"Come on!" Caleb dragged Hanna out of the ballroom, his fingers digging into her skin. She wriggled free as they entered a private room and shut the door.

"Hey, get off me! What the hell is going on? Where are we?" she fired the questions at him without pausing for breath. Caleb, his dark hair falling around his eyes, sighed. Not the kind of sigh that indicated annoyance, but a deeper sigh, the kind that told stories of heartache and nightmares coming true. Hanna's heart sank.

"Of course this had to happen," Caleb groaned.

"Will you tell me what the hell is happening!"

"Hanna! Can you please give me a second? I'm processing!" Hanna frowned, looking at her boyfriend, really looking.

"Caleb?" she looked up into his face. He sighed again. The thing that had been niggling at her since she'd recognised him in the other room floated to the surface. She wasn't just imagining things; Caleb looked older. Spidery lines branched out from the corners of his eyes, needle point thin, and a deep crease that she'd never seen before ran up his forehead, between his eyes. She took a step back, heart hammering in her ribcage.

"Caleb?" she repeated, a whisper. His eyes pierced through her, laden with emotion. Suddenly the distance between seemed as vast as an ocean, and as uncrossable. Hanna shivered.

"You might want to sit down," Caleb led her to a wooden chair, draped in red velvet. The fabric seemed foreign beneath her fingertips. Whatever this place was, it didn't sit right with her. Who the hell had velvet upholstery?

At least there was Caleb. Maybe he wasn't her Caleb, she could sense that, but her Caleb was in there somewhere, beneath layers of age and finery, beneath the rim of his top hat, below the fine etchings of lines on his face. But his caution was grating on her nerves.

"Alright. Now, out with it. Talk!" she demanded, throwing her hands up in the air. Caleb audibly swallowed, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His nervousness was infectious; Hanna felt it at the base of her spine, a cold hand that could tear her to bits in seconds.

"The good news is that you're still in Ravenswood," he began, making Hanna wonder what the bad news was. As if being in Ravenswood wasn't bad enough. The town gave her the fucking creeps. She couldn't wait to get back home. Rosewood wasn't so bad after all.

"The bad news," Caleb continued, "is that it's 1914."

"What is that? Like twenty four hour time?"

"No, Hanna, like the year," Caleb shot back, visibly annoyed now. It took Hanna a second for the words to sink in. But when they did, it was like a bomb had gone off inside her head. Caleb wouldn't lie to her, not about something like that. He might lie to protect her, but what kind of lie would result in him dressing up in coattails to tell her that the year was 1914?

"Hanna," he was kneeling in front of her now. "Hanna, you need to listen to me. I was in Ravenswood, you'd walked away, told me to stay behind, right after I took a bus for hours just to get to you. I found out later that the others lost you in the tunnels, but you didn't mention it then, just kissed me and told me to stay. A few months later, I was here, in this house with Miranda, in 2013, looking for something - anything - to help me understand why this town was so strange. And then there was a booth, a phone booth, with this old fashioned phone in the cradle. It rang and I answered. There was no one on the other end. So I hung up. When Miranda and I came out of the phone booth, it was 1902."

Hanna's head reeled. "Who's Miranda?"

Caleb laughed, throwing his head back, a full hearted laugh. He steadied himself against Hanna's knee. "I just told you that we travelled back in time, and your first question is 'who is Miranda?' I've missed you."

"I need to know who the bitch exploring abandoned houses with my boyfriend is!" Hanna explained, ruffled by the laughter. Sure, getting stuck in 1914 was going to be a problem. What was she going to do without her cell or proper electricity or her Prada heels? But as long as she had Caleb, it wouldn't matter. She could always work on finding a way back. After all, if you could fall through a hole in the universe once, surely you could do it twice. She focused when she saw the expression on Caleb's face, completely sober and piercing through her again. Sorrow softened the corners of his eyes.

"Hanna, Miranda's my wife."

"There's nothing in this room," Spencer sighed, staring into the dim light of yet another dust covered room. Clara nodded. Along the corridor came sounds of the others, opening doors, rummaging, the sound of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. None of them really knew what they were supposed to be looking for. "Anything out of place," the Doctor had said, but in a house like that, it could be anything. Most things were out of place, from a different era. Clara felt like she was walking through a museum.

"Can I ask you something?" Spencer said softly as the two of them trod the carpet down to the next room. Clara shrugged, inviting the question. Spencer frowned for a moment before asking. She opened the next door and the two of them entered. "You think he can really find Hanna?"

"Sure," Clara nodded, shrugging again. "He's found lost people before."

"Yeah, but time travel? That whole thing about the Weeping Angel? How can that possibly be real?"

"You'd be surprised. I used to think the same thing, that the universe was so small, that impossible things didn't happen. That there were rules. He showed me that it wasn't true. I've seen things, Spencer, that I never would have thought possible. I've skirted around a black hole, seen aliens, proper aliens. Proper lesbian aliens. And I've seen people die. More people than I would like," Clara's voice dropped to a whisper. They'd stopped in the centre of the room and Spencer was looking at her. Her fingers wrapped around Clara's.

"No one's going to die tonight. If impossible things happen, then Hanna's coming back in one piece, we stop the Weeping Angel and everything goes back to normal," she murmured, her voice soft, but insistent. And Clara trusted her. More than she trusted the Doctor, as if in that moment, hell could come knocking on her door, and Spencer would keep it out, keep her safe. It took her aback.

Ring.

Ring.

The sound shot through the air, making the two of them jump out of their skins. Clara came back to herself and her eyes darted around the room, trying to find the source of the sound.

"Is that a phone?" Spencer asked, face screwed up in disbelief. They broke apart, searching the room, atop tables and beneath layers of dust, until Clara pulled open a door and found herself face to face with the ringing phone. Spencer was right behind her. She reached a trembling hand out and picked up off the hook. She heard the link click. She raised it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Is anyone there? Help, please!"

Both Spencer and Clara stared at each other, wide eyed. Clara turned her attention back to the phone, but only for a second. From behind her, she heard "well, shit" and turned to find the Weeping Angel, arm outstretched, several metres away.

"Hello? Hello? Is anybody there? I need help. I need a doctor."

Me too, Clara thought to herself, the phone to her ear, her eyes already starting to water. The lights started to flicker.

"There's something here, the house is shaking. I found this phone booth. The phone was ringing. I don't know who you are or why you're calling, but I need your help. Who are you? Why aren't you speaking? Do you think this is funny? I need help!" the voice was coming from the speaker, a woman's voice, terrified. Clara wanted to say something to calm her, to let her know that there was someone on the other end of the phone. But nothing came. There was nothing but the Weeping Angel and Spencer, in front of her. If one of them blinked, Spencer had no chance. Slowly, she inched out of the phone booth, pushing Spencer behind her, slipping the phone into her hand. Somehow, neither of them blinked.

"What are you doing?" Spencer furiously whispered. "Now you're in its way."

"And you're not," Clara replied. "It's a win-win situation."

"No it's not you English ponce. It's going to send you back in time! How is that a win-win situation?"

"Well, nobody blinks, and everybody stays in the present. Now don't look away and don't blink!" Clara urged. Now she was standing before the Angel, the reality was sinking in, and going back in time wasn't as appealing without the prospect of riding there in a blue box. The lights buzzed, but stayed on. The voice still came through the telephone. Nobody paid it any attention.

"You know, there's a way that we can blink and still not have the Angel move," Spencer whispered into Clara's ear, her breath warm and wet. "No, listen," she said as Clara moved to protest. "We have to alternate blinking. As long as there's one person looking at it, the Angel can't move."

"Great, I'm stuck in a phone booth with a crazy person. Again," Clara growled, exasperated.

"It'll work!" promised Spencer. "I'll tap your shoulder every few seconds. Blink as soon as I tap you. I'll wait a few seconds and then blink, then tap you again."

"Who am I talking to? Are you there? The lights are flickering. Someone is hurt. I can't find my husband. My name is Mrs. Rivers. Mrs. Miranda Rivers and the year is 1914. If you're there, send help," the voice from the phone pleaded. Spencer lifted it to her ear.

"Listen ma'am, we're in trouble of our own. There's a statue trying to kill us, and we're stuck in this phone booth with a phone that rang. We didn't call you. You called us. There's nothing we can do. I'm sorry."

"You are there! Please, please! I don't know what to do. This house, my house, is shaking. Everything is dark. I think someone is bleeding."

"Listen. There's nothing I can do!" Spencer almost shouted, tapping Clara's shoulder. "I'm looking at imminent death by a statue that feeds off Time Energy. I would love to do something, but there is literally nothing I can do. I'm sorry, lady, but you're on your own."

"You sound as crazy as I do, so I'm just going to come out and say this. If it's my last chance to confess it, I might as well tell it to a stranger. My name is Miranda Rivers, but once I was Miranda Collins. I came from a place called Ravenswood in 2013. The man I married was a man called Caleb Rivers. He came with me. I don't know how we got here. All I know was that we answered a phone in my uncle's abandoned manor and when we hung up and exited the box the phone was in, it was 1902," the woman said.

"Wait! What did you say? Did the box has frosted windows? In the third room on the right in the east corridor?" Spencer yelled into the phone, tapping Clara again. The line crackled into the silence.

"How did you know that?"

Spencer shuffled further back into the booth, pulling Clara in with her by the back of her jacket. Footsteps shuffled outside of the room, and the Doctor, Aria and Emily burst in, faces wild. But Spencer was already slamming the phone down on the hook.