A/N: The Chibi's Are Stalking Me, ChloeIsMe, Cordelia-Lear, Isis the Sphinx, Jessa L'Rynn, Kathryn Shadow, NewDrWhoFan, Olfactory-Ventriloquism, and SilverWolf7 are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project. For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense.
Disclaimer: For some reason we can't put our fingers on, they still don't seem to want to hand the Doctor over to us. Is it something we said?
Dead Men Don't Regenerate
Chapter 3: Opening Remarks
Starring: The Third Doctor and Det. Factor
Detective Factor approached the man in the kitchen with a wary step and a hand at her back (where her service weapon was stored safely out of sight). As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, she was assailed by the wonderful smells of fresh cookies and dark chocolate but she refused to let that distract her. Instead, she approached the gentleman, realizing as she did so that the man looked harried and was brushing a leaf irritably from his hair. "Good evening, sir," she greeted warily. "I'm Detective Factor. I'd appreciate it if you'd come with me."
The man eyed her nearly as warily as she considered him, then reluctantly followed her. At the door, Factor was amused to note, he seemed greatly offended that she opened it for herself. She let him get the second one, since it seemed the polite thing to do, and since she didn't want to explain why she had a gun holster roped into the small of her back.
In another few moments, she'd escorted the man to the cubicle farthest away and set up her portable recorder. "Could you state your name for the record, please, sir?"
The Doctor sighed and shook his head. He hated that question this time around. He always had to have a name... "My name is the Doctor. But, in your case, Doctor John Smith might be more appropriate."
Detective Factor looked surprised at this, her dark eyes dancing briefly before settling back to peer intently into his face. "Do you know why you're here?"
The Time Lord glared at her, making sure she knew he was angry at the questions being asked of him. "My dear woman, if I knew the answer to that question, would I be sitting here looking so confused?" He scowled at the wall across from where he was sitting and finished his answer, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice. "No! I don't know why I'm here. I don't even know where 'here' is."
Detective Factor brushed her hair back with a hand, smiling a small, tentative smile. "What if I told you this was a haunted house, with a dead body in it. Would you know anything about that, then?"
"I'd ask if the body was real or fake, but considering I'm being interrogated over it, I guess it is real." Running a finger over his chin, the Doctor sighed in frustration. "That still doesn't mean I know where I am, or why I am here. And it definitely doesn't mean I know anything about a body in a haunted house. And since I know ghosts don't exist, I very much doubt the house is haunted."
Detective Factor nodded thoughtfully, glancing down at a sheet of paper in her lap. "So... Dr. Smith, I don't find your name on the guest list anywhere tonight. If you didn't know this was a haunted house and open to the public, what exactly were you here for?"
This time, he rubbed at his eyes, knowing that his 'grilling' wouldn't be over for quite a while. Was he honestly in questioning as a suspect to a murder?
"Believe it or not, but I am here quite by mistake. I don't know where or when I am, and your constant questioning isn't helping matters. Where is this Haunted House, and what is the date?"
Factor blinked, then scribbled a note on a hastily conjured pad of paper. It read simply 'psych?', but the Detective knew she wouldn't be forgetting what it meant any time soon. "It's October 31st. I'd have thought, with us both in costume, that that would be very obvious. Also, in case you were very drunk, sir, we're in Metro Beach, Virginia, in the United States, North America, planet Earth. Oh, and it's the twenty-first century, John Cleese is PM, and Arnold Schwarzenegger is President." (She just wanted to see what he'd make of that last bit. He sounded British, so he'd know about the PM, and even the Brits would know if American law had changed to the other extent, right?) She sighed. "How hard did you party tonight, sir?"
He couldn't help it, he really couldn't. These questions were not anywhere near properly asked or the right ones. John Cleese as president? Who did she think he was? And as to the date...well!
"Year, my dear woman, I meant what year it is, the day is quite obvious, yes. As to costumes, how am I supposed to know that you were dressed up, as this is the way I normally dress? I am not in a costume.
"I figured out from your accent and manner of speaking I was in the United States of America somewhere, but at least thank you for answering one of my questions properly."
The Detective opened her mouth for the second time, but the Doctor rushed right over her. "If you honestly think that John Cleese is the Prime Minister and Arnold Schwarzenegger is president though...then I'd say you're the one who has been drinking. Not to mention watching too much television."
Ooops, Detective Factor thought.
"As to my drinking, I rarely do, and even then, alcohol doesn't affect me the same way it does you. I am not drunk, nor have I 'partied' any today. One moment I was in a power plant and the next I was here. Well, I could have ended up anywhere, any time, but that I landed here when a murder happened is by complete chance."
He tried to keep the anger out of his voice as he raised his last point, but he knew by the end of what he said, he was shouting. "I am a doctor, madam, I don't like violence. I only fight if I need to defend myself, and I never would raise a weapon against another for the purpose of killing just for killing. That you even think me capable of this is insulting!"
"Wasn't one of the prime suspects for Jack the Ripper a doctor?" Detective Factor wondered aloud, then quickly raised a hand to stop a rage that looked likely to result in her guest storming away. He was, apparently, open to being helpful, even if he was bat shit crazy. For some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, the Detective was almost sure that the man she had here was not the killer. A killer probably, if he needed to be, no matter what he said, but the killer of this man, she was starting to doubt. "Dr. Smith, you've been very helpful and patient with us, so I apologize if this situation seems a little odd. The truth is, it is odd. Just answer one more question, if you can. Do you happen to know a philanthropist called Ian Master?"
He would have probably ended up yelling at her some more if the questions, all but the last, hadn't stopped. And that last question, well, it had piqued his interest. "Master, you say? Oh, I know a Master. If this is his doing, then I can assure you that, yes, this would not only be odd, but more complicated than you realize. Tell me, is the body still here?"
Detective Factor was abruptly fascinated with the suspicious, wary, and strangely exasperated expression that had just bloomed on Dr. Smith's face. "His doing... wha..." Her phone sang out a loud, overwrought intro from 'Phantom of the Opera' which caused Dr. Smith to smirk at her. Factor checked the number and shook her head, unsurprised but unsure exactly how to handle this. She needed that information.
With a flourish, she silenced her phone. "If you don't mind, Dr. Smith, I've got to step out for a moment. The body isn't here anymore, you see, but I've got to get a report on it. If you can just wait here a moment, the sergeant will be in to take your... what do you call them? particulars? Your contact info, so you'll be able to leave."
Factor could have sworn, as she made her way up the office, that she heard the poor, annoyed Dr. Smith mutter, "Oh, no, my good woman, I've no intention of going anywhere."
To be continued...
