Title: Manipulation of the Mind
Author: Trustno1
Disclaimer: Doctor Who related things property of the Beeb. Story, other characters and the Voice property of my disturbed little mind :-)
AN: Here's another chapter in case I don't update for another few days. We're nearly at the end! Thanks to everyone who still reads and reviews!
Chapter XIX
Max Duffy lowered himself to the floor and stood on shaky legs before gingerly walking around the small room. Suddenly, he didn't want to talk anymore; didn't want to tell the Director and this new edgy doctor about the Voice that had plagued his waking moments and turned his dreams into nightmares for the past five days. To be perfectly honest, he still couldn't believe he was rid of it; any moment he expected to hear the whispering Voice in his head, telling him how much of a failure he was, and feel the burning pain throughout his body. And telling these people may just initiate the whole process again.
The Doctor watched the young man walk deliberately around the room, and got more and more agitated with every passing second. He saw him frowning to himself, and his face pale, before he glanced upwards and saw the Doctor observing him with a penetrating glare.
"What happened to you, Max?" he asked, more gently than Duffy would have imagined. He shook his head obstinately, fearfully. "Max, whatever happened to you, whatever that plant did to you, it's happening to my friend. To Rose Tyler. She's 19 years old, Max. She's in my care but I can't take care of her, because I don't know what the hell is wrong with her." The Doctor never broke eye contact with Duffy throughout this speech, and although the younger doctor looked decidedly uncomfortable and even guiltier at the knowledge another person, an innocent young women was suffering, he never looked away. For a minute – one of the longest in the Doctor's life – Max Duffy stood still in the isolated room, trembling slightly, involved in a fearsome internal battle over whether or not to reveal what kind of an ordeal he had been through. The aggrieved look on this new doctor's face couldn't silence him for much longer, and he couldn't stand by debating whether his character was strong enough to face the prospect of hearing the Voice again when another innocent person lay in agony being tormented by the Voice.
"There was… this Voice," he began in a hoarse whisper that betrayed his dread. "I didn't really notice it until after I woke up. Y'know, after we'd gotten back. Before then, I'd put it down to exhaustion – we'd worked non-stop for nearly two days. But there was this feeling." Max sat back down on the cot now, his eyes staring straight ahead as if looking directly into the past, his forehead creased in concentration as he attempted to remember the feeling, or try to put it into words.
"It was as if I didn't have anything to be hopeful for. As if I couldn't really remember how to feel hope any more, what it was. And when I did try to remember, anytime I thought anything that the Voice decided was associated with hope, I felt guilty. So terribly guilty." His eyes clouded over then and his face paled as he remembered further details. "And the pain. God, I've never felt anything like it in my life – it consumed me, my whole body." His voice was laced with an anguish that was mirrored in both the Director and the Doctor's face, for two different reasons. "Except," he continued, almost thoughtfully, "except when I listened. Listening was good – there was no pain, no cruel, hurtful comments. I shouldn't have listened as much as I did. But I couldn't help it, the pain…" He trailed off, glanced up and meeting the Doctor's gaze. Scared, tired brown eyes met with sympathetic, pained and angry blue ones. The Doctor said nothing, and the Director remained in his seat, allowing Duffy to take his time.
"Bobby fared worst. I could see it in his eyes – they were blank. Nothing. That was the scariest thing – he's so energetic, excited about something. Maybe he received a higher does, or it's because he's smaller than me. I don't know. But I know he wasn't fighting it like I was – he wasn't in as much pain. Even at the end, I don't think he felt anything. Seems like a lifetime ago. And I can't really remember Calleigh. She was there, I know, but it's kind of fuzzy. That's why she's in shock though, isn't it, Director? She saw him at the end. Saw me then, too. I can just remember going mad. Just after the fire – going mad at Bobby, at the thing that made him do it, at myself, at everything. I grabbed something. I tried cutting the Voice out of me. Hurting myself to show I was in control. Me, not that malicious little shit." His voice rose a notch, began getting angrier, as events, feelings, actions flooded back to him. "The manipulating, cowardly shit, that killed my best friend, almost killed me, and for what! Fun? Because it was bored? If this is what we discovered with Bobby's research, then we're the worst damn race in the Universe!" He slammed his fist down on the bed, as angry tears spilled from his eyes. He took a shuddering breath, then put his head in his hands and cried. Cried because of grief at the loss of his friend; cried because of guilt at what they had inadvertently done; cried because of what the disastrous experiment ultimately showed.
The Director placed a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder, whispering a quiet condolence, before motioning for the Doctor to follow him from the room. The Doctor was only too happy to oblige.
As they entered the bright hallway, and the glass doorway had slid shut, the Doctor turned to the Director with bright, pleading eyes.
"Please. The antidote."
"The lab's this way, doctor. We can collect the antidote and you can be back to your ship. You have sufficient facilities on board I assume? Because if you need to bring your friend Rose here for a night…"
"No, thank you," the Doctor interjected, but gratefully nonetheless. "I'd prefer to keep her where I can see her for a while." The Director nodded, completely understanding. As they made their way down the corridor the fear and unease was finally engulfed by the hope that the Doctor was now feeling, though the guilt remained ever-present: a sour taste in his mouth, a sick feeling in his stomach, the thought that this was the worst time he could have picked to try and understand the depth of human emotions, as well as his own.
End Chapter XIX