"Doctor, what happened to Hanna? Why are we staring unblinkingly at a statue? It's a statue!" Spencer said, exasperated.
"It's not just a statue. Look at it. When the lights were on, its hands were covering its face. It's a Weeping Angel. Quantum locked beings that feed off time energy," the Doctor explained.
"Yeah, I didn't understand a word of that," Aria said, still staring at the statue that had almost touched her.
"It doesn't move when you're looking at it, but as soon as you look away," the Doctor gestured with his hands, "poof, it moves. And when it touches you, you get sent back in time. The Angels feed off the energy that creates."
Out of the corner of her eye, Clara could see Spencer frowning, her eyes watering as she stared at the Angel. Clara's own eyes were burning. "Energy can't be created. It's against the laws of physics," Spencer choked out, then clenched her jaw, determined not to blink.
The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted before he could get a word out.
"Physics schmysics. Can we talk about the fact that Hanna just got transported back in time?" Aria snapped.
"What are we supposed to tell her parents?!" Emily freaked out beside Clara. Nobody looked away from the Weeping Angel. The Doctor cleared his throat.
"The important thing here is that we get away from the Weeping Angel. We can save Hanna. But right now, you are my priority. So, everybody just back away, slowly, and don't take your eyes off that statue!"
Slowly, step by shuffling step, the group of them made their way backwards, heels hitting debris that they couldn't see. The Angel stood motionless, one hand extended outwards, its face contorted into the kind of expression that Clara hoped would never crop up in her nightmares. By the time they reached the corner and the Weeping Angel slipped out of sight, the five of them were running for their lives, hearts pounding in their ears.
Hanna hit the ground with a crack. Her head spun, blackness creeping in around the edges. The room was dark, but the soft din of a large number of people talking floated in from the other side of the door. It took her a minute, but the darkness subsided, and she managed to lift herself up off the floor. She'd lost her hat, but her dress, the 1920s style get up that she'd bought in Philly was fine, thankfully; it had cost a fortune. Ever since The Great Gatsby film, people were clamoring to emulate Jay Gatsby's famous parties; so far, none had been nearly as successful, the least of which was the graveyard party that she and her friends had attended in Ravenswood, all for the sake of finding Ali before A did. That asshole. If Hanna ever got her hands on him, he'd need more than some creepy gas mask to get breathing again.
With a soft click, she opened the door and slipped out into the corridor, her heels sinking into the lush carpet underfoot. The voices sounded from the end of the hallway, and Hanna followed them. Intertwined with the sounds of people talking, she heard a gentle piano melody, the kind of thing that would put her to sleep if she was in her room listening to it, but seemed perfect for the party setting; well, for a party that clearly wasn't for teenagers. That much was made clear when she finally entered the room and found herself in a room of beautifully clad people, most clutching at tall glasses of champagne and smoking cigarettes, the smoke of which clung to the ceiling in a dull grey haze. Despite her dress, Hanna felt as out of place as a blue telephone box in a graveyard. She pressed her back against the wall, hoping to spot someone she knew.
Confused thoughts raced through her mind. She had no recollection of how she'd ended up at this house, this party, from the underground tunnels. Panic started rising in her throat as she realised that she had no idea where Emily or Aria or Spencer were. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to keep calm. If she could survive a night in a gay bar, or the night she crashed her boyfriend's car into a tree, or basically any other freaking night of her life, she could survive a night at a stranger's fancy dress party in a mansion. A footman offered her a drink on a silver platter. Without a second thought, she took it and downed it. The alcohol made her body temperature rise, but she itched for another drink anyway. She was just about to flag another footman when someone bumped into her.
"Oh, I'm so sor-" his apology was cut off midsentence as the man and Hanna recognised each other.
"Caleb?!"
Clara slammed the door shut behind her, the last of the group to enter the room, panting, dirt and sweat streaking her face. She glanced around at the others. No one was missing, save Hanna, but if the Doctor said that he could save her, then he could save her; there was time for that yet. Sometimes her faith in him wavered, but never when it came to saving the life of an innocent person. Somehow the Doctor always came through. He sweeped the room with his sonic screwdriver, the green light out of place among the dust and the once luxurious furniture.
"So," he said, clapping his hands together, "two lost friends and Weeping Angels. I love the 21st century!"
Spencer, Aria and Emily were already looking around. Clara watched as Spencer trailed her fingers over the ivory keys of the piano that stood in the centre of the room, the tinkling notes hanging in the air as heavy as the dust that the five of them breathed. Light fixtures on the walls hummed with electricity, the yellow spilling in pools on the wall. Above their heads, a chandelier was dark.
"Ali was here," Emily whispered. Aria shook her head.
"How do you know?"
"Gut feeling."
"I love those! Gut feelings, they're always right," the Doctor grinned, "which means we're closer to one lost friend being one found friend."
Clara drew her jacket closer. Around her, the house yearned, lonely and empty, with too many rooms coated in dust and withered, forgotten memories; its opulence reduced to almost nothing. In the belly of the beast, she was a pathogen, and pathogens were always evicted or destroyed. A hallway stretched out before her, the rich carpet turned grey with accumulated dust. Shadows pulsed out of open doors to unknown rooms. Spencer came to stand beside her. Just the presence of her there made Clara feel better, less alone. The fabric of their sleeves brushed each other.
"Does he really know what he's doing?" Spencer asked softly, not indicating who she meant, nor looking even looking at Clara. The Doctor's companion said nothing for a moment. Did he? Certainly not, not most of the time, but he caught on quicker than everybody else, and maybe that's all that mattered. He'd saved her life more than once. Endangered her too, but she was still standing here, so what did it matter?
"Yes," she said. Spencer nodded.
"Emily was right. Ali's been here. I feel it too. God, we're so close. After three years, we might actually see her again, we might find out what's going on, whether the hell that we've been put through was worth it. Our lives have turned into a damn nightmare since they found her body, and we know now about as much as we knew then, which is nothing," Spencer bowed her head, and out of the corner of her eye, Clara saw the taller girl wrap her arms around herself, trembling, although whether from cold or rage or something else, Clara couldn't tell. She put her own arm around Spencer's shoulder.
"If the Doctor says he'll find her, he will. He's good at finding lost people."
The man in question was stalking around the room, tapping walls, listening, gazing down the other corridors that branched off, and muttering to himself. Clara caught him going to adjust his top hat, only to realise it wasn't there. The expression on his face turned sour.
"There's something odd about this house," he declared.
"You don't say," Aria rolled her eyes, "it's a dark, abandoned mansion that hasn't been lived in in years"
"Well yes, there is that, but there's more, below the surface. You're not thinking hard enough. You're not asking why."
"Why what?" Emily frowned.
"Why the house was abandoned," Spencer stepped towards the Doctor. He guffawed, a goofy, proud smile spreading over his face. He pointed a finger at Spencer.
"Exactly." He spun around, arms open. "Look at this place! Mahogany panels, chandeliers, baby grands - this place belonged to a very wealthy family. Why would they suddenly disappear? Why would people stop living in a magnificent house like this? Unless there was something malignant going on."
"Something like a Weeping Angel? I think this case closes itself," Aria pointed out, cocking an eyebrow.
"Ha! Wrong! The Angel moved in after the family moved out. Place was already abandoned. It's something else."
"How do you know that the house was already abandoned?" Spencer argued, "I think Aria's right. A statue that sends people back in time, of course the people who lived here disappeared; the Angel sent them back in time! It explains everything."
"Small place, this town, isn't it?" the Doctor ran a finger over the lid of the piano, "the kind of place where if people started disappearing, other people would notice. The kind of place where other people would panic if there was no discernable reason their friends kept going missing. And yet, they're throwing parties." He stared hard at them. Clara felt herself shrink back away from that stare. "If the Angel had been here for quite a while, I'd say we'd be dealing with an abandoned town, not just an abandoned house. And if it were the Weeping Angel, we'd be dealing with an entire flock of them, not just a single statue. No, that Angel's alone, abandoned like the rest of this place."
"So what are we dealing with?" asked Emily from the far corner of the room. "And what do we do to get Hanna and Ali back?"