Louisa Fitzhugh died that night.

The next few hours following her best friend's collapse were blurry for Cassidy Albright. When she played the events of the evening back in her mind, it was like a black and white silent movie flashing before her eyes.
Omar was shaking her, holding her by the shoulders, demanding to know what had happened. Then she was on the floor next to Louisa, slapping her face, tears spilling down her own cheeks as she desperately tried to wake her friend.

Then they were in an ambulance with Louisa, watching as plastic tubes criss-crossed around her body, her head flopping drunkenly from side to side with each bump of the road. A man in a dark blue shirt was telling that "everything would be alright."

"I was certain…I was so certain," Cassidy found herself thinking. "That it was the angel's left arm covering his eyes when we found it. I would have remembered a detail as important as that. I never make those kinds of basic mistakes. Not even when I'm excited…"

Then they were in the A&E section of the hospital. She could remember being roughly grabbed by a nearby nurse and ushered into a waiting area. She was screaming something- pleading- as her friend was wheeled down a distant corridor.
Now it was a woman in a green shirt who was telling her that "everything would be alright."
A childhood prayer ghosted over Cassidy's lips.
She needed that kind of blind comfort at that moment.
"Angel sent by God to guide me…be my light and walk beside me…"
She thumbed her phone, wondering if she should text anyone to tell them about Louisa.

She remembered the children screaming and running from the room.
They said that the angel had moved.
Perhaps they it had just been their imagination.
But then…could imagination alone really drive an entire group of twenty children to complete hysteria?
The security tapes in the room, according to Omar and Leon, had glitched at the time of the incident.
There was no way to prove that they were telling the truth.
There was no way to prove that they were lying either.

A doctor walked out of the surgery, ashen faced and sullen with his head hung low, only minutes after Louisa's parents had arrived.
Louisa Fitzhugh was pronounced dead at 10:45pm that evening.
Cassidy could remember breaking into tears and being held by a stranger to comfort her. She could also remember covering her ears to block out Mrs Fitzhugh's howling and Mr Fitzhugh's cursing.

Louisa had said something about other employees having seen the statue move.
Something about rumours going around the museum of the statue being able to move when no one was watching.
Cassidy had never felt so frightened of her own psyche when she found her most prominent thought to be:
"But I was around the angel the most. Why has he never moved in front of me?"

The funeral and burial took place two days later.
Cassidy could remember standing at an open grave-side, wearing her mother's black suit jacket and the pencil skirt that she wore for her very first interview with Doctor Hewitt. She thought he would have at least shown up for the funeral too, but there was no sign of him anywhere in the crowd of mourners.

She didn't know why she had even bothered with make-up that morning. Any mascara that had been on her eyelashes was now trailing down both cheeks.
Her body was weak with grief and her mind was battered with anxiety.

She could remember Abbie holding on to her, her little hands grasping at her neck and her little voice, shrill with urgency and warning.
"He likes to watch you when you're sleeping…"
The angel had apparently told her that himself, in a dream.
Maybe Leon was right: maybe Abbie's imagination had just run away with her.
That said, what on earth would possess a child to imagine something so disturbing? Abbie had never said anything like that to her before.

The coffin was lowered into the ground.
Cassidy did her very best to ignore the fact that her best friend was in that coffin and she just about managed a weak but grateful smile to all those strangers who clapped her on the back and squeezed her shoulders to show their condolences.
She didn't want their sympathy though. At that very moment, her mind was not on Louisa being dead. It was on Louisa's last few moments.

"C-Cassidy? Cassidy…I…I…can't…Ten.
She had turned around with such a look of fear in her eyes that Cassidy herself was instantly thrust into shock.

"Cassidy. I…I…heard something coming from inside the exhibition room so I went inside. Nine."
What had she heard? Had there been someone in there?
"I…I…s-saw…the angel…and it was- eight- it…oh God….it looked…it looked…seven."
The angel? What about the angel?

"S-six…the angel looked right at me…and its eyes…oh fucking Christ, its eyes…I couldn't look away."
Its eyes? But its eyes were covered.

"I…It did s-something…it…it went inside of me…I tried to…five….I mean, I tried to get away b-but it was always there…"
What did she mean?

"Y-you can't d-do anything n-now…Cass…y-you just have to…four…you just have to get away…"
Get away from what? The angel?

"Three…it's n-n-not what it seems. I-It's never what it s-seems…"
If it's not what it seems then what is it?

"Ah! Jesus Christ…it's…it's in my eyes…it's coming for me…and it's coming for you, Cass. D-Don't let y-your guard d-down…two…"
It was in her eyes? What did that mean? And what did she mean when she said it was "coming for" her?

"And w-whatever you do…don't blink…one…"
Don't blink?

Cassidy's mind was a tumultuous maelstrom of questions as she walked away from the crowd, deliberately avoiding the other mourners as she navigated her way through the maze of polished headstones.
She flinched, almost walking straight into a tall, blue, old-fashioned police call-box, positioned right at the edge of the walkway into the church.
She was just thinking that it was a rather bizarre place to put a police call-box and wondering why she had never noticed it there before when the door suddenly swung open, almost hitting her.

"W-woah there," a young man stuttered, stumbling out of the door. He raked his fingers through his dark brown hair and adjusted his rather oddly-placed red bow-tie as he looked to her. "Oh…oh, s-sorry. I apologise. Just…er…"
His eyes scanned her from head to toe, obviously noticing her mourning clothes- if not her extremely dishevelled choice of make-up.

Cassidy herself was just wondering what exactly the man had been doing in the police box that he had left it with such anxiousness and haste when a pretty young woman stumbled out behind him.
"What are you doing, standing in the doorway like that, Doctor?" she demanded to know with a chuckle. "We're not on another plan-.." Her eyes fell on Cassidy. "O-Oh…hello…"

Cassidy frowned internally.
Snogging in a police box…in a grave yard…during a funeral.
Yes, that was a sign of incredible class.
Surprising too, as they both looked like rather respectable individuals.

The man closed the door of the police box quickly, locking it and mumbling something vague about "police-box inspections" before looking to the other mourners who were drifting past.
"I…uh…I'm sorry," he repeated, looking back to Cassidy. "For your loss. Were you ever very close to…?"
The man's voice trailed off, his brow furrowing as he appeared to be studying Cassidy's face.
She took a step back slightly, feeling a little invaded by this strange man's sudden curiosity.
Her make-up hadn't stained her face that badly, had it?

"She was my best friend," she managed to say bluntly, self-consciously wiping her face with the back of her sleeve.
The woman promptly nudged her male companion in the arm, looking a little annoyed before looking to Cassidy with a kind smile. "I'm very sorry about your loss too."
She suddenly looked like she wanted to apologise for the man's behaviour but before she could say anything, he spoke again.

"Have we met before?"
"Doctor!" His female companion prodded him with annoyance. "Leave her alone! Now is not the time! Can't you see she's-?"
But the "doctor" didn't seem to be listening. "What is your name?"

"Cassidy Albright," she answered, her mind far too numb to even question the practicality of introducing oneself to weird people involved in intimate operations in a police box, in a grave-yard.

"Hmm…I think we've met before, Cassidy…"

She quirked an eyebrow. "I think…I'd remember meeting you…Mr?"
"Doctor."
"Dr-?"

Before the man could say anything else, there was a faint beeping sound coming from the inner part of his suit jacket. "Ah…"
He fumbled inside his tweed lapel, apparently turning something off and shaking his head. "Nevermind…nevermind…" He beckoned to his female companion. "Come along, Clara. We'd better get going."
The Doctor looked back to Cassidy once again with a half-smile. "We'll talk again."

"Clara", as she had been dubbed, had just enough time to give her a final apologetic smile before being tugged away by her Doctor friend.

Cassidy shook her head, walking back around the church.
Strange as their encounter had been, it had been a welcome distraction, but now that it was over, her heart was heavy with grief again.
Had she actually met that man before?
If he was a doctor than perhaps he was a friend of Hewitt's who she had met at the museum before?

Cassidy squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a sudden painful throbbing in her temples.
The museum was the last thing that she wanted to think about at that very moment in time.
Just as she was getting into a taxi to head home, her heart jolted in her chest.
Standing on one of the roof ledges of the church was an angel statue.

An angel statue that almost looked exactly like her angel statue.
Only for that both of its arms were outstretched.
Open and either offering or seeking a comforting embrace.

"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked.
Cassidy pushed every other thought to furthest corner of her mind and concentrated on giving the man directions back to her house.

There was no way it could have been the same statue.
Grief was just pushing her to her limits.
She feared just exactly how far it could push her.

"Albright, Albright, Albright," the doctor repeated, shaking his head as they walked. "Why is that name so familiar?"

Clara frowned deeply. "The girl had just walked out of her best friend's funeral and you were there gawking at her as if she had three heads. I ought to have slapped you just for that. The poor thing looked fit to start crying again."
The doctor squirmed at this threat but sighed, waving a hand. "I've definitely met that girl somewhere before."

"Well she didn't seem to know who you were."
"Ah, that is because she probably hasn't met me yet. I've probably met her at some point in her future. You know…because time isn't linear…"
"Yes, yes, yes…I know. I know. You've explained it before. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey and all that…"

Clara smirked a little, nudging the doctor as they walked. "Perhaps she's one of your past lovers? One of the many famous women to captivate the doctor?"
He grimaced at the word "many" and shook his head. "No, no, no…nothing like that…I'd remember if she were someone like that. No…Cassidy Albright just seemed…familiar."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "A good kind of familiar or a bad kind of familiar?"
The doctor exhaled, furrowing his brow and watching as the young, blonde-haired woman climbed into a taxi across the road. "I'm not sure yet." He narrowed his eyes. "I just feel as if I should be telling her something. Something important."

He noticed her looking out the window, feeling a shudder run through him and turned quickly to follow her gaze to the roof of the church.
But there was nothing there.
When he turned back around, the taxi was gone.

"Something the matter?" Clara asked, worried for her eccentric, two-hearted friend.
The doctor shook his head again. "Ah…yes, everything is fine…"
"Did you remember what you had to tell her?"

"No. But if it's important, I will."