Thanks all of you for your awesome reviews! I'm really (how do you Brits say?) 'chuffed'! I'm loving writing this even more than you're loving reading it, and your reviews are like crack, seriously. I hope you like this chapter, it's a bit...well...you'll see! More to come, more to come.
XIIII.
He gripped her hand before they entered the living room.
Martha had an acute sense of the here and now – of her hand in his; of him in his brown suit, of his Doctor-ly smile…and then he was gone again, striding confidently into the 'den of Mister John's men'.
"Hello!" He greeted them all, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. "Might not bare saying at this point, but…I'm The Doctor."
There was silence. Martha stepped lightly into the room behind The Doctor, and took in the atmosphere. It was humid. The lamps didn't help. Martha was clean, but she suddenly felt sullied by the heat. Thirteen men sat or were stood crowded into the little room, taking up both couches and all the chairs. Mister John was stood next to Chester by the window. Charles was sat in an armchair, flanked by Louis and Buster. Earl hovered in a corner near the door. The other men stared at the two of them. A couple of them were smoking cigarettes. The smell mingled with that smell of whisky and coffee. Sweet Mama was standing behind one of the couches, her hand on a man's shoulder – he looked about her age.
The Doctor puffed out his cheeks and then leaned down to whisper in her ear: "Tough room…"
"Tell me about it." Martha spoke from firsthand experience, having faced these men the night before. "No time for stage fright, mister. You're on."
He straightened up and rocked once on his trainers. "Right. Allons-y..."
Martha lifted her chin, ready to back him up as he won them all over – as she knew he would. The Doctor moved forward, and began shaking each man's hand in turn cheerfully. He got all of their names, giving Buster, Earl, and Louis familiar nods and claps on the back. Charles merely gave a jerk of his head for greeting, and The Doctor wisely moved on. He and Mister John exchanged a solemn nod of understanding – Martha fancied she heard The Doctor mutter 'thank you for looking after her' under his breath. She chalked it up to a trick of her ears.
Next The Doctor turned to Chester. Martha had forgotten to mention his arrival. The Doctor held out his hand. Chester took it. "I'm The Doctor."
"Chester Burnett."
The Doctor nodded and they shook. "Good to meet you, Chester Burnett!" He was shaking Chester's hand, and he hadn't let go yet. His face slowly changed – his smile turned to a frown, and his eyes grew wider.
"Chester…Burnett?" He asked with mystification.
"That's my name, sir." Chester said, not appearing at all uncomfortable with the way The Doctor was still shaking his hand robotically.
Everyone else noticed, though. They all exchanged glances, and some glanced at Martha with annoyance. She kept her gaze on The Doctor and Chester, trying to figure out what was going through The Doctor's brilliant, but even at the best of times, enigmatic mind.
"Chester Arthur Burnett? Born June 10, 1920? Mother Gertrude Burnett? Father…" The Doctor's eyes darted from Chester's now surprised face to Mister John's, and they went wide with sudden dawning, "…John…Arthur…Grey…"
"That's right." Mister John muttered quietly, eyeing The Doctor. "How did you know all that?"
"Noooo!" The Doctor let go of Chester's hand, stepped back, and grabbed at his own hair, still looking at him with a mixture of bemusement and shock. "You're Chester Arthur Burnett? Otherwise known as…?"
He turned his wide-eyed gaze to Martha.
"Martha, do you know who this is?"
Martha furrowed her brow and shook her head vaguely, totally confused.
The Doctor bounced on his feet, rudely pointing to Chester like a kid pointing out a toy he wanted in the shop to his mum. "Ohhh, come on Martha! This is Howlin' Wolf!"
He flipped around and took Chester's hand again, shaking it like a gushing fan.
"You're the Howlin' Wolf, aren't you? Ohh, it's an honor! I'm a huge fan, so is Martha – right Martha? You walked for four days, all the way here, barefoot, you did. Didn't you? Legendary stuff, mate, legendary!"
Everyone gaped. Even Chester looked a little nervous at The Doctor's manic enthusiasm and simply uncanny knowledge of his life and background.
Then Martha noticed The Doctor draw in a deep breath, freeze where he stood, and exhale slowly. Martha frowned, turning to watch him. His face was now hardened with restraint. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then held up a finger.
"Er…hold that thought, just a tick…"
Martha wanted to protest, but he had already turned to Sweet Mama. She watched The Doctor look at her with a question in his eyes – just like before, in the kitchen.
Sweet Mama smiled encouragingly. "Got a box on the floor under the shelf in the cupboard. To keep it cool…" she told him.
Probably no one in the room understood what they were on about; most of them exchanged exasperated or confused glances. But Martha had a hunch, and she couldn't help a feeling of concern as The Doctor turned on his heel and disappeared through the door to the kitchen. She turned back to the crowd of waiting men and smiled apologetically.
"What the hell was that foolishness?" Charles grumbled to Mister John.
"You just hush up and listen to that man," Sweet Mama chided. "He ain't no fool."
Charles scoffed, but Martha was appreciative of Sweet Mama's defense of The Doctor. A few seconds later, he reappeared, carrying a jar of Sweet Mama's homemade marmalade and a spoon. It wasn't as dark as the other jar. It had an orangey-pink tint to it. Martha could see the skins of the fruit Sweet Mama used. The spoon was in his mouth and he swallowed. He took another helping as the men stirred restlessly, ate it down and cleared his throat.
He winked at Martha and gestured with the spoon. "Apricot!" he said delightedly, then his face was serious again just like that, and he addressed the room at large. "Sorry about that! Where was I?"
"Doctor…?" Mister John took a step forward.
"Just The Doctor."
"Well, just Doctor – you seem to know a lot about me and my boy. Out of everythin' I seen since you come here; that's the strangest. So, if you got somethin' to say, now'd be a good time to say it."
"Of course."
The Doctor handed the jar of marmalade to Martha, who took it begrudgingly, really feeling the tension building in the room. She felt that with these men, getting to the point quickly would be the best course of action. The Doctor obviously felt the same way.
"This area has been invaded by Haemovariform warriors who've taken part-human, part-lupine form." He said matter-of-factly, eyeing them all with his eyebrows peaked to the ceiling, his hands in his pockets.
Everyone stared at him like he had two heads. Martha shot him a look, encouraging him to elaborate. He sighed.
"Right, in other words – werewolves. Their main objective – apart from turning every human within twenty kilometers of here into a werewolf, or…food – is finding him," he pointed to Chester.
«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»
Deputy Morris moved through the trees, his eyes everywhere at once. About a dozen other men moved around him – all spaced out in a perimeter of about the size of a baseball diamond. They'd started in town, when the sun was still up.
Morris had strange dreams, and Martha Jones' face hovered in some of them. Her warning. He looked up at the moon, now. Clouds were passing over it, but even if there weren't it's light wouldn't reach them. It had been the last night of the full moon last night, and now what rested in the inky sky was a circular, shadowy orb. A thin sliver of silvery surface peeked out at him from under the clouds. He scoffed. So much for stayin' in the moonlight…he thought, and Martha Jones came into his mind yet again, as it had perhaps a dozen other times that day.
They were headed towards the creek, spread out, their torches aloft, their rifles at the ready. Ed paused in the brush and flicked his flashlight on and off – the signal they agreed on to announce when they stumbled upon any clue of the animal. Everyone halted and Deputy Morris squinted at Ed's still figure.
"False alarm – it's a red wolf…" he called quietly.
They moved on.
So far, there had been no word from the hospital of any improvement or change in the patients' conditions. They were still unconscious, not a scratch on them. Morris was puzzled, but he told the doctor to hold off sending for other medical opinions. It may not have been the wisest thing to do – but he had a hunch. Some underlying instinct to wait. Was he waiting until he found the other doctor – the one traveling with Martha?
He didn't know.
They trudged on.
Deputy Morris let his feet carry him, walking on with his eyes peeled on the shadows in the trees, and knew in the back of his mind that he would stop by and check in on the GYST House. He would only take Ed, being the calmer, more sensible of his two fellow officers, and send the rest on up the creek.
Something about that Martha…and the man that, so far, he hadn't seen or heard a stitch of information about. Maybe he was being foolish. But in his life, living in this town, surrounded by people he knew he didn't quite fit in with – he found himself having instincts that went against the norm quite regularly.
Most of the time, he stood by. Most of the time, like so many times with the Sheriff, he opted to keep his strife concerning some of the things he'd seen to himself. He went along. He tried to make up for it where he could. He let the higher-ups be, and kept his head down.
Not this time.
«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»
Oh, The Doctor hated times like these. But, alright, secretly kind he of loved them.
He needed their help, but he would have to convince them to trust him. That's where his cleverness and powers of persuasion came in.
But that wasn't really a concern of his – convincing these men, who weren't attempting to hide their suspicions of him, was a walk in the park compared to what was also quite palpable. So much in fact that he was now regularly returning to Martha to scoop from the jar of apricot marmalade. It was the scent of blood in this room. Thick, heady, clouding his thoughts a bit, and oh was it mouthwatering.
Martha's scent mingled with everyone else's, adding considerably to the potent mix of temptation. The windows were open, but the humid night only afforded him the slightest of breezes.
And what was more – Chester 'Howlin' Wolf' Burnett was right there, within his reach. The presence of the man who was a vital target of a collective consciousness skulking around in his mind put him on edge.
He couldn't stand still. Yes, The Doctor was by nature a manic being who didn't stand still very much in the first place, but there was a menace to his restlessness now that he was struggling to tame. He felt his new instincts clamoring to take over. He felt the ghost of his beastly form, snarling and snapping and clawing the walls of the train car. The Doctor was good at self-control – more than good – but this room full of men and the near-stifling smell of their blood coating the air was proving to be a bit of a distraction.
His good-natured attitude dimmed, and he instead focused on getting out what he had to say and then getting out of this room. Away from the tantalizing scent. Away from Chester. The Wolf. The Alpha.
Ohhh, this was bad.
He didn't care what the others thought of his behavior, but he did notice the mounting concern in Martha's eyes.
"Alright!" He started when several of the men began talking at once. "Here's the thing…" he dropped his voice dramatically, his agitated state making him no sufferer of fools. "There is a war raging thousands of light years away – in a galaxy called the Arch System."
"The what, now?" Charles barked. The Doctor turned his gaze on the middle-aged black man with the red freckles.
"The Arch System." He repeated bluntly. He heard Martha shift uncomfortably on her feet near him, but he had no patience for politeness. He rattled off what he knew full throttle, rapid fire, running his hand through his hair as he paced. He had a lot to explain to them, and his discomfort was mounting. "It's a small galaxy, but a valuable one for whoever has control of it. A cluster of industrial planets whose inhabitants specialize in intergalactic warfare. They're weapons manufacturers, since the beginning of their existence they've built and secured military breeding colonies, working tirelessly, obsessed with creating the perfect soldiers – the deadliest weapons in the universe.
But – the universe is a biiig place. What they didn't count on was another species doing exactly the same thing hundreds of galaxies away."
The Doctor had their attention – he was like a father at story time. His deliverance grew even more rapid, and he gripped the air with his fingers to emphasize the crushing brutality of the species he would speak of next.
"Creatures with the same conscienceless motives, the same single-minded drive to conquer, were breaking free from the masters that created them to do what they were designed to do without restraint. They burned their way through planet after planet, species after species, hell bent on destruction and chaos-"
"The Clades!" Martha gasped, interrupting him.
The Doctor lowered his hand and turned to her. She was looking at him, the memory of their run in with the Clade Warriors, in the homestead town of Redwater, blazing in her eyes. He nodded gravely.
"Yes. This might even be linked to what happened in Redwater."
"But, how? That Clade gun thing crashed, didn't it? And that was in the 1800s, how does that add up?" Martha stepped forward, gripping the jar of marmalade.
The Doctor sighed. "Time isn't a straight line, Martha, you know that."
Her eyes narrowed as she thought about it, and The Doctor felt pride poke at him, despite all the other sensations coursing through him, as he watched her work it out on her own.
"…do you mean…this werewolf…the one we saw…crashed too?"
He nodded again. She bit her lip. He almost wanted to smile. He couldn't – he smelled blood. He kept himself under constant restraint. But now it was like they were the only two people in the room. He didn't know what the other blokes – and Sweet Mama – were doing while he watched Martha ruminate. He didn't care all that much. He watched Martha.
Her eyes lit up and she focused on him again. "The Clades caught up with the..the Huma…vermiform? And what happened – there was some sort of altercation, obviously…and they both crashed. But in different times, in different places. And the same thing that Clade was doing in 1880, this Huma-veriform thing is doing here, isn't it?"
At that, The Doctor actually did manage a grin. Martha's cleverness never ceased to amaze him.
"Spot on, Martha Jones."
"Thank you, Doctor."
He lifted the spoon, and a suggestive eyebrow, at her. She gave him a smirk, took the spoon, and scooped out some marmalade for herself. She swallowed and nodded at him.
"It is delicious!"
"Isn't it?" He agreed enthusiastically.
"Alright, goddamnit!" Charles the tetchy freckled chap jumped up glaring. "Enough with this fairy tale bullshit! You better start talkin' some sense, Jack, or Imma toss ya skinny ass out there in them trees to get ate up like Percy Daniels!"
"Charles Hudgeons!" Sweet Mama snapped. "That ain't no kinda thing to say in my ho-!"
"Stay outta this, Sweet Mama…" Charles warned. "All of ya'll are sittin' here with ya heads on backwards, listenin' to this crock of shit. I'm givin' this sucka five minutes to say somethin' that means somethin' 'fore I get my pistol."
The Doctor sighed, scratching his forehead to stall for patience, and turned to face him. He met Charles' eyes, and his bloodlust flared. His temper was especially sensitive, what with the influence of lupine instinct coursing through him. If it were a full moon…The Doctor didn't want to think about it. He felt Martha's calming touch on his arm. He didn't look at her. He was afraid of what she might see in his eyes, as she already seemed to sense his confliction. She knew him…she knew him well enough to know that he was a ticking time bomb, of sorts.
Mister John spoke up as the two men stared each other down. "Charles…relax." He stepped forward and put a hand on Charles' arm. Then his eyes moved to catch The Doctor's. He returned the man's gaze. "Doctor…please tell us what all this means. And why you say they comin' after my son."
Charles The Wolf simply stood, eyeing The Doctor with a stoicism and an intensity beyond his years.
Again The Doctor sighed. He ignored Charles as Mister John's hand guided him back to his seat. He didn't look happy about it. The Doctor didn't care.
"Martha's right – the Clades and the Haemovariform are at war. The one that ended up here was shot down by a Clade fighter ship. He was displaced, out of time and space, and crashed somewhere near; probably wherever your friend Percy was in those woods. I'm so sorry, but he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Thing is – before it crashed, the Haemovariform had time to think. To plan. But only just enough time to…scrape together a scheme, based on where he was headed. Their technology is based on a collective consciousness, much like the Clades, but different."
He began to pace again, running his hands over his face. Thinking, working it out as he went. Martha was used to this, but the others stirred where they sat or stood, uneasy and struggling to keep up with him.
"He was on the run. His leader has been assassinated – they need a new one, or they'll lose this war. So he's here…and when he realized that humans are perfect hosts, he was realizing at the same time that there was – to him – a perfectly suitable candidate for leadership."
"Oh my god…" Martha whispered, her eyes widening. "No."
He nodded, still not meeting her gaze.
"Doctor, are you sure?"
"They need an Alpha, a leader who will secure a bond they all share, one who's every whim is felt like an all-consuming, unbending and unbreakable chain that turns them any way he chooses. Being bred with lupine DNA, naturally he saw a spark of recognition in one name.
A famous name round these parts in this time. A name that peeked his interest. One that served as some sort of beacon of hope for his galaxy's salvation."
"…what name…?" Mister John asked, though The Doctor could see in his eyes that he already knew.
The Doctor turned to look at Chester, who lifted his chin as if facing down a bully without fear. The Doctor admired his bravery. "The Howling Wolf. The man whose voice will influence and mesmerize people all over the world for years to come."
Martha shook her head. "But…that's unbelievable! Why not go after a president or someone with a military background or something?"
The Doctor remained facing Mister John and Chester as he answered her. "The soldier made due with what little time and information he had. He chose Chester, The Wolf, under extreme circumstances. And besides, Martha…"
Finally he turned to look at her.
"These creatures' very existence is based on a bond that takes all emotion, all sensory indulgence, all of the things in the mind that make a person unique and turning it on itself. They bend everything to one will. And this man…" He pointed to Chester. "Is a master at that, not because he's a dictator or a political figure…no he has something much more powerful.
Music, Martha. It's what I brought you here to experience first hand – it's powerful stuff; a form of hypnotism in its own right. It moves people, it stirs them deep inside…and he has the power to influence them in the most intimate of ways."
There was silence again. The crickets outside made noise of eerie applause. The Doctor pitched forward and took the spoon from Martha. She stared at him as he scooped out more marmalade, and he let the smooth stuff slide down his throat.
"Good Lord…" someone – sounded like Louis – spoke behind him. "I plum don't know what to make of all this! What you say, boss? This make any sense to you?"
Everyone turned to Mister John. He seemed deep in thought. The Doctor casually scooped out more marmalade, even though, as before, he was going off it. The apricot smell eased him somewhat, but it was a poor defense against this room.
"Doctor…how do you know this?" It was Chester who spoke, now. His classic voice – one The Doctor had listened to on records and recognized instantly, was calm and even authoritative.
The Doctor swallowed the marmalade down and removed the spoon from his mouth. He tapped it against his forehead softly before answering. "That's…a bit more difficult to explain."
"That thing you did – in that clearing last night." Mister John interjected. "You…you touched that demon dog, right on it's head. Like you was…like you was readin' it's mind."
The Doctor lifted his eyebrows and dipped his head from side to side. He exhaled. "Orrrr…well…that's pretty spot on, as well."
"Don't make no goddamn sense…" Charles muttered.
The Doctor glared at him, his temper flaring instantly. "Well it's what's happening, so try and get that through your thick brain. Being a tetchy git won't solve anything, so get a grip, will you?"
Charles stood up abruptly and made to charge at him. The Doctor felt carnality engulf him, and he lost his perfect self-control for a split second. Charles raised a fist, but The Doctor had blocked the blow before it even got underway.
"Doctor, no!" Suddenly Martha was next to him, the jar of marmalade was on the floor, and Charles' fist was being crushed in The Doctor's grip. The big man buckled to his knees. Every single person started, his friends rose to their feet. Martha pressed her tiny body into The Doctor, a small, fragile shield against the animosity in the room.
The Doctor let go the instant Charles was on his knees, and he stepped back in horror. He looked at Martha, who was now hovering over Charles – her instincts as a doctor in training, and her compassion driving her actions – but she was staring at him with shock. The rest of them were closing in, anger and mistrust in their eyes. Mister John looked conflicted. He was obviously behind his friend – and also obviously behind The Doctor. A precarious position. Chester stood next to his father, still as stoic and intense as ever.
Sweet Mama tentatively stepped forward – the only one who reached out to him – her eyes full of an intimate understanding of his feelings just then. He was revolted by the scene; by what he had done; by what he was about to do. He stood, breathing hard, inhaling the overpowering scent of the blood coursing through each and every person's veins.
And it was too much.
He backed out of the room, running a hand through his hair, and disappeared through the door.