Chapter 3.
The Doctor was caught startled and threw the milk to the other side of the kitchen in shock of the presence of his visitor. He looked to her wide mouthed as equally as he did wide-eyed. He looked her up and down and surmised that she was speaking to him. He swallowed awkwardly and gestured to the fridge, "I'm famished!"
He noticed that the woman chuckled slightly, almost in slight disbelief at his eccentricity, followed by folding her arms across her chest , "Well you're certainly not whittling away into nothing", she said walking over to him, the Doctor looking back at her. She closed the fridge and remarked, "Though you are quite slim, my partner would kill for your figure", she said with a slight smirk, standing between him and the fridge. The Doctor ran his hand through his hair, "So would the bank if I had a million of them."
The woman looked to him again with a state of confusion and shook her head. "Well, Ritche Rich, the last time I checked the patient list you're meant to be on your back recovering from a possible seizure or black out," she narrowed her eyes at him and continued, "in fact we're still unsure what caused it. What do you last remember before passing out?"
The Doctor looked away for a moment and looked back to her, narrowing his eyes, "Actually, I don't remember."
She nodded, "Well that's the first sign of retrograde amnesia. It's ok, you're obviously in a state of shock. Come on, we'll get you back to bed, rested and well fed," she said with a smile, "in fact to us you're only a number. We need to address you by name. I'm Martha," she offered with an extended hand.
The Doctor looked to Martha blankly and scratched his head briefly, "Oh, hi, Martha. I'm…" he faded off and then finished the thought, "…lost."
Martha shook her head, "Poor thing, it really took it out of you. Well, I can organise for a Doctor who specialises-"
The Doctor interrupted as he looked off to the side to the television mounted in the wall frame of the news, he walked over to it, paying close attention to it. "New years eve…" he murmured. Martha nodded in the background, "Not a good night to be on staff or in care, believe me."
The Doctor took a deep breath and marched outside of the kitchen, down the hallway and to a window overlooking the city. He took in the lights of the world below him and looked out to the horizon where the night sky seemed to end. Behind him he could hear Martha's intently placed footsteps behind him and her voice calling over his shoulder, "Look, I know you're not feeling the best right now but you're not making it easier. I tell you what, if you go back to bed I'll even try to arrange a spot by the window for you. How does that sound?"
The Doctor looked forward unaffected and simply muttered the word, "Jelly", turning to face her, "I want jelly."
Martha shrugged, "Up to you, mate. We have plenty of the stuff, but I can only serve a patient that's in bed. OH&S – non-negotiable."
Moments later the Doctor was sitting up in bed. The world nor his situation made a great deal of sense to him. He watched the other patients in their beds who were busy reading magazines, Christmas cards or just trying to sleep off the reality of spending the holiday season in hospital. A family were visiting the patient in the bay next to him who had a neck brace. A child of an age not too far below ten stood by the bed of that patient, he then looked to the Doctor and walked over to him, holding a small electronic device. He held it up to the Doctor, "I bet you can't beat my high score," he jovially teased. The Doctor glumly shook his head, not paying much attention to the child. He didn't intend on being disdainful but his pre-occupied mind kept him focused on another things. Who was he? Why was he there? How did he end up there? He looked to his right to see a tall, slim wardrobe left ajar. The Doctor climbed out of bed and opened it in its entirety to see something that was of vague familiarity to him.
Tracing his fingers over the battered black leather jacket, he remembered that it was the last thing he wore. He reached inside of the internal breast pocket of the jacket and retrieved a long, pen shaped object. A penlight? It had a switch on the side, he flicked it and a strange blue haze appeared out of the other end. Lacking intrigue, he switched it back off, tucking it back into the pocket of the jacket. He felt around some more and found a slim leather object, much like a wallet much simmer with a smaller frame. He opened it to reveal nothing but a blank white page. Shaking his head, he placed it back into the pocket. There was nothing in the trouser pockets. As he was moments prior to going through his personal effects, he was without answers.
Suddenly, he became distracted by something he heard on the television, looking up to the bracket on which it was mounted, he saw a news report. "I got sacked because they think I'm mad! But where have the bodies gone? Why can't they explain that?"
A reporter's voice then played over the footage, "though Ms. Duncan sounds passionate that bodies have gone missing from the morgue, the Director of the facility assures BBC News that the bodies in question have simply been transferred, with paperwork to support it."
The image then cut to an older man in a grey suit speaking to a reporter, "the stress of this occupation is well documented. I hate to sound corny or distasteful, but in this line of work involving the deceased, it's not hard for the stress to get the better of someone."
The reporter then pried, "that's some outburst though, I mean bodies going missing?"
"Well stress can manifest itself in unusual ways." To which the reporter chuckled, "unusual would be something of an understatement then?"
The report then went on to show the facility where the dismissal of the distressed staff member had taken place. It was an old heritage building, very well known.
Despite being in his state of being more concerned about who he was or why is was even there, he also felt compelled to pursue what he just saw on the television. He couldn't explain why, but he felt strangely compelled and developed a brief emotional identity with the story. Did it in some way reflect the abandonment or loss of personal identity that he was experiencing in his state. In an attempt to come to terms with the growing curiosity, he opened his personal wardrobe and got all of his old clothes back out, even the battered leather jacket. He stepped into the ward bathroom, fully dressed and stepped out, leaving his hospital clothing on his bed.
The old lady from across Penny looked to him and exclaimed, "where do you think you're going?"
The Doctor smirked slightly to her and said, "to ask more questions. If I find anything good I'll bring something back." With that said, he set off only to leave the lady shaking her head and returning her gaze to her magazine. Striding down the corridor, he had no idea where he would begin looking. He started by going to the reception desk on that level which was unmanned. He very quickly went through all of the items on the desk and found a leather bound book. Opening it, he saw a list of names, dates and ward numbers. In realisation of the book being a log book, he clicked his fingers and flipped through it to where his ward would be. Remembering his ward and bay number, he took a pen from the desk and signed himself out.