The Laura Series: Episode 2 A Rip in Time

by Evelyn Brightpaw

Laura and the Doctor go on their first adventure, back to Victorian London, where the Doctor discovers something sinister behind the world's greatest murder mystery. What does Torchwood have to do with Jack the Ripper? Only the Doc can find out.

DOCTOR WHO

A RIP IN TIME BY REBECCA MOSES

Shot opens with a slow pan through squalid East end streets. Screen caption reads: "LONDON, 1888," fades, and then "WHITECHAPEL DISTRICT, EAST END." It is night; minimal light comes from the one gas lamp and the half-shuttered windows of the pub at the street's end. Bawdy laughter, both male and female, and drunken song is heard.

Cut to inside the pub, from behind the bar. The light is warm and the sound intense. Camera follows a bar maid over to a table where four young men sit. They accept drinks from her and make crude comments. One slaps her as she turns. Camera follows her back to the bar and then pans past her into a dark inner room.

Several young women are primping before a dirty mirror in various stages of undress. They are entertaining each other with rather bold anecdotes.

Annie: "Has 'e been back t'see you, then?"

Mary: "Caw, no! 'E's all taken up with Lizzie, now!"

Liz: "Now, Mary, you know that was only once! You're Bobby's fav'rite."

Catherine: "An' they're both only after 'im b'cause 'e was silly enough t'show 'em 'e was one of us."

Mary: "Shh, Katie, shh! Not s'bleedin' loud!"

Liz: "She's right, somebody'll 'ear us!"

Annie: "What d'y'mean, one of us? Y'mean 'e's – "

Catherine: "Changed back right in front of 'em, 'e did. Trionian as 'e can be."

Annie: (to Liz and Mary, conspiratorially) "How big were 'is tentacles?"

Mary tries to quiet her and Liz slaps her hand; all four collapse into girlish giggles. In the shadows of what appears to be a closet, a female form may be seen. Barely visible are a mass of tentacles pulled back like hair, pale purple skin, and deep blue slanted eyes.

Polly: "An' look at you four, actin' like a prime bunch o' ninnies."

She comes out, rolling her eyes. After a glance in the mirror, she closes her eyes and her tentacles quiver. For a moment, she glows a pale pink, then she shape shifts to human form.

Annie: "Goin' out, Polly?"

Polly: "Jakes'll have my neck if I can't pay 'is rent again."

She checks herself in the mirror, then heads for the barroom.

"G'night, Annie. G'night, girls."

All: "G'night."

Cut back to the barroom. One of the four young men in the corner eyes her intensely. He is a dark looking man, and his face is partially concealed by collar and hat. Camera pans downward. His hand rests on his lap, near his pocket. He is holding a strange device which looks rather like a metronome. A needle on it waves wildly as he points it at Polly. His expression darkens. As he slips the device back into his pocket, a knife blade may be seen. He gets up, makes his excuses to his friends, and goes to her.

Camera begins to rise upward as he leads her out of the pub. Pan up through the roof, passing through rooms, until outside, with the city seen below. The couple is seen only for a moment, then concealed by buildings and fog. Camera focuses on the sky as a scream pierces the silence. As the scream fades, cut quickly to a fairly busy street outside Kew Gardens, showing the sign. Then cut to a quiet path inside the Gardens. Sir Charles Warren is walking alone; he is the model of Victorian sophistication, in an extremely fancy light grey suit with long tails and ruffled sleeves, and a neatly trimmed moustache. He is intercepted by a naïve looking, flustered, very clerkish young man.

Warren: "Did you get the autopsies?"

Clerk: "Yes, sir."

He gives him a folder. Warren opens it, revealing a photo of the murdered Polly Nichols, with obviously alien anatomy.

"Bleedin' Christ!"

Warren: "Yes, she's Trionian. Amazing. Did you write up the false post-mortems?" (The clerk nods.) "Good. Put them in the files. This must all be swept under the rug. Alien life in London must remain a myth."

Clerk: "What about the real reports, sir?"

Warren hands him back the folder, then gives him an addressed envelope. Camera focuses on one word in the address: "TORCHWOOD."

Music fades in; cut to title credits and theme.

Scene opens in an alleyway. The TARDIS has just faded into view. The Doctor shoots out, obviously excited.

Doctor: "Ha! Victorian London! This is gonna be great: all the… sights…." (He spins around.) "…the sounds…." (The sound from the street intensifies.) "…the smells…."

He takes a deep breath, then makes a choking expression and begins sputtering disgustedly.

"Ugh… just like I remembered…." (Coughs more.) "Laura, come on out. Laura?"

Laura appears in the doorway, clutching at the doorframe with both hands. She is in period clothing and none too happy about it. Her expression is rather like a bull deciding how best to kill the matador, and she is breathing quickly.

Laura: "Remind me again why I signed up for this."

She stomps out and nearly trips on a loose gravel. He catches her, trying not to laugh.

Doctor: "What, you want to go back already?"

Laura: "No, I just wanna stuffyou into this freakin'corset! Corsets were not part of the job description!"

She jerks away from him and nearly falls again.

Doctor: "Well, you said to surprise you, and then I warned you…."

She gives him the death glare.

"Bah, period dress is… it's all part of the experience!"

She reaches back inside the TARDIS and pulls out a top hat, which matches the Doctor's suit. She shoves it at him.

Laura: "Experience this, Time Boy."

Doctor: "But my hair will be – "

Laura: "AH! No! No."

She is moving closer gradually, eventually poking him in the chest to accentuate her point.

"Right now… my waist is about six inches smaller than God intended it to be… my internal organs are experiencing unwantedphysicalcontact… and I don't think we allowed any room for lunch! I don't wanna hear onefreakin'word about hat hair!!

She begins walking rapidly towards the street. The Doctor eyes the hat disdainfully, then gingerly places it on his head.

Doctor: "Five quid says I regret this tomorrow."

He hurries to catch up with her.

"Oh, and by the way: anyone asks, I'm John Smith."

Laura: "I guess that makes me Pocahontas, huh? Sorry, I'll be sticking with Laura, if it's all the same to you."

Doctor: "Oh, fine with me. Laura's a good name…. It's… nondescript, yet charming."

She still glares at him.

"Right, well. Let's see where we've landed, shall we?"

He offers her his arm, which she takes with a jerk. They enter the street; it is lined with shops. The pavement is crowded with middle to upper class Londoners.

"Ah, Piccadilly! This is brilliant! And it's such a beautiful day; just look at that sun!"

Laura: "Oh, I'm sorry, I can't see it for the smog."

They have begun walking down the street.

Doctor: "Well, the corset has certainly improved your temper, hasn't it? Come on, it can't be that bad!" (No answer.) "Look, I'm sorry. No more period dress from now on, I apologise."

This is being said as they walk past a sweet shop. Upon seeing the window display, Laura promptly stops. Her arm is still linked with the Doctor's, and he is almost jerked off his feet.

Laura: "I know how you can make it up to me."

Doctor: (laughing) "Come on."

Cut to shot further down the street. At the corner, a boy is selling newspapers. Laura and the Doctor appear out of the crowd.

Doctor: "Ah, the paperboy! Well, since we know where we are, now let's find out exactly when we are."

He buys a newspaper from the boy and they cross the street as he opens it. As he reads the headlines, he stops.

Laura: "Well, when are we?"

Doctor: "Autumn, 1888."

Cut to further down the street. Laura and the Doctor approach the camera through the crowd. Their conversation begins immediately after a carriage passes in front of the camera. The Doctor waves the rolled-up newspaper as he talks.

Doctor: "Look, don't tell me you don't know what's important about the autumn of '88. It's Jack the Ripper! Everybody knows about Jack the Ripper. August to November, London's Whitechapel District. Five known victims, all prostitutes. It's the world's greatest unsolved case, the ultimate whodunit!"

Laura: "Oh, yeah. That."

Doctor: "Although according to this paper, the fifth murder has yet to take place. Y'know, perhaps – "

Laura: "Oh, no." (They stop.) "You're always giving everyone speeches about not changing history. Shall we take our own advice, hmm?"

Doctor: "Well it was just a thought."

Laura: "Right."

At this point, a carriage comes to a stop beside them, and its door is flung open. The passenger, a well-dressed but scruffy-looking man of about thirty with red hair, pokes his head out and looks at the Doctor with astonishment.

Arnold: "Doctor?!"

The Doctor spins around upon hearing him.

"Is it you?"

Doctor: (his eyes brightening) "Tommy!"

Arnold: "What're you doin' back here, is London in danger?"

Doctor: "Nah, we're on a bit of a sightseeing mission, breaking in the new companion, an' all that."

Arnold: "Well, get in, get in! Don't stand there blockin' the pavement!"

The climb in, with much effort on Laura's part, and Arnold shuts the door. The driver begins moving again.

Doctor: "I think we need some introductions about now. Tommy, this is Laura Abbey."

Laura and Arnold shake hands.

Laura: "How do you do?"

Arnold: (grinning) "Ah, a bit of New World charm? Well, it's a bit different, but not unwelcome."

Doctor: "An' Laura, this is police officer Thomas Arnold."

Arnold: "Superintendent of police, now."

Doctor: "Aw, well, congratulations!"

He shakes his hand warmly, then turns to Laura to explain.

"Rose and I helped him save London once."

Laura: "I guess that one never made it into the series…."

Arnold: "By the by, where did Rose get to?"

The Doctor has gone quiet, staring out the window. His arm is propped up on the doorframe, his clenched fist pressing against his teeth. Laura senses his thoughts and squirms uncomfortably. He speaks without turning back to them.

Doctor: "Parallel world."

Arnold: "But you said that was impossible."

Doctor: "It is."

Arnold: (slowly, realizing) "Then you can't go—"

Doctor: "Nope."

Arnold: (sighing) "I'm sorry."

The Doctor seems to snap out of… whatever he was in.

Doctor: "What? Oh, no, it's nothing, 's nothing…. Lose companions all the time… they go home… get trapped… die… 's nothing new. At the rate she's going Laura here's goin' to get herself shot. 'S nothing new…. What do I care? What do I care?... Where are you taking us, then?"

Arnold: "Hmm? Oh, yeah, well. We're in the middle of a real dandy of a case down at the station. I saw you on the pavement as I was ridin' through, an' I remembered the time you helped us before. We need those little toys in that blue box of yours… and more importantly, we need that incredible brain you've got tucked away under all that hair. D'you think you can help us?"

Doctor: "What else are friends for?"

Cut to shot of a carriage trotting past a drably imposing building. The POLICE HEADQUARTERS sign is visible as it moves out of frame. The street sounds muffle any conversation as the Doctor and Co. enter.

Switch to the bottom of a dusty looking stairwell. The Doctor and Co. begin climbing at a leisurely pace. Arnold is removing his hat and coat as he speaks.

Arnold: "Sorry 'bout the cramped quarters, Doctor. We've sort of camped out in my private office, lookin' for a nice sequestered spot, an' all that. I'll introduce you to the rest of the team."

Doctor: "Ehm, about that –"

Arnold: "Still goin' by John Smith?"

Doctor: "As always."

Laura: "Why do I suddenly feel as if I'm no longer part of this conversation?"

Cut to inside the office, where Warren and two other men stand, reading various documents. The door opens and the Doctor and Co. spill in. Arnold hangs his hat and coat on a rack as he enters, and the Doctor follows suit.

Arnold: " 'Ello, chaps, sorry I'm late. Stopped to pick up the solution to our little mystery. Gents, I'd like you to meet Detective John Smith, the most brilliant mind I've ever come across."

They eye him with mild suspicion, putting down their papers. The man behind the desk, small with dark sophisticated features, comes forward first, offering a hand.

Abberline: "Inspector Frederick Abberline. It's a pleasure."

Doctor: "Naw, pleasure's all mine."

The man by the window approaches next; he is older, greying, with stiff whiskers, very military and gruff.

Reid: "Edmund Reid. Detective. Hope you live up to Tommy's advertisement, wot?"

Doctor: "One can only hope."

Warren is a bit aloof, but he walks over and offers his hand.

Warren: "Sir Charles Warren."

Doctor: "Aw, would y' look at that! The Nobility!"

Warren: "And which department are you from, Detective Smith, if I may ask?"

Doctor: "Oh, that'd be Cardiff."

Warren: "Really?"

Doctor: "Yep."

They have a staring match of sorts, until Warren notices Laura.

Warren: "And who is this charming creature?"

He is raising her hand to his lips until her last word.

Laura: "I'm Laura, his wife."

Warren: "Oh."

She smirks as he lets her hand drop. Over his shoulder, the Doctor raises an eyebrow and mouths, "Wife?" Her answering expression is a bit flirty, and seems to say, "Well,…." Arnold shuffles over to his desk.

Arnold: "Well, gents, introductions done, let's fill Detective Smith in on the case, shall we?"

Reid: (militarily) "Really, sir. With the lady present? – I must protest."

The Doctor has pulled out his glasses and is leaning over Arnold's desk, waiting for him to dig out the case files. He speaks with little interest.

Doctor: "Oh, don't worry, she's American."

Reid:

Warren: "Oh."

Abberline:

Laura is a smidge offended, but goes to join the two at the desk. Arnold has arranged four folders in front of them, as well as three bloody letters in a stack.

Arnold: "There it is, Detective. Four murders since August, the two latest on the same night. All prostitutes, East End, specifically Whitechapel. Other than that, no apparent connection among the victims. Killer calls himself 'Jack the Ripper.' The rest's in the case files."

Doctor: (examining a letter) "Aw, Jack the Ripper…. 'S good, it's a good name. Good strong moniker's what you need in that business. Well, gentlemen, as much as I have enjoyed your company, you really must be going now. Sniff for clues, and all." (pause) "Well, run along."

Warren folds his arms and sneers snobbishly, looking over at Arnold.

Warren: "Oh, really, Thomas, allowing this out-of-department upstart to throw you out of your own office?"

Abberline: (rather venomously) "An' after we've done such a marvellous job at solvin' the case wivout him, eh, Warren?"

Arnold: "Freddy's right, you two. I've seen the Detective work, he needs time alone, left to 'is own devices. We'll nip out for a drop or two, right??"

Reid: "Absolutely, sir."

Warren: "If we must."

Reid and Abberline exit. Warren hangs back a moment, and Arnold waits to close the door.

"How do I know we can trust you with our files, Mr. Smith?"

The Doctor's grin displays the cold calculating thought behind it.

Doctor: "Well… I suppose you can't."

Another staring match is brewing, but Arnold forces Warren to leave. The door closes.

"Finally!!"

He dives into the files, reading several pages at once, at lightening speed.

Laura: "What exactly are you doing?"

Doctor: "Detecting."

Laura: "Hey – Newsflash, Doc Sherlock. Youcan'tsolvethiscase! You solve the case, you change history!"

Doctor: (still reading) "Who said anything about solving it…."

Laura: "Then would you please tell me what it is you're 'detecting'?"

Doctor: (glances up) "Whatever Sir Charles Warren is trying to hide from us."

He throws open another folder.

"He's been on edge ever since we arrived. Didn't want us on the case, didn't want us looking in the files. There's something here he doesn't want us to see…. Ah, something… like… this."

He triumphantly points to a passage in the autopsy.

Laura: "What?"

Doctor: "Look at this. The post-mortem talks of two slashes traversing this woman's throat. Now over here. The picture… only shows one."

Laura: "What, you think they've been tampered with?"

Doctor: "Or forged all together. And it looks like there are similar mistakes in the other three."

Laura: (drops a photo) "Ugh, I dunno how you can tell. They don't even look human anymore."

The Doctor has stopped and is staring at the picture.

Doctor: "They're not."

Laura: "What's that you say?"

Doctor: "Well, at least their organs aren't, anyway. Nope. Definitely not human. Hm."

Laura: "By 'not human,' what, you mean alien?"

Doctor: "Not necessarily. For instance, see that heart there?"

Laura: "No." (He gives her a look) "What?? The picture's grainy – and you have your… super Timelord vision."

Doctor: "Well, that heart happens to be the heart of a Suidae Sus, otherwise known as your common pig."

Laura: "A pig heart? Why?"

Doctor: "Well, pig organs are often used as imitation human bits; the systems bear many similarities. Indistinguishable, to the untrained eye."

Laura: "But if the organs are fake, then—"

Doctor: "Then so are the photos. These crime scenes are staged, the autopsies are forged."

Laura: "Warren?"

Doctor: "Oh, who else, who else? But now the question is, why?"

Laura: "And… how do we answer that?"

Doctor: (removes glasses, grinning) "Find the real reports."

Cut to an obviously East End area. The Doctor and Laura walk briskly through the crowd, ignoring yelling vendors. The Doctor holds a leather-encased badge. Laura narrows her eyes at him.

Laura: "Where did you get that?..."

Doctor: (as if he's been caught) "Oh – well, Tommy won't mind. Besides, it's only in case the psychic paper doesn't work. There have been occasions, y' know."

Laura: "Right. OK, question number two, oh Grand Detective: if our suspect is a member of the Nobility, why are we scrounging around Covent Garden for clues?"

Doctor: (sideways grin) "Ah, elementary, my dear Laura! Simply put, these people here see everything underhanded that goes on in this city, unlike Warren's upper crust acquaintances. And what's more, they're far more likely to talk. In here."

They cut into a small damp side street. Camera shifts; the two are seen from a distance, as if the viewer is watching them from the shadows of the nearest building. Their conversation is unheard; all sound is muffled.

Cut back to them. They have stopped in front of a run-down boarding house; a dirty looking girl watches suspiciously from the window.

Laura: "Why here?... Spidey senses tingling?"

Doctor: "Well, you might say that. I've been here before, in the 1870's. And I happened upon the discovery that the owner of this particular boarding house knows nearly everything about nearly everybody. If you can convince her to talk."

As they approach the door, a sound is heard at the corner of the building. A dark-haired, careless looking young man is seen approaching.

Man: "Ahem…."

Laura and the Doctor both jump.

Man: "If you're looking for Miz Evans, she's been quite ill. Not herself. But, if there's anything I could tell you, feel free."

Doctor: (Slightly sceptical) "Detective John Smith, Scotland Yard."

Man: (offering his hand) "Wells. Herbert Wells, precisely, but I try not to publish that part. I'm staying here at Miz Evans', trying to put myself through school. You on an investigation, then?"

Doctor: "Of sorts. I need information about the dealings of the illustrious Sir Charles Warren. Not the kind of information that's widely known, you understand."

Wells: "Ah… he's into something, then? What's it… espionage?"

Laura: "Quite possibly. That's what we're looking for."

Doctor: "We need to find out if he has any contacts here in East End… if he's seen here, who he talks to, where he goes… that sort of thing."

Wells: (thinking) "Hmm… no, can't say I've seen him. 'Cept in papers, y' know. He's on that… eh… Ripper case, isn't he?"

Doctor: "Yep. Yes he is."

Wells: "Well, hope you two let him catch that monster before you pounce on him."

He shoves his hands in his pockets. As he turns to leave, he suddenly remembers something and spins around.

"Oooh, Mickey!"

Doctor: "What's that?"

Wells: "My friend Mickey! I only just remembered. He started workin' for Sir Charles back in August, sort of a… personal secretary type thing. His name's Jameson. Mickey Jameson."

Doctor: "Where can we find him?"

Wells: "Scotland Yard, I should think. Warren's private office. Does this help?"

The Doctor begins shaking Wells' hand excitedly.

Doctor: "Indeed it does, my friend, indeed it does! Thank you, Herbert, Mr. Wells, I shall look into that immediately! C'mon, Laura!"

They rush off, back towards the street. Wells looks slightly bemused.

Wells: "Glad to be of service…."

As he watches them go, he shoves his hands back into his pockets. A staticky, radio-like whine is heard. He glances down; the antenna of the device is sticking out of his pocket. He pulls it out and points it at the receding figure of the Doctor. The needle goes wild. He is shocked.

"Bloody…."

Music fade in, cut to commercial.

Scene opens with a shot of the base of a house of cards on a desk. Two measures of crisp military-style drumming, then enter fifes and piccolos in a very British style as the camera pans upward. At the top, a freckled hand is seen placing a queen of hearts on the house. Cut to side view of the whole house and the concentrating clerk. Music begins fading into the background.

Jameson: "C'mon, y' Majesty. Nice an' easy…. Bit more… bit more…."

He places the card and sits back carefully, speaking in a triumphant whisper.

"That's it!"

He looks very pleased with himself. Then, the door is thrown open and the Doctor stomps in; the rush of air collapses the card house as Jameson grabs for it vainly.

"Aw, now what'd you go an' do that for?"

Doctor: "Never mind that. Are you Mickey Jameson?"

He has put on his glasses and is simultaneously examining both the clerk and the room.

Jameson: "Aye, that's me. What d' you want? What're you doin' in Mr. Warren's office?"

The Doctor is going through all the file drawers. Laura is into the desk drawers at Jameson's feet.

"Hey, get out down there! You can't be in there!"

The Doctor marches over, leans on the desk and gives Jameson a superior glare, one eyebrow raised menacingly.

Doctor: "What do you do for Sir Charles?"

Jameson: "Who's askin'?"

Doctor: (glaring) "Detective Smith. Scotland Yard."

He begins moving around the desk towards Jameson, who begins shrinking back in the chair.

"I'm investigating, you're answering. You're telling me everything I need to know."

Jameson: "Or what?"

The Doctor pulls out the sonic screwdriver and shoves it in his face.

"Oh, is that all? Point a fancy torch at me face?"

Doctor: "It's not a torch, it's a - oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand. Suffice to say, it has the capacity to kill you, and in a very painful manner."

He moves it close to Jameson's nose; the clerk's eyes cross in an attempt to watch it.

"Now. What is it you do for Sir Charles?"

Jameson: (looking worried) "P – p – personal secretary."

Doctor: "Which means?"

Jameson: "Odd bits here an' there. F – fetch the mail, answer th' door, keep the books… usually I keep people out of here…."

Laura: "So you're a glorified errand boy?"

Jameson: (turning) "Personalsecretary."

Laura: "Whatever."

Doctor: "Hey."

He recaptures Jameson's attention with a wave of the screwdriver.

"When you say you fetch the mail, d' you ever send off the mail too?"

Jameson: "Yeah…."

Doctor: "Ever carry messages or papers personally?"

Jameson: "Well, now that you mention it, yeah… quite a bit, recently."

Doctor: "Ha, now we're getting somewhere!"

He puts away the screwdriver as he explains to Laura.

"Warren wouldn't trust the real reports to the mail. He'd make sure they were hand delivered, and by someone who knew little enough about what was going on to keep them both safe."

He kneels in front of Jameson's chair, hands on the chair arms, looking him in the eye.

"Tell me. Where do you deliver these papers?"

Jameson: "It's this little office, right in town. Sort of hidden – like. They're a branch of some bigger place, out in Scotland. Real secretive blokes."

Doctor: (already guessing) "What's it called?"

Jameson: "I dunno… but the envelopes all say Torchwood."

Laura and the Doctor give each other "that look."

Doctor: "That's what I was afraid of."

The sound of Wells' device fades in before the scene changes. Swift cut then to the device. It is dark. Pan up from Wells' hand to his face. He looks dark, driven, and intent. A woman's laughter is heard; he switches off the device and pockets it, glances around, then heads off after the sound.

Cut to a narrow alleyway. Wells walks toward the camera. Sounds of female conversation may be heard, mixed with one quiet male voice. Wells reaches the alley's end and glances either way down the tiny street. Cut to a scene further down that street. Mary, another woman, and a young man stand on the pavement, under a dim street lamp.

Woman: "Looks like you're the last one, then."

Mary: (sadly) "Last o' that group, anyway."

Woman: " 'S a shame." (awkward pause) " 'S a downright shame."

Man: "More 'n a shame. It's a plot. Somebody's pickin' us off."

Woman: "Bobby…."

Bobby: "Don't pretend, Vi. Don't pretend it isn't. There's nothin' coincidental about any of it. Somebody's findin' us Trionians, somehow or other, an' – "

Vi: "Ha!"

Bobby: "Oh, you c'n laugh, 'cos you're safe. You're 'uman. But wot about Mary, here? Wot about me?"

Mary: "Come off it, Bobby."

She shivers, as if trying to ward off the truth of his words. Bobby shuffles anxiously, then begins gesturing.

Bobby: "Right. So, your madman – out of th' 'ole bloody population of London, 'e goes out, on 'is killin' spree, an' 'e just 'appens to pick four women, who just 'appen to be all of Mary's friends, who just 'appen to all be alien refugees from Trion in disguise? Oh, yeah, that's bloody likely. 'E's findin' us. 'E 'ates us, an' 'e's goin' after us one by one."

Mary: (harshly) "An' what if 'e is? Hmm? What then, Bobby? What the devil are we supposed t' do about it?"

There is an awkward, stiff silence. Camera changes – a one or two second close-up of each face. Bobby bites his lip, shuffles, then finally sighs and takes Mary by the shoulders.

Bobby: "Jus' … be careful. C'n you do that? Watch who y' go wiv. Feel 'is pockets." (soft laughter from both) "If y' see steel, scream bloody murder, eh?" (she nods) "Good job."

He and Vi begin moving upstage, toward a darker alley. They stop after a few feet, seeing that Mary isn't following.

Vi: "Comin' along, then, Mary?"

Mary: (shakes her head) "Naw, I'll 'ead 'ome tonight. I've got enough f'r a while, an' … Bobby thinks I need t' be careful. G' night."

Both: "G' night, Mary."

The group parts; Bobby and Vi walk back toward Wells' alley, where he may be seen slinking out. He nods in deference to Vi, then moves in Mary's direction. She has turned and is walking toward an even darker alley further down. Camera follows her for a moment, then cuts to Wells' face. Slow pan down his right side to the antenna protruding from his pocket. The sound is heard. Camera moves with his pocket as he walks for a moment, then stops as he turns into the alley after Mary. His coat flaps in the wind and covers the camera – screen goes black.

Fade in camera panning around the walls of Arnold's dark office. Pause on the tense figure of Sir Charles Warren, seated at Arnold's desk. His fingers are laced together in front of him; his head is bent.

Female voice: "I know your past record is that of a most faithful and reliable representative of our organization. However; I find that the recent discharging of your office leaves… somewhat to be desired."

Camera cuts to the window; a short female silhouette, wide skirts and a hint of a crown, is seen black against the blue moonlight.

"You know why I am here?"

Warren: "Yes, your Majesty."

Victoria: "First, the prototype for the biological indicator goes missing. We dismissed it, as no one who possessed it outside of Torchwood could know its uses or its means of operation. Now we have a chain of murders in the slums, the murdered persons all found to possess alien anatomy. Very well. The murderer is of no concern to us as his victims are all intergalactic refugees and not likely to be missed. You had been serving us well, Sir Charles. The files duly reported. The forgeries carefully prepared. The whole alien incident covered up. Swept under the rug."

Camera moves to show Victoria in profile.

"And then you perform the one action which could sabotage all we have worked to accomplish. You placed your forged files in the hands of the one man who could see right through them."

She turns as violently as possible for her age and social bearing.

"The DOCTOR!!!!"

Warren: "Your Majesty, I assure you, I was unaware of his identity."

Victoria: "Oh, for God's sake, Charles! 'DetectiveSmith?' … 'Cardiff?' I placed you in this position by merit of your astuteness. Perhaps I may have been given cause to recant this decision."

He rises, hiding his desperation.

Warren: "Your Majesty, forgive me, but if you would call it to your memory, I was shown his portrait only once – and Dobby is not among the best of artists, especially when sketching from memory only! How was I to recognise him?"

He rises fully and bows his head in deference as she heads for the door.

Victoria: "I don't care for your excuses, Charles. And I don't care for your failure. And most of all, I don't care for the Doctor."

Warren: "Yes, Your Majesty."

Victoria: "Find him."

Warren: "Of course, your Majesty."

Victoria: "Tonight."

She gives him that "I'm about to eat your soul" look. He bites his lip. Suddenly she becomes cheery again.

"Good evening, Sir Charles. And happy hunting."

She opens the door. Two men in black escort her down the stairs. Camera roams from Warren's face to the hat left on the wall hook by the Doctor earlier that day. Hold shot for a moment, zooming only fractionally. We hear but do not see Warren exit and slam the door.

Cut to an East End alley. Laura and the Doctor come into view from the right. The Doctor is in something approaching a frenzy.

Doctor: "Torchwood! Tor-- Why is it alwaysTorchwood?!?"

Laura: "It's the archenemy thing. I mean, yeah, you've got the Daleks, but after the Series Three Manhattan episodes, you just look at them and all you see is cute little squid monsters. Now Torchwood, they're never cute."

He has stopped and is staring at her blankly.

Doctor: "I didn't really want an answer, y' know."

Laura: "Whatever. Okay, this is the part where you explain what's going on to your companion, and once she deciphers it, you come up with a plan."

Doctor: "Right. Here's what we know: the first four Ripper murders have occurred. All four of these women were somehow connected, and in all four cases, Warren – working for Torchwood – covered up evidence by forging photos and autopsies. Now, we must ask ourselves: what is the Torchwood company designed for, what is it obsessed with?"

They are walking and talking.

Laura: "Extraterrestrial life?... and the concealment thereof?"

Doctor: "Exactly. Now this suggests the connection among the victims is something of that nature. So if – "

Laura: (stopping abruptly) "Wait a minute, where's your hat?"

Doctor: (confused) "What?"

Laura: "The hat.Youhave to wear it. Otherwise, it's notfair!"

He attempts to walk on, avoiding her eyes.

Doctor: "I dunno… probably left it in Arnold's office."

Laura: "Well we've gotta go back and get it."

He messes up his hair out of stress.

Doctor: "Look, we don't have time to worry about the hat right now!"

He keeps walking; she follows, turning purple with indignation.

Laura: "Oh?? Well, y' know what?? MaybeI don't have time to worry about this corset!! Maybe I should just strip right here in this alley!!!"

They stop walking, listening. From the alley they had been heading for, some very vulgar and suggestive sounds are heard. The Doctor peeks around the corner, jerks back quickly, and makes a disgusted face.

Doctor: "Well, you wouldn't be the only one. Come on! Other way!"

They enter the opposite alley.

Laura: "You were saying?"

Doctor: (clears throat) "Well, our next move is to discover the connection. That means we must locate and question the final victim, Mary Jane Kelly, before she is killed."

Laura: "Which will be when?"

Doctor: (thinking) "Well, according to-- ooh…."

Laura: "Oooh? Oooh what?"

Doctor: "We've only got half an hour."

They look at each other for a moment, then both take off running, the Doctor in the lead. Camera follows them, then pans past them, through buildings, a long, slow movement to convey passage of great distance. Open out in a dim alley, one weak street lamp. It is an intersection of smaller alleys. Loud silence. Distant city sounds and vague echoes of music. Mary enters, acting cold and a little nervous. Pulling her ratty shawl tighter, she makes her way through the refuse to the door of the corner building. Reaching deep into the bosom of her dress, she pulls out a key and shoves it in the lock.

Doctor: (from the far left alley) "Mary! Mary Kelly!!"

She turns, startled, then goes back to the door.

Mary: "Sorry, sir. Turnin' in early t' night. If y' come back tomorrow – "

Doctor: "No, wait! Just – "

He stumbles over some trash, reaches her, and catches his breath. Laura follows.

"Just wait. I need to talk to you."

Mary: "About what?"

Doctor: "What were they hiding, Mary? The five of you, what were you hiding? What was it? What's the connection?"

She is clearly rattled, and tries to go in to escape him.

Mary: "I dunno what y' talkin' about."

As she turns, he catches her arm and pulls her back around, forcing her to look at him.

Doctor: "Oh, I think you do, Mary. I think you know very well. Those murders were being investigated and covered up by Torchwood. And Torchwood only means one thing. What are you under that skin, Mary?"

She appears indecisive for a moment, the sighs, and the shimmering begins. She shapeshifts. Blue, with misty grey-green eyes.

"Ah, Trionian. Well, that does explain some things."

Laura: "You… wanna run that by me again, Doc?"

Doctor: "Trion. The central planet in a galaxy that the mainstream public has yet to be informed of. Except for a few patches in the south, entirely industrialised. Ever watch Star Wars?"

Laura: "Yeah…."

Doctor: "Bit like Courascant, 'cept the slums are worse."

Mary: "Much worse, no 'elp from the gov'ment, of course."

Doctor: "Is that why you were here? Refugees?"

Mary: "The slums on Earth are still safer than anywhere back 'ome."

Doctor: "How many more are there?"

Mary: "About ten more, from our ship. I dunno how many other groups."

Doctor: "And you all keep t' your human form outside your homes?"

Mary: "Everyone I know of, yeah." (pause) "I dunno how they know, Doctor. It is the Doctor, isn't it? I've 'eard tales of you. Quite the legend, you are. Well may'aps you can be the one to figure it all out. B' cause I bloody well can't. Nobody could've knowed they was Trionian."

Doctor: "But somebody did?"

Mary: "But somebody did. They found us out, an' they started pickin' us off."

Laura: "How?"

Mary: (shrugging) "That's your job t' figure out. An' it's my job t' keep my 'ead down until y' do. Now, if you'll excuse me…."

She puts her hand on the doorknob as a hint for them to leave. The Doctor stares at her for a moment, rather sadly, then he and Laura walk away, turning into the nearby alley, where the TARDIS is hidden. The Doctor leans against the wall, arms crossed.

Doctor: "And now we wait."

Laura: "Y' mean, for her to…."

She makes a cutting motion across her throat, and the Doctor nods.

"But she was going home, right? Shouldn't she be safe in there? The door has a lock, doesn't it?"

Doctor: (eyes closed) "Mary Kelly, the only Ripper victim to be killed inside her own home."

Cut to the dark interior of the corner house. Mary enters, shoves the key back into the bosom of her dress, and heads for the hearth, leaving the door half open. Camera looks out at her from inside the fireplace. As she lights the fire, a figure appears in the doorway behind her, in a hat and greatcoat. He comes in, leans against the wall; the device buzzes in his left hand, the knife is out in his right. He speaks as he closes the door, keeping his hand on it.

Wells: "Hello, Mary Jane."

She turns swiftly, gasping. As he comes toward her, she backs toward the bed in the corner. He walks heavily and with purpose, grinning. We see him lunge for her. She screams as the camera pans upward and out of the scene. The scream carries on and fades as the camera cuts back to the Doctor, his eyes still closed.

Laura: "You can't change the past."

Doctor: "Yeah. I know."

Both are silent for a moment, then Laura begins walking, taking him by the shoulder as she goes.

Laura: "Well, come on. Gotta go play Time Cop. Time to catch the bad guy."

They walk around the corner. Camera floats up past the roof tops to focus on the moon. Fade in music, cut to commercial.

Scene opens with Wells, standing by Mary's fireplace, wiping the knife blade clean. A bloody mess can barely be seen on the bed behind him. Camera pans down halfway as he tosses the rag on the fire. Cut to outside in the alleyway. The door opens and Wells exits. As he looks up, the camera moves to show the Doctor standing, calm, hands in pockets, staring him down. He smiles and mimics the Doctor's stance.

Wells: "Ah, hello. Lovely evening for a hunt, isn't it, Detective? Or should I say… Doctor?"

He laughs arrogantly at the Doctor's expression.

"Oh, I've found out all about you, Doctor. Your friends at Torchwood have quite the detailed record of your exploits. A pretty little blue box, you have. What was it, the TARDIS? I imagine time travel is quite the adventure."

Doctor: (with a sad smile) "Herbert George Wells. Mostly called HG Wells. Destined to become one of the world's greatest science fiction writers. Some of your readers would be very disappointed to learn what sort of man you really are."

Wells: "Is that what you've seen in my future, Doctor? Unlikely. I'll tell you what sort of man I am. I'm a man of vision. I have seen the future, Doctor, because I have seen its machines, its weapons, its knowledge. I told you my friend Jameson is in the employ of Torchwood? A good friend, Mickey, but an idiot. He has no idea what the things he sees there are capable of. Sometimes he brings me things, small papers or objects he sees lying about in their workrooms. The latest one is my favourite, though. Would you like to see it, Doctor?"

He pulls out the device, and the Doctor gasps.

Doctor: "That's a biological indicator…."

Wells: "Yes, Doctor. That's how I did it. That's how I discovered them. It's just a prototype, you understand, but within a week or so of receiving it, I realized that the lower class here in East End was just brimming with intergalactic scum like them. I thought that was as high as it went. So imagine my surprise when my little toy here begins buzzing merrily every time I point it in your direction."

He begins reaching for his knife and circling ominously.

Doctor: "This is genocide."

Wells: "This is pest control!"

He begins inspecting the edge of his knife blade.

"I don't know what you are, Doctor. But I know what you are not. And you are not… a human. Are you like them, then? All purple and blue, hideous slimy eyes, tentacles like a squid… a shapechanger? Or are you something worse?"

Doctor: "I'm alive… and so was she!" (pointing to the house) "And so were all of them, till you got hold of that little toy. Now –"

Wells: "If she was alive, then she didn't deserve it! It's only us, Doctor! Only humans, me and others like me, that deserve to live! We perfected it – and as far as I'm concerned, we're the only ones who do it!"

The Doctor looks as if his skull is about to crack open with rage. He spits out his words.

Doctor: "Blastedhumans!! You think you're so superior, you give yourselves so much credit, when really you've only gotten where you are because of your bloodyincorrigible stubbornness!!! You're ignorant of your own ignorance!!"

Wells: "We are superior! We were made in God's image."

The Doctor gets that cold look, one eyebrow raised.

Doctor: "So you'll blame your ownGod for your stupid destruction of life?!? Well let me tell you something: if your God exists like you say… He created those women, that species, and all the rest, with a purpose… just like He created you."

Wells: "And He made the dogs to follow us, and the cows to serve us… and the fox to be hunted and slaughtered for our pleasure. A rather fitting twist to your analogy, wouldn't you say?"

The Doctor glares at him a moment, lip quivering with rage, then without warning, he nearly takes Wells' nose off with a Timelord strength right hook.

Laura: "Well then. Didn't see that one coming."

Doctor: "Neither did he."

Warren: "And neither did I."

Both turn sharply. Sir Charles Warren is leaning against the far alley wall, watching them, looking as if he may have been there for some time.

"Resorting to physical violence now? Really, Doctor, have we lowered ourselves that far?"

Doctor: (smiling) "I was wondering when you'd realise who I was."

Warren: "I was… informed… by Her Majesty not long ago."

Doctor: "Ah, does Queen Vicky still consider me an enemy of the crown?"

Warren: (moving closer) "Her Majesty is quite ruffled by your involvement in this matter; she requests your presence immediately."

Doctor: "Or it's your head, right? Well, you may tell Her Majesty that, as much as I hate to disappoint her, there are more pressing matters at hand."

He crouches beside the unconscious Wells and fishes the sonic screwdriver out of one of his hidden pockets. Laura and Warren come to stand behind him as he changes the setting.

Laura: "Now what are you doing?"

Doctor: "Well, as it turns out, unlike in your television program, my sonic screwdriver is good for something other than opening doors."

He holds the screwdriver up in front of him and it begins glowing softly.

"Hold his eyes open please."

Laura comes over, pulls Wells up by the collar, and holds open his eyelids, looking confused and slightly uncomfortable. The Doctor moves the screwdriver across in front of Wells' face; it glows more brightly for a moment, hums, then turns off.

Warren: "What did you do to him?"

Doctor: (standing up) "I've erased his memory, Mr. Warren. Well, not all of it, just the recent part. You'll thank me later."

Warren: "And why on Earth should I thank you?"

The Doctor puts the screwdriver back in his pocket and turns to face him, hands in pockets, smiling.

Doctor: "Because I just kept him from revealing all of Torchwood's secrets. He'd seen too much, and he'd been told a lot more. If those things had gotten out… who do you think Her Majesty would've held responsible?"

He raises an eyebrow and grins; Warren realises that the Doctor has done him a favour.

Warren: "Yes… well… I… I thank you, Doctor. I do."

Doctor: "Didn't do it for you. Those secrets aren't due to be out for another… oh, quite a few years, at least. Well, come along, Laura. Time to get you out of that corset."

As they turn to leave, we see Warren react to that last statement. Make up your own joke. Suddenly, the Doctor remembers something and runs back to the unconscious Wells.

"Oh, by the way!"

He takes the device and the knife from the ground and hands them to Warren.

"You might want to have a word with that clerk of yours… about that information leak… if you know what I mean."

Warren: "I see."

Doctor: "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, vamoosing before you recover your wits enough to stop me. Well, it's been lovely. Time to go, an' all that! Toodles! Come on, Laura, allons - y!"

They retreat, leaving Warren staring at the device in his hand. Once around the corner, they slow to a leisurely walk. The TARDIS is in view at the end of the alley.

Laura: "Hey, nice right hook back there, champ."

She playfully boxes his arm. He grins.

Doctor: "Ah, well… you know what they say… float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, an' all that." (They laugh.) "I promise you, though, I'm not always this violent."

Laura: "No, no, it works for you. It's good. As was that whole memory erasing thing. Very Men in Black."

Doctor: "Well, you didn't think England had the corner on the alien technologies market, did you? We aren't the only country with a secret extraterrestrial program. Where do you think I got that bit?"

Laura: "No."

Doctor: "Oh yeah."

Laura: "Oh, no…."

Doctor: "Oh, yeah."

Both are laughing as they enter the TARDIS. It begins to fade out; cut back to the opposite alley. Warren is waking Wells and helping him to his feet. His nose is bleeding and he looks terrible.

Wells: "Unh…. What's goin' on?"

Warren: "You were attacked. Here."

He gives him a handkerchief to clean off the blood. Wells does so painfully.

Wells: "By who, who attacked me? What's happened?"

Warren: (nonchalantly) "A madman. You're lucky, young man, lucky he didn't take your whole face off with that fist."

Wells: "Why, what'd I do? I don't remember anything."

Warren: "You tried to stop him committing a crime. A valiant effort, but unfortunately, he succeeded. Oh, keep it."

Wells has offered him back his handkerchief, but now he pockets it. Warren takes him by the shoulders.

"Now, I need you to do something for me. I shall stand here to guard the scene. I need you to run to the police. Find Superintendent Arnold and the other detectives. Bring them back here."

Wells: "And what shall I tell them has occurred, sir?"

Warren: "Tell them the Ripper has struck again."

After a bit of hesitation, Wells runs off. Once he has gone, Warren glances around to ensure he is alone. Then he fixes his collar and sneaks into the house, closing the door behind him.

Fade in music, cut to commercial.

Fade in to scene with the Doctor in front of the console, pushing random buttons. Laura enters in jeans and a T-shirt, randomly sits in the middle of the floor, and stretches out on her back like a starfish, breathing in and out as deeply and loudly as possible. The Doctor comes over and crouches beside her, grinning. She opens one eye and looks up at him dreamily.

Laura: "Air…."

Doctor: (laughing) "Yes, you can breathe again and my hair is safe. Come on, up you get." (He holds out his hand.) "What d' you say we go somewhere and somewhen that doesn't involve corsets or top hats?"

Laura: (getting up) "Hallelujah. What's our heading, Cap' n?"

Doctor: "Oh, I thought we'd keep it simple this time, stay in the present. Other than that…. What would you say to… another galaxy?"

His left hand rests on a big lever, the right hovering over a panel of buttons. Laura crosses her arms and adopts the "slightly flirty" look.

Laura: "Oooh yes, let's."

Doctor: "Pick a number."

Laura: "42."

Doctor: "Done!"

He pushes a button and throws the lever sharply. The TARDIS rocks. Camera switches – we see it from the outside now, spinning into the distance. As it fades out of sight, scene abruptly switches and all sound stops completely. We see Wells, sitting up in bed in a dark room, glancing around as if trying to recover a glimpse of something. He runs a hand over his face and through his hair. Then he glances over to his right, where we can just make out the shape of a writing desk.

The next frame shows a match being struck, followed by a shot of Wells lighting a candle. He sits down at the desk, pen in hand, and stares at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. Close up shot of his face as he looks upward and closes his eyes. We see a quick shot of the vortex and hear the sound of the TARDIS. These stop abruptly as he opens his eyes. He glances down at the paper, then begins to write, murmuring as he does.

Wells: "The Time Machine, by HG Wells. 'The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyes shone and twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and….'"

His voice fades. Fade in music. Cut to end credits.