They spent the whole day searching through papers. Actually Vivian spent most of the day, but the Doctor got bored in about an hour and disappeared. It was hard enough to find records on someone if you knew their real name, but it was as if her father had never existed. All she knew for certain was that he had died before she was born. She had scoured the death certificates for that year, but it was impossible to narrow it down.
Vivian was glad to give up when the Doctor arrived with dinner in paper bags. It was dry meat wrapped in what looked like a pancake, but it smelled so good she didn't care. With her mouth stuffed full, she glanced up and saw that he was grinning. "What's the smile for?" she mumbled.
"I've found something about your father," he said, sounding a bit cocky. Vivian's eyes grew wide, and he beamed in satisfaction. "I decided to skip the paperwork and go directly to the source."
She swallowed hard. "The source?"
"Your mother." He pulled a small notepad from his pocket and flipped idly through the pages.
"My mother – and she told you? She actually spoke of my father? To you?"
He pretended to frown. "Don't sound so incredulous, I have my ways. So, aren't you just itching to know what I've got?" He didn't wait for her answer. "A safe box. Your father has a box at the post house."
Vivian was stunned. Her mind started to rush with ideas of what might be in that box. "So, how do we get it? Did my mother have the key? Wait, why didn't she ever get it herself?"
"No key, but I've got something better." He waved a little silver gadget at her, and pocketed it again before she got a good look. "Your mother never retrieved it herself because she didn't want her husband to find out."
"In heaven's name, Doctor, how did you get her to share all this?"
He looked very proud of himself. "I'm the Doctor, remember?" His gaze softened a bit, and he put his hand on Vivian's shoulder. "At her core, she wants what is best for her daughter. When I hinted that any information regarding your father might help with your recovery, she was more than happy to spill."
Vivian put her head down and tried keep her composure. She hadn't let her hopes get too high, and now this was all too much.
"So, Vivie," the Doctor asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement, "when shall we go?"
The pair of them set off early the next morning. Vivian was still unaccustomed to the way the blue box arrived in new places, but it was faster than walking. She did her hair up to look presentable, while the Doctor borrowed a new dress for her off someone's clothesline.
At the post house, a stiff little man in a suit glared at them while the Doctor explained what they were looking for. He took a lamp and grudgingly led them down a dingy hallway.
"Thanks, good man, that will be all," the Doctor dismissed him warmly. The man gave them a suspicious look before walking away.
Vivian found the row and shelf with the numbers matching those in the notepad. "Here, I think
I've found it." She held up the light as he double-checked the numbers. They grinned at each other and pulled on the handle. A flat, long box slid out, dark green metal with a lock on the top.
The Doctor glanced around, then pulled the silver gadget out of his pocket and pointed it at the lock. It made a high-pitched sound and lit up. Vivian gasped, "what in creation is that thing?"
"Screwdriver." The lid popped open and he turned the box with the opening facing her. "After you."
Reverently, Vivian opened the lid and peered inside. The lamp shone on a variety of trinkets; some loose papers, a cloth sack with a drawstring, a small leather-bound book. A round wooden box carved to look like an elephant. Cuff links. A handkerchief with a monogram letter T.
Vivian couldn't decide where to begin, and she didn't know how to feel. She glanced at the Doctor, but he was deep in thought. He delicately pulled at something underneath the pile. It was a sealed envelope. He studied it, then tipped it towards her in the light. "To my child" was printed neatly across it. Her heart pounded. She couldn't bring herself to take the envelope.
The Doctor pretended not to notice, and tucked the envelope back into the side of the box and began gently pushing some of the objects around with a finger.
Vivian picked up the handkerchief and ran her fingers over the raised letter T. Was this referring to his nickname, the Teacher, or did his real name start with T? Next she picked up the wooden elephant. It was an odd little thing, a fat, happy creature, but her father had liked it enough to keep it, and that made her smile. She took off the lid. The only thing inside was an old metal key. She left it and closed the lid.
The Doctor was squinting at one of the papers. Vivian picked up the little cloth bag. It looked like an old coin purse, and it was heavier than she expected. She loosened the drawstrings and turned it over. Out fell a beat-up silver pocket watch. When it landed in her hand, her heart skipped. Without knowing how, she knew that this watch was important to her father. In her mind she could see him packing it away, knowing one day she would find it. She could see his face.
Part of her mind pulled away from the image. The rational part of her brain sounded a warning; she knew that she couldn't possibly know what her father looked like just from holding some of his old belongings. Another part of her knew it was real, and this frightened her and excited her. She squeezed her fingers around the pocket watch, and tried to focus on the memory of a face she had never seen. The two sides of her mind were in disagreement, and it made her vision swim. "Doctor?" She felt dizzy.
"Vivian, what's wrong?" His steadying hand was there, but she couldn't focus her eyes on him.
"I saw his face," she whispered. "My father, I never met him, but I remember him now." She reached out and grabbed hold of him by his coat. "How is that possible?"
Her knees gave way then, but he caught her and swiftly sat her on the floor, leaning up against the wall of shelves. He deftly looked her over, muttering to himself under his breath, shining a light in her eyes. It made her stomach churn, and she shut her eyes tightly. Finally he noticed her clenched fist and gently pulled back her fingers. "Hello, what's this," he began, then practically leaped backwards.
The pocket watch clunked to the floor and spun a little, and suddenly she felt better. She looked up at him and found she could focus her eyes. The expression she saw in his face did not comfort her.
After they had put everything back, carefully and without touching the watch again, the Doctor found a back door and they stole away with the entire box. Vivian wanted to ask him what he knew about that watch, but she was afraid. She couldn't begin to understand the new memories that flooded her mind.
When they were safely back, Vivian sat with the box in her lap as the Doctor paced around the room. He would stop now and then, blurting out some phrase that meant nothing to her. "We can't just leave it," he said, pulling his hair back roughly. "I don't know if there's a protocol for this." Another time he shook his hands at her, "but where would he go if we opened it?"
Finally he turned on his heel and stared at her. "Wait, no. Not him. You." He dropped to his knees in front of Vivian. "Your mother, it wasn't her idea to have you committed. Who talked her into it?"
Vivian stared back blankly. She didn't know where all this was going, but she could practically see the gears turning in his head.
"Oh, Vivie. I'm sorry, I really am. But I'm going to have to ask you to do something very brave. How badly do you want to know the truth?" All she could do was nod. He kneeled down in front of her and gave a sad smile. "Then I'm going to have to take you back to the hospital."
The Doctor had told her the rough outline of his plan, but Vivian could not stop shaking. At first
she had just been angry, furious actually, even took a swing at him. Then came hopelessness and despair, and she had tried to plead with him to find another way. Now she was only terrified. She sat hunched on the bench, clothed in her drab hospital dress again, while the Doctor rambled on.
"Remember, to you it's been over a week, but I'm dropping you off the same day you left, so likely no one will notice you were gone." When she didn't respond, he kneeled down in front of her. "You're a very strong young woman, Vivian. You can do this."
She met his gaze. He looked so earnest. She wanted very badly to believe him. "Promise you won't leave me."
"Cross my hearts. I'll steal back in to get you before the surgery. Besides, you only need to stay long enough for me to figure out who wanted you there in the first place." He offered his hand, which she took, and he led her to the door.
She looked out on a familiar corridor. It was the hall just outside her old ward. It was nighttime. She put one bare foot onto the cold stone floor, then the other.
"Wait," whispered the Doctor. He pulled something out of his jacket and stuffed it into her hand. "Be brave." He kissed the back of her fingers. The next thing she knew, the blue door snapped shut and he was gone.
She stood alone in the hallway for what seemed hours, until a scruffy orderly on security rounds noticed her. "You best not be thinking about running off, Miss Simpkins." He took her by the elbow and led her to one of the doors. "Nurse won't be happy to hear about this." He unlocked the door as he pulled Vivian by the arm. "Maybe we could work something out, and I won't have to tell her."
Vivian cried herself to sleep that night. She wept silently, so as not to bother the dozen other patients in their beds lined up in rows all through the room. She held the handkerchief close, running her fingers over the raised letter T in the dark. This is what the Doctor had thrust into her hands at the last moment. It didn't make her feel brave, but it was proof for her that she hadn't dreamed the whole thing up, so that was something.
She had no pockets, and she knew someone would take the scarf if it was noticed. She decided to tie the scarf around her upper arm. There she could feel it close, but it would stay safely concealed under the sleeve of her hospital dress.
When she finally fell asleep, she slept fitfully. She dreamed of the extraordinary washroom with all the buttons, and all the strange foods she had tasted. She dreamed of Jack and his lips, and how she had felt when she believed him to be dead. More than once she dreamed of that strange creaking sound the blue box made when the Doctor arrived, and she awoke only to the disappointment that the sound was only in her dream.
The next morning, the Head Nurse sent for her before she had even finished her breakfast. Vivian pushed the scarf higher up her arm, and followed a young orderly through the maze of hallways. She was so deep in her own thoughts, she was startled when they arrived at the room.
"Miss Simpkins," the Head Nurse said. She nodded at an exam table, and the orderly nudged Vivian towards it. "A little bird told me that you tried to escape during the night."
Vivian sat down stiffly on the exam table. "Of course not, ma'am." She looked down at her feet, thinking about how dirty they had gotten already.
The Head Nurse shook her head. "Miss Simpkins, we've been over this. Lying is such a destructive behavior. If you wish to get better, you must start speaking the truth."
Vivian lowered her chin to her chest. She knew the nurse was referring to her premonitions; of course everyone believed she was lying. Everyone, except the Doctor.
"I've scheduled you a hydro compression therapy session this morning. I think it should do you quite a lot of good." Vivian started to shake. "Use it as a time to reflect, and think about the best course of action towards your recovery."
The orderly took her again by the arm, but Vivian barely noticed. "I'm sorry," she begged. "Please, just put me in confinement." The nurse looked unmoved. "I think more clearly in there, please. I'm sorry I lied. You're right, ma'am, I just need to make better choices."
The Head Nurse pursed her lips. "Remember that next time," she said coldly. "Take her directly to the hydro room."
Vivian fought, shrieked, and pleaded, but the nurses were well accustomed to that. Hydro compression therapy consisted of wrapping the patient from head to foot in cold, damp sheets. As the sheets dried, they shrunk, squeezing the body tighter and slowing down blood flow. Vivian had experienced this treatment only a few times, but enough to know that she hated it.
She lay on the hard cot for hours, feeling the chill of the cold wrap all the way to her bones. All
the fight had gone out of her. She closed her eyes tight and willed the Doctor to magically appear and whisk her away. If she wished hard enough, she could imagine that the footsteps in the corridor were his. A lilting voice from another room vaguely reminded her of his ramblings. A jaded part of her mind whispered dark thoughts. He was not coming back for her. She was alone, and she would never escape this place, never see him again, not ever. Vivian felt hot tears on her cool face and pushed those thoughts away.
The Head Nurse came to see her again when the treatment was over. "Feeling better, dearie?" she smiled as the nurses unwrapped Vivian's shivering body.
"Yes ma'am," Vivian avoided the nurse's expectant gaze.
"Hot super and early to bed," the Head Nurse said. "You need to rest up for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" she asked through chattering teeth.
"Yes, our surgeon has arrived a few days ahead of schedule. Your procedure has been bumped up!" She smiled brightly.
Vivian thought her heart would stop beating. "Tomorrow," she nodded.
The Head Nurse beamed proudly as the orderlies led Vivian off. This news was too much. Her eyes would not focus, and she trudged along with shuffling, mindless steps.
She barely touched her dinner, and found herself still wide awake long after the other patients had all been put to bed.
The Doctor had sworn to come back in time, but he would have no way of knowing about this change of plans. If he did arrive as planned, three days from now, it would be too late for her. She untied the handkerchief from her arm and stroked it again. "Please Doctor," she whispered. She didn't even know what to hope for. "Please."
The next morning, Vivian remained on her cot until a nurse came to find her. "Miss Simpkins, what are you doing still in bed? You've missed breakfast completely. It's time to get ready for your procedure!" The nurse smiled as if this were happy news.
Prepping for surgery began with a hair cut. Vivian had kept her hair long her entire life, but now they chopped away at it without a thought. She held very still as long strands fell around her and onto her lap. It was shorter than a boy's hair, a mess of uneven tufts.
Next came a washing, where they sprayed her down with a water hose. She considered it the least horrible bit; at least the water was lukewarm.
Finally, they put her on the surgical table, and strapped her down with leather buckles. A nurse would be in soon to sedate her, and then it would be over.
Vivian lay on the table, petrified and motionless. She wanted to scream, to scratch and bite her way out of this, and run without stopping, but it was useless. This was her deathbed, only worse. Her mind would be ruined, but her body would keep on. What things would happen to that body, without her mind to guard it?
The door swung upon. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the surgeon. He strolled past her and picked up her medical chart. "Miss Simpkins, I presume." His accent was foreign sounding, German perhaps? His voice was a little muffled by the surgical mask.
He leaned close to her face and pulled down his mask. "Guten tag." He winked.
"Doctor!" Hot tears filled her eyes. "You're really here."
He looked amused with himself. "I told you I would come back." He ruffled her hair. "Love the 'do."
Vivian was laughing and crying at the same time. "When they moved the surgery, I never thought you'd make it." He held her hand for a moment, and she squeezed his fingers as relief and joy washed over her.
Suddenly his expression changed. His eyes flitted towards the door. "Vivian, I'm going to have to ask you to be brave just a little while longer." He gripped her shoulders. "Listen carefully."
Two nurses came through the door, and the Doctor whirled around. "Letztendlich," he said to them, "lasst uns beginnen!" Both women gave him a funny look. "Apologizes, I forgot where I was for a moment."
"Did you already sedate her?" asked the younger of the two, glancing at Vivian's motionless form.
"Was I not supposed to?" he raised his eyebrows at the nurse.
"It's no matter," said the older nurse. "The operating theater is ready for you."
The two women wheeled the surgical table through a small foyer, then into the surgery room. The operating theater held at least a dozen men of all ages. A hush fell over them when the Doctor made his entrance, shoulders held high.
He strolled around unhurriedly, holding Vivian's medical chart. "Miss Vivian Simpkins, age 20 years." He flipped it open. "Admitted, age 16 years. Reasons for admission include… hysteria, dissolute habits, superstition, irritation of the brain, and novel reading?" He chuckled, and tossed the page over his shoulder. The men in the theater looked around at each other, not sure how to react. The Doctor pulled another sheet from the chart. "Symptoms observed by staff include paranoia, bizarre thoughts, temporary loss of vision, delusions, confused speech, and social dysfunction."
He tossed that page over his shoulder too. "Dissolute habits? Not exactly unheard of for a 16 year old." Some of the men laughed uneasily. "Not uncommon, at least." He began to unbuckle the strap over Vivian's legs. The younger nurse started forwards, but the other motioned her back. The Doctor continued. "Superstition, now that's a tricky one. We're all superstitious, to some extent." He started on the buckle across her hips.
The young nurse stepped forward and put her hand on his arm. "Doctor, what are you doing?" she asked, alarmed.
"What does it look like?" he answered calmly. The nurse dropped her hand. "She's not exactly going to hop up and scamper away," he said pointedly, his mouth very near to Vivian's ear.
"Now where was I? Oh yes, novel reading," he continued, "that can definitely get you into trouble." The men in the theater chuckled forcibly. The Doctor rewarded them with a smile, then unbuckled the final strap across Vivian's chest. "Now you've heard her crimes, is she worthy of the sentence?" His smile was gone. He reached for the chart again, flipped it open without looking at it. "Drill a hole in her skull and scramble her brains around with a stick?"
He walked to the edge of the theater and looked at the men. "All while you sit here and watch, smug and safe from that side of the aisle. Have you ever contemplated how easily it could be you on that table? What's the difference between you and her?"
No one would meet his gaze. The men shifted in their seats, looking uncomfortable. Finally one man spoke up. "Sir, she's a lunatic."
"Says who?" The Doctor turned a cold gaze on him. "The medical staff? They get paid to say that. Her family? They couldn't be bothered with her any longer." He turned and marched over to the surgical table. "Vivie, time to wake up," he said softly.
Vivian opened her eyes. He took her by the hand and helped her sit up. She looked around, confused for a moment. The young nurse took a few steps back, startled, then took off running.
The Doctor helped Vivian down off the table and led her over to his audience. "How does one get to this point? A disobedient, unruly young woman, cast aside by her family when she becomes an embarrassment. Misdiagnosed again and again by self-serving professionals. Tormented with countless experimental procedures and cockamamie treatments. Neglected by an under-trained and overworked medical staff."
He turned and took her face in both hands. "If you weren't mad to begin with, that ought to do it." He stroked her wild hair and she surprised them both by smiling at him.
He faced the men again, his voice even bolder. "What if your loved ones turned on you?" he asked. "What if you became too much trouble, so they named you a lunatic and sent you here?" Each pair of eyes he met turned away. "Upset the wrong person, say the wrong thing, and get packed off to the asylum where they don't have to think about you anymore." He smacked his hands against the railing. "Whose turn will it be next time? Consider that."
The door to the operating room swung open. The young nurse had returned with two orderlies.
Vivian looked to the Doctor. "Time to go," he said. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her over the rail into the theater. He stopped only to grab her medical chart and toss it's entire contents at the orderlies. "Run!" he shouted as he scrambled over the rail behind her.
The mess of papers littering the floor slowed the orderlies very little. The thinner of the two easily hopped the rail and started to give chase. One of the men in the theater stood and blocked his way.
"Out of the way!" the thin orderly demanded, and stepped onto one of the theater seats. But another man moved into his path, then another.
The second orderly had made it over the rail, but he was blocked too. "What's wrong with you," he shouted hysterically. "They're going to escape!"
The man who had called Vivian a lunatic earlier, now stepped forward. "I imagine they will. Is that a problem?"