A tiny pinpoint of light nudged Rose from the darkness. She was reluctant to acknowledge it. She had felt so calm, so rested, and now the mere effort of recognizing the slight change in environment seemed overwhelmingly exhausting. She tried to ignore the bit of illumination, but it was spreading, causing the blackness to fade to gray.
And then she was spreading out, too. She felt herself drifting freely for a moment, then she was surrounded by solidity. It was terrifying; she was part of the stone. She tried to draw back, but she could not. She was trapped, encased in a prison from which there was no escape. But she was not alone. Emotions surrounded her, bombarded her, and at first all she felt was complete desolation. But then another feeling suffused her; there was a small shred of hope. And as any human would do, Rose embraced it.
One more exhalation—he had to try just once more. The Doctor pressed his mouth over Rose's and gave her one final breath. He pulled back slowly, turning his head so that his cheek hovered just above her mouth. He waited, trying not to count the seconds, trying desperately not to visualize each cell in her body dying from oxygen starvation. His right hand remained against her neck, his left over her forehead, holding her head back to provide the best access possible to her airway. But it was no use. There was nothing more he could do for her.
He drew a shaky breath then carefully moved her head to rest against his leg. Suddenly he could not bear to see her dim form in any position other than a natural, restful one. He stroked her cold cheek, his thumb passing over her open lips. A tiny puff of air brushed against his palm.
He looked up, thinking that someone was moving back the stone, but the small crack of light did not alter. Air whispered faintly over his open hand again.
His movements seemed impossibly slow as he shifted his hand to rest two fingers against her neck. There—one beat, another, then a third. He permitted his other hand to hover over her mouth. Once again there was the lovely, gentle tickle of air—no, breath, actual breath—against his skin.
The Doctor gently pulled Rose up to rest against his chest. "Welcome back," he said softly, a grin tugging at his lips. Oh, he knew all about the effects of oxygen deprivation, but he would deal with those dire thoughts later. Right now, she was breathing, and that was enough.
After a few minutes, she coughed and lifted her hands languidly toward her face. "Look.. so real," she rasped.
"They are, Rose," he told her.
She turned her head, squinting at him in the wan light. "Doctor?"
"Right here, in the flesh."
"Where're we?" Her voice was hoarse, but she was speaking, and she sounded rather coherent.
"In the crypt."
"We made it? Back?"
He nodded. "Only just."
"What do you mean?" She shifted a bit so that she could look up at him without twisting her head.
"There was no more oxygen," he began.
"I thought I was dead," she interjected. "I was sure of it."
"So was I," he replied softly, then he forced a smile. "But we got a bit of unexpected help." He patted the stone beside him.
"How's that?"
"This stone was completely sealed—immovable from the inside. But just when I thought there was no hope, nothing I could do, it shifted, just enough to allow air to enter. And apparently that was enough to revive you." To her questioning look, he added, "Well, that and a little help from me."
She opened her mouth, ostensibly to ask another question, but he had discussed her near-death quite enough. So he said briskly, "Right. Now that you're up and about—well, not really up or about, but still, better than you were before—we should really see about getting out of here." He moved to kneel next to her. "Think you can stand?"
She shrugged and gave him a small grin. "I managed with imaginary legs. Think I can do even better with real ones."
He stood and held out his hand to her. She took it, gripping rather weakly, and he eased her to her feet. She wobbled a bit; he steadied her for a few seconds until she seemed stronger. Then he turned his attention to the stone seal. He pushed his fingertips into the tiny, recently created gap, but it was less than a centimeter wide.
"Do you know what happened to my sonic screwdriver?" he asked Rose.
"Does it resonate stone?" she replied.
"It could, but I wouldn't do that to them. I was hoping I could use it to signal for help."
"Sorry, but you dropped it when you were by the wall," she replied. "I was trying to get it when I got sucked in."
He smiled for a moment at her simple yet oddly apt summary of the night's events. "Well, then I suppose we'll have to try something else." He leaned in as close to the little crack as he could and yelled, "Help!"
"You sure we can't move it? We haven't even tried." She rested her hands against the stone, then pressed and shifted her body to the side. A small "oof" escaped her before she faltered back. She would have sunk to the ground if the Doctor had not caught her.
"I think my method's going to prove more effective," he said, easing her down to sit with her back against the wall. He rested an affectionate hand on her head. "Best thing you can do right now is stay here. You're going to need some time to get your strength back." He refrained from telling her that there was a significant possibility that she could have some neurological damage; it would explain the motor weakness.
"But I wanna help," she protested.
"And you will, because if you sit right here I won't have to worry about you while I'm calling for help." He returned to his position at the small opening, adding, "I'm sure somebody'll pass by soon." Then he continued his cries for assistance.
His throat ached by the time he heard a faint response. He thought a distant voice said, "Who's there?"
"We're over here," he called hoarsely.
Rose pushed herself up and nudged him aside. "Oi! We're in the crypt!"
The strength of her voice surprised him. He nodded at her to continue.
"Please, roll back this stone. We need to get out of here."
The voice was nearer now. "How… how did you get in there?"
"It was a mistake," Rose called back. "We got shut in by mistake, and now we have t' get out. Come on!"
"Just wait," came the reply. The voice was already fading when they heard, "You shouldn't be in there. Just… wait."
Rose shook her head in frustration. "He left! The bloke left us in here!"
"Well," the Time Lord replied airily, "I don't think he's deserted us entirely. He did tell us to wait. I'm sure he's just gone for help."
"He could've at least tried to move the stone by himself," she humphed. "I mean, come on, we're trapped in a crypt." She whirled around to squint through the dimness. "Are we alone?"
He'd had ample time to glance around with his acute vision while Rose was recovering. "Fortunately, yes. There were no other deaths apparently—or should I say apparent deaths—while we were gone."
"That's good." She tapped her fingers impatiently against the stone.
"Gently, Rose," he cautioned, placing his hand over hers to still her movements.
"Oh!" She pulled back her hand. "Sorry."
Sobered by the memories of their time in the cavern, they waited in relative silence until they heard voices approaching. They provided a few shouts of encouragement, and soon the stone rolled back to reveal delightful daylight and fabulously fresh air.
"About time," Rose said, stepping outside immediately.
She was greeted by the stunned faces of Constable Greare and another man whom neither of them recognized, ostensibly the stranger who had fetched help.
"Miss Tyler? Doctor?" Greare stammered. "How can this be? You were both…"
"Dead. Right. We know," Rose replied shortly. "Only obviously we weren't. You made a mistake."
"Good heavens. I'm so sorry." He continued to stare at the visitors with wide eyes.
"An' all the others," she continued, "they weren't dead, either, but they suffocated in there." She jerked her head back toward the crypt.
Greare blanched. "No. That's not…"
The Doctor shook his head at her in gentle remonstration. "Rose, not now."
"But—" she began.
"Not now," he repeated, then he turned to Greare. "There are some things that you really need to know—need to understand."
"Yes," the constable murmured, "yes, I'm sure there are."
The Doctor placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Let's go back to your office. I think we could all use a nice cup of tea, then we'll explain everything."
Greare nodded mutely and walked away.
Greare stepped into a tiny alcove to prepare the tea while Rose sank into one of the chairs against the wall. The Doctor eased himself down, too, weariness seeping through him until his keen eye spotted a bit of metal on the Constable's desk. He hopped to his feet and reached eagerly for the item.
"There you are!" he said fondly, lifting the sonic screwdriver to examine it briefly. "Thought I'd lost you."
Rose snorted lightly behind him.
"What?" he asked her.
She was grinning in amusement. "You sound like you just found your best friend."
"Time Lord's best friend—yep, that's what this baby is. It's got us out of a lot of tight spots. Which reminds me," he adjusted the setting and switched on the device, aiming it at Rose's forehead.
"What're you doing?" she asked.
He did not reply. Instead he focused his attention on the readings. He frowned for an instant, then a grin spread across his face. "Oh, well done, Rose."
"Huh?"
"Neurological function looks good—perfectly normal, in fact."
"You're checking my brain?"
He slid the screwdriver into his pocket. "Not any more. All done."
"Why were you doing that?"
"Oh," he replied just a bit too casually, "oxygen deprivation and all that." He waved a hand dismissively at her. "Now where's that tea?"
But Rose would not be dismissed so off-handedly. "You thought I had brain damage?" she asked with some alarm.
He cupped her chin softly and lifted her head. "You're fine, Rose. Everything's fine, or at least it will be once we've explained all of this to the constable."
As if on cue, the man stepped out of the alcove carrying a small tray with three cups. After giving each guest a mug, he settled in the chair behind his desk.
"What the hell happened?" he asked huskily. "What… what have we done?"
The Doctor perched on the edge of the desk, leaning forward a bit to address Greare. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known—"
"They weren't dead," Rose said. "Their psychic energy had been taken, but their bodies were still alive. They might've recovered if they hadn't been shut up in that crypt without any oxygen."
Greare paled again, and the mug shook in his hands. "I don't understand. Psychic energy? What do you mean?"
"Essentially they were in deep comas with hardly any life signs. I'm not sure anyone could've detected them unless they had very sophisticated equipment. The important thing to understand is why his happened and how you can prevent it in the future."
"But we killed them," Greare said. "Even if we didn't know…" He set the mug on his desk and looked up at the Time Lord. "Who did this to them? Who put them in comas?"
"I'm not sure that 'who' is the proper term," the Doctor replied. "On the other hand, 'what' probably isn't quite right, either. Really, it's sort of a combination of 'who' and 'what' because 'who' implies that it's human, which this certainly isn't, and 'what' implies that it's inaminate, which it isn't, so in fact—"
"Doctor!" Rose admonished. "Get on with it."
"Oh, sorry." He fixed his gaze on the constable. "It was the rocks. Except they aren't really rocks, at least not in the true scientific sense of the word. They're living beings with emotions, and they can feel pain. All this time you've been mining them, cutting away great big blocks, hacking up this plateau, and it hurts them."
Greare's eyes widened. "The rocks are alive? That's not possible."
"Well, obviously it is, since they managed to suck the life energy out of each victim and even managed to communicate with Rose and me. Tell me, how long has this village been here?"
"A hundred years or so," the constable answered.
"And before that, did anyone live here?"
"No. The first settlers arrived from the other side of the planet. They were struck by the beauty of the cliff and the quality of the stone, and they decided to stay."
"Are there other areas like this—any places with similar stone—anywhere else on the planet?"
"I don't think so. As far as I know, this is unique."
"Well, we'll check later just to be sure," the Doctor said with a wink to Rose.
"So Doctor," Greare continued, clearly trying to piece together the entire situation, "you're saying that the stone is alive, and that it took our people—or some form of their energy—to do what? Was it for revenge?"
"Oh, no, not at all," the Doctor replied. "They only want to make you understand that you're hurting them and that you must stop. The pain of being cut is considerable, and once removed from the plateau each living piece dies, so the others experience emotional trauma as well. It's been terrible for them, unimaginable really." He paused, recalling the anguish he had experienced when his energy had melded with the stone.
Rose continued, her voice husky with emotion. "They didn't want to kill anyone. They just wanted to explain, to make you understand. But before they could send the victim's energy back into their bodies, they died."
"I…" Greare pressed a hand over his eyes. "I don't know what to say."
"Just say you'll stop hurting them," Rose replied softly.
The constable lowered his hands. "This is unbelievable."
"Yeah," Rose agreed, "it is."
"And I'm sorry, but I really can't believe that it's true," Greare added. His features hardened and he stood. "It must have been some sort of hallucination, something to do with nearly suffocating in the crypt."
Rose was shaking her head. "No. It's real. They told us—"
"Miss Tyler," the constable said, tone quickly becoming concilliartory, "you can't honestly expect me to put any credence into such a bizarre story. I'm sure that you and the Doctor both had a terrible experience, but it's all over now. On behalf of the entire town I apologize. But I still have over two dozen murders to solve."
"Murders that your people committed!" Rose retorted with growing anger.
The constable shook his head sadly. "I'm going to send for Dr. Turia. Maybe he can find some reason for this fantasy you've created—"
The Doctor stood, reaching around the desk abruptly and grabbing the constable's arm. "Fantasy?" He pulled Greare from behind the desk. "Come on."
The constable reached for his pistol, which he had hung over the back of his chair. The Doctor quickly retrieved the sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the gun. A brief flash of light and a moment later the weapon lay on the floor, the muzzle smoky and sealed.
"Never liked guns much," the Doctor said.
"Doctor," Greare protested, "you don't know what you're doing. You're injured. Let me get you some help."
The Doctor escorted Greare to the door. He held up the screwdriver. "You saw what this did to your gun. I don't think I need to tell you what it could do to a human."
The constable shuffled ahead, keeping a wary eye on the small device in the Time Lord's hand.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Back to the scene of the crime," the Doctor replied.
It was still early morning, and the village was relatively quiet. Walking at a brisk pace, they reached the outskirts within fifteen minutes. The Doctor stopped beside the edge of the plateau.
"Are you going to kill me?" Greare asked.
"Pardon me?" the Doctor replied with genuine surprise.
"Like you did the others," the constable said. "I understand it all now. It was you—probably both of you—who committed the murders. You must have faked your own deaths to cast off suspicion. But I suppose you didn't realize that you'd be trapped in the crypt. That's why you told me not to put any more bodies in there. You figured you could escape much more easily if you were elsewhere."
The Doctor sighed. "You've been doing a lot of thinking, and it wasn't that long a walk. Well, I suppose I have to give you extra points for creativity." He grinned. "You really thought we were that devious?"
Greare nodded nervously.
The Time Lord chuckled. "Why are we so misunderstood?" he asked Rose.
"Get on with it then," Greare said, bowing his head.
"Oh please!" the Doctor said. "We aren't going to kill you!"
"But that thing—" the constable pointed to the sonic screwdriver, which the Doctor had almost unconsciously gripped and aimed toward the man.
The Doctor shifted his arm slightly so that the device pointed at the stone beside him. "I'm just taking some readings. Now shush. Watch and learn."
He held the screwdriver toward Rose then toward Greare. "This light," he said, touching a tiny flicker, "shows life signs. Watch what happens when I point it at, say this stone." He aimed it at a small rock lying on the ground. "See? No light. But when I take a reading from the plateau," which he quickly accomplished, "there should be…" He peered at the screwdriver, "wait… Yes! There it is. A tiny little indicator of sentience. I missed it before because I wasn't really looking for it, but there you have it."
Greare just gaped at him. "You can't expect me to take that as evidence that what you've told me is true?"
"No? I can fetch some more sophisticated equipment if you like."
The constable shook his head.
"Doctor," Rose said, "it's no good. He's not going to believe us."
"Oh, have a little faith," the Doctor began.
"No," she reiterated. "Believe me, he's not."
"How do you know?"
She pointed at herself, "Human, remember?" then moved a finger toward Greare. "And human again. Little human brains and all that."
"Do you think?" he asked with feigned innocence. Then he became more serious. "Constable, we're telling you the truth. You have to stop cutting the stone. If you don't, you're only going to have more deaths."
"But you said they weren't dead," Greare reminded him, "at least not at first."
"No, they weren't. But I don't think they were able to figure out how to return to their bodies, so even if the next victim isn't dead, he'll be trapped down there," he gestured toward the base of the plateau, "indefinitely. And even if he can figure out how to get back, even if he delivers the same message to you, will you believe it? How many more will it take?"
"We need the stone to expand our village," Greare said. "We have the potential to became the major settlement on this side of the planet, and that would mean prosperity for all of our people."
"Ah, now you sound like a politician," the Doctor cut in.
"If you shared this information with the rest of the villagers, you'd never get elected," Rose quickly surmised.
"They'd think I was crazy," Greare acknowledged.
"Then you'll just have to tell them with real conviction," the Doctor replied.
"But I don't believe you! I can't." The constable lifted his hands in frustration.
The Doctor sighed heavily. "There's only one thing for it then," he said. "I suppose you'll just have to see for yourself."
Greare shook his head. "What do you mean?"
"Come on." The Time Lord took the man's arm and led him back to the base of the wall, just beneath one of the memorial flower pots.
"What are you going to do?" the constable asked.
"I'm going to ask you, and rather politely I might add, to lie down just here, right beside the wall."
The constable shook his head again. "No, absolutely not."
"Doctor?" Rose's voice held a hint of alarm.
"Please, constable," the Doctor repeated, "just stretch out right there."
The man shook his head. "Please, you said you weren't going to kill me."
"I'm not, and if we're lucky they," he nodded toward the wall, "won't either."
"Doctor," Rose said again, "I don't think this is a very good idea—"
"It's the only way," he responded, keeping his tone firm. "Now please, Constable Greare, get down." He waggled the screwdriver at the lawman.
Greare's eyes widened in renewed fear as he sank to his knees. He grimaced and pressed a hand to his back.
"Oh, sorry, I forgot about that," the Doctor said kindly. "Herniated disk, was it? Or didn't you say? Well, we'll sort whatever it is later. Now please," he gestured with the screwdriver, "stretch out there. Get comfy."
The constable lay beside the wall. He was breathing heavily; Rose watched him with concern, sparing several questioning glances at the Time Lord. He ignored her.
"Move a little closer," he instructed, and Greare complied. His body was rigid.
But soon he relaxed visibly, limbs gently sinking to the rest upon the ground. His eyes closed, and his breathing slowed. The Doctor waited a full minute, disregarding Rose's distressed questions with a palm raised toward her and a few shakes of his head.
Finally he bent to rest his fingers over the constable's throat. "No discernible pulse. Good."
"Doctor!" Rose gripped his shoulder. "What've you done?"