The Doctor got straight to the point.
"Samara Morgan," he said. "Little girl, long black hair, sort of dead…"
Rachel looked horrified at the very mention of the little girl.
"You… you watched the tape?" she said.
"Found it in my video collection, didn't know what it was, and watched it," the Doctor smiled. "Call it bad luck."
"Call it you're dead," Rachel snapped. "And now you've brought it here…"
"Nope," the Doctor smiled. "I came here because you bought the tape she was copied to."
"How do you know that?" Rachel asked, suspicious. The Doctor held up his psychic paper, and made it say FBI. Rachel gazed at it, shocked and scared.
"Oh no," she said. "But… I made that copy a year ago, and I gave it to someone else."
"Who?" the Doctor asked.
"A man… short, dark haired," Rachel said. "Stupid pullover."
The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, but in his mind, it snapped.
Dark And Manipulative.
"Why couldn't it have been teeth and curls," he said, more to himself than Rachel, and it showed – she looked puzzled, confused. The Doctor, meanwhile, kept thinking about D&M, and thought back – what did he want? What mission had he heaped on his own future…?
"No," he murmured. "No, he didn't. Oh, he did not…"
"What's wrong?" Rachel asked.
"How did Samara die?" the Doctor asked her.
"Uh… she was murdered in 1976," Rachel said. "By her mother."
"How?" the Doctor asked, endeavouring to keep calm.
"Thrown down a well," Rachel said. "It took her seven days to die."
"Where is that well?" the Doctor asked.
"I don't think," Rachel began…
"That it's important?" the Doctor snapped. "Trust me. For me, and every other victim of Miss Morgan – it's a matter of life and death."
--
He practically knocked the door in, and burst in to see Anna staring at him.
"Where is she?!" he yelled. "Where's Samara?!"
Anna didn't answer him. Richard bolted down the stairs, but the Doctor didn't care.
"I see," he said. "How long?"
"Uh…" Anna said.
"How long?!" the Doctor yelled. Richard came at him.
"Don't you yell at my wife…!" he yelled. The Doctor blocked his hand, stared right at his eyes, then snarled and threw the man across a room.
"How long since you threw her to her death?" he asked, perfectly calm.
"Three days," Anna said. The Doctor narrowed his eyes, then, to both the Morgans' surprise, he grinned.
"Thank you for your cooperation," he said. "As you people always say – have a nice day."
--
Samara had given up. She didn't know how long she had been down here, trying to live. She didn't really care anymore.
She was going to die, in darkness and loneliness, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.
She had screamed herself stupid, until her throat was sore and she could barely whisper. She had no fingernails. She was damp, cold and she felt like she was dead already.
Then, unexpectedly, a light.
"Hello!" a voice yelled. "Hello! Samara! Are you down there?!"
She couldn't yell, but she splashed. Splashed as if her life depended on it. As indeed, it may well have. Then, to her great surprise, a rope ladder descended, with a laminated card on it – and a message.
"All aboard for light and life."
She grabbed it, and suddenly, she flew.
--
The Doctor checked her over. Her face was pale, her hair was lank, and she looked dead as a doornail, but she was breathing. Her fingernails were gone – he took the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and started re-growing them rapidly.
"There now," he said, "you're alright. Alright…"
He picked her up, and ran for his ship.
"You'll be alright…"
Her eyes were closed – she was going into shock if he knew anything about medicine, which, being a Doctor, he did – sort of. She was murmuring under her breath.
"It… it won't stop…"
"I wouldn't worry, Samara," the Doctor smiled, as they reached his miraculous machine. "I'll make it stop."
--
When she finally found the courage to open her eyes, she found herself on a sofa, a cup of hot cocoa next to her on a table – and her music box, polished and oiled so it played better. She turned her head to look sideways, and say a pipe-organ, sitting next to a wall, as if it were meant to be there. Suits of armour, pot plants… and there, a massive… control console, hexagonal, brass and bronze, and there – like something out of a book, a man, dressed in old fashioned clothes, smiling, and flicking switches.
"Hello…?" she said, and her throat felt normal. He turned in an instant to look at her.
"Ah, hello!" he smiled. "Sorry, bit busy at the moment – bit of a tricky destination we've got here."
"Where are we going?" Samara asked, trying to stand. He was at her side in an instant.
"Don't move," he said. "You have to rest."
She slumped back ion the sofa.
"As it happens, Samara," he smiled, standing up and going back to his console, "we're going to my home."
"Where's that?" Samara asked.
"A long way away," the Doctor smiled, pressing a button – and stars appeared over the room, zooming in on an orange planet. "250 million light years from Earth, in fact. My home."
"What's it called?" Samara asked. The Doctor turned to look at her, and he smiled.
"Gallifrey," he said.