Prologue

I was referred to by many names in the dull, first fourteen years of my life.

Mum and Dad referred to me as, "Dearie." At least, within the cracked and fading memories of them, tucked away in a special pocket of my mind, they did. I could have it all wrong. Perhaps they called me, "Dear," or "Honey." Don't blame me though because after all, how should I know?

I had quite a few titles at school. "Sunshine," was one I heard somewhat often, but I never really liked it. It originated from the unconditional smiles and ridiculous laughter I tossed out without thinking. But I didn't like it due to the fact that most people said it with touches of scorn and dislike for me.

Being addressed to as, "Emo Fag," or, "Razor Hugger," was more accurate. Although I had never even kissed anyone or had a relationship, I was sure I was bisexual. When one of my classmates stole my bracelets right off my wrist in gym class, "Fag," was quickly extended to, "Emo Fag." Maybe the rumors could have been avoided, and the whole scenario would have blown over like a passing cloud, but they didn't. It was my fault, really. I punched the girl in her snob-nosed face without a single regret. She wound up with a broken jaw, and I was blessed with a two-month suspension and special care for my "anger issues." Obviously, people wanted to know why the little runt had a giant piece of metal strapped around her chin, and I wasn't in school to defend myself.

Who knows what I was to my uncle? He never remembered my name. Sometimes, he actually came somewhat close, and he'd say something around, "Eve," or, "Ella." I remember being called, "Angelica," and, "Katelyn," a few times. Maybe if I actually interacted with him more, he would remember my name. But safety comes first.

Mostly, I'm just, "Evelyn."

But then, on the stage in my school auditorium, I met a man. It feels wrong to call him just, "a man," because he's truly so much more than that. He gave me another name that was unlike the others. It settled in soundly deep in my mind and rang true in my soul.

But a lot happens before that.

This man's name is, "The Doctor," and his full name is classified information.

Chapter One: A Dead Boy, a Man, and Absolutely Nothing

"Shut up!" I screamed at the voice coming from deep inside my skull. "Five minutes, I heard you! But five minutes for what? Who are you? Answer me!" I spun around to face David who looked as pale and shaken as I assume I looked.

Darkness. Nothing but the darkness and David. I latched onto his hand and felt my knuckles turn an unhealthy white. Then the whole environment changed, and the darkness melted away. Or perhaps it didn't change at all, and I just wasn't able to see it at first. It sounds impossible, but who was I to question one abnormality when nothing that followed made any more sense?

"Five minutes," the voice that was not a voice said. The soles of my feet were being scorched on the black rock cliff we were perched on. "Five minutes to get across." I squinted my eyes against the light and heat, and stared a terrifying fifty yards into the distance at another rock. There was that man again. I could see him fretfully dig around in his pockets for something, but his hands emerged empty.

Never mind that. The important, awful part of this picture was that the only thing separating us was a long, unsupported, wood-paneled bridge. No rails. Nothing held the bottom up. Just two pieces of rope ran the length of each side of the bridge to keep the panels from falling apart. The ends of the ropes were attached to metal stakes, which, thank God, looked pretty deeply embedded in the rock.

I tore my eyes away from the bridge and looked down, down, and deeper down still. My stomach lurched, and I found myself hovering over…nothing. Absolutely nothing, and somehow, it was the most terrifying sight my eyes had ever seen.

"Five minutes," I murmured.

"No, less now." I looked up at David's pale, determined face. The face that couldn't be there. The face of someone who could not be breathing next to me, holding my hand and looking into my eyes. The face that could not be.

And yet, there it was, and that was good enough for me.

"Evelyn, we have to go now."

My throat knotted into a ball, and I tried unsuccessfully to swallow. My mind willed my mouth to open and speak the right words. It wanted me to be brave with him, but my jaw wouldn't move, so I nodded like a two-year old.

He didn't let go of my hand, and I didn't dare to let go of his. He stepped onto the bridge first. Oh God, it must have only been a foot and a half in width. His other foot gingerly eased itself onto another panel. He was far enough along for me to walk.

I slowly raised my left foot into the air and set it back down as gently as I could. My heart was pulsing so hard that I felt as though it would just burst out of my chest, hit David, and we would both fall off the bridge. I shuddered at the thought, and momentarily lost my balance..

And so, we slowly, carefully, walked. One foot rhythmically placed before the other. Our hands were disgusting and clammy, but we held onto each other, his arm extended behind him and mine outstretched before me. With every step, the bridge swayed nonchalantly from side to side as we shifted our weight.

After what seemed like hours, we were finally halfway across. How much time was really left? Three minutes? We could probably do that. We just had to keep our balance and keep moving.

And then a panel was gone.

Just like that. Gone without a blink of an eye or a chant of a spell or a flick of the fingers. And when it was gone from right underneath him, David fell.

We both screamed like murder victims. My arm was pulled through the gap in the wood, and I was lying flat on my face, willing my fingers not to slip away from David's below me.

The whole thing was ridiculous. Wasn't this just a scene right of an unoriginal movie? I was clutching a dead boy's hand (Who was going to be very dead once again if either of us let go) while my face was smashed up against splintering wood, hollering at the top of my lungs for help over a gigantic void of nothing.

I wriggled my face forwards until my eyes were positioned over the break. I could literally feel my heart cracking at the idea of me losing him again. We both stopped screaming. He titled his face to look up at mine, like the sun coming out from behind a mountain, and my vision became cloudy.

"Evelyn…" he said.

Five minutes.

A big, fat tear fell from my cheek and hit him smack on the face. "It's not five minutes anymore," he said. "It's about two."

I simply shook my head indignantly. "No," I announced. "I saw you die once, and I won't see it happen again." I started chocking up.

He looked at me with those big, bright blue eyes of his and moaned. It wasn't just a moan, though. It was the sound that grief defines itself from, arising deep from the bottom of the soul when taken over by emotion. I blinked and watched some salty drops of water fade away into the nothingness.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so, so sorry."

"No, NO! I'll pull you up with one arm! I can! You don't weigh that much. I can do it." Both our chests were rising and falling like tidal waves.

"No, no you can't." I didn't understand what he meant until I realized my arm was being squeezed by two opposite panels. The gap had closed itself, leaving just enough room for my fist to slip through. His jeweled sapphire eyes started to shimmer. "I'm so sorry."

"David, don't you dare let go." I knew if he resisted, I couldn't pull him up.

And just when I thought that David was going to do the worst thing anyone had ever done to me, I heard the soft sound of footsteps.

"I guess it's not that big of a deal…It wouldn't work on wood anyway," I heard someone murmur in an annoyed way. David must have heard it too, because he stared at me quizzically and didn't let go. I tore my eyes away from him and looked up into the face of that man. He was ripping away one of the planks next to the sliver of the gap.

CRAACK. I saw him dislodge it and toss it into the void below us. He realized I was in too much shock to move or speak, and he hoisted me up back onto my feet.

And up came David who passed out in the man's arms. No, David, no, that was not a good time to faint. "We have less than a minute and a half!" he cried out, piercing me with round green eyes. "Go, go, go!" When I saw that he was carrying David like a baby to the other side of the bridge, I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and started after them.

A million questions raced through my mind at once. Who was this man, and why did I keep seeing him? And what the hell did he have on his head?

"Right, left, right, left, right, left," I muttered to myself, trying to keep my eyes on nothing but my footing and the man carrying David.

He was much better on his feet than I was even though he was carrying a teenage boy, and he got to the end of the bridge and was on the other cliff when I still had a good fourth of the distance to go.

And then I heard the cracking sound of splintering wood.

I whipped around and saw the panels dropping like leaves off a tree into the abyss below, starting from where David and I had stood five minutes ago and moving quickly towards me.

Powerwalking. "Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right." No, not good enough! "Leftrightleftrightleftrightl eftright!"

And down I went with my eyes closed with fear.

At first I thought I was clinging to David's hand again, but I didn't feel the same tight, caring grip that I had sensed a few minutes before. I peered through my eye cautiously to see that I had instinctively grabbed one of the ropes that used to hold the bridge together before I fell.

I shrieked and dodged my head to the left as two metal stakes went hurtling passed me and left my range of vision. But, if the stakes fell down, then what was keeping the rope attached to the ledge…

"Hang on!" the man instructed me, holding the rope and pulling me up. "Don't let go!"

"Why on earth would I let go?!" I retorted back at him in fear. I sighed a heavy, terrified breath. "Calm yourself, Evelyn," I thought. "You're dangling over a void of nothing by a bloody rope that could break at any moment, held o6nto by a man who you don't even know who's standing next to an unconscious person who should be dead. Not to mention the voice in your head who seems to like giving you life-threatening tasks with only five minutes to carry them out. Oh God, you're bad at this reassuring stuff."

But the man kept pulling me up and up, grunting with exhilaration. I could feel the nothingness jabbing at me. It was absolutely nothing. How was that even possible?

My hands were slimy with sweat, but I finally felt the edge of the ledge against the back of my hand. I grabbed onto it and pulled, rolled onto my back, opened my eyes, and…

Looked at my bedroom ceiling.

Chapter Two: A Razor, a Gown, and a Special Man in a Bowtie

For a long time, I just lied there in my bed, waiting for my heart to go from a frantic pounding to a steady beat. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. "Must have been perspiring in my sleep," I figured.

"Recurring dreams," I thought. "Well, sort of recurring. That man was there again, just like he always was. And David has been dead for three months. It was a bad dream. A nightmare. No, worse than that. A nightterror. Nothing more than that."

I pushed off my covers in a wave of exhilaration and rubbed my face, trying to scrape some of the crud out of my eyes. The pricking feeling my hands got when they touched my face were the least of my concerns.

My feet reached the bottom of my floor, and I quickly retracted them with a gasp when I felt the pain. "What the hell…" I said in a hushed breath. I cradled my right foot in my lap as I examined the blisters all over the heel and the ball. I checked my left foot to see it looked about the same. But where did I get them…

And then it hit me. The burning rock cliffs. I stared at the stinging, throbbing palms of my hands and blinked at how rope-burned they looked. It would be just my luck to have this on the day of the dance when I was supposed to look nice.

My confused train of thoughts were interrupted by a crash downstairs, followed by a long stream of curse words. "Uncle Rick, what on earth have you gotten yourself into this time?" I muttered and sighed.

Running…or more like galloping with my blistered feet…down the stairs, I almost fell over when I heard Uncle Rick roar out for me. "Sonja! What the hell did you do to the cabinet? Every fucking thing came tumbling out at me when I opened it up!" This wouldn't have been normal without the slurred, angry way he announced his presence.

I tiptoed into the kitchen and curled my stinging fingers at the strong stench of whiskey. Uncle Rick gazed past my face with his glazed eyes, and murmured a command that sounded like I needed to pick up all the pots.

That wasn't my biggest concern, though. I stared into his blank eyes and remembered the promise he made to me the night before.

"You didn't stay sober…" I whispered. He blinked slowly with one eye at a time. "You promised me you would stay sober…just until 5 o'clock tonight…" The words brushed right passed his ears. My voice picked up volume as I became angrier and angrier. "You promised you wouldn't drink. You promised me you wouldn't drink! I needed you sober just until this evening! Twenty-four bloody hours! You couldn't even last that long!"

Of course, this was all a very bad idea of mine. He started stumbling towards me with those angry, stupid, drunk eyes of his, and I ran upstairs.

I ran into my room and smashed my back up against the door, shutting it with a bang. I slid onto the floor, crashing my head against the door until my vision began to fade and all I saw were spots.

I wished I had banged harder because when I could see again, it didn't make me much happier. My eyes swept across an unmade, hot pink bed, a window with one brown curtain still attached, a dresser made of wood so old that it was too moldy to hold clothes, and two closet doors covered in tally marks. My red-hot hands pressed into the metal floor, trying to end the burning I had felt since I woke up.

Anger. Anger and despair. The two worst feelings in the world, and the ones I couldn't get rid of. I blinked my still-blurry eyes and looked down at the ground, my eyes resting on one of my razors.

"Don't look at me like that," I said to the sharp, silver treasure. "You're one of my best friends. Be nice." I paused for a moment. "Want to have a play date?"

I picked up the blade and made yet another nice, short mark across one of my closet doors. My eyes gazed up at them as though I was staring at a beautiful oak tree that had been carved by a millions lovers.

After twirling around the pretty little object between my thumb and middle finger, I lifted up my nightshirt and pressed the cool piece of metal to my skin. The feeling was nothing new, yet it felt foreign to me every time. I knew that my hipbones were jutting out from underneath my skin, although all I could see was fat. I pressed the blade into my flesh, and felt all of the emotions drain out of me.

I couldn't stop. I wasn't empty enough yet. The rage and the desperation and the complete loss of hope were still screaming through my soul. Finally I realized that if I did any more damage, I wouldn't be able to stop the bleeding in time for homecoming.

Homecoming. Maybe I could finally feel pretty.

I shed my pajamas so I wouldn't get blood on them, and opened my closet. The two actions combined were not a good idea, and I stumbled backwards onto my bed, recoiling with the memories that had decided to flood through. "It's okay," I cooed to myself. "There's nobody here. I'm safe."

Tearing through my tiny wardrobe, I found my dress made of deep violet silk. Savoring the moment like a favorite food, I took it off the cheap metal hanger and held it up next to the rest of my clothes. It really was a hilarious comparison. This dress and my drab, raggedy t-shirts.

I remembered finding the fabric in the sewing room at school. My Home Economics teacher really had been very kind to me. She said that one of the seniors got all the fabric to make her own prom dress, when her parents surprised her with the most beautiful white dress in the little boutique down the street. Not knowing what she should do with the fabrics, jewels, and the pattern, she dropped it off in the Home Ec room. I had seen the dress before. I knew how beautiful it was.

When I started fingering the fabric, my teacher inquired if I was planning on going to homecoming. After all, I was in ninth grade, and all of the ninth graders were excited to go. When I told her I couldn't because elegant dresses are all too expensive, (Though really we couldn't afford any clothes for me at all) she said that she would happily give me these supplies so I could make the most beautiful dress of all the dresses.

I remembered how my instincts told me to refuse the offer since the fabric looked very pricy, and I couldn't possibly accept such a gift. But for the very first time that I could remember, I let myself have something that I truly wanted.

It took me weeks of staying after school for hours before the dress was done. But the Home Economics room was always warm, and my teacher made it very cozy by playing the radio the entire time while we sewed together. She liked very extreme country music, which I absolutely despised, but I never once complained. She must have completed six projects by the time I brought mine to a close, but I didn't care. I loved it all.

And at that moment, looking at the black plastic beads studding the sleeveless cut of the gown, I felt like I might actually be beautiful.

The dress was meant to be put on through the bottom, but I was thin enough to slip through the head. The silky fabric felt like bathwater on my skin, and the smooth bodice felt nice against my ribcage.

After I had covered my bones in the gorgeous fabric, I sat down on the freezing metal floor, not exactly empty, but not quite feeling something that I could define as an actual human emotion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~VVWVV~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After curling up on the cold, dampened floor for a couple of hours, I got up, took off the dress, spent half an hour looking in the mirror and sucking my stomach in, and took a shower. Body makeup took roughly two hours, since I needed to make it look real. When I was done, I didn't feel like myself anymore, and I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. Makeup and hair took me an hour or so, and before I knew it, it was 4:00, and I still had no idea how I was going to get to homecoming.

I tiptoed into the kitchen and found my uncle passed out on the floor. Okay, so obviously he was out of the question. I covered him with a blanket and ran upstairs to my room

Sitting on the metal floor again, doing my best not to lick off all the lip gloss I had just applied, I called Sara, the closet person I had to a friend. She was going with her boyfriend. I told her that my uncle had an important business meeting to attend to, and he couldn't drive me anymore. She took some pity on me, and said that she would swing by my house at 4:30.

At first I felt bad that I would be bothering Sara and her latest boyfriend…Damian, I think…but then after five minutes in the car with them, I was starting to feel pretty bad for myself.

Damian was in the tenth grade and had his own car and a drivers license, so he drove. But more than half of the time, he wasn't paying attention to the road, and he was just making out with his girlfriend.

"Excuse me," I interrupted them. "The light turned green." Half-cradling Sara in his lap, he eventually started to move again. I slumped back in my seat and just tried to be thankful that I would be getting to the dance at all.

Another fifteen minutes, and we finally arrived. As soon as we got out, several other girls who were all talking about their dresses immediately surrounded Sara. Nobody noticed as I slipped out of the truck and started making my way to the front of the building. "Evelyn, wait!" I heard Sara call. I turned around to see fourteen eyes staring at all sorts of places on my body. Dirty dishrag that he was, Damian was staring at my breasts, and I clapped in his face to make him stop.

I smiled slyly to know that those girls were impressed…and maybe even a bit jealous. It was clear that they weren't looking at my face. Just the dress, but in a way, I guess that was me too.

The smile was scared right off my face when Sara said, "You didn't pay for the ride!"

My head began to swim for an answer to why I couldn't pay her. "Oh God, all of the other girls have little wallets with them! And I don't have one! Or money at home! Oh, I should have just walked the seven or whatever miles…At least I wouldn't be in this mess! Wait, what if I just lied and said-"

I stopped panicking when I saw the girls giggling amongst each other. "I'm kidding!" Sara teased. "How could I make a friend pay for all that?"

"It really was no trouble," said Damian, who was staring at my breasts again. I thumped him on the forehead, and for her own sake, Sarah pretended not to notice.

"Hahaha, of course. That was silly of me! Thanks again for the ride!" I said dryly. "Not funny, Sara," I thought. "Not fucking funny at all."

"Anytime!" She exclaimed as she tried to wrap me in a big bear hug. But when I saw the arms coming to reach around me, my heart jumped to my head and I ran back to the school, leaving the girls looking at me more strangely than they ever had before.

"I told you she was weird," said one of them.

"Oh shut up!" Sara said, sounding like she was defending me. "We all know," I heard her whisper. They broke out in laughter.

The worst part was that this was so normal to me that I didn't even flinch. In fact, I completely agreed with them. I really was strange.

By the time I had entered the dimly-lit gymnasium, my self-esteem was once again nonexistent. And worst of all, they were playing a slow song…my favorite song: The Only Exception. The one song I run away from because the beautiful memories I have associated with it are too terrible to bear.

But this time, I couldn't run away. All I could do was stare at the couples lining the floor. My eyes wandered to the bleachers where a poorly taped balloon broke free and drifted off to the ceiling. My toes curled. What was I doing here? I had come without realizing…no, I had realized. I just didn't want to admit that-

"Oi!" I heard a familiar voice shout above the music. "Hey!" he announced, trying to grab the attention of my peers. I glanced up at the stage to see an out-of-breath, goofy looking man in a bowtie.

My bowtie man.

"Does anyone have something sharp that I can borrow?" I wandered up to the edge of the stage; unable to believe whom I was seeing. He stole a microphone from the DJ with a, "Thanks," to him, and repeated the question louder.

A young couple hurried up behind him. "Come on, I don't have time for this!" he said impatiently and rumpled his giant forehead..

"Doctor, I think they heard you," the woman said in a quiet, sarcastic tone that I wouldn't have been able to hear if not for the microphone so close to her. The room remained dead silent.

Finally, a voice broke out of the awkwardness. "Why don't you ask Evelyn?" I heard a boy say, and was followed by a decent amount of snickers.

In response, I reached between my breasts and, tearing my skin in the process, pulled out a fishing hook: the nearest sharp thing that I could find before I left. In case I needed it. With a little bit of a smirk, I pretended not to notice the stunned looks of my classmates as I reached up onto the stage and handed him the fishhook.

"Thanks," he murmured, and went to work on some little flashlight type thing as though it wasn't at all strange that this random freshman kept a fishing hook between her breasts. His friends looked more quizzical.

After a few moment of prying with the hook, the tip of the device lit up bright green and made an awful buzzing noise. "A-ha, thank you again!" he proclaimed, and handed the hook back to me, which I promptly returned to its hiding place.

"Now we just need to find the TARDIS…" he muttered to himself, and half-galloped off the stage with his friends trailing behind. "You're coming with me," he abruptly said, pointing at me without a glance. "I might need someone who knows their way around this school."

Without questioning it, I followed the man who came from the dream world into the real world.

Briskly exiting the gymnasium and leaving the painful song behind, I inquired, "How did you get here?"

"Long story."

"Long story?"

"In short, I don't know," he said whisking a glance towards me for no more than a second. As soon as he turned around again, he stopped, leaving his male friend to bump into him.

"Doctor?" he inquired.

This "Doctor" slowly turned around, and his eyes immediately fixated on me. "How did you get here?" he asked quizzically.

I scoffed at his question. "How did you get here?" I shot back, putting my hands on my hips. "You're the one who came from my dream."

"You're the one who came from my dream," he whined.

"I really don't think it works like that. You're some dream-person from my imagination. Now, I've had problems dealing with seeing people before, but you're different. People were able to interact with you back there on the stage. No matter. I guess getting rid of them is all the same." I tossed back my head and looked at him cockily. "Now, I know that you're just a figment of my imagination. Don't try to trick me. I've seen people like you before. Weird people. Now get back in my head and stop bothering me!" I screamed the last part and waited for him to dissolve, like they all do when I deny them their existence.

He started to fade away slowly and the couple began to panic. Oh yeah, they're probably fake too. Or maybe not…the brief moment of doubt began to make the "Doctor" more opaque again.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Wait!" he exclaimed, staring at his hands and back at me as though I was an alien or something.

"Leave him alone!" the girl commanded me in a thick, Scottish accent. I had an immediate dislike for her and therefore ignored her. I'd get rid of her and the guy later.

Suddenly, my bowtie man stopped panicking and calmly said, "How are you doing that?" I blinked. How was I doing it? He began to appear more opaque again. Why won't he just go away like the others?

"I don't believe you're really here…" I whispered to myself, and I saw him begin to disappear some more.

"No, please, wait! This is brilliant! You came from my dream! Stop it! If we can figure out how you're doing this then…Wait, where are you taking me? All I see is darkness…Wait, bring me back!"

Darkness…something I hated the most. His pain and his fear sounded real, and my pity for him made something click in my mind. The man rapidly turned completely opaque again.

I scowled at him. "I still don't believe you're real," I blatantly told him. But the fact that he was still there proved otherwise.

"Yeah yeah, we have time deal with whatever problem you've got later. This is brilliant! I've never seen a human do that before."

I lifted one edge of my lip bitterly. "What, you've seen an animal do it before?"

"Nope," he said, walking briskly down the hallway. We followed him, and he turned around, almost making the guy bump into him again. "We haven't introduced ourselves yet, have we?"

I laughed dryly. "You're from my dreams. You should know what my name is, stupid." I almost whispered the last word because guilt suddenly poked its way through my chest.

"No! You're from my dreams! Unless…" He lost his eye focus and talked to himself wispily. "Our dreams are connected."

"Now how would they do that?" I asked.

"I don't know," he yelled, as though those three words were the solution to the world's problems. "You still haven't introduced yourself."

"Right! I'm the Doctor! This is Amy, and this is Rory." He kept walking towards the staircase, but I had stopped following them.

Eventually, the Doctor turned around and noticed that I was a good fifteen yards away from them, arms folded across my chest, scowling. I was not only confused, but I was scared too. Stupid, stupid tears started to brim in my eyes. I felt like a four year-old. "No," I announced in a much-too-shaky voice. "Your actual name. Tell it to me, right now! Nobody's name is just 'Doctor'." Everything looked like it had been submerged underwater because I wouldn't blink out the tears. Mascara has started to mingle with them, and it burned my eyes like fire.

Through my fishbowl vision, I saw the Doctor walk up to me gently and put his face by mine. I didn't like it there. It was much too close for my comfort. I pushed him away and unwillingly blinked, sending two humungous baby-tears running down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them off on my wrist, and rubbed my wrists on my gown.

Gosh…he really looked like he cared. For a moment, I was worried that he was going to burst into tears too. His whisper was soft and soothed me a little. "What did you…refer…to me as during your dreams?"

I sniffed back a load of goop and murmured, "My bowtie man."

He smiled sort of sideways and tucked a lock of my hair back behind my ear. "Well, your bowtie man is going to fix this. But only if you give him a chance to."

I clenched my hands into fists. "You don't make any sense. Nothing about you makes any sense."

"I could say the same to you," he replied. But I do know one thing, he said, carefully taking my wrist and looking at it. The body makeup had come off when I had rubbed the tears from my face and then onto my dress. "You're in a lot of pain. And I'm the Doctor. Doctors fix things. Let me fix you." I swallowed.

Suddenly, I found myself with my arms wrapped tightly around him. What had I been thinking? This was my bowtie man. He saved me and David last night, so why should I be afraid?"

"Doctor, we still need to find the TARDIS," the ginger reminded us.

"What's a TARDIS?" I questioned, letting go of my bowtie man.

He smiled, whirling around like a kid. "Time and relative dimension in space. It's a blue box that's bigger on the inside and can travel anywhere in time and space!" He paused. "Oh dear, now I guess I won't get to hear the, 'It's bigger on the inside,' bit now, will I? No matter!" He pulled out that green thing from his pocket and it started to pulse like a tracking device.

What was his name…Rory…put his hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "Uh, Doctor? Are we really going to let her in the TARDIS?"

"Why not? We share the same dreams, Rory. Her life is already weird, thanks to me. What's the matter with making it a little weirder?" The Doctor winked at me and I smiled.

The Doctor held the green tracking thing awkwardly, and as we kept moving, it became louder. "Is that a probe?" I asked cluelessly.

He whisked around. "Screwdriver!" he exclaimed. "It's my sonic screwdriver." I decided not to question it.

"How does it find the TADRIS?" I asked.

"TARDIS," he gently corrected. "It's complicated. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey…" he rambled.

Eventually we found it in the janitor's closet. "Ah, there she is!" the Doctor exclaimed. The couple gave me a look as though they didn't quite trust me, but then opened the doors and walked in.

"Wait, Amy!" the Doctor called. "Get a suitcase! I have a whole suitcase room past your and Rory's room, to the left, down a bit, take a right, and then another left, and then it's the fifth door down." I blinked. What did he just say?

I examined the size of the outside. "I guess we're lucky it's bigger on the inside, or else we'd be a bit cramped." The Doctor held the door open like a gentleman and motioned for me to enter.

Cautiously, I placed a foot in the room. Then another. What the…

"Brilliant, isn't it?" my bowtie man proclaimed. My mouth went dry. "Got anything to say about it?" the Doctor said, eagerly. "I've heard it all."

I blinked slowly. The whole room was bright and wonderful. The whole thing was completely and amazingly…amazingly…there wasn't a word for it. My eyes rested on the giant console sitting atop an octagon in the middle of the room. I wanted to run up and touch all of the splendid looking buttons, but I resisted the urge. Out of all the words so say, I asked, "Why is the Scottish girl getting me a suitcase?"

He smiled gently. "If you have no objections, you'll be staying with us for some time. So we can figure out how our dreams are connected," he explained. "I have the biggest closet in the universe, and a large section will fit girls just your size. There's a million rooms to choose from, and I know you'll find one to your liking," he stated, suddenly sounding an awful lot like a doorman. "But if you have any personal items or clothing or anything that you want for the time you'll be staying in the timey-wimey Hotel'la'TARDIS, you'll be able to quickly get them now.

"Doctor! You gave me the wrong directions!"

"Amy, I know my way around here! I've been traveling in this old girl for more years than you can likely track down your family heritage," he said stubbornly. The girl rolled her eyes and placed a tiny suitcase, no bigger than the size of a teapot, into the Doctor's hands. "This was the biggest one I could find," she said, eyeing me once more. "I'm afraid you won't be able to carry very much in this."

The Doctor facepalmed. "Amelia, Amelia, Amelia. You are traveling with a Timelord. You should know by now."

Her face changed from a scowl to a cocky smile. "It's bigger on the inside," she whispered.

"Oh yes! Now off we go! Any objections,…" He blinked. "I don't even know your name yet."

I burst out laughing. "Evelyn," I said, sticking out my hand as though I just met him. His face slowly melted into a look of pain.

"Doctor?" Amy questioned caringly, while I internally panicked, wondering if I had done anything wrong.

"Oh…nothing. Nothing. Evelyn. It's just a very lovely name. Very, very lovely. One of my favorites." He forced a smile and weakly shook my shaking hand. "Like I said, any objections to going to get your things and then coming with me?"

Having no idea where we were going, but knowing very well that wherever it was, it was better than home, I readily agreed and gave him my address.

"Geronimo," he oozed cheerfully, and proceeded to pull levers, slap buttons, stare at screens, and flick switches. The TARDIS lurched and made a whirring sound. I almost collapsed against a railing, and suddenly the whole thing just stopped.

"We are now located in your bedroom. Go out, get your things. Take this," he said, handing me the suitcase. I raced to the door and opened it, unable to comprehend that it worked. I was in my ugly, dirty, cold bedroom. Suddenly embarrassed for the way I lived, I shut the door and sighed.

It hit me. I was going to stay with my bowtie man. For the first time in too long, I smiled for real.

Not sure what I wanted to pack, I opened the suitcase and swept all of the junk on my dresser into the case. My mind wasn't able to comprehend the technology, so when I looked inside to see how it worked, I got a headache.

What else…

I didn't want to bring any of the rags that I wore on a daily basis. The Doctor said he had enough. Clothes…I looked down and my face flushed to realize that I was still wearing my gown. I should probably change out of that.

Wiggling out of it, I grabbed the nearest t-shirt that I could find and slipped it on. Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Eve-Lynn," I heard a slurred voice mumble.

Stupid, drunk uncle. Deciding that I wasn't going to need to see him for a long time anyway, replying wasn't necessary. I continued to rummage around for some shorts.

Surprisingly, he was sober enough to open the door. I stood there in my panties, shocked, frozen, and suddenly panicking. Unblinking, he stared at me. It was just like before… Everything started to spin, and my heart skipped a beat.

I leaned up against the big, blue box. "Go away," I commanded like a child. That obviously didn't work. "Are you hungry? Let me just put these on, and then I'll make us some good food," I said, trying to slip into the shorts quickly so I could open the door and leave this repeating nightmare.

I don't know why he didn't question a giant blue Police Box standing in the middle of the room, but he didn't. He grabbed the neck of my shirt, whisked me around, and slammed me on the threshold of my bedroom door.

I let out a shriek and tried to kick the back of his head with my leg. Even half-drunk, he was strong. I tried to spit in his face. I saw that he had that look in his eyes, and I screamed again out of terror.

His hands were on my shirt, tearing the fabric. Then trying to unsnap my bra. I cried, not knowing what I could do. "Get your fucking hands off me!" I yelled and spit in his face again. My teeth took a grab at one of his hands, and I got a slap in the face for it.

Suddenly, he fell on top of me and my heart skipped a beat. A little, childish cry shoved its way up my throat, when I realized that he had literally passed out.

New hands grabbed my ankles and pulled me. Still in panic mode, I screamed, resisting them with every ounce of my body. I was pulled into the TARDIS in my underwear, bra barely on, screaming and kicking.

The hands let go and I didn't waste a second. I was up and sprinting towards some stairs. I leapt up them, tore down a hallway, took a left, made another left, ran for a long time, took a right, took yet another left, looked at the second door to my right, and yanked on the knob.

There was a bed. I flopped onto the bed, clinging to the covers until my knuckles turned white. Who knows how long I lied there for. For a very long time, all that happened in that room was a girl who listened to her fleeting heart slowly return to a normal rhythm.

Right when I was starting to feel calm, I heard Amy walking softly down the hallway, calling for me. "Evelyn?" I heard her call. "Evelyn, are you around here?"

I sat up in the bed and realized that the door had been left open. She walked by and we made eye contact. For too long, we just stared at each other. I wanted to look away.

Very slowly, she sat on the other edge of the bed. I realized that she had been crying.

"The Doctor says you're never going to go back there. Ever," she said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

Empty promises. "Then where is he going to take me?"

She smiled. "Everywhere."