraid of me?"
"Why should I be? I'm curious, of course, my worst personality trait, or best. Depends on who you ask."
"I am not lost. I live here, in the city. My name is Vincent."
"Like van Gogh? How splendid!"
"I've seen photographs of van Gogh's paintings in books. They are splendid."
"Are you fond of books?" the Doctor asked.
Vincent nodded. "Books are my doorway to the world. Without them…" He sighed heavily.
"This is my doorway to the world," the Doctor said, laying a fond hand on the blue box.
"But what is it?" Vincent asked, stepping into the light all unnoticed in his eagerness. "It looks like a telephone box from England, but it's not, really."
"No, it's not. It's called a TARDIS - Time and Relative Dimension in Space."
"Space? Surely you can't mean…?"
"I can. Would you like to see?"
For a moment, Vincent shied back. He'd only just met this man, after all; this could so easily be a trap, a cage for the monster. Father was forever warning him not to speak to strangers (he'd long ago given up forbidding Vincent's forays Above). Except…it didn't feel like a trap. This 'Doctor' seemed open and honest, if a touch eccentric.
Trusting his instincts, Vincent stepped inside. His blue eyes widened as he took in the instrument panels, and the curved metal struts that soared to the ceiling, far overhead. His gaze was immediately drawn to the cozy fireplace and crowded bookshelves. His hood slipped back, unnoticed, as he craned his head to see all the wonders around him.
"It's bigger on the inside," he finally said.
"Yes, it is," the Doctor agreed. "Rather like books…or people, for that matter."
He smiled as Vincent wandered over to the books, drawn like a moth to a flame. He exclaimed at old favorites, and more than once, reached out, as if to touch some title that he'd only ever heard of.
"What's this?" he finally asked, carefully selecting a volume bound in red leather.
"Ah. That's from my home. From Gallifrey."
"Gallifrey? Is that in Ireland? These don't look like Celtic runes."
"A bit farther than Ireland. Here, let me show you." The Doctor stepped over to the console and swung around a screen. He flipped a few switches, and a star map appeared. "There we are. The constellation of Kasterborous. Home."
Vincent's mouth dropped open as he stared at the image. "You're from the stars? Truly? How very remarkable."
"No less remarkable than you, my friend. I've been coming to this world for quite a long time now, and even I need to be careful sometimes. How is it that someone like you can walk about a city like this, in 1982?"
Vincent ducked his head, allowing his tawny hair to fall forward and hide his cat-like face. "I don't…not really. I live…in a special place; a hidden place."
"Are there others like you?"
"There are others," Vincent replied slowly, "but no one else like me."
"And you're certain that you were born on this world?"
"As certain as one can be about such things," Vincent said with a small shrug. "My father told me that I was found as a babe, outside St. Vincent's Hospital. He took me in, raised me, kept me safe from the world."
"He sounds like a very special person."
"He is. All that I am, I owe to him."
The Doctor smiled and patted Vincent's shoulder as he scanned the bookshelves. "You know, I've a rather good biography of Vincent van Gogh around here somewhere. Would you like to read it?"
"I'd love to," Vincent replied eagerly. "But how shall I return it to you?"
"Oh, I come and go. I'm certain we'll meet again someday. Ah, here we are!" He passed Vincent a hard covered book.
Vincent studied the illustration of one of the famous sunflower paintings on the faded dust jacket. "Amelia Williams," he read the author's name.
"Mmm. That name always seems strangely familiar to me, but somehow, whenever I have a moment to do some research, I get distracted. It'll come to me, someday. Well, I do hope you enjoy your reading."
"And you? Will you truly go to Paris?"
"I hope so! Funny old thing, this TARDIS…she doesn't always take me where I want to go, but it usually turns out to be the right place, all the same. 'Til we meet again, Vincent." He held out his hand.
Startled by the gesture, Vincent hesitated for a moment, then carefully extended his own furry hand. "'Til we meet again, Doctor."