Chapter 3 – Echo
The Doctor's journal lies open on the ground, its pages turning quickly. All around it, red and yellow autumn leaves are blowing in the wind. Then, the wind stops, and the diary is left open on the last page written by its ancient owner.
On the page, between the lines of the last paragraph, there's the stain of a drop of water the size of a tear.
Today I realized that there must be a gravestone for Clara somewhere. Either Mayor Me or somebody else in Trap Street returned her body to her family, or she was declared missing and then legally dead, her gravestone must be out there somewhere. So I decided to go looking for it.
I didn't know where to start, though. So I landed in London – apparently I can't stay away from this dump of a city – and I started checking all graveyards. I hate graveyards. They're full of thing written into stone, and I don't like things written into stone; it's too definitive, too fixed. You can't rip out a gravestone like a page in a book.
I tried to figure out where they could have put Clara's gravestone. They could have placed it next to Danny's grave, or maybe next to her mother's. I wonder how Clara's family must feel like after another loss. Actually, I don't even have to use my imagination. I've lost so many people, and I'm so sick of losing.
It's autumn here in England. Walking through the cemeteries is like swimming in an ocean of dead leaves, constantly falling and flying and never ever landing. It's quite nice. At least the whirlwind of leaves makes these places look less still. Then at one point a dead leaf flown into my face, and I remembered that Clara used to keep a large red leaf in between the pages of her childhood travel book. It was a token of her parents' love. The most important leaf in human history, so full of stories, too many even for Akhaten to digest. It was like remembering something you've always known but haven't thought about for a long time. And then I noticed it. In the corner of my eye, Clara's name written on a gravestone.
It wasn't my Clara's grave, I soon discovered. The dates didn't match up. Also I don't think she had a middle name. "Clara Oswin Oswald. Born November 23 1866, died December 24 1892." Must have been one of her echoes. I think I might have found a version of her in Victorian London once, yes.
What the rest of the inscription said really struck me. "Remember me, for we shall meet again." I wish that were true. I have so many questions to ask her, and so many things to say. Theoretically, if Clara's echoes were scattered throughout my timeline, it might mean that some of them ended up in my personal future, and that I'll meet some other version of Clara in the future. Maybe not all of her echoes have died yet and there are still some of them living their lives out there. If I met some of them, although they're just copies, maybe I could rediscover Clara's personality, relearn who she was.
But if they were born to save me, literally designed to die so that I could live, it means they'll all end up dying for their purpose in the end. That's horrible and I'm responsible for that. I'm responsible for her death every time she dies. I had a duty of care, she was under my protection, I should have kept her safe, and yet everything I do just keeps killing her over and over again.
If I am to meet Clara again only to lose her again, then it's better not to ever meet her at all... How can you grieve the loss of someone you don't remember?
The Doctor is standing in front of the old, overgrown gravestone, a few inches away from his journal open on the dirty ground. He bends down to face the inscription, brings his hand to his mouth and kisses it, then stretches his hand to touch the letters of the inscription, tenderly caressing the ones composing Clara's name.
After a few moments, he stands up and walks away. He throws a glance back at his journal left on the ground, but decides to leave it there, and walks off. But, as he quits the cemetery, a mysterious woman's hand picks up the journal from the ground.
The Doctor walks slowly along a very busy London road back to his TARDIS, all sorts of vehicles passing by. He looks down at the pavement, his hands are in his pockets, and his mind is too full of thoughts to think of anything. He goes around a corner and approaches the TARDIS waiting at the end of the street. Reaching it, he glimpse a motorbike disappearing in the distance.
He opens the door and steps inside the blue box. The first thing he notices entering is that on the console there's something that shouldn't be there: the journal he left in the graveyard. On the cover someone has left a note written on plain paper. He reaches the console and reads the note: "You forgot something."
Smirking, the Doctor opens his diary and looks at the last page he wrote on. A new line has been added to his entry. The handwriting is the same as the note.
Don't give up. Not ever. Not for one single day. Be safe, if you can be. But always be amazing.
The Doctor closes his diary and holds it against his chest, thinking. Who returned it to him? Who wrote the message? Deep in his two hearts, he thinks he knows the answer, but he can't dare to word it out loud.
Smiling, he feels his mind freed from a weight. He enters some coordinates and takes off to a new destination, knowing that in some form or another his forgotten companion will always be with him in his hearts.
Author's notes: This chapter turned out quite melancholic, but I think it's appropriate to give the Doctor a moment to grieve and feel sad, even if he ultimately doesn't know the reason of all his sadness. I hope you liked this chapter. Who do you think the mysterious woman is? ;) Let me know your opinions on the story so far and your theories in the comments. Thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to all the lovely people who follow and review the story, I really appreciate it. See you next week :)