Amy had always wanted to visit Manhattan. Ever since she first heard about the bustling streets and tall buildings crowding the skyline, she had wanted to go. She never expected to go there in the 1930s, however. But that's where she was, and will always be, trapped in the bustling streets of Manhattan, watching the tall buildings being built up into the sky.
The red-headed girl from the future closed her eyes against the night breeze. She listened to the sound of old cars scratching the roads below and the laughter of her husband coming from behind her. Amy turned around, opening her eyes, to see her husband tipping his head back as he laughed at a joke his friend had made, slapping his leg, wiping his eyes. He was so happy. With his new apartment and friends, his new suits that he never would have worn in the 21st century, his sleeked back hair and new thin moustache resting on his upper lip. She wished she could feel the same as Rory. But she couldn't help but just deeply miss her old life. Travelling with the Doctor, visiting all the stars that she could see in the sky and more, hurtling into the distant future and exploring the past. Now it was all gone, now her best friend and her grown up daughter were a million years and miles away. She'd always wanted to visit Manhattan.
"Amy!" Rory wheezed. "Amy, did you hear what Sam just said? Go on Sam, say it again, say it again!"
Amy's eyes snapped back into focus and she looked at the two men sitting at the balcony table. She attempted a genuine smile, but it felt wrong. "What did he say?" she asked, trying to sound cheerful.
Sam scratched his jaw and said in his thick Brooklyn accent, "Oh no, it was nothing, I was only jokin'."
As Rory insisted between stifled giggles, Amy turned back to the night time view. Something didn't feel right this evening. And it was more than that gnawing sad feeling of missing the Doctor. It was something itching in her veins, crawling into the back of her mind, where she feared it would stay forever. It felt uncomfortably exciting; it felt like the feeling of adventure. Once more, Amy whipped back round, but this time full of life. "Rory!" she gleamed, cutting into the two men's conversation.
He looked up suddenly, and saw it. That look in her eyes that never meant anything good. The look the Doctor gave her. "What is it?" he asked, standing up.
Sam stood up too. He had heard of the stories the peculiar Brits had told him. Of the future and time travel, of the monsters and the adventures. And for some reason, over the few years they had gotten to know each other, he had believed them. Every last drop of it. And he knew that if Rory was concerned, he should be too.
Amy stuttered and paused for a moment. She didn't actually know what she wanted to say to him. "Uh, um, oh. I-I just have this feeling."
"Feeling?" Rory asked, with his own feeling of foreboding.
"It's like… it's like the feeling of the Doctor."
"What do you mean the 'feeling' of the Doctor?" Rory asked, confused.
Amy scratched her hair awkwardly, trying to find a way to explain it all before it went away. "I don't know… I feel excited and-and scared but in a good way. I want to run."
"You wanna run?" Sam repeated, not really sure why a feeling of excitement would make someone want to run.
Amy sighed, making her way back into the apartment. "C'mon!" she shouted back, grabbing her keys off the counter. "Let's go!"
"Where?" Rory shouted through, following his wife. "It's freezing, and it's almost ten! It'll be dangerous out there! We might get murdered, Amy! Amy!"
But Amy was gone. She was running down the building blocks stairs, her footsteps echoing against the empty corridors. She was on a mission to find adventure, adventure that came so easily to her once before.
Only moments later did the Scottish born woman find herself in the middle of the dark streets of Manhattan. The smell of cigarettes and hot food and red wine was thick in the air, accompanied by the distant sound of a jazz band. The saxophones and trumpets raging in the hidden clubs, restaurants and bars, smoothly riding over the gentle drums. And a voice… a voice Amy had never heard before. It was high and light, lustrous in its femininity, seductive and dazzling. Thoughts of adventure pushing ever so slightly into the back of her mind, Amy began to walk towards the sound, goose bumps prickling on her exposed arms. It was a bit cold.
You lured me in with your cold grey eyes, your simple smile, your bewitching lies…
Sam was the first person to talk to the disorientated Rory when he was plunged back into the past Manhattan. After the angel zapped him away from his whole life, robbing him of ever seeing his friend again, his daughter, his dad, his wife. The young chap with the hat and cigarette, the confident walk and the wink that caused all the ladies to sigh.
"Y'okay, bud?" he had said, looking quizzically at the man in peculiar clothes. "You look a little shaken up. Cigarette?"
Rory had looked up at the man, before whipping around in a circle, taking in the atmosphere of the past, his prison. "No," he whispered eventually. "I'm good, thank you."
"British!" he'd exclaimed. "I love the British accent. Is this what you Brits wear these days? The name's Sam, I work at the bar on Fifth Street."
In response, Rory held his head, holding back the tears. He didn't understand, the angels were gone…
"Are you sure you're okay? What happened?"
"Amy…" he choked, tears wetting his eyes. The gravestone in the graveyard, it had been his.
Sam held the crying man by the shoulders, a look of sympathy on his face. Whoever this Amy was… clearly she'd caused him great pain. He ushered the sobbing man away from the open street, away from the gazes of men and women alike, surprised to see a man cry. And then, as they pushed through the crowds, Sam muttering for him to stop crying, the air in front of them rippled violently, and suddenly, a tall ginger woman was standing facing them, tears wetting her pale cheeks. A stunned look was shared between the two emotional, strangely clothed Brits as they clocked each other.
Sam figured that this was Amy.
"This way!" Rory shouted, running across the road. Cars honked their horns in rage as he pushed past them, his eyes fixed on the theatre his wife had just wandered into. At least she's somewhere public now, Rory thought.
"Jeez, give it a rest!" Sam growled at a car driver who had begun shouting out of his open window at the pair. He slammed his hand against the car bonnet in anger, before catching up with his friend. As the shouts and honks faded into background noise, Sam looked up at Rory, who was himself looking up at a poster stuck up lopsided onto the theatre window:
Tallulah of New York! Live at the New York Revue for one month only!
Below the caption was a picture of a beautiful blonde young woman dressed in an angelic white outfit. Behind her were several women barely dressed, the few items of clothing that they wore being of a vibrant red. And there, in the background noise was the sound of an angelic voice, coming from within the theatre.
My bad, bad angel… put the devil in me…
"Ain't she beautiful?" Sam purred, staring at the small picture.
"Come on, Sam. We need to get Amy!" Rory replied, opening the creaky double doors of the theatre. The theatre lobby was dark and empty – everyone was in the main stage room. The two men jogged up to the doors further up the soft red stairs. The sound of music was undeniably loud, consuming every inch of the desolate lobby. In one swift movement, Rory opened the set of doors, and the slightly muffled music burst into vibrant, crisp colour.
"Wow." Sam murmured. They stood on a huge empty balcony, looming over the main seating area. Down there, almost every seat was occupied, filled with young Americans dressed in vivid colours, fluffy scarfs around the women's necks, suits clinging tightly to the men. Drinks were being served from the isles, passed from plates into hands and down throats. Light chatter dribbled under the music, smoke and laughter fogging the air.
The stage was full of life. Several women in red danced dramatically, grinning, flapping feathered fans through the air. And in the centre, sticking out like a daytime cloud in the sunset sky stood the young Tallulah. Her hand gripped the mic stand, her hips danced from side to side. Her eyes seemed to glaze over every person in the room, captivated in her or not. As she sung, her eyes danced over to the balcony and onto Sam's eyes as he shut the door behind him. She winked lightly, before returning her gaze to the lazy crowd.
Sam took his hat off, wiping his upper brow.
But Rory was not focused on the angel singing her seductive words; his eyes scanned the empty seats above the crowd for his wife. "Amy!" he exclaimed when he spotted the ginger woman perched on a seat in the shadows. She was on the edge of her seat, arms resting on the golden paint of the balcony edge. He ran to her, panting. "What were you thinking?" he asked once he was by her side.
But Amy's gaze did not rip away from the stage. Her dark green eyes filled up with the lights of the stage, eagerly following the white figure. She'd never seen anyone so beautiful, so flawless, so effortless in the way they moved. The itching in her veins had become a light trickle, like fresh water was running through her system.
"So, now my dear, I ain't the girl you knew, 'cause the Angel's got Heaven, but I get you; and the tree of life grows tall, you see, my bad, bad Angel - you put the Devil in me!" Tallulah sung, as the devil dressed women glided around her, engulfing her in red.
"She's amazing," Amy whispered, her Scottish accent obvious. "The way she sings, the way she dances!"
Rory sat down beside her, looking at her quizzically. "Amy, why did you run off? You went mad, I was so worried."
"I gotta different question." Sam said, hopping over the seats to sit on Amy's right. "Why'd you like this Tallulah so much?"
Rory hadn't thought about that. The way Amy looked at the stage, specifically the centre woman, was strange. "You do realise you're married to me, Amy?" he said. He tried to sound light-hearted, but he was actually curious about the answer.
At last, Amy snapped out of her trance. She saw her husband and their friend, and realised she was sitting in a theatre. "Sorry." she blurted, blinking rapidly. "I don't know what happened… maybe it's something to do with this 'Doctor' feeling. Maybe she's met him or-or she's going to meet him, I don't know."
"Amy," Rory whispered, stroking his wife's hand. "You can't possibly know. You're not psychic. There's nothing strange going on, no adventure waiting to happen. This is our life now, our ordinary, non-alien related life. Do you understand that?"
Amy looked down at their hands, fingers intertwining. She did understand, she knew that she just missed the danger. After a moments silence, Amy nodded. "I do. I'm sorry, let's go."
"You put the devil in me!" Tallulah belted, as the music boomed, before stopping just as quickly. The audience erupted into applause, many standing as they cheered. The women on stage grinned, standing silently in their final position, chests heaving. As the applause began to die down, the women left the stage, half through the left stage exit, half right. Tallulah bowed one last time, before disappearing behind the red velvet curtain.
"Hey," Sam said with a smile. "It's not so bad. We got a free performance outta it."
"That's true." Rory said, stroking his thin moustache. "C'mon, we better go before the security notice that we got in for free."
The three stood up to leave, when suddenly, a scream pierced the air. The crowd's chatter ceased.
"… or not." Rory sighed.