Evening
"It would be really, really nice not to die a hundred and forty years before I was born," I said looking at the Doctor despairingly.
"Lydia, let her go," the Doctor said nervously. I didn't like it that the Doctor sounded nervous. It made me nervous. –er. "Noelle has nothing to do with this, you can put the gun down. I can help you."
"Ha," she said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was light and soft and sounded… for lack of a better word… colorful. "How do you think you can help me? Do you think I am some kind of scientific experiment for you? Doctor. As if I didn't know what that meant. You heard some rumor and came to hunt me down and see for yourself. Well I don't know what Branwell told you but I won't have it, I won't let you take me away!"
"Now there is a very important and logical reason why you should listen to what I am about to tell you, and why you should put the gun down. I'm going to come over there, take Noelle to this side of the room…"
"Don't you move!" cried Lydia, swinging the gun around toward the Doctor. I took the opportunity to slide away from her towards the wall.
"Aw, come on then! How unsatisfying would it be to shoot a completely unarmed traveling Doctor and his even less armed traveling companion?" he said.
"Am I your companion, then?" I asked, absurdly happy despite the rather life-threatening situation at hand.
"Well, I suppose you've technically saved us twice so I think that entitles you to a title. Can we discuss this later?" Lydia was looking murderous.
"And what would a traveling doctor want with Thorp Green. It was just by chance then that you arrive? Admit it, you've been seeking me and I am telling you now, I refuse to come with you!"
"Yes," admitted the Doctor immediately. "I did come looking for you. Well, not you in particular, whatever it was that was causing the strange telepathic disturbances that resulted in Branwell's death and, from the sounds of it, some other problems closer to home. But tell me, how did a Cesturi get so far across the galaxy? I can't imagine this is a very healthy environment for you."
Lydia stared at him in shock, the pistol still suspended in midair. The Doctor stepped forward and gently removed it from her hand which fell limply to her side.
"You know my true species… how is this possible?"
"I wasn't sure at first, there are a lot of telepathic beings out there. I'd narrowed it down, of course, given the symptoms and the fact it was Branwell Bronte, of all people, who you attached yourself to. But it wasn't until I saw you now that I knew for sure. Not many species could pass themselves off as human on earth without any physical modifications."
"Yes, this is my true form," Lydia said, still in shock. "But… I thought Branwell had told… I thought you were going to kill me, cut me apart and study me."
"Not at all, that sounds terribly messy. It's the eyes that give it away," said the Doctor as if explain how he had found her during a particularly long game of hide and go seek. I felt left out of the discussion.
"So Lydia is an alien?" I asked, trying to catch up.
"Does it feel odd to be the only human in the room?" the Doctor grinned. "Lydia is a Cesturi. They are generally regarded as the most creative and artistic species in this galaxy and their poetry, writings, paintings and music are famous. Humanoid in appearance, but completely different in their mental patterns. They absolutely require creative companionship and when they are producing their art, they also produce telepathic waves that nourish and encourage their fellow Cesturians. They live in enormous communities, all very close together. When a Cesturi is alone, it begins to fade, it can't exercise its creative genius, loses the nourishment of its peers, and begins to produce the equivalent of mental waste products – it releases despair and depression telepathically instead. Without access to a symbiotic creative relationship, it will soon die. That final peak of despair, felt the moment before they die alone… they release one final wave of anguish. It can be enough to kill anyone nearby. Death by despair and lack of creativity." I looked again at Lydia again and could almost see the waves of sadness radiating off of her.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," said Lydia. "I never meant this to happen."
"Like I said, I'm the Doctor. And you are clearly sick. I can help you. Start at the beginning," he prompted and leapt into an armchair, settling himself down for what he clearly anticipated would be a long tale.
"I left home when I was young," Lydia started with a sigh. "My sisters and brothers and I wanted to see the universe. Just because the Cesturians require shared creativity from others of our species does not mean we all are close companions and just like any young group of people from any planet, we felt stifled by our elders. We thought… we knew that there were more modern and youthful artists elsewhere in the galaxy. We arrived on earth nearly ten years ago and there was such beauty here! We thought we would never tire of the architecture, the painting, the poetry. It was like nothing we had seen before. But soon, we realized that unlike the Cesturians, not every human was an artist. Without the constant creative brainwaves feeding us, we began to grow tired and sick."
"Wait, so you can absorb telepath waves from humans?" I interrupted, confused.
"Of course, nearly every sentient species is at least mildly telepathic although most species haven't evolved means of understanding those telepathic waves. Cesturi would have been able to latch on to human creative waves but only reciprocal Cesturi brain waves, and not other human's, would have been strong enough to affect humans in return," explained the Doctor quickly. "Go on Lydia."
"One by one, my brothers and sisters passed away, running as far as possible from human settlements to save them from the Cesturian final, deadly thoughts. When there were only two of us left, we decided that perhaps it would be better if we separated, instead of trying to survive together on the meager creativity of a single city.
"Ryitha went south, and I know not what has become of her. I came north, I had heard of a great artistic community near London and hoped I might find some means of survival. I was dying when I met Mr. Robinson. I suppose I am attractive to these humans as I nearly share their form…." She gave a modest shrug and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. There was no way she didn't know how beautiful she was. All the same, listening to her soliloquy was like watching a play or movie and she seemed almost like a Hollywood actress of the golden Hollywood years.
"Mr. Robinson was a poor poet and painter, but I hadn't the time or energy to find someone else with any greater artistic nature," she continued. "His wife had passed away leaving him with three young girls and a son and we married soon after meeting. I did not believe I would survive much longer, but to my surprise, my spirits seemed to revive the moment I entered his home. It was the governess of his daughters – Miss Anne. I could sense it immediately; the absolute joy of finally being near someone who was a creative genius was overwhelming and addicting.
"But she was called home shortly after my arrival – her health had never been strong – and when she left I fell to pieces. To be so close to someone who could save me, only to have it taken away was maddening but then…."
She trailed off wistfully with a sigh that made my heart clench in my chest.
"Ahh," said the Doctor softly. "Then Branwell arrived. And it was everything you could ever have wanted. It was better than Anne because Anne had her sisters and her correspondences and Branwell was alone. Of course he spoke of his sister too but he was different and he needed you just as much as you needed him. Oh Lydia."
"It was better than I could have imagined," she cried and then added demurely, "and I can imagine a lot of things. We would paint together, paint worlds that had never been seen, speak the poetry of planets that had never been born, create whole universes. Of course Branwell did not realize… he simply knew that I encourage his writing and painting, and knew that he was more skilled when he created these in my presence. In return, I gave him joy and happiness he had never known. His head was full of impossible things and I drew them out, feeding myself and giving him relief that he needed to live on this planet."
"So what went wrong? Why would he ever leave that?" I asked.
"You couldn't bear to lie to him," said the Doctor shrewdly. "You thought he could accept the impossible because he could create it. Isn't that right, Lydia?"
"I confessed to him I was not human. At first he would not… could not believe me. He thought it was another story. But I insisted, told him of places beyond this world and… I made him look at my eyes, my eyes that can give away the secret art of the stars, the poetry of the planets. He was gone the next morning."
She paused to wipe her eyes and I realized that I had tears streaming down my cheek once again. Her emotions were getting out of control and I could feel myself teetering on the edge of a paralyzing depression that wasn't my own.
"I could still feel him in my head," Lydia sobbed. "We were connected, he and I, and I felt him drifting into madness and despair. I tried to reach out to him but he blocked me, abused substances that turned his beautiful thoughts into ugly, incomprehensible ones. I was alone again and this time I knew it would destroy me. I'm dying Doctor. No one can save me, not now that Branwell is gone and even if they could, I have no reason to live!"
Something very odd was happening in my brain. If I thought about it in a very removed way, it was as if a black curtain was falling heavily behind my eyes and suddenly I saw the world as Lydia saw it. Every piece of furniture, every wall, every door, even the tiny cobwebs and specks of dust appeared as a blank canvas. But more than that, they were painfully blank, a canvas that screamed and cried and begged to be filled but never would be. I shut my eyes but the screams continued. I felt the stars laughing at this pitiful planet that had such potential for beauty but squandered and ignored it. I felt colors; lonely, lost, underused colors dancing around in the night, desiring to be brought together. But most of all, I heard words. I heard every word ever invented being whispered just inside my ear, a constant stream of gibberish that hinted at lost genius. It was excruciating.
I must have fallen to the floor for there was still some small part of my brain that remained human, free from the Cesturian influence Lydia had cast, that realized I was on the ground, holding my head in my hands. In a moment, the Doctor was beside me with the sonic screwdriver.
"Noelle! Noelle!!" he was calling but I couldn't answer; words had lost all meaning.
"Lydia, you have to stop this," he shouted. In the distance I could hear screams and sobs of other members of the Thorp Green household. Lydia, it seemed, was dying and whether she meant to or not, she was taking the humans with her. "Lydia, you have to hold on, you have to believe there is more art in the universe, just let me bring it to you!" The Doctor was sounding more frantic than I had heard him before but suddenly he stopped stock still and muttered to himself, "but I did bring it to you."
"Noelle, I'm not going to let you die," he said, crouching next to me. "In fact," he continued, standing up and raising his voice again. "That goes for the whole house. All of England. I. Am not. Going. To let you. Die." With that encouraging statement, he rushed out of the room.
I fell deeper into blackness and welcomed it. The pain of everything that assaulted my senses was too much, it was too empty in the world and I was ready for oblivion.
I was on the very edge of consciousness when the Doctor reappeared carrying Charlotte. He threw her unceremoniously into the chair he had been seated in only minutes before and placed his hands on her temples.
"Charlotte," he shouted. "Charlotte I know you're in there, you can stop this!" He paused as if waiting for a response but Charlotte simply drooped in the chair. Her eyes were completely black and the roots of her hair were beginning to darken as well.
"Well that's no excuse, you're the poetic genius here," the Doctor said, annoyed, as if he had gotten some response after all. Another pause.
"That's not going to be nearly as effective," he said. I was almost gone. I summoned my last remaining strength and tried to open my mouth to expel one of the painful words, any word, from my mind.
"Doc…tor…" I croaked and he didn't let go of Charlotte's head but looked at me with eyes that told me, somehow, everything was going to be alright. I closed my eyes.
"Alright Charlotte," he said quickly. "Listen up Lydia! Secondhand poetry is never as good, so pay attention!" His voice grew stronger and somehow I imagined that even over the screams and crying of the people of Thorp Green and the towns and villages beyond, his words could be heard all over England.
"Life believe, is not a dream," he began and suddenly the words in my head began to quiet."So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily
Enjoy them as they fly!
What though Death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair!"
Carefully, I opened my eyes and took a shuddering breath. The Doctor was instantly there, helping me to my feet and pulling me into a tight hug.
"Alright there?" he asked, sounding relieved.
"I think so," I answered shakily. "Where did that come from? That was beautiful!"
"That was Charlotte. It would have been stronger if she had been able to share it herself, I just channeled her words. But I think it did the trick, look!" He pointed at Lydia, whose eyes looked lighter and hair was a black-brown instead of the midnight black it had been before. She was breathing heavily.
"Did Charlotte just come up with that? Despite everything Lydia did?" I asked.
"Well, she is a genius. For a human," said the Doctor.
"That was some quick thinking, to get Charlotte's words to save us all," I said, impressed and more than a little grateful.
"Well, I'm a genius," the Doctor grinned. "For anything."
I laughed at him, then noticed Charlotte watching us with a strange smile on her face. I went over to her and pulled her into a huge embrace. She was surprised at first but returned the gesture.
"That was brilliant," I told her. "Your poem was beautiful, please make sure you write it down. Why are you smiling?"
"I think I've found what my latest novel is missing," she said evasively. I thought back to what I knew of her novels but nothing jumped out as being related to an alien nearly killing thousands of people.
"What are we going to do with Lydia?" I asked.
"You speak as if I am a thing to be dealt with. I could still destroy you if you dared to threaten me!" she interjected with a shaky voice.
"Lydia is a frightened, sick space traveler who needs a good dose of creative juices," said the Doctor. "And I think I have just the place."
"Please," she said in a small voice. "I can't bear to go home. Not after losing my family. I'd rather die alone, and I promise I will truly be alone, but I can not go back to Cesturi."
"Nonsense, who said anything about dying?" said the Doctor cheerfully. "Although we will all have to go back to Haworth. My space ship is still there," he said, winking at Charlotte who looked completely shocked.
Dawn was breaking over Thorp Green as we filed into the carriage to begin the long trip back to Haworth. Mr. Robinson sent down his regrets with Grace, who looked pale and tired, that he could not see us off, but he had had simply the worst night terrors and would not rise that day. I wondered what he would do when he realized his wife had gone too.
Charlotte was surprisingly receptive to the idea that Lydia was not human. We didn't mention the Doctor; it might have been a little much. Charlotte, in fact, seemed so at ease with the idea, I began to wonder if Branwell had said something to his sister about Lydia's true nature. What disturbed her the most was the loss of the relationship between her brother and his friend.
When we finally returned to Haworth, I found my original clothes cleaned and folded in the room I had stayed in the Bronte parsonage. I was rather reluctant to leave the dress behind but somehow it didn't feel right to take it with me. Anne and Emily spoke of nothing by the terrible nightmares they had had the night before and I wondered if it had anything to do with the deaths soon afterwards.
It was late by the time the Doctor and I set off for the TARDIS, Lydia accompanying us this time. The Doctor still refused to tell us where we were going. We had just reached the top of the hill overlooking the small town and I could see the TARDIS in the distance, sitting unassumingly in an open field, when I heard footsteps behind us. I turned and Charlotte was running towards us, holding something in her arms.
"Lydia," she said, catching her breath. "I do not know if I truly understand what Branwell meant to you, or your to him. But if it was anything like the bond he and I shared, then I pity you had so little time on this earth to share with him. Please, I would like you to have these. It's not much, but it is the nearest thing to Branwell's surviving soul."
Lydia accepted the proffered gifts, which appeared to be a pile of journals. I let out a low whistle.
"Are those…" I started but Charlotte anticipated my question.
"The Tales of Angria. The world that Branwell and I created as children. Every character, every world, every page in these stories is touched by Branwell. This should be enough to nourish you for a long time," she said with a smile. Then, impulsively, she kissed Lydia on the cheek. "Travel safely, my sister."
We continued on our way, stunned into silence by the gift. I guess I learned where the lost Tales of Angria had gone after all.
"This," said the Doctor cheerfully after another bumpy ride through time. "This is August 15, 1969." He had refused to tell Lydia where he was taking her and she was still looking nervous, clutching the Tales of Angria as if they were life preservers which, in fact, they may have been to her.
"No way!" I shouted, leaping up from the TARDIS floor which I was starting to get used to falling on. "You're joking!"
"What is this time? Where have you taken me?" demanded Lydia, but the color was already rising in her cheeks and her hair had turned almost auburn. Her eyes widened. She said in surprise, "I feel… I feel beauty!"
"That's more like it," said the Doctor with a grin.
"Come on!" I laughed, jumping excitedly. "Let's go!"
We stepped out of the TARDIS into a mob of people wearing crazy clothing, shouting, laughing, dancing and generally enjoying the Woodstock music festival.
"Now Lydia, I am quite sure you are going to find a wonderful group of new-age hippies to keep you happy for a very long time," said the Doctor in much the same tone as a father telling his daughter what to look out for on the first day of high school. "But if you are having any trouble at all, find a telephone… er… ask someone what a telephone is, then find a telephone and call this number." He pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of one of his coat pockets and scribbled something down, handing it to Lydia. She already seemed to have forgotten us amidst the colors and music. The Doctor laughed happily.
"Do you want to stay?" he asked me.
"Well… to be entirely honest, this really isn't my kind of thing," I said, edging away from a group of people who clearly had not bathed in the two weeks it had taken to drive their VW van from San Francisco to New York.
"Oh good," said the Doctor, sounding relieved.
"Why's that good?" I laughed.
"Because I've been to Woodstock… ooh, six times now and the chances of running into myself are getting higher every time!"
Lydia was already lost in the crowd and the Doctor and I turned back to the TARDIS, both feeling rather pleased with ourselves. Suddenly it hit me.
"Oh my god!" I shouted, causing a young woman in what looked like a potato sack to turn to me and say angrily, "there is no god, only the great eternal voice." I rolled my eyes.
"What is it then?" asked the Doctor curiously.
"Doctor John Smith?" I continued, beginning to grin. "Doctor John Smith is a character in Charlotte's last published novel, The Villette."
"A TV show, a popular novel, I mean, there's even bound to be fanfiction about me…" said the Doctor, sounding pleased. "I really like this dimension."
"Good! Now just give me a minute because I'm going to think of somewhere really awesome we can go next," I said.
Well, it took me a bit longer than a minute but to be fair, it's a big universe.
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AN: Thank you so much to my repeat reviewers, AMbAtMAnyAbAMz, Soreye, and katie mase – it really means a lot to me to get those reviews. This story is immensely fun to write and I'm personally looking forward to seeing what happens next, I hope you are too!
