"Yaz help me!" the Doctor cried. "I'm scared."
She was dressed in her typical outfit. The background was dark.
"Tell me where you are!" I cried. "I'll come to you and help. I promise."
"I don't know where I am," she sobbed. "I barely know who I am. I'm so horribly lost Yaz!"
"Doctor," I cried. "Just give me a clue. Try to remember something. I don't care where you are. I'll find a way to get you."
"Please!" she said.
She suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream and was dragged down into the darkness.
…
I woke up breathing heavily.
"Doctor," I said.
I hugged my knees.
"Oh, where are you Doctor?"
I looked out into the glimpse of sky I could see through my curtains. She had to be somewhere.
…
Philadelphia:
I thought about my people on Newmania as I jogged. We were a peaceful society compared to that of earth. Slightly socialistic, we never hesitated to help each other. But we also didn't have an advanced weapons array, which made us vulnerable to the Daleks.
Some people managed to escape I know. My parents were making desperate calls to friends who had simple planet hopper spacecraft. They were both still calling people when the Daleks slammed through our doors.
My gut told me this woman wasn't from Newmania. The language Newmanian comes from another planet, like English became the main language of the United States. I don't know where it comes from, as it wasn't covered in the American equivalent of kindergarten.
I took a deep breath at the end of my jog. This woman was getting under my skin. If people knew, they wouldn't blame me. Professionally, I didn't like it though.
…
There was a man waiting by my office door when I arrived. He had short, neatly trimmed brown hair, while wearing a gray wool coat over a suit that looked to be off the rack.
"I'm Detective Mark Webb," he said with a smile. "Can we talk?"
"Sure," I said. "Come in."
I turned on the lights, hung up my jacket, and gestured for him to sit down while I did the same.
"I'm seeking information on my Wilson Avenue Jane Doe," he said.
"My supervisor had told me as much," I said. "I planned on writing you a report after a few sessions."
"I have sources indicating you had a breakthrough with her," he said.
"Tell me their names I'll get them reprimanded for breaking confidentiality rules," I said seriously.
"Dr. Melbon, I wouldn't be seeking out sources if I thought this woman was your typical homeless case. I think this woman was left for dead on one of the coldest days on record."
"Okay," I said. "What is missing from the report that makes you think she isn't just a homeless woman?"
"Her hair," he said. "There was only I'd estimate a day of grease in it at the most. It was smooth and well-coifed while the rest of her body was a mess."
They liked her hair the Jane Doe had told me. That was why it was so clean.
"I don't believe breaking confidentiality Detective Webb," I said carefully. "I will say this though: Some people when faced with trauma revert to a child-like state. In rare cases it can go back as far as before they could speak a coherent language."
"How would you respond to a situation like that?" he asked.
"By speaking in a way that is reassuring. If the patient likes to talk like a toddler, I'll engage him or her on that level."
"Interesting," he said.
"I really don't have much to add," I said. "I am in the very early stages of developing a relationship with her. You have to give me more time."
"But I sense you're holding something back," he said. "Tell me."
He had no idea. I had to throw him a bone, or he might do some serious snooping about me.
"I will tell you when I feel it is relevant to the recovery of Jane Doe's identity," I said.
"That's all for now, Dr. Melbon," he said as he got up. "I'll be in touch."
"And I'll keep you informed," I said.
"Have a good day," he said and left.
I sat back in my chair. I really didn't need this. Unlocking the identity of Jane Doe promised to be a difficult task without a detective monitoring my every move.
…
She was in the same position as I found her last time. She looked more scared this time.
"Calisobala," she moaned in Newmanian. "Help me."
"How do you know my name?" I asked.
"I was held naked in a cell for I don't know how long. It felt like forever" she said as tears streamed down. "I was so cold. I thought they were going to freeze me to death. The food they threw in once a day was barely edible, it was mostly burnt bread and slime with a tiny cup of something like water. Eventually guards came in at night warmed me up by inserting themselves in me. I feel so dirty!"
She was sobbing uncontrollably now.
"I want to go home!" she cried. "Help me go home. Please!"
"Where is home?" I asked.
"A woman," she said. "I can't remember her name, but her skin is a shade darker than yours and she has dark hair. Her name was slightly long, but she likes to shorten it. I can't remember anything!"
"I'm going to help you," I said. "You need to try to remember English if you know it. We're on Earth. I think they're beginning to suspect something weird is going on between us."
She looked at me curiously.
"The way you say English, is funny," she said in English.
I cheered mentally.
"Do you know where you are?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said. "Everything is fuzzy. One minute I'm being whipped until my back bleeds. Next, I'm freezing again, and then warm in a place, where they look at you like you're mad."
Her accent was English.
"Are you from England?"
Despite sobbing earlier, she snorted.
"No," she said. "I'm from some place stranger. I don't know where. I wish I knew!"
She was getting upset again.
"You're in Philadelphia," I said.
"In America?" she said. "I haven't seen much cinema but isn't there a famous stair-climbing scene? I always wanted to try that."
She couldn't remember her name, yet as a woman with an English accent, she knew about Rocky.
I smiled.
"Yes. You're making great progress," I said.
"Even though I don't know my name?" she said. "Or how I got here. I can't stop thinking about what they did to me. I'm so scared of my own mind."
"I know," I said. "We're going to work on that. Is there anything I can get you to make you more comfortable here?"
"The food is so bland here," she said. "All I've known is bland. Can I have some custard? I don't even know what it is but the word feels nice on my tongue. I think I like it."
"I'll see what I can do," I said and got up.
"Calisobala," she said. "Do they know who you are?"
"I haven't introduced myself. My name is Dr. Calista Melbon. I'm an American psychologist here at Lambert-Adams Behavioral Health Hospital."
"I see," she said carefully.
She understood what I was hiding. This woman was weaving in out of fugues of terror, but she recognized I was hiding my alien background.
"I'll see about getting you some custard tonight," I said. "We'll meet again tomorrow."
"I look forward to it," she said with a weak smile.
I left the room and headed for the nutrition department. Suddenly I stopped and felt a wave of dizziness.
"Fish fingers and custard always makes me feel better," the Doctor said.
"It sounds disgusting," I said.
"It is until you try it," he said happily. "Nothing is better than custard, except when fish fingers are added! Then it's the best!"
The memory faded.
"Doctor?" I said softly.