What Happened to Fan Fic Phoebe: A Doc Martin Mystery
Khyber Love, its characters, themes and plotlines are the property of Poppyfield Productions. We are grateful to Ramint Slunec and his lovely wife,
Tabitha Wire Alipphi, for allowing us to play about with their brilliant story.
Previously in Fan Fic Phoebe: The two police inspectors and forensic pathologist excused themselves from the command center so that the unorthodox – some would say illegal – search for Phoebe Nielsen could proceed. Although Phoebe's mobile and tablet had no tracking apps, Martin Ellingham and a teenage hacker were able to ping Phoebe's location to a familiar Cornwall cottage. We now join Martin and his band of rescuers.
Chapter 11 – Duct Tape
After a bit of squabbling, Ursula and Ruth left for Portwenn to enlist the questionable help of PC Penhale. Babs, David Rhys, Stewart and I would press on to the lodge where Louisa and I had enjoyed the first 22 minutes of our honeymoon.
The Altazimuth coordinates soon directed us to the road that Bert Large had taken months earlier to our secluded destination. I had clutched Louisa's hand hoping that the villagers' scheme would not disappoint her. Setting our wedding date required my most persuasive powers, as Louisa saw no need to formalise our relationship. It was James Henry's kidnapping that made me realise I must remain in Portwenn. Although Louisa was willing to join me in London, my haemophobia had re-appeared, effectively ending my surgical career. Little choice remained, and my future now lay in the village. Louisa did not express a desire for a wedding trip, so I was surprised when she eagerly accepted Bert's offer. Early on I had made a hash of it with the chimney fire, not to mention the ensuing fiasco.
About 100 meters from the squat green structure, Stewart halted the Jeep. "What's our operational strategy, Doc?"
"What do you mean?" It hadn't occurred to me that a plan was needed, but of course it was. If Danko Slunec or someone of his ilk was holding Dr. Nielsen, he may not easily release her.
"Perhaps we should wait for the constable, Stewart." Checking my mobile once more, no signal appeared, and I asked Babs to contact Ruth. Penhale should be on en route by now.
Babs had been unnaturally quiet, but her demeanour brightened as she took up her high-powered tablet: "Oh, I've another email from Phoebe. Listen now: 'I have no idea where I am, but it seemed only a short drive from the church. After the explosion, I was nabbed by Billy Chumley, a former patient from Broadmoor and a mate of the Vauxhall Vampire. The two extorted nutmeg and Elennare from inmates by threatening them with rat bites. Chumley is bipolar and appears to be in a manic phase. I am manacled to a table, but Billy has finally dozed off. This morning he scoured the loft and cellar for rats, but found none. I am frightened because his behaviour last night was quite bizarre. In fact. . .'
"There's nothing more. Perhaps he's awakened and menacing Phoebe," Babs shivered as she looked toward the lodge.
"All the more reason to wait for the PC." I wanted no part in a second debacle.
"Not so," David Rhys began to pace. "Phoebe told me about this Chumley. He was bitten many times by the Vauxhall Vampire and did contract Weil's Disease. We have no idea what he might do lacking his nocturnal meal of rats. We must act – now."
"Martin, please. You've only to read between the lines to see that Phoebe's horribly frightened. Babs gestured at her tablet. "Let's work out a plan. There's only one of him but four of us."
"You mean five, Babs." Stewart pointed to the empty space at his right. "Anthony's here as well. In fact, we've been chatting, and Ant has an idea. Insensitive sorts often think of squirrels as rats with bushy tails. Anthony can disguise himself as a rat and entice Chumley from the cottage. We've only to bind up his tail."
Of all the lunacy that had been visited upon me in Cornwall, this was the most absurd thing I had ever heard. An invisible red squirrel, disguised as a rodent, would lure a rat-eating maniac away from Phoebe Nielsen.
"Well, it's worth a try." Babs readily agreed with Stewart. "Let me see what I might have in my bag. Ah, here it is." Babs produced a roll of what appeared to be a metallic tape.
"Duct tape. I'll wrap it tightly around Anthony's tail, and he'll certainly resemble a rat. It's worth a try, no?"
"Babs, this is not a joke! Doctor Nielsen is in danger. We can't use an imaginary squirrel made to look like a rat."
"What would you do then, Ellingham?" David Rhys took an insolent tone. "What's your brilliant idea? I say let's have Anthony try – at least as a diversionary tactic. The four of us can then enter the building and remove Phoebe."
"But she's manacled to a table," I again tried to reason.
"We'll take the table with us. The important thing is to free Phoebe from that madman."
Turning away in disbelief, I saw Penhale's Bedford roar into the clearing where it stopped centimeters from our group. The moron nearly mowed us down! But the driver who alighted was not the PC but India Cloverley, followed by Ruth, Ursula and – to my dismay - Louisa.
"What are you doing here," I demanded.
"Joe was a bit indisposed with the dreaded lurgy and told us to use the Bedford. He's sending reinforcements from Bude, and they'll be here shortly. Oh look, Martin, our newlywed nest," Louisa took my hand. "This is where our marriage began, husband."
Aunt Ruth cleared her throat and briskly took command: "What more do we know?"
After Babs read Phoebe's last email and David Rhys added his bit about Chumley, Ruth closed her eyes and sighed deeply: "Yes, Billy's a very bad sort; he became mushy brained with all the nutmeg and thought he was a character from the Sound of Music. I'm furious that he was ghosted away from Broadmoor after the Weil's Disease, but they wanted no more of the poor sod. Such a shame. I could have helped him. Let me try now."
Recalling Ruth's failed effort to reason with the psychotic Sally Tishell, I cautioned her to wait until the Bude constables took charge.
"Nonsense, Martin. I've treated patients like Chumley my entire career. I'll only have a word with him. India, hand me the loudhailer please."
"Billy, hello there. It's Doctor Ellingham." Ruth's amplified voice sounded across the clearing. "You'll remember we had the Tuesday meetings with Baroness von Trapp. A bit ago, I'm afraid. But it's lovely to know that you're here in Cornwall. May I come through for a chat?"
The sound of shattering glass was followed by piercing screams. A massive figure holding a large knife filled the broken window sash. "Clear off. I mean to have my supper with Doctor Nielsen. Rats are on order. There's naught in the loft or cellar, but I'll find one at nightfall. Then I'll razor up the rat and this old battleaxe too."
When Billy brandished the knife, I had to block David Rhys from rushing forward. In doing so, I lost my footing and fell to the wet earth, taking Rhys with me.
"Really, you two," Ruth scolded as Babs and Stewart appeared from behind the Jeep.
"Anthony's ready. We've done up his tail, and he'll work a treat. I'm very proud of Ant." Stewart raised hand to forehead in salute, and Babs gushed: "Isn't he cute?"
"Dysfunctionally cute," I muttered and looked to Ruth for support.
"Whatever is going on," my aunt was clearly bewildered. Babs explained their idea, and Ruth's eyebrows rose as she heard the preposterous plan. "Perfect! Of course Anthony can look like anything we imagine him to be, whether a squirrel or rat. For today's purposes, he's a rat. Given Chumley's mental state and use of hallucinogens, if we say we've spotted a rat, he just may see one."
"Ingenious," Louisa's face filled with admiration. "Oh Martin, was this your idea?"
"Not as such . . . ."
"Well, let's get on with it," Ursula impatiently motioned to Ruth.
"Doctor Ellingham again, Billy. We've seen a number of rats scurrying about. Very large they are. Feeding on the natural seeds and nuts, they're likely to be quite tasty. Free range rats if you will. Oh look! I believe there's one now."
With that, Stewart whispered, "Godspeed Anthony," and I swear I saw an enormous rat with a silver coloured tail scuttle into the clearing.
Chumley must have witnessed the same thing, as he lumbered from the cottage – knife held high – in pursuit of Anthony, the imaginary rat. After several minutes of chasing about, Billy bent over, panting loudly. Stewart, David and Babs took this opportunity to move forward, followed by India and Louisa bearing handcuffs.
The first three were able to topple Billy, but not without injury. I ran to the Jeep for my medical bag and, on my return, Chumley's hands and legs were cuffed, but blood splattered his captors. Before being subdued, he had sliced Stewart's arm, David's shoulder and the face that launched a thousand real estate sales.
Ruth joined me, and we easily staunched the bleeding from Stewart and David's superficial cuts. Blood flowed from a long gash on the estate agent's right cheek and could not be stopped. Mindful of scarring and with no tissue adhesive, I remembered a film in which the hero used metallic tape to wrap a head wound. I retrieved the duct tape from the Jeep's bonnet, after first vomiting on the front tyre. With a piece of gause, I gently pushed together the slashed epidermis and affixed a long strip of duct tape. Louisa looked on with trepidation, whilst murmuring, "Brave girl, Babs. Martin's an excellent doctor. Nothing to worry about."
Sirens alerted us to the approach of the Bude constables, who were soon impressed that a forest ranger, an older gentleman and a quite thin estate agent could overcome the giant Billy Chumley. Never mind that a social worker and headmistress could so capably cuff him. They rolled Billy to and fro, finally bringing him to his feet.
"Wait!" I shouted. "He has the manacle key. A woman's imprisoned inside the cottage."
The younger constable frisked Chumley, brought forth the key and handed it to Aunt Ruth.
Led by Anthony, our dirty, wounded band straggled across the clearing to free Phoebe Nielsen.
Going through the door, my stomach lurched from the odour and sight of blood. Phoebe was face down on the table, whimpering like a twice-kicked dog. The deranged Chumley had bitten her face and neck, leaving many seeping wounds.
"Here, Martin, bring me cotton wool and hydrogen peroxide. I want to clean her face but not cause the pain of an antiseptic." Before Ruth began, I injected Tramadol hydrochloride into Dr. Nielsen's arm hoping to alleviate her misery. In the end, we let the cotton wool adhere to the bites and lightly bandaged Phoebe's head.
David Rhys insisted on carrying Dr. Nielsen to the Jeep, and I followed behind - fearful for both of them. After resting Phoebe on the rear seat with her head on David's lap and feet held by Ruth, Stewart and Ursula departed with them for Royal Cornwall Hospital. Anthony took the position next to his alter ego.
I returned to the lodge to fetch Babs, who had gotten a bit silly from her own Tramadol jab. Louisa strongly suggested that I carry her friend to the Bedford, where she was cradled between India and my wife. We joined the procession to Truro, led by Stewart and followed by the Bude constables. Billy Chumley would likely be sectioned under the Mental Health Act, a fate I nearly prescribed for Stewart James. But today, the ranger and his invisible companion had been quite brave and resourceful in freeing Dr. Nielsen.
On the way to hospital, India reported that Scotland Yard had detained Danko and Ramint Slunec for the St. Endelienta bombing. Apparently, Khyber Love's creators were at odds as to the show's conclusion, and Ramint believed an explosion could provide many possible endings – albeit grisly.
One mystery was solved, yet more remained, including the coincidental appearance of Billy Chumley in Cornwall. Could he have been causing Phoebe's accidents and illnesses, India wondered. And who had forged the note in Louisa's handwriting, an act particularly galling to my wife. She still suspected the old spook Ursula, but I reminded her that Phoebe had also learned forgery skills from the former MI-5 case officer.
What I wanted to know was how Dr. Nielsen sent emails and posted a fan fiction chapter from the cottage. Louisa discovered Phoebe's muddy satchel under the table, and it contained an IPad and mobile, but neither picked up a signal. Who had been sending the messages? Was Phoebe complicit in some of the woes that befell her? And to what end?
Despite her serious injury, Babs refused to be quiet. "There's still something off about Phoebe. Ruth won't believe anything bad about her, but she is no innocent. You think the same, don't you Martin?"
Mysteries like people were not my strong suit. But I agreed with Babs that there was a tad too much intrigue surrounding Phoebe Nielsen. Fortunately, it was none of my business. The lot would soon leave Cornwall, allowing me a return to the simple life I had vowed to pursue in Portwenn. I could not wait for the Khyber Love drama to end.
To be concluded . . .