"Why do I put myself through so much emotional pain?" I wail as I throw my head down on the counter in despair.
No Amy. Pull your shit together. It's just a book. It's not like it ripped your heart out, tore it apart, stapled it back together and shoved it into the empty cavity the is your chest. You're just overreacting. I glance down at my well-thumbed copy of Clockwork Princess.
"I hate you."
Right then a new customer walks into the empty shop.
"Well that's not very nice, is it?"
I glance up and see a tall and very handsome man wearing a long brown coat and dirty white Converse.
"Oh I wasn't, I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to the... book." I stammer.
"You were talking to the book?"
"Sure, that sounds believable" I stutter.
He is very, VERY, handsome. Is it hot in here? I'm feeling kind of hot.
"Alrightttttt..."
I realise that I have been blatantly staring at him for a few moments. Snap out of it.
"What, what can I help you with, sir?" Come on Amy, play it cool. I try to casually lean my elbow on the counter. Of course I slip.
"I'm looking for a book," he says with a glorious English accent.
"Well you are in a bookshop," I sigh. "This is the place where people usually come to buy books."
He glares at me. Don't look directly into the eyes. The eyes are a dark brown abyss that you will never get out of.
"And what sort of book would you be looking to acquire sir?" I say, using the poshest accent I can manage.
"Fiction?" He offers as he begins walking around, waving a small torch at old books perched precariously on shelves.
"Well that's extremely helpful because we don't have a lot of that stuff, this being a bookstore and all." I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster, which is a lot.
"You know you don't need your torch to see the books, we do have electricity here."
He splutters indignantly. "This," he says, waving the torch in the air, "is not a torch, it is a sonic screwdriver."
"I don't know what sort of screws you're using mate but that, is most definitely, not a screwdriver."
Just when I think the gods have dropped a ridiculously hot guy onto my doorstep, it turns out that he's a nutter.
"I'll have you know that it is actually very good at unscrewing screws," he retorts.
I decide to change the subject before I completely piss him off.
"So what sort of fiction book are you looking for?" I offer.
"Well, actually I'm here to make a report for the National Bookstore Alliance," he says, flashing me a piece of paper, "The book was just a cover."
I glance at it and look back at him.
"The National Bookstore Alliance? I've never heard of before."
"Yeah well we're doing some checks to make sure everything being done according to procedure." He says, poking around some more, still waving his torch around. "You know, paper quality and stuff like that."
"Is that right?"
"Yes, very official business." He nods firmly.
"Look, cut the crap. That piece of paper you showed me, it was blank." I glare at him.
He looks down at it, unconcerned.
"Was it? Oh yeah."
Oh great, now I have a gloriously sexy nutcase in my store.
"To be perfectly frank, who the hell are you?"
"Well that's easy, I'm The Doctor." He smiles.
"You're called The Doctor? Doctor what?" I stare incredulously at him.
"Just The Doctor." He holds out his hand.
"Righttttt..." I gingerly stick out my own hand and clasp his.
"Well I'm Amy, and this had been real nice but now I'm going to go lock up the shop now." I let go of his hand.
As I reach to get the keys, 'The Doctor' grabs my wrist.
Jesus H. Christ ovaries calm the fuck down. He touched your hand, he's not asking you to grow his babies.
"Look I need your help. I've been studying this bookstore for weeks and do you know why?" He asks.
"Do tell."
"How long have you worked here?" He asks.
"I dunno, six weeks maybe?" I shrug, about as cool as ghost pepper. HE'S STILL HOLDING YOUR WRIST.
"And in all that time have you ever seen one customer come in here?"
"Of course customers have came in here." I say, a little harsher than I mean to, but then I frown, and think. "Well not a lot, maybe one or two. At least one person, except you, has definitely came in here." I'm just rambling at this point.
He gives me the 'you know I'm telling the truth, don't deny it' look.
"OK well maybe no one has came in but that doesn't mean anything."
"Not one customer in six weeks? Isn't that just the tiniest bit odd?"
"Recession?" I trail off, trying (and failing) to ignore his hand still on my wrist. He seems to notice it too and lets go. A little part of me cries.
"I've detected high alien life force in this area and I am 96.76% certain this shop has got something to do with it. And I need your help."
"I don't know, only 96.76%? I could only help if it was at least 97.14%. Why do you need my help anyway?" I ask.
Five years ago, if someone mentioned alien activity, I would have told them to go see a therapist; but after the Christmas Star and the planets in the sky I, unfortunately, have no choice but to believe them.
"The paper I showed you is psychic paper, it shows people what I want them to see. Only very special people can see through it with no training. You could. You are a very unusual human," he says.
"I hope that isn't a pick-up line you use on everyone." I say, dropping the keys back down on the counter.
"So you'll help me?"
I may be about to do the stupidest thing I have ever done. And I have have done a lot of stupid shit.
"Yes."