Chapter 17
The Doctor, the Brigadier, and the Duke sat around the coffee table in the manor's lounge. The soft light of early morning shone through the open window, illuminating the dust in the air. The Duke coughed and the Doctor cleared his throat.
"So what are we going to do?" asked the Duke.
"About what?" said the Brigadier, even though he knew.
"About Dr. Chatham," the Duke finished. He let the sentence hang. When no one answered him, he continued, "We can't just leave him there in that—that—oh, what did you call it, Doctor?"
"Limbo," the Doctor answered, gravely.
"Surely there must be some way to get him out." He looked at the Brigadier and the Doctor plaintively.
"Yes, yes I believe there is," the Doctor said, rubbing his chin.
"Then we must implement it immediately!" the Duke cried. "What are we just sitting here for?"
"Just a minute, sir," the Brigadier interjected. "I've been discussing this with the Doctor and I believe the matter is more complicated than that." He turned to the Doctor. "Would you care to explain?"
The Doctor placed his hands on the table. "Yes, yes I would. You see, sir, we've all been witness to Dr. Chatham's state of mind. It is my opinion that it would be no more of a kindness to take him out of his current state than to just leave him there."
"But you… you can't be suggesting we just leave him," the Duke stressed, wide-eyed. "The man's… well, the man's still alive, isn't he?"
"Alive, yes. But I believe Dr. Chatham himself died a long time ago."
The three men sat in silence for a moment, considering their options.
The Duke's eyes shifted. "There couldn't be a way to… I mean… painlessly, of course." He cleared his throat and drew back into his chair.
The Brigadier kept his eyes fixed on a stain on the coffee table. "Euthanasia," he murmured into his closed fist. He looked up. "Of course, UNIT has no jurisdiction over such things."
The Doctor was mumbling something to himself. "…could be done. Just close up the seam between the two branes and reverse the polarity of the neutron flow…would just have to look at a few schematics…" He ran his hands over his face. "But you're right, Brigadier. Neither one of us has such authority."
The Duke stared at his hands. "But I do." He sighed. "The machinery is my property, to do with what I will. And the man is legally dead anyway…"
"Sir…" the Brigadier started, but he was cut off by a wave of the Duke's hand.
"No, Brigadier. This is my responsibility." He turned to the Doctor. "I would appreciate a list of instructions of how to… perform it. I'm actually quite technologically literate, you know. I should be able to do it."
The Doctor and the Brigadier nodded mutely.
"So what will you do now?" the Doctor asked the Duke.
"Probably sell the place," the Duke said, looking around at the ornate tapestries that decorated the walls. "I'm not sure I could even spend another night here, really. I'll leave it to the next owner to deal with Brightley's ghouls."
The Doctor and the Brigadier paused for a minute on the front steps of the manor, looking out at the beautiful grounds. Jo and the rest of the soldiers were already packed up and ready to leave.
"I'll need to discuss this thoroughly with my higher-ups, of course," the Brigadier was saying. "The whole situation is most… irregular. Ms. Grant's safety is, of course, the top priority."
"Of course," the Doctor agreed softly.
"Don't think I'm blind to your contributions to this case, though," he continued. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet. "I'll make sure everything is taken into consideration."
"Thank you."
The Brigadier nodded once and took one last look at the rolling lawn before heading down the stone steps, leaving the Doctor alone.
"Brigadier!" the Doctor called, just as the Brigadier reached the bottom of the steps. The man stopped and turned on his heel.
"Yes, Doctor?"
The Doctor swallowed. "You know… you know I would never hurt her… Jo… never willingly." He stopped and took a short breath.
"I know," the Brigadier said. And then he strode off toward the line of jeeps.
The Doctor remained on the front steps, watching the final preparations for departure.
He was a coward. A complete coward. He should have resigned then and there. But no, he had to throw in that last little thread of hope. It was moot now, anyway. The matter was out of his hands.
But not really. The Brigadier didn't have all the facts. And it shouldn't be a matter of if he should tell them, but when. It was a matter of safety.
But it was also a matter of guilt.
He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his tousled white hair. He was tired. He needed to sleep.
He took a deep breath and made his decision.
He would tell them. Soon.
He needed to end this.
He needed to end this now.
He'll never read this and he doesn't even know I exist. After all, I'm just a teenage girl who lives 3000 miles away and writes stories about Doctor Who and vampires. But Charlie McDonnell is scared and I want to say what everyone else is saying: We're all scared and that's okay. If you don't know who Charlie is I suggest you check him out. And if you do, I encourage you to send your support in any way you can. He is a true credit to the Internet.
On a happier note, next chapter is the last one!