Chapter 9

In a flurry of red and blue, several fire engines arrived on the scene. Without a word Vera let them in and hastily led them up the stairs to where the Doctor was sitting on the floor outside the room, his hand placed upon the door. Jamie had stopped yelling and for the last ten minutes there had been no sound from within the room. No heavy breathing or soft Scottish voice pleading for his friend to rescue him. The Doctor feared the worst.

'If tha just step back, sir,' the Doctor heard someone say.

The Doctor looked up and saw a group of firemen standing above him. They smiled a reassuring smile at him which did nothing to reassure him at all.

'Don't worry, sir, we'll have tha friend out of there in no time! Now if tha'll just step back.'

As though in a trance the Doctor hastily moved back a long the landing, he turned his head away as the fire fighters began to ram the door down. He was sure that they would find a dead body awaiting them on the other side and he just didn't want to see the image of Jamie lying so still and lifeless on the floor.

The Doctor's fears were confirmed as the firemen opened the door to find Jamie lying still and lifeless behind the threshold. He looked so peaceful. There was no one else in the room.

Cautiously, the Doctor came forward and, his voice meek and fearful, asked:

'Is he dead?'

One of the firemen reached down and felt for a pulse.

'He's still alive,' the man stated.

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief.

'He's inhaled a lot of smoke, though, we need to get him to t' hospital, right now! Harry,' the man turned to one of this colleagues, 'send t' paramedic crew up here right now we got a teenage lad in need of urgent treatment.'

DWDWDW

The Doctor could only watch, helplessly, as the paramedic team checked Jamie's airways before strapping him to a stretcher and taking him off to the hospital in the back of the ambulance. The Doctor had wanted to go with them but the paramedics had refused, saying it would be better if he just followed on behind them instead.

The Doctor sank down on the pavement with his head in his hands. He knew that Jamie was in the best place and would get proper medical treatment but he had never seen the boy look so silent and so still before. He was not a religious man but in that moment he would've prayed to all the Gods of all the planets he knew if it meant that the young Highlander would pull through.

Suddenly he felt someone squeeze his shoulder. He looked up to see the fireman who had spoken to him earlier.

'He wa' lucky was tha friend,' the fireman assured him. 'Any longer an' he'd have been a goner. He'll get better now tha'll see.'

'Thank you,' the Doctor muttered still in a daze. 'I'll be off to the hospital now.'

DWDWDW

When the Doctor arrived at the hospital he spent a good ten minutes arguing with the receptionist who, initially, refused to let the Doctor see Jamie as he wasn't family. When the Doctor explained that Jamie had no next of kin and that he was solely responsible for the boy he had been led down a corridor by one of the nurses into a private room.

The Doctor was shocked by what he saw. In the middle of the room Jamie lay seemingly motionless, safe for the soft rising and falling of his chest, on a clinical, pristine-white hospital bed and wired up to various machines which were helping to keep the young Scot alive. Across his face lay an oxygen mask, steadily pumping fresh oxygen into the smoke-filled lungs.

The Doctor reached forward and instinctively ran his hand through the mop of hair on Jamie's head.

'Don't you give up on me now, Jamie,' he whispered into the lad's ear. 'I told you before that you're important. You're special, Jamie McCrimmon, there's nobody else on this planet who can do the things you can do, so just you hold on, ok.' He shook his head to prevent the tears from falling before continuing on.

'I don't know who this Sisterhood is or what they want but I will find out, Jamie, I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you, not anymore. I know that, in the past, people have tried to exploit your gift but that stops now.' He squeezed the young lad's hand. 'I have to go now but, if you need me, you just call out my name and I'll be here, I promise.'

As he walked out of the door the Doctor cast one forlorn look back at his loyal companion in the bed before making his way back to the TARDIS.

DWDWDW

The Doctor collapsed down on one of soft chairs in the TARDIS console room. For the last few hours he had desperately tried to solve the mystery of the Crying Boy curse but things made as much sense now as they had when he and Jamie had first arrived in Rotherham. They were so many questions the Doctor had that he could not find answers to. Who were the Sisterhood? Why did they want Jamie? Who was causing all the strange fires? The Doctor sighed, he didn't think he would ever find the answers to his questions but he knew he couldn't give up trying, if not for himself then for Jamie. He owed the young Highlander that much.

DWDWDW

The night was silent. In the hospital all was quiet and still, save for the constant beeping of various machines used to help the patients' recovery. All the patients were sleeping calmly in their beds except for Jamie McCrimmon.

The young Scot was tossing and turning fitfully in his sleep, clearly in the throes of some nightmare.

Jamie finds himself on a dusty Mediterranean street with terracotta coloured roofs, sandy coloured walls and several beautiful arches adoring the entrance way. People walked along the paved roads or linger under a beautiful waterfall which sits in the middle of the city street like some grand centrepiece; a true piece de la resistance. Jamie gasps back in wonder for such a beautiful city he could never have envisioned back home in the rugged Scottish Highlands.

Suddenly, Jamie hears the cries of a frightened child, spinning round he sees a house on fire and a young boy with soft, blonde hair and tears in his bright blue eyes.

'Help, help!' the boy cries. 'Somebody, please help my mama is trapped in the building and she cannot get out!'

At the boy's cries people rush around in a desperate attempt to rescue the poor woman from the stricken building but it is to no avail. The flames dance higher making in too dangerous for anyone else to enter the building. The poor young mother is left to her fate while her child looks on, helpless, screaming and crying.

No one notices a young woman in a red robe watching the boy, intently. She is beautiful young woman with olive skin and long brown hair, which falls delicately on the pulled back hood of her red robe. She is standing in the doorway of the Basilica di Santa Giustina, a church dedicated to the Saint Justina, a Christian saint. A service has just finished, for the door of the church is opening and the drone of an organ can be heard dying away.

The boy fails to notice as the red robed women moves towards him. Softly, she places a hand upon his shoulder. The boy turns and looks at her with his tear stained eyes.

'Hello,' the woman says, she has a sweet voice like that of a nightingale, 'what is your name?'

'Don Bonillo,' the boy replies, wiping the tears from his eyes.

'Here, take this.'

She offers him a silk handkerchief.

'Thank you,' he mutters.

'Do you have anywhere to go, Don, any aunties or uncles who can look after you or a grandmamma, perhaps?'

'No, there was only me and my mama! The fire, it was all my fault!'

He begins to wail again, his body shaking with the violence of the sobs. Instinctively the woman pulls him close and hugs him. She smells different to his mother, classier with a rich, scent perfume that is clearly much more expensive than anything his mother can afford.

'Hush,' she soothes him. 'It wasn't your fault. You have a great gift called pyrokinesis1 you just don't know how to control it yet and no one can blame you for that. Come with me I have some friends who will be able to take care of you. They can help you control your gift, I promise.'

He gazes into the woman's eyes and is lost. He was lost the moment she wrapped her arms around him in an expression of motherly love. He gets up and follows her down the street, across the Prato della Valle, and through the doors of the Basilica di Santa Giustina before anyone had time to notice or care that the boy had vanished.

Inside the basilica the robed women leads Don Bonillo through the doors into a large room. The boy marvels at the size and the grandeur of the room. A marble floor lies beneath his feet; the walls are painted a gorgeous deep red colour and adorned with paintings of various saints each mounted in a golden frame. Elegant chandlers hang precariously from the high ceilings.

At the far end of the hall sits an elderly woman on a row of red silk cushions. She appears so impossibly old that the boy does not even attempt to guess at her age. Her face is winkled and lined yet there is something young and beautiful about it too. When she speaks her voice is as gentle as a summer's breeze. She addresses the younger woman:

'Who is the young man that you have brought to us, Anna Maria?'

Anna Maria bows respectfully to her Abbess.

'Abbess Ohica, this is Don Bonillo,' she explained. 'I found him outside. He is an orphan with the power of pyrokinesis. I have brought him here as I thought he might be the One the ancient prophecy of our Sisterhood speaks of.'

Abbess Ohica slowly eases herself from her cushioned throne and begins to investigate the boy. She comes so close to Don Bonillo that the child can see every winkle on her wizened old face and feel her breath. She stares intently into his eyes and takes all his effort not to turn away from her intense gaze.

At length she breaks off her glare and waves her hand, dismissively, a solemn gaze upon her face.

'Alas, my child, he is not the one we seek.'

Anna Maria bows. 'Sorry, Abbess, I will dispose of him immediately.'

She grabs Don Bonillo by the scruff of his neck and, before the boy has time to protest, casts him out of the door of the basilica as though he were little more than a ragdoll.

DWDWDW

Several hours pass. The boy wonders the streets of Padua, hungry, tired and alone. His stomach rumbles desperately but he has no idea of how to get anything to eat or even where he is.

Suddenly, the face of a kind young man appears before him. The man is clearly concerned for the boy's welfare and enquires about his family. The boy explains his situation and the man is saddened.

'What is your name?' he asks the boy.

'Don Bonillo,' the boy replies.

'Pleased to meet you, Don Bonillo, I am Giovanni Bragolin. Why don't you come with me?'

The boy is hesitant, remembering his last encounter with someone so nice, the man, sensing the boy's reluctance, assures him:

'I promise I won't cast you aside like the nuns did.'

Realising, he cannot stay out here on the streets and seeing as he has no alternative Don follows the kindly Giovanni back to his home.

DWDWDW

The house was a modest affair its terracotta paint peeling from the walls. Inside, the house was equally as rundown with a stone floor (many of the stones were broken) and simplistic furniture.

Don Bonillo looked around him, it was true that he and his mamma had not been rich but still they seemed to have more luxuries than this! In the innocent way that only a child could he asked:

'Are you poor, Mr Brogolin, as you don't seem to have many processions?'

'Alas it is true, my dear boy,' Giovanni replied. 'You see, I am an artist. In my home country, Spain, my talent was not appreciated in the way it should have been so I came to Italy in the hope to ignite the Italian art scene. Alas, it would appear my talent is not recognised here, also. Perhaps I should give it all up and return home to Spain.'

The boy merely looks at him with round tear-stained eyes.

There is something in the boy's grief that makes Giovanni want to paint him. He grabs his paints, easel and paper and begins to capture the boy's raw emotion onto canvas. The next day Giovanni heads out to the streets of Padua, with Don Bonilla in toe, and his painting which he entitles The Crying Boy. When people see the boy and the painting they cannot help but marvel at the likeness and the way that Giovanni has seemed to capture the boy's very essence and emotion in his paintings. They lap it up and within months Giovanni has become a moderately successful artist.

The years roll by and Giovanni's Crying Boy paintings begin to be copied and reproduced by other artists and start to adorn the walls of houses all over the world, particularly in the working-class areas of Britain. By this time, Don Bonillo has grown from the small, sad little boy into a sullen and rebellious teenager. He feels stifled by Giovanni's over-protectiveness and tensions begin to develop between the two. One night, in a pure fit of rage, his pyrokinesis (which he still cannot control) gets the better of him and he sets fire to Giovanni's studio, torching everything in sight.

The smell of smoke wakens Giovanni who rushes down the stairs just in time to see his life's work going up in flames and Don Bonillo standing there with a bemused look on his face. Having nowhere else to direct his anger Giovanni takes his anger out on the boy.

'What have you done?' he yells.

'Please,' the young man pleads, 'I didn't mean to. It was an accident.'

'I knew I shouldn't have taken you in! The women in the city, they warned me about you, told me that you were an arsonist; a wretched fire starter! But I did not listen to them; I took you in and showed you kindness and this how you repay me!'

'Please, I said it was accident.'

'GET OUT. I don't want to see you anymore, just get out of my house!'

The teenager fled; he ran and ran until he was as far away from Giovanni as he possibly could. Only then did he sink down in despair and let the tears flow from his face. He was homeless again!

Suddenly, he felt someone wrap soft arms around his body and smelt a sweet, classy perfume. He heard a voice say:

'Shush, Don Bonillo, it's alright now. Just come with me, I'll look after you!'

The teenager looks up to see the nun, Anna Maria. It is she who is hugging him. He studies her face, carefully; to his surprise she looks no older than when he last saw her even though that was almost 10 years ago!

'Why do you want to help me?' he spat. 'You made no attempt to help me when your Abbess cast me aside when I was but a boy.'

She sighed. He was right.

'I know that and I'm sorry. What I did was wrong but you have to understand that the Abbess was a very powerful woman I could not go against her wishes.'

'Then why are you here now?' he asks, his voice full of venom.

'The Sisterhood would not let me have what I wanted, so I left their Order. Now, I want, what I've always wanted, to help you, Don Bonillo. I said all those years ago that I would help you control your power and I intend to fulfil that promise.'

'And what do you gain from this?' he spat.

Again she sighed, if we are to build up any sort of relationship I might as well be truthful from the offset, she thought.

'If you must know I need your help.'

(Jamie was sure that there was more to this conversation but something seemed to stopping him from discovering what).

'Ok, alright,' Don said. 'I'll help you.'

'Come with me, Don Bonillo, you have much to learn.'

DWDWDW

Jamie bolted awake. 'DOCTOR,' he yelled. 'Doctor!'

A swarm of nurses burst into the room and tried to hold him down but he thrashed about the bed, twisting and turning while yelling for the Doctor.

'It's alright, Jamie, we'll get you a doctor but you have to calm down, now.'

Still the young lad continued to flail about in the bed, so violent were his jerks that for a split second that one of the junior nurses (a woman called Hope Angelo) was concerned that he was having some sort of seizure. She knew it went against all her training had taught her, but she tried to grab his arms in attempt to stop him from flinging about but the young Scot was much too strong for her to keep a hold of.

'Jamie,' Hope whispered. 'I need you to calm down, can you do that for me, please?'

'Doctor,' Jamie moaned. 'Need….Doctor.'

'We'll get you a doctor, I promise,' Hope assured him, 'but I need you to calm down for me, ok.'

Still the young Highlander continued to toss and turn in complete distress. He moaned and groaned, thrashing around so that he became no more than a flurry of limbs and bed sheets. Hope leaned over him again but he lunged out and, accidently, caught her on the nose.

'It's no good,' someone else said. 'We're going to have to sedate him.'

As if she had been waiting for the cue, another of the nurses brought forth a needle and gently imbedded it into the young man's arm before releasing the liquid inside. Within minutes Jamie's body began to relax and his breathing evened out. His eyes fluttered and closed and before long he had fallen back into a peaceful sleep.

1 The ability to start fires with one's mind