Doctor Who: The Long Way Back

Chapter 3

After his revelation, John began to explain the memory flashes from before. "Doctor, when they happened before, they were just passing thoughts or dreams. This time, it was like I was living them. But, it wasn't me. I mean, it was me, or at least it felt like a memory of mine, but I didn't sound like this. First, there was darkness, then I was older, and then, I was young again, but I wasn't as thin, and I had longer hair. Does any of this make any sense?"

Doctor Wells had continued his work while John was talking, taking a blood sample and inserting an IV. After he finished, he replied, "John, I'm out of my depth with you. I'm used to setting broken ankles, vaccinating kids, giving referrals, nothing like your problems. This could be a sign that your memories are coming back, but I really don't know. Other than suggesting that we transfer you, I really don't know what to do other than to wait and see if this problem gets any worse."

With those words, Doctor Wells left. Moments later, Mrs. Wells arrived with a tray of food, set it down, and left herself, to allow John to rest and eat. After his earlier problems with eating, Mrs. Wells had decided to stick with something simple, if tasteless: oatmeal, some blue jello, and a foam cup filled with ice water. Before she had left, she promised something better if he was able to keep that much down. John was thankful for a bit of time to himself, but as his mind wandered, his uneasiness grew. What if there really was something different about him? Would he find himself locked up for the rest of his life? Had he escaped from somewhere? Is that the real reason that he had collapsed in this town? Had he been running?

Not long after he'd finished his unappealing meal, while he was in the midst of questioning his very existence, Jeffrey and Rebecca came into the room and sat with him. They sat, talking about everything and nothing for at least an hour, while Rebecca held his hand, before his guests were certain that he was okay and they could go. After they left, he closed his eyes, and when he opened his eyes again, Doctor Wells was standing over him, checking his vitals, yet again.

"Oh, I didn't mean to wake you, " Doctor Wells apologized, "But I just had to check that you were still okay."

"Isn't that usually a nurse's job?" John asked.

"Actually, anymore, at those big hospitals, it's more of a machine's job. But, then, I never really thought much of those things. It's like cars. Twenty years ago, if your car broke down, you could tinker around and get it working again. Now, they have computers in them, and if something's wrong, you have to hook it up to another computer to see what needs to be fixed. It'll say there's nothing wrong, but you still can drive the car. It's gotten a bit like that with medicine. No style."

John nodded, seeming to remember an appreciation for old things, and then suddenly remembering the memory flash from before, "Doctor, if I tell you something, do you promise not to lock me up?"

"Well," he said cautiously, "if you're going to tell me that you're a terrorist or something like that, no. But, if it's something about your health, I'm your doctor. My first rule is to do no harm. I dare say that 'locking you up' would fit in that realm."

John began, "Earlier, when you said that I blacked out, I told you about looking different, but it was more than that. There was this woman, a surgeon, and she called me Mr. Smith. She said that I would be okay, but I told her that I wasn't human. When, I saw her again, I was younger than when I saw her the first time, but it was actually later. It makes no sense, but it feels real. What if the dream was real? You said that my heart was messed up – maybe I'm not human, and you're just keeping me here so that you can experiment on me." By now, John had moved from being calm to manic.

Doctor Wells attempted to calm his patient. "You're still pretty mixed up. I called a colleague of mine earlier. We discussed victims of amnesia and what you're feeling, it's not uncommon. Some of these might be genuine memories and some could be dreams or movies, but you've obviously mixed events up. You've been through a lot, and your mind is just trying to cope at this point. I still think it could be a good sign; the rest of your help is certainly looking better. I don't see any sign of a secondary reaction up to this point, and I think you'll be ready to head back to the Schmidt house tomorrow. Your blood pressure is still a bit low, and your heart a bit off, but it's starting to look like it's a pre-existing condition. Your temperature is on the lower range of normal at 97 degrees, but I'm not too worried about that. A lab tech friend of mine is visiting tomorrow, and I'm going to have him check your blood out first thing Monday morning. I'll hopefully know what's wrong soon after. Don't worry, I might look like an artifact from a bygone age, but I do still have some connections. Now, you go ahead and get back to sleep, and I'll see you in the morning. No doubt Jenny will be anxious to feed you all of her specialties before she let's you out of her sight."

John nodded, but once Doctor Wells left the room, he failed to go to sleep for a long time. Instead, he became a prisoner of his own mind, thinking through everything way too much. Again, he though to himself, what happens when he finds out that I'm not normal? Wait, what? I'm normal, aren't I? He just told me so. I just have an active imagination. When I wake up in the morning, everything will be okay.

The nighttime passed, and John never did fall back into anything but a restless slumber. No longer particularly concerned about his physical health, he was worried about his memory and sanity. Little did he know that there was, indeed, something horribly wrong with him internally. For, though his doctor saw his temperature as returning to normal, he was actually still running a horrible fever by the standards of his people. No one knew yet that he was an alien without a home who had saved the planet countless times and whom everyone had known and forgotten in an instant. But soon, he would be discovered, and time was running out, in more ways than one.