CHAPTER TEN

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As the woman advanced on Martha, she backed away. Panicked, she glanced around, desperate for something with which to defend herself. On the console, she spotted Dean's 9MM. It had no ammunition, but the other woman didn't know that. With no options left, she grabbed it with both hands and leveled it on her attacker. "Don't make me use this!" she declared. She kept her fear under control the best she could – it wouldn't help her.

The woman stopped a few feet away from Martha, she seemed disoriented. Her hands went to the sides of her head as she uneasily swayed; her face twisted up in an expression of agony which quickly segued into one of confusion. As her hands gripped the TARDIS' console, she steadied herself. A moment later, she glanced around the room before she finally settled her gaze on Martha.

Martha, confused by the behavior, still aimed the gun at her.

"Where am I?" Her brow furrowed. "Who are you?"

She swallowed hard, but didn't let her guard down. The woman had attacked without provocation, this may've been a clever trick to throw her off. "Martha Jones," she evenly replied. "Who're you?"

The woman's head tipped back. "What is this place?" she asked, voice filled with wonder. "How did I get here?"

"You tell me."

A hand touched her own temple. "The voice is gone," she mused. She shook her head, almost amazed. "It ... it has no power over me here." She looked to Martha. "Have I crossed over?"

She frowned, more baffled than ever. "What?" The gun lowered, yet not fully. "What do you mean, crossed over? And what has no power over you here?"

She walked away from Martha, her eyes taking in everything around her. "The monster which drives men insane," she answered. She shifted her attention to other woman. "Is this ... Heaven?"

Her mouth quirked. "No." It was odd. The woman spoke as though she were ... dead. Then a thought occurred to her. Carefully, she approached. "Are you ... Monica Churchill?"

"When I was alive," was the murmured response. Her hands brushed over the top of the console; her head tilted to one side as she regarded the display on the monitor. "If this isn't the other side, where is it?"

"You're in a TARDIS, it's a space ship," Martha explained. Hesitantly, she placed the 9MM on the seat, beside the Doctor's long coat. Then came the obvious question. "Monica ... are you a ... ghost?"

"Yes," she absently replied. Her pale fingers brushed over the monitor. It flickered at her touch, which made her quickly withdraw her hand. "A space ship ..." she sighed. "The world has changed so much ... too much." Her head lifted. "You are a friend of the two inside?"

She nodded, eagerly. "Are they all right?"

"For now." She leaned over and peered underneath the console. "Such a strange piece of machinery. How does it fly?"

"It's complicated," Martha shortly answered. She didn't want to talk about the ship, she wanted to find out what was going on with the Doctor and Dean. "Monica, why are you here? Why did you try to attack me?"

"It sent me to kill you." Her voice was so flat and devoid of emotion, it was creepy. She crossed to the other side of the console. "But it has no power over me here. It's why I'm ... me now. It can't make me do what it wants."

"What is ... it?" Martha carefully inquired. "Where did it come from? Do you know?"

"It isn't from this planet." She approached Martha. The living woman kept a distance between them, though. "It has great power. Power it uses to manipulate people, to make them ... do things, horrible things." Her face turned more somber as a hand brushed over her bruised neck. "Things you would never imagine them capable of doing."

"It made your husband murder you," Martha assumed. She wasn't entirely sure, though, it made sense.

Monica sadly nodded. "It ... needed me. He gave it whatever it wanted. He wasn't like that until his father died and he came into possession of the house ... " Her hand fell away from her neck. "Then ... he was so very different."

"Why did it 'need' you?"

"To keep it alive."

"How does murdering you keep it alive?"

"Energy. Energy only I could give if I were dead."

She still didn't completely understand. If the Doctor were here, he could probably make sense of it. If he believed this was actually the ghost of Monica Churchill, that is. He'd seemed very certain no such thing could possibly exist, not like what stood before her now. Yet this "being" wasn't from another dimension and it wasn't a projection, it was a sentient force.

"Others came to the house over the years," Martha began, changing the subject. "Some vanished, some didn't. Why did certain ones vanish?"

"They posed a threat to its existence. They came too close to what keeps it alive."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "You just said you kept it alive."

"I do."

Martha bit her lower lip as she considered what it could possibly mean. She pushed it aside when another thought occurred to her. "Two people were almost killed in the house, yet they managed to escape. With a woman's help." She noticed the expression on Monica's face change. "Was ... that you?"

"Yes."

"Why did you help them but not the others?"

Monica approached the seats, her curiosity about the ship still distracted her. A hand brushed over the Doctor's coat. "For a few moments, it had no control over me. Like now. I could do as I wished." She turned away, her head tilted back as she gazed upwards. "I wished to save their lives, not help to take them."

"Why only those two? What was different about them?"

"The monster feeds on fear. On hate. Their emotions were different. It helped weaken its control." She pivoted on a bare heel to face Martha again. "It was long enough to allow me to save them from its own killers."

Martha turned away as she absorbed all of the information. An emotion more powerful than hate or fear could weaken whatever this thing's was power. Exactly which emotion was it? Dean hadn't mentioned anything of that nature when he'd spoken of his father's escape. Maybe he didn't even know?

"Monica ..." She paused as she faced her. "My friends and I want to find this monster and stop it from hurting more innocent people. Would you help me to help them?"

She shook her head. "If I leave here, it will take control again." She saw the disappointment in Martha's eyes. "It will not kill them. Not immediately." She came closer. "It has an interest in the one it calls 'Time Lord'."

"The Doctor," Martha supplied. Off of Monica's confusion, she added, "The Time Lord, his name is the Doctor. What does it want with him?"

"To kill him."

She blinked. The bluntness of the reply had thrown her a bit. Then again, what would the Doctor mean to a woman who died in the 1950s on Earth? "Why? Do you know?"

"Time Lords are an enemy of its homeworld."

Not much of a surprise. The Doctor himself seemed to make more enemies than friends on their varied trips. Not as though he wasn't justified in stopping their actions, it simply made him unpopular throughout the universe. "What about the other? The human?"

"He has potential."

"Potential? For what?"

"To be of use. None of the others had even half of his fear. Or his hate."

Martha didn't want to ask exactly what that meant. Instead, she focused on how to save them from their current situation.

"He also has knowledge."

"The Doctor?"

"No. The other."

Martha blinked. "Dean?"

"Like so many who came before him, he knows how to remove its power."

She couldn't quite believe it. At first. And then she put together the puzzle pieces in her mind – the murders of those who'd 'gotten too close', what it was that allowed a ghost to cling to the physical world after death, and how people like Dean removed that anchor. "There's a ... piece of your corpse still in the house, isn't there?"

A nod. "Near the monster itself. It guards it.."

The Doctor had said the energy readings originated within the house – the sub-level. Those who'd managed to make it to the sub-level, they were attacked and subsequently killed. Tommy Jacobs definitely had been there, he'd even seen the "monster in the wall". Dean's father must've had the same experience.

"We have to get down there and ..." What did they do, the hunters? She racked her memories of her discussion with Dean at the diner earlier that day. " ... salt and burn it," she finally finished when it came to her. She looked to Monica. "If you're released, it loses its power, yes?"

"It has alternatives."

"If you help me, we can make certain it doesn't have the opportunity to use the alternatives."

"I've told you, as soon as I leave here - "

"You've broken free before," she interrupted as she faced the ghost. "You can do it. You're stronger than this thing, whatever it is. Do you know why?" Monica shook her head. "You control your emotions. If it feeds off of your hate and your fear, then you don't allow it have it."

"But I ... can't ..." she sadly replied as she bowed her head. "These feelings ... this rage ... " Her hands balls into fists, then slowly released them. "It's all I have ... it's all I know ..."

"You can do it," she said as encouragingly as possible as she approached. "You didn't feel that way when you helped Tommy Jacobs, or Dean's father, did you?" She looked into the dark eyes. More than hate was in them, she could see easily see it. "Remember how you felt when you chose to help them – you can do this, Monica."

The pale specter nodded. "I'll try," she murmured.

"You can," Martha firmly said. She paused as she looked at the Doctor's coat. She didn't know what to expect inside the house, and his coat pockets held surprisingly useful things for most any situation. Matches or a cigarette lighter would be quite helpful. No time to spend searching through them, however. She grabbed it and turned to Monica. "Let's go."

Once outside of the TARDIS, Martha was sure to lock the doors before she faced the Churchill house. As Dean did earlier, Martha noticed how disturbing its outer appearance was. It was ... creepy. Horror film creepy. Yet this was no horror film, this was real. She couldn't be frightened – fear fed this ... monster, gave it its power. She wouldn't let it have hers.

"Are you all right?" she asked as she turned toward Monica. The ghost stood rigid beside her as she stared at the house. "Monica?"

She shifted her gaze to the living woman. "Yes," she distantly replied. "I'm ... fine."

An eyebrow raised. "Just ... focus on our job." She hesitated then carefully ascended the rickety porch steps. Once she reached the door, she tried to push it open. Using her shoulder, she gave it more force. "It's stuck," she reported when it refused to budge.

"No, it's not." Monica seemingly appeared out of nowhere beside Martha. She lifted a hand to the door and the hinges loudly squeaked as it opened. "Your friends are trapped in the second level." She pointed directly ahead, into the darkness of the house. "The monster ... is this way."

"Are you able to help them escape the upper level?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Monica's head tilted to one side before she looked to Martha. "They should be free to leave the room now," she stated. "Follow me." She headed into the house. "I will take you to ... it."

Martha drew in a deep breath then did so. She could control her fear, she could do this. She glanced at the staircase which led to the second level. No sign of either Dean or the Doctor. She didn't dare call out. Instead, she crossed the main room and passed into the adjoining one, where Monica waited for her.

"Here." The ghost lifted an arm and pointed to the already open door on Martha's left. "It's in the cellar."

Her jaw tightened as she nodded. She sifted around in one of the coat pockets and brought out a torch. After she turned it on, she directed the beam of light to the floor. "Someone's been here," she commented upon seeing two sets of footprints in the dirt and dust. She shifted her attention to Monica. "I thought they were in the upper level?"

"They are," she replied. "The monster drove them there with ... ghosts of its own. To keep them out of the way, until it was ready. I was to make sure they couldn't leave."

Martha stared at the pale form for a few moments. She had a terrible feeling about this, yet she couldn't run away. She had to face the fear. If she didn't, the Doctor and Dean would more than likely die. She couldn't let that happen. Her gaze shifted to the dark abyss beyond the open doorway, and she released a long breath.

"All right, then. Let's go."

Carefully, she entered the darkness.

-

In the second story room of the house, Dean knelt down as the Doctor shone the torch light on the inside of the wardrobe. Crumpled into a filthy, bloodied ball was a ginger-haired teenaged girl. She moaned as the light hit her face but she barely moved.

"It's the missing girl," the Doctor murmured.

"No shit, Doc," Dean muttered as he shook his head. The jackass didn't need to state the goddamn obvious. He gently touched the young girl's arm. Immediately, she used whatever strength she had left in her to recoil. "It's all right," he quietly assured her. "We're here to help you. Can you stand?"

"No ..." was the weak response. Her eyes opened a little more, yet she continued to squint at the flashlight's beam. "I can't ... I'm ... tired ..."

The Doctor noticed the dried blood within the wardrobe itself. So much. The girl was hanging onto life by sheer willpower. It never ceased to amaze him how strong humans could be, even under the most dire of circumstances. They were undoubtedly indomitable.

"I'm gonna pick you up," Dean calmly explained as he moved closer. "You lemme know if something's wrong, okay?" He'd no idea the extent of her injuries, only that she wasn't in terrific shape. She needed medical attention as soon as possible. He knew just where she could get it, too.

"Mmm ..." she mumbled in reply.

As carefully as possible, he slipped one arm around her back and the other underneath her legs. As he rose to his feet, the Doctor backed away but kept the light on the girl. Once she was out of the wardrobe and into the bright moonlight, they had a clearer picture of her physical state. She'd been slashed by something. It didn't look like any sort of claw to Dean or the Doctor – this was a knife blade. As pale as she was, the blood loss was extensive.

After he performed his own cursory medical exam, the Doctor looked to Dean. "If she doesn't receive care soon, she won't survive much longer," he stated.

Dean glanced at the girl. She seemed too out of it to comprehend what was being said. Still, he didn't like the cool tone in which he'd spoken. "We have a real doctor back at the ship," he shortly replied. "First, we find a way to get her out of that window without killing her." He met the Doctor's gaze. "Unless you have objections to leavin'?"

"The girl is our immediate concern," he conceded. As much as he did not want to leave the Malus, the girl's life was infinitely more important. "I'm sure you already have the perfect plan in mind?" he assumed, and the sarcasm not lost on Dean.

Resisting the urge to get into it with him, Dean instead searched for something which could be useful in getting Athena Reynolds safely to the ground, without further damage. His jaw tightened when nothing presented itself. "You have any ideas?" He avoided eye contact with the alien, he didn't want to see the bastard smirking. He waited then turned. "Doc?"

The Doctor was focused on the door. He moved forward – slowly - then reached out for the knob. Before he touched it, he glanced back at Dean. "The door is no longer secured," he said in a low tone.

"Finally, a friggin' break! Let's get the hell outta here."

He raised a hand, stopping Dean in his tracks. "Haste is exactly what put us in this situation," he admonished. "That was my misjudgment," he quickly continued before Dean could debate the point. "I won't make the same mistake twice."

"For this kid's sake, we're gonna have to take a chance." He pushed by the alien and used a foot to kick the already cracked door fully open. After he checked the hallway, he glanced to the Doctor. "It's clear. Let's move."

"We should consider this more carefully -" the Doctor began, but Dean was gone before he could finish his thought. With a heavy, annoyed sigh, he followed. As he caught up with Dean at the bottom of the staircase, they both came to a halt. "Something isn't right about this - " He noticed the front door itself was wide open. "Not at all."

He shrugged. "It dropped its guard. Too bad for the killer alien probe. Great for us. Come on." He quickly crossed the open room and stepped onto the porch. They were free! They'd save this poor girl's life, then they could get away from the place. Far, far away. A couple of decades. The sound of the sonic screwdriver's trilling caught his attention. He turned. "What're you doing?"

The Doctor, who stood in the doorway now, shook his head. "The energy levels haven't diminished," he murmured. He lowered the device, a curious expression on his face. "They've increased. It hasn't lost power, it's gained it. How?" A hand ran through his hair as he frowned, beyond frustrated with this mystery. "What's changed?"

"Dude, who the hell cares?" Dean jerked his head in the direction of the TARDIS when the Doctor turned around. "We can worry about this shit later." Without waiting, he headed for the ship. "We catch a lucky break and all he can do is stand around and wonder why?" He glanced at Athena. She was barely conscious. "I promise you, kid, you're gonna make it."

-

With the torch beam illuminating the creaky wooden steps as each foot planted itself firmly before taking on her weight, Martha descended the staircase. Her free hand slid along the cold stone which made up the walls on either side of her. As she neared the foot, the odd aroma of sunflowers had become fairly overpowering. She'd not noticed any of them around the house or even the town itself, so why did the cellar smell like them?

"Monica?" Martha's feet hit the hard floor at the bottom of the stairs. She quickly flashed the beam of light to her left then to her right. At first glance, the cellar appeared to be empty. "Hello?" she called, softly.

Abruptly, she stopped the beam as it illuminated a sizable, rust-like discoloration on the floor and wall directly across from the staircase. When she realized what it was, the odor made sense – the sunflowers. Terribly old blood smelled similar to them. Until then, she'd never had the opportunity to verify the disturbing factoid she'd heard from a fellow medical student.

A noise to her left caught her attention and she turned. "Monica?" she asked, her voice shaking a little. Finally, the torch's beam unveiled the pale face in the endless black. She let out a relieved breath, her shoulders relaxed. "You scared me," she whispered. "I thought you'd - " Her brow furrowed. "Monica?"

Before she received a reply, Martha was thrown back against the far wall and firmly held there by an invisible force. She tried to lift her arm, but it was useless. She could barely even breathe because of the immense pressure against her chest. What was it? It wasn't a person – this sensation enveloped her entire body, not specific areas.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with light from above. In the middle of the sub-level's ceiling was a simple bulb, hanging freely by its decades old electrical wiring. How it was even on, she didn't know. Her thoughts left the mystery above as she noticed Monica. The ghost stood near the blood-spattered wall which, as the new light revealed, bore a large, jagged-edged hole in it. That wasn't all that was on the other side of the room.

Martha's eyes widened. Blood spatter patterns were everywhere. However, there were no remains of whatever, or whoever, had caused it. Just the bloodstains were left, some of which were old; others ... were more fresh. Her heart skipped a beat as she settled her gaze on the ghost. Monica wore the same expression as when she'd first appeared inside the TARDIS. The "monster" must've taken control of her.

"Monica ..."

"This is the one who presents a threat," the ghost evenly said. She slowly turned her head, her eyes affixed to the hole in the wall to her right. "Yes," she continued after a pause. "She controls her fear too well. Should I kill her?"

"Monica," Martha called out. "You can fight it! You're stronger than this!" She hesitated when the black eyes leveled on her. She struggled against the invisible bonds which held her to the wall. "Please. I need your help! Don't let it control you!"

Her head titled to one side. "I serve willingly," she coldly replied. She paused, as though listening to someone else speak. "It needs you alive. You will bring the Time Lord and be useful against him."

"You don't want to do this," she pleaded. She glanced at the hole, wondering what Monica kept referring to there. "You told me you wanted to help."

The ghost 'listened' again, then nodded. "Yes, I will." She raised a hand to Martha, turned it palm up then gestured. The same telekinetic force which kept Martha imprisoned removed the Colt revolver from the left-hand pocket of the Doctor's coat. The spirit's fingers curled around the weapon as soon as it hit her hand. She held it up between them. "Is this what you want?" she inquired. After a moment, there was another nod. "Yes."

Martha watched as Monica approached the hole. "What're you doin' with that?"

"It needs it." She crouched down and placed the gun on the floor, behind the bottom of the crumbled wall. A crooked grin on her face, she peered over her shoulder. "To kill the Time Lord."

Fear for her own life forgotten, concern for the Doctor's overrode all else. "What needs it?" she angrily demanded. The ghost only continued to smile as she slowly rose to her feet. She flicked her gaze to the hole in the wall. "What are you?" she almost shouted. "Show yourself! Or are you afraid to let me see who you are? Is that it? Are you scared?"

A low rumble behind the wall caused bits of dust and rock to rain down around the opening. Her body tensed when she saw movement in the darkness. Soon, two bright green orbs – about head high – appeared within it. As the mysterious "monster" moved forward, her heart raced faster, her adrenaline pumped through her veins in guarded fear. Until ...

"Oh, my God," she gasped. Her mouth dropped open in shock (and horror). "What the hell are you?"

-

End Chapter Ten