A vague, slowly-moving figure came forward walking through the fog as a large bell could be heard ringing. Polished black boots reflected some of the light coming from the torch the figure was moving back and forth along the way. As the figure moved closer the uniform came better into view revealing a patrol officer. He stopped to open an unlocked wicket in the junkyard gate beside him and peered around shining the torch throughout the area before closing the gate and moving on. The junkyard was quite crowded with various pieces of furniture, yard tools, lumbar, and one blue police box. On the gate in some faded paint reads M. Foreman Scrap Merchant. Some significantly newer pain just off center read "Private."
Coal Hill School. Inside, the bell rang and students began filing out of the classroom into the hallway. Two girls were the first out and were chatting as they walked both looking down at something one of them was holding. The students were in their final year of compulsory schooling in Britain ranging either fourteen or fifteen years of age. A woman, their teacher, stepped out into the hallway looking back to someone still inside. "Wait in here Susan, I won't be long," she called out, holding a few books to her chest. One of the boys from the next wave of students out of the room peered over the female students' shoulders to find a picture of the pop singer Frank Ifield. He then made a comment that wrinkled their noses and walked off to join his friends. The girl holding the picture rolled her eyes, unaffected, and then whispered something into her friend's ear making her giggle before they walked off. Another student coming out of the room handed the teacher a paper with a question about the assignment. Marking something off with her pen, the teacher ushered the girl on her way.
"Goodnight, Ms. Wright," the girl called back over her shoulder.
"Good night," the teacher responded.
Taking a few steps down the hallway, the teacher knocked on the very next door before stepping into the teachers' lounge. The room was decorated with various educational charts and posters with a couple of tables for the teachers to use. Atop the tables were mostly books and papers, but there were some unique to the teacher and subject being taught. One had various crafts and little figurines atop of it, another with a few small instruments and sheet music. Absently she reached up a hand to smooth a couple strands of her short bouffant down. Just across from the door sat man similar in age, working on some papers at a table littered with test tubes and beakers. The sound of the closing door caused him to look up curiously.
"Not gone yet?" he asked, turning back to his papers with a smile.
"Obviously not," she primly replied, walking to an adjoining table to set down her books and papers.
His smile turned wry, "Ask a silly question…" he trailed off.
Apologetically she smiled at him. "I'm sorry," she softened.
"It's alright," he laughed. "I'll forgive you this time." He continued to mark off papers before him and cast an assessing look at her. "You know, when I've had a bad day I come in here and feel I want to smash all the windows," he started, focusing on her tense posture.
"This hasn't been a bad day," she said, finally sitting down and absently rubbed at her hand.
"So you're just naturally like that then?" he teased.
"I hope not," she wasn't quite sure what he was referring to, but smiled again and tried to seem more relaxed. "No, I've had another kind of day. A puzzling kind of day."
"What's the trouble? Can I help?" he asked.
"Oh, it's one of the girls, Susan Foreman." She was quite hesitant to talk about this issue. It had only been five months since she had started working at this school. Susan had been new to the area and they had started on the very same day together. Because of this, she had felt a closeness with the girl and a close friendship had developed.
"Susan Foreman?" He looked up in surprise, setting down his papers. "She your problem, too?"
"Yes."
"And you don't know what to make of her?"
"No."
"How old is she, Barbara?" he asked.
"Fifteen"
"Fifteen… She lets her knowledge out a bit at a time so as not to embarrass me. That's what I feel about her. She knows more science than I'll ever know. She's a genius. Is that what she's doing with history?" he leaned in, genuinely curious.
"Something like that," Barbara agreed. The girl was a genius. It seemed no subject could elude her mind if she really tried.
"So your problem is whether to stay in business or hand over the class to her?" he joked.
"No, not quite," she answered, looking down to her hands.
"What, then?"
"Ian," she looked back up, seemingly even more nervous. "I must talk to someone about this, but I don't want to get the girl into trouble." She leaned forward toward him some. "And I know you're just going to tell me I'm imagining things." At least, she hoped that he could tell her so and make her really believe it. Barbara was quite nervous about the possibility of stirring up any trouble, especially if it could break the trust between herself and her student and friend. Stirring up trouble could also make some sort of name for herself amongst the staff. Not a good name, of course.
"No, I'm not," he denied a little indignantly.
"Well, I told you how good she is at history," she started. "I had a talk with her and told her she ought to specialize. She seemed quite interested until I said I'd be willing to work with her at her home. Then she said that would be absolutely impossible as her grandfather didn't like strangers."
"He's a doctor, isn't he? That's a bit of a lame excuse." Putting his pen into his pocket, he set the papers down and stood up before stepping over to a sink in the room. He pushed back his sleeves and started washing his hands.
Barbara stood as well and followed him. "Well, I didn't pursue the point, but then recently her homework's been so bad…" she trailed off.
"Yes, I know."
"Finally I was so irritated with all her excuses I decided to have a talk with this grandfather of hers and tell him to take some interest in her."
"Did you indeed? What's the old boy like?" Hands clean, he re-adjusted his sleeves and looked up at her.
"Well, that's just it… I got her address from the secretary, 76 Totter's Lane, and I went along there one evening." She follows him over to another table where he started moving a couple of books. "Oh, Ian, do pay attention."
"Sorry. You went along there one evening?" he prompted as he finished putting papers away and collected his things.
"There isn't anything there. It's just an old junkyard," she frowned coming to the root of it.
"Well you must have gone to the wrong place," he reasoned, not very concerned.
"That was the address the secretary gave me."
"Well the secretary got it wrong then."
"No," she pressed. "I checked. There's a big wall on one side, houses on the other, and nothing in the middle. And this nothing in the middle is No. 76 Totter's Lane."
"Hm. That's a bit of a mystery." He leaned against the table. "Well, there must be a simple answer somewhere."
"Well, what?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest. She had thought about not much else since finding the junkyard. In fact, during one of her classes she had even asked everyone's address claiming the office needed to re-file for this class as to not draw attention to or from Susan. The papers were collected and when she had gotten home from work that evening her hands shook as she saw Susan had written 76 Totter's Lane down. Thoughts of Susan possibly not having a proper roof over her head worried her all that night. Not sure where to go from here, there was the concern that if she were to go to the authorities or social work of some kind the girl might just do a runner.
Ian walked over to stand next to her, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well," he smiled, leaning in as if conspiring a crime, "we'll have to find out for ourselves, won't we?"
"Thank you for the 'we.' She's waiting in one of the classrooms. I'm lending her a book on the French Revolution." Barbara seemed to relax significantly and smiled gratefully. Gently she picked up a thick tome from her desk with care. On its cover was a stately portrait of Robespierre. It seemed to be well worn with a couple of page corners folded in marking various spots in the book. While she preferred the Aztecs, revolutionary France was a major focus of a number university courses.
"What's she going to do, rewrite it?" Ian asked, chuckling to himself making Barbara roll her eyes again. He took his hands out of his pockets to raise in mock surrender. "Oh, all right," he relented. Walking past her, he gave Barbara's shoulder a quick squeeze. From the coat rack he pulled down his dark over coat and slid it on atop his suit's blazer. "What do we do, ask her point-blank?" he asked, fixing his collar.
"No, I thought we could drive there, wait till she arrives, and see where she goes."
"Oh," Ian paused before nodding, "all right."
"That is, if you're not doing anything."
"Where I'm living at the moment there's nothing to do and no one to do it with, so no, I'm not," he answered. "I was wondering," he paused in adjusting his coat for a moment before he continued, "how your situation differs from mine?"
Barbara looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "There's no difference," she replied, careful to keep her face neutral.
"After you," Ian prompted, holding the door open for her.
In the empty music room, a young girl was holding a small radio to her ear and dancing along to the pop music playing at a high volume. She stood between the rows of desk with her eyes closed, her pleated skirt and short dark hair swaying with her movements.
The two teachers stepped in and glanced at one another with a knowing smile.
As the ghastly wail of the singer came to an end, Susan yelled out, "Sing it again, Ollie! Sing it again – for me!" as she continued dancing a few beats after the music had stopped.
"Susan?" Barbara called out to her, getting her attention.
Startled, the girl lowered the radio to behind her back as she turned to them. "Oh, I'm sorry Ms. Wright. I didn't hear you coming in." She turned to the nearest desk to set the small radio down where it continued to blare out the next song. "Isn't he fabulous?" she gushed as she turned back to the teachers.
Barbara smiled at the girl indulgently, "Who?"
"It's Ollie Typhoon. He's gone from number nineteen to number two!"
"That's quite good," Barbara clearly didn't recognize the name, but she smiled softly all the same.
Ian chuckled and leaned against one of the desks. "Ollie Typhoon is the stage name of the honorable Fred Grub," he said in explanation to Barbara.
"Grub-dub," retorted Susan, pulling a face. "He's left it all behind. Oh Mr. Chesterton, he teaches me to – to throb. But I wouldn't expect you to know about music?"
"I have an inquiring mind." He paused to nod at the radio, "and a very sensitive ear."
"Oh, I'm sorry!" the girl jumped up and reached over to the radio and fiddled with it.
"Thank you," Ian replied after the loud music cut off, sorely tempted to rub his ears.
Susan turned to Barbara and seemed to take notice of what was tucked under her arm. "Is that the book you promised me?" she asked, staring at it curiously.
Handing it over, Barbara answered in positive.
"Thank you very much. It will be interesting," Susan mused, running her fingers over the cover. "I'll return it tomorrow," she promised, looking up to Barbara before she stepped over to the desk with her book bag sitting atop of it.
"Oh, that's not necessary. Keep it until you've finished it," Barbara offered, watching Susan slip the book into her bag carefully.
Susan fiddled with the straps of the bag, securing it closed. "I'll have finished it," she said, causing the two teachers to glance at each other.
"Oh, where do you live, Susan?" Ian asked. "I'm giving Ms. Wright a lift and have room for one more."
"Um, no, thank you, Mr. Chesterton." Susan wouldn't look at either of them. "I like walking through the dark. It's mysterious."
"You say that as if-" Barbara started.
"Then we won't deprive you of the romantic venture," Ian interrupted, cutting Barbara off.
The look Barbara shot him was quite shrewd before she turned back to Susan and started again "Be careful, Susan. The fog's been getting thicker."
"Hmm" Susan replied, not seeming to be paying attention.
The two adults stood up and Barbara fastened her coat. "See you in the morning?" she asked as if to make sure.
"I expect so. Good night," Susan replied, still not looking up at them.
Barbara frowned in concern but let it be. "Good night."
Holding the door open for Barbara, Ian called out over his shoulder, "Good night, Susan."
The teachers left, closing the door behind them. Outside in the hallway as they walked towards the entrance, Ian lamented, "I don't get her. She's damn near a genius at every subject she tackles, yet she digs Fred Grub."
Meanwhile back in the classroom Susan retrieved the book from her back, opening it up so her nose was buried behind a stately picture of Robespierre on the cover. As she started reading, her brow furrowed. "But that's not right."
"Over there, where the policeman is" Barbara pointed out to Ian as they slowly drove down a darkening road. He pulled over and parked along the opposite curb where they would be able to watch the area clearly.
"Lucky there was no fog. I'd never have found this," he mused.
"Well, she doesn't seem to have arrived yet." Barbara said, glancing around out her window. "I suppose we are doing the right thing, aren't we?" she glanced over to Ian still nervous.
"I'll justify curiosity-" he began.
"But her homework," Barbara interrupted. What if this child were living here? Surely they had to find out so something could be done.
"Really an excuse, isn't it?" he asked, turning more towards her. "I've seen far worse. The truth is, we're both curious about Susan and we won't be happy until we know some of the answers."
Barbara shifted and glanced out the window again. "You can't just pass it off like that. If I thought I was just being a busy-body I'd go straight home. I thought you agreed she was a bit of a mystery," she insisted.
"Yes, but I think you'll find there is a rather simple explanation to all this."
"Well I don't know how you'll explain the fact that a teenage girl does not know how many shillings are in a pound," she countered. How could a girl living in London not know the proper currency?
"Really?" he asked, eyebrows high with surprise.
"Really. She said she thought we were on the decimal system."
"Decimal system?" his brow furrowed in confusion. "I suppose she couldn't be a foreigner," he thought aloud. "Nothing about this girl makes sense. For instance the other day I was talking about chemical changes. I had given out the litmus paper to show cause and effect-"
"And she knew the answer before you started?"
"Well, not quite. The answer simply didn't interest her. She means it. These simple experiments are child's play to her."
"It's almost to the point that I deliberately want to trip her up," Barbara admitted.
"Yes. Something like that happened a couple of weeks ago. I had set the class a problem how the orbit of a space capsule is calculated in advance. This fifteen-year-old child tells me with all the assurance in the world that she's not interested in the conquest of mere distance. 'Scientifically short-sighted' she said it was. I asked if she wants to break through into the fourth dimension of space and time. She went as white as a sheet. As if I had insulted her. White as a ghost, and she was shaking, too." Looking back upon that, such a reaction could be concerning. But what could that even mean, he wondered.
"Too many questions and not enough answers."
"Stupid, or just doesn't know?" Ian pondered. "So, we have a fifteen year old girl who is absolutely brilliant at some things, excruciatingly bad at others, and just-well-inexplicable to the rest."
"There she is," Barbara interrupted, pointing out Susan walking down the lane. Susan glanced around before pushing open the gates and walking in.
"She looks rather like someone afraid of being watched. Or is my imagination working overtime?" Ian asked quietly.
"Can we go in now? I hate to think of her alone in that place," Barbara asked, turning to look at Ian.
"If she is alone," Ian glanced at Barbara. "Look, she is fifteen. She might be meeting a boy. Did that ever occur to you?"
"I almost hope she is."
"You do?" he laughed, surprised.
"Well, it would be so wonderfully normal," she smiled at Ian who then smiled just as wide. They shared another laugh before an uncomfortable silence followed.
"Come on, let's get it over with," Ian said as he opened his door and got out.
In the junkyard dust was piled upon various bits of furniture and fixtures inches deep in places. Ian produced a torch and turned it on, swinging the light around the area. Taking Barbara's elbow they slowly started walking through the dim yard. They peeked around and behind different fixtures of the yard taking note of how filthy and broken everything around them was. "What a mess. We're not turning over any of this stuff to find her" Ian said looking at a dust-covered wardrobe.
"Over there?" Barbara asked, pointing a direction for them to check.
With a loud oath, Ian tripped over a box and things went dark. "Blast."
"What?" Barbara asked as her eyes tried to adjust to the new darkness.
"I dropped the torch." Ian replied, fumbling around a moment on the ground before standing upright.
"Well, use a match."
"I haven't got any," he sighed. "Oh, never mind," he grumbled in a huff.
"Susan?" Barbara called out taking a step off to the left.
"Susan." Ian called out a little sharper. Spotting a sturdy-looking ladder nearby, Ian climbed up the first couple of rungs. "Susan?" he called again, looking around from his new vantage point, as Barbara continued walking around on the ground. "Susan, it's Mr. Chesterton and Ms. Wright" He climbed back down to check behind some curtains he thought he saw move. "She can't have gone out without our seeing her," he called to Barbara after finding the curtains empty.
Finding a clean and new and not at all dusty police box, Barbara called out to him, "Ian, come take a look at this."
"Why, it's a police box," he mused coming to stand next to Barbara. "What on Earth's it doing here?" he asked as he got a closer look. "These things are usually on the street. They-" he stopped as his hand came in contact with one of the walls. His hand groped around for a moment and his brow furrowed. "Feel it."
She reached out and touched the back of her hand to the blue panel just next to his hand in curiosity. It hadn't felt cold and dead, perhaps a bit slick from the treated paint as she was expecting. Instead it was warm and seemed to pulse with life.
"Do you feel it?" he asked as he kept moving his hand around as if not quite believing what he feeling.
Barbara pulled her hand away and up to her chest. "There's a faint vibration," she marveled.
"It's alive," Ian agreed. Incredulous, he took a step back and glanced it up and down. Stepping around Barbara, Ian walked around its entirety. "It's not connected to anything," he told her as he came back to stand next to Barbara. "Unless it's through the floor."
"Look, I've had enough. Let's go and find a policeman," Barbara asked, not at all liking this terrible feeling she was feeling grow in her stomach. Everything felt on edge.
"Yes, alright," Ian agreed. He took her hand this time and looked back at the police box as they began towards the entrance.
A distant cough interrupted their thoughts and brought them to a stop.
"Is that her?" Barbara asked quietly. Another cough followed. While not strong it was much deeper than one to be expected from a young girl.
"That's not her. Quick," he pointed to some boxes before hurrying them over, hiding the two of them somewhere they could see whoever was coming.
The teachers watched intently as an old man stepped into the junkyard, coughing into a handkerchief. He waved the handkerchief around trying to clear the air as he began again forward with some labored breathing. Opening his coat he tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of his waist coat. He approached the police box and pulled out a key to unlock the door. He shined a small torch-like object into the opening and the door let out a high, albeit quiet, electronic whine.
"There you are, Grandfather" Susan's voice called out clearly from inside the box.
Barbara startled at the voice. "That's Susan," she whispered harshly to Ian.
Ian shushed her and turned back to watch the old man, who seemed to have heard them. Closing the door he turned towards where they stood with a glare. Ian stood upright and stepped forward, "Excuse me," he said in way of introduction, rubbing the back of his neck.
"What are you doing here?" The old man asked sharply, holding his key at Ian.
"Ah, we're looking for a girl," Ian answered.
"We?" the old man inquired, looking around.
Barbara then stepped out from where she was crouched. "Good evening," she offered the old man as she came to stand next to Ian.
"What do you want?" the man demanded.
"Ah, one of our pupils, Susan Foreman, came into this yard." Ian replied, and tucked his hands into his pockets.
"Really?" the old man asked. "In here?" he skeptically looked around. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Barbara spoke up feeling quite wary of the man. "We saw her from across the street."
"In this light?" he challenged. He kept his voice light as if it were all a wonder to him. Oh, what lovely vision you must have, it seemed he were asking. His expression he also kept quite controlled and light seemingly friendly while quite altogether suspicious to Barbara.
"Yes, quite clearly," Ian answered. His expression losing its light touch. It would seem Barbara was not alone in her wariness.
"One of their pupils. Not the police, then," the old man mumbled quietly to himself, too quiet for the teachers to fully hear.
"I beg your pardon?" Ian asked, leaning towards the man.
"Why were you spying on her? Who are you?" The old man asked slowly, seemingly curious.
"We heard a young girl's voice call out to you," Ian said, completely ignoring the question.
"Your hearing must be very acute. I didn't hear anything," the old man denied with a chuckle.
"It came from in here," Barbara gestured towards the police box.
"You imagined it," the old man cut in quickly, turning to look at Barbara.
"I certainly did not imagine it," Barbara replied getting quite tired of this interchange.
"Young man," the man began, casually taking Ian's arm and leading him aside a few steps from Barbara. "Is it reasonable to suppose that anybody would be inside such a small cupboard like that?" he asked, pointing back at the police box with a smile. "Hmm?"
Ian's brow furrowed further. "Would it, therefore, be unreasonable to ask you to let us have a look inside?"
Completely ignoring Ian's reply the old man's attention was caught by something on the ground. "I wonder why I've never seen that before," he wondered, picking up an ornate picture frame. "Now isn't that strange. Very damp and dirty."
Barbara watched them while pacing before the police box. "Won't you help us?" she called out to him when he picked up the frame. "We're two of her teachers from the Coal Hill School. We saw her come in and we haven't seen her leave." She watched him fiddle with the frame, inspecting it. "Naturally we're worried."
"This needs to be cleaned. Hm?" The old man glanced back at her with a smile. "Oh, I'm afraid it isn't any of my business." He set the frame back down. "I suggest you leave here." He walked back to stand between the two of them and the police box.
Ian took a step towards him. "Not until we're satisfied that Susan isn't here." He shook his head. "Frankly, I don't understand your attitude."
"Oh, yours leaves a lot to be desired," the old man countered, smiling up at him.
"Will you open the door?" Ian demanded.
"There's nothing in there," the old man insisted.
"Then what are you afraid to show us?" Ian asked, still baffled by the man's behavior.
"Afraid?" the old man laughed. "Oh, go away," he shooed them.
Ian looked back at Barbara. "I think we'd better fetch a policeman."
The old man stopped and frowned. "Very well" he sighed.
"And you're coming with us" Ian
The old man turns on him, surprised. "Oh, am I?" he seems amused and laughs. "I don't think so, young man. No, I don't think so." he takes a few steps away from them, seemingly disinterested, but tensely listening.
"We can't very well force him," Barbara whispered to Ian.
"But we can't leave him here," Ian countered, nodding towards the old man. "Doesn't it seem obvious to you he's got her locked up in there?" He felt around the front of the police box. "I mean, look at it, there's no door handle. There must be a secret lock somewhere."
The old man with his back to them picked up a small vase and fiddled with it.
"That was Susan's voice…" Barbara trailed off surely.
The old man paused his fiddling with the vase, listening to them.
"Of course it was," Ian said firmly. "Susan?" he whispered at the police box.
The old man smiled and resumed fiddling with the vase.
"Susan, are you in there?" Ian called out. "It's Mr. Chesterton and Ms. Wright, Susan."
"Don't you think you're being rather high handed, young man?" the old man asked, not turning to face them. Ian and Barbara started and turned towards him. "You thought you saw a young girl into the yard, you imagined you heard her voice. You believe she might be in there. Not very substantial, is it?" he called back to them, setting the vase back down.
"But why won't you help us?" Barbara approached him, smiling imploringly.
"I'm not hindering you," the old man countered, his eyebrows raised. "If you both want to make fools of yourselves I suggest you do what you said you'd do. Go find a policeman." He challenged.
"While you nip off quietly in the other direction?" Ian asked.
The old man closed his eyes and silently sighed. "Insulting." He turned towards the two of them fully. "There's only one way in and out of this yard. I shall be here when you get back. I'd love to see your faces when you try to explain your behavior to a policeman." He straightened and leaned on his can haughtily and chuckled.
"Never the less we're going to find one," Ian took Barbara by the arm and moved to lead her out of the yard.
"What are you doing out there?" Susan's voice could be heard again from inside the police box.
"She is in there!" Ian exclaimed.
The old man rushed, trying to get past them towards the police box. "Don't open the door," he called out. Ian grabbed a hold of him as Barbara hurried over to the police box.
"Barbara," Ian calld out, nodding towards the opening doors.
Once the door opened wide enough Barbara rushed in.
Inside the space was a large, computerized room with a hexagonal consol standing in the middle covered with buttons, and Susan standing beside it under a screen. Barbara stopped short, gazing around as Ian is pushed in behind her neck and neck with the old man. The walls had large circular patterns that seem to emit light from somewhere behind them. Barbara stood, taking the sight in, as Ian glared at the old man who stepped forward towards the approaching Susan, not seeming to quite notice their surroundings quite yet.
"Close the door, Susan," the old man commanded as he pointed back at the open doors leading into the junkyard. Ian then began looking around and loosened his tie as he gaped with wonder. Susan reached behind her and toggled a switch on the large console standing in the middle of the room which caused the doors to close themselves. Ian and Barbara turned to watch incredulously. "I believe these people are known to you?" the old man asked the girl, gesturing back towards Ian and Barbara behind him.
"They're two of my school teachers," Susan answered him before turning to the teachers. "What are you doing here?" she asked, confused. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at them, wondering what the devil they were doing there.
"They must have followed you," the old man supplied, stepping closer to look down at her. "That ridiculous school. I knew something like this would happen if we stayed in one place too long." He admonished with a frown.
Susan shook her head. "But why should they follow me?" she asked in wonder.
"Is this really where you live, Susan?" Barbara asked, her focus coming to the girl in question.
"Yes," Susan admitted, looking both nervous and winded by the situation at the same time.
"And what's wrong with it?" the old man asked, turning to the teachers.
"But it was just a telephone box," Ian wondered, still gaping like a fish and looking everywhere.
"Perhaps," the old man countered.
"And this is really your grandfather?" Barbara persisted, still concerned for the girl.
"Yes," Susan nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Well, why didn't you tell us that outside?" Barbara rounded on the old man. "Here we thought you were some stranger keeping her locked up!"
"I don't discuss my private life with strangers" the old man smiled tightly at Susan.
Ian continued staring around the room. His eyes finally came to rest upon the old man and Susan for a moment. "It was a police telephone box. I walked all around it! Barbara, you saw me!" Ian exclaimed, still unable to wrap his head around it.
"You don't deserve any explanations," the old man interrupted Ian's babbling, walking off to the side to look at something. "You pushed your way in here uninvited and unwelcome..."
"Ian," Barbara took hold of Ian's coat, "I think we ought to leave, now." She tried to tug him back towards the door. Ian resisted the tug and brought his hand up to rest on hers, stilling her.
"Now just a minute," he then took a hold of her arm and guided the two of them towards the old man who had moved to stand near an end table. "I know this is absurd. I –"
"Oh, dear, dear, dear," the old man tutted, meddling with a small piece of something he picked up. He turned it around in his hands and inspected every angle of it.
"I mean – I walked all around it" Ian continued, letting go of Barbara and stepping closer behind the old man.
"It's stuck again, and I've tried-hmm?" the old man looked up at Ian, just starting to pay attention to him. "Oh, you wouldn't understand." He waved dismissively towards Ian and turned to move back towards the other side of the room.
"I want to understand," Ian raised his voice. Barbara wrung her hands, watching Ian follow the old man from one side of the room to the other.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes," the old man replied dismissively before he took off his outer coat. "By the way, Susan, I managed to find a replacement for that faulty filament." He carefully set his coat on a nearby chair, his scarf falling to the floor. "Bit of an amateur job, but I think it'll serve." He bent to pick up the scarf and put it on the chair. Everyone watched him walk to the console and pull something from his pocket.
"It's an illusion, it must be," Ian tried to reason out loud.
"What is he talking about now?" the old man asked Susan as he bent to stick whatever was in his pocket into the side of the console.
"What are you doing here?" Susan pleaded to the two teachers.
"You don't understand, so you find excuses," the old man said, addressing the Ian as he straightened up again. "Illusions, indeed?" he asked with a huff, turning to face the teachers. "You say you can't fit an enormous building into one of your smaller sitting rooms."
"No," Ian immediately replied.
"But you've discovered television, haven't you?" the old man asked with an indulgent smile.
"Yes."
"Then by showing an enormous building on your television screen, you can do what seemed impossible, couldn't you?" the old man asked, as if leading a child.
"Well, yes, but I still don't know…" Ian tried to counter.
"No no no, not quite clear, is it? I can see by your face that you're not certain. You don't understand." The old man chuckled. "and I knew you wouldn't," he sighed, turning back to the console. "Never mind. Now, what switch was it?" he asked to himself, looking over the various buttons. "No, no, no… ah, yes." he reached down to push something. "That's it," he mumbled. "The point is not whether you understand," he looked back up, "but what is going to happen to you? Hmm?" he glanced over to Susan. "They'll tell everybody about the ship now."
"Ship?" Ian asked, very confused by the word.
"Yes, yes. Ship. I use your own outdated terminology for any craft which does not roll along on wheels" the old man explained with a wave of his hand.
"You mean," Barbara interrupted from where she stood, "it moves?"
"The T.A.R.D.I.S. can go anywhere," Susan spoke up as well to answer.
"Tardis?" Barbara asked her. "I don't know what you mean, Susan."
"Well I made up the name T.A.R.D.I.S. from the initials. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. I thought you'd both understand when you saw different dimensions inside from those outside," Susan explained.
"Let me get this straight," Ian interrupted. "A thing that looks like a police box standing in a junkyard… It can move anywhere in time and space? That's ridiculous. You're above average in science, Susan. You stick to that and leave science fiction to the writers."
"Why won't they believe us?" Susan asked, turning towards her grandfather.
"How can we, Susan?" Barbara asked her.
"Now, now, don't get exasperated," the old man said, resting his hands on Susan's shoulders comfortingly with a smile. "Remember the Red Indian, my dear. When he saw the first steam train, his savage mind thought it an illusion, too."
"You're treating us like children," Ian ground out, getting upset.
"Am I?" the old man asked with a patronizing tone. "Children of my civilization would be insulted."
"Your civilization?" Ian asked.
"Yes, my civilization," the doctor answered slowly. "I tolerate this century, but I don't enjoy it." He brought his finger to his chin. "Have you ever thought what it's like to be wanderers in the fourth dimension? Have you?" The old man asked, looking away. "To be exiles?" he continued as he looked back up and rested a hand on Susan's shoulder, "Susan and I are cut off from our own planet. Without friends or protection. But one day… we shall get back." Susan looked up at him. "Yes, one day," he said with conviction, giving Susan's shoulder a pat before turning away.
Susan stepped towards the teachers. "It's true. Every word of it's true." She said, glowering at them as if daring them to disagree. "You don't know what you've done, coming here." She turned towards the old man, "Grandfather, let them go now, please," she begged, grabbing at his arm. "Look, if they can't understand, they can't hurt us at all. I understand these people better you. They may reject things they don't understand."
The old man pulled out of her reach and looked back at her over his shoulder. "No," he answered, resolutely.
"They can't keep us here," Ian whispered to Barbara as they watched the exchange.
Barbara moved to stand beside Susan. "Susan, why did you insist upon lying to us?" she tried to asking the girl. She couldn't bring herself to accept what was going on all around her.
"I'm not lying!" Susan exclaimed, seething at her.
"But Susan…" Barbara implored her.
"It's not! Look, I love your school. I love England in the twentieth century. The last five months have been the happiest of my life-"
"I've always been your friend," she told Susan. "Since we both started at the school just after the half term holiday. Even when some of the other girls and boys made fun of you because you knew so much more than they did. But all of this..." Barbara gestured around them helplessly.
"I was born in another time. Another world," Susan began. Her eyes focused somewhere on the distance and glazed over some as her voice became distant.
"Now look here," Ian chimed in, "Susan, you-" he stopped himself, seeing Susan wasn't even listening to him. "Oh, come on Barbara. Let's get out of here." He grabbed Barbara's arm and hurried towards the door.
"No, you can't get out of here. He won't let you go." Susan called out to them.
Barbara tried to find the seam of the door when a strange whistle fills the room. The old man chuckled, highly amused as he watches them feel around the wall.
"They closed the door from over there," Ian realized, pointing at the console. He rushed back over and looked over all the buttons and switches. "I saw him. Now, which is it?" he wondered aloud. The old man stepped closer, watching him. "Which is it?" Ian asked, walking all around the console. "Which control operates the doors?" he demanded.
"Still think it's all an illusion?" the old man asked him, gesturing at the console.
Ian crowded the doctor. "I know that free movement in time and space is a scientific dream I don't expect to find solved in a junkyard," he exclaimed, voice rising to almost a shout by the end.
"Your arrogance is nearly as great as your ignorance," the old man mused.
"You open the door," Ian demanded, causing the old man to chuckle. "Open the door," he repeated. When the old man continued to chuckle, Ian turned to Susan. "Susan, will you help us?" he pleaded with her.
"I mustn't" she said as she shied a step back from him, seemingly nervous.
"What if it is true?" Barbara called out from the doorway.
"It can't be, I tell you!" Ian exclaimed, turning back to the console. "I'll have to risk it myself," he said, glancing over all the buttons and switches as a sweat broke out over his forehead.
"I can't stop you," the old man told him, subtly turning a knob which made the large section protruding from the top to light up.
"Don't touch it, it's live," Susan cried out as Ian reached for one of the buttons. The moment his fingers came in contact with it, Ian's body seized up and he staggered away from the console clutching his hand.
"Ian," Barbara called out, rushing over to where he collapsed to his knees, steadying his shoulders. "What on earth do you think you're doing? How dare you behave like this?" she demanded of the old man who stood watching them all.
"Grandfather, let them go now, please" Susan pleaded, her voice shaking some. She glanced between the two teachers and her grandfather.
Gently he reached out a hand to her. "My dear child," he began, steering Susan a few steps away from the teachers. "You know very well we cannot let them possess even one idea that such a ship as the T.A.R.D.I.S. might be possible."
"But Grandfather don't you see if we let them go now they can't," she argued. Her voice still shook as she thought about how Mr. Chesterton's body seized up from the shock of electricity.
The old man nodded his head back to the teachers who were watching them closely. "Look, see how they watch and listen as we talk? If they leave the ship now they might come to believe at last all this is possible. Think what would have happened to the ancient Romans if they possessed the power of gunpowder. If Napoleon had been given the secret of the aeroplane. No, we both know we cannot let our secret loose into the world of the twentieth century," he calmly reasoned.
"But they won't say anything," she tried again.
"My dear child," he sighed. "Of course they will. Put yourself in their place. They're bound to make some sort of complaint to the authorities. Or, at least, talk to a few of their friends. If I do let them go, Susan, you do realize of course we must go, too."
"No, grandfather… We've had all this-"
"There's no alternative, child"
"But I want to stay!" she exclaimed, turning to look at the teachers. "They're both kind people. Why won't you trust them?" She looked back to her grandfather. "All you've got to do is ask them to promise to keep our secret…"
"It's out of the question," the old man said with a note of finality.
"I won't go, grandfather," the girl threatened, straightening her back. "I won't leave the twentieth century. I'd rather leave the T.A.R.D.I.S. and you."
"Now you're being sentimental and childish," he said, shaking his head at the notion.
"No, I mean it," she insisted despite her still shaking voice.
"Very well," he relented, calling her bluff. "Then you must go with them." He turned away back towards the console. "I'll open the door."
Susan's jaw dropped and she gaped at him. The two teachers moved to stand by the still closed doorway in the wall, their attention never leaving the old man and Susan.
"Are you coming, Susan?' Barbara called out, glancing between the still closed door and where Susan stood with her grandfather.
Susan hesitated, glancing over to her while her grandfather moved to stand next to the console before pressing numerous buttons. She gasped at all the switches he was flipping. "Oh, no! Grandfather!" she yelled, rushing over to him. "No!"
He struggled against the girl pushing more of the buttons, "Let me go, what are you doing? Get back to the ship's other side, child," he admonished as she still tried to pull him from the control panel. The two teachers began moving towards them, but kept their distance not knowing what to do.
A circuit of bulbs flickered on one after another, like an illumination in Piccadilly Circus. Lights flashed, alternating between the panel and the walls. The room lurched, knocking Ian and Barbara off balance. They grasped at one another in an attempt to keep their balance, but toppled over. Barbara landed upon one of the few seats scattered around the edges of the room and Ian, still grasping her arm, fell to the ground beside her. His head knocked against the floor with a thud and he slipped out of consciousness. Barbara's eyes were spinning as her head felt a pounding from within, and she too succumbed to unconsciousness.
The doctor stood with his back arched, his arms rigid on various controls as he wrestled with the machinery. He stood at the helm almost as if he were standing up holding some giant handlebars of some gigantic motorcycle. On the screen on the back wall displayed buildings, then London growing smaller and smaller as if the world were falling away from them.
Upon a deserted, sandy field a police box faded into existence. A lone figure, having heard a strange noise approached to see the police box, casting a long shadow upon the sand.