Chapter Five
"As far as phone calls home in an emergency go, that has got to be one of the most intriguing," the Doctor commented when I hung up. He looked at me expectantly over a really long chip.
Although I usually got pretty ticked off at people who tried to listen in on my telephone calls, and even more ticked off at those louts who actually succeeded, I didn't have the nerve to go head-to-head with the Doctor again.
"He never came home last night," I said lamely by way of explanation.
"Er…Connie, unless we're both mistaken, you just talked to your brother."
"I know, but see…" I took a deep breath and plunged right in, steamrollering right through the entire morning and telling the Doctor everything that had been different, and how I had brushed it all off as things of no significance whatsoever.
When I was done, I looked up into his eyes and once again felt that same sensation I'd had back on the street corner, when I'd first lain eyes on him. The feeling of security that just seemed to emulate from him now reached towards me, gently enveloping me and soothing my nerves. I knew I could trust him. Right now, who else did I have in the world? I needed to be able to trust him. I just needed him to know it, too.
The Doctor seemed to realize exactly that, because he looked right back into my eyes and told me exactly what I needed to hear. "Connie," he said gently, "you can trust me. You have to. I promise I'll keep you safe, okay?"
I nodded gratefully and grasped his hand.
He squeezed my hand once and said, "Now, can you re-tell me everything about this morning at your flat, but with every single little detail you can remember?"
"Why?"
"It might be important. There may be a key somewhere."
I nodded in agreement and went back, sometimes scrunching my eyes shut tight to bring back an exact picture of the flat. I ended as I had before, saying how I had left the flat without turning back to check the door.
"And that's it," I said with a tone of finality.
The Doctor frowned. "What about the bathroom?"
I shrugged. "Nothing was wrong with the bathroom, Doctor."
He shook his head determinedly. "No, no, no," he said. "You've mentioned everything else except for the bathroom. All you said was, you went from your bedroom after noticing the picture and the slippers to the bathroom for a shower, and bibitty-bobitty-blah-blah about the rest of it. You never mentioned anything about the bathroom." He looked at me sharply. "Why?"
"Because there was nothing wrong!" I insisted. "I took a shower. When I got out, I dried off, got dressed, and 'bibitty-bobittied' off to –" I cut myself off suddenly, one tiny overlooked detail having sneaked into my memory.
"Connie, what is it?"
I looked at the Doctor, suddenly scared. "A handprint," I replied. "A small, narrow handprint, like a little girl's, on the mirror."
A very intrigued and thoughtful look came over the Doctor's face, but before he was able to say anything the pudgy proprietor behind the counter turned up the volume on the telly above the bar. The afternoon news was on, and all eyes in the chip shop turned up to watch. The Doctor, too, munched mercilessly on chips as Alex Winters came on.
"Who's that?" he asked, pointing with a half-eaten chip. "That news anchor…I've never seen her before."
"Alex Winters," I said. "She's been the main anchor for about two months now."
"Two months?" There went those eyebrows again, up into orbit under that shock of untidy brown hair.
"Yeah. I think she started out in a segment on human interest stories, local inspirational things and such, but she was so good at it that they promoted her to the main coverage team within one month, and another month later there she was, the face of the afternoon and early evening news."
The Doctor pursed his lips, his brow furrowed in thought. "That's interesting," he murmured. "Oh, that's very interesting."