She dreamt of being in the cave again.
As always, she could see the sloping, slanting silhouettes of stalagmites and stalactites- either hanging down from the high, arching ceiling or spiking upward from the damp floor that stretched beneath her feet.

She knew that they were all around her, watching her.
They had been waiting for her, after all.
And now, she finally knew what to call them.

Weeping Angels.

She knew that he was among them too.
He was the one giving the orders, it appeared.

She didn't know whether or not she should start walking again for she could no longer see the ring of light that marked the mouth of the cave.
She could hear a low murmuring coming from all around her. Were they talking about her? What were they saying?
Feeling increasingly frightened as the murmuring grew louder and angrier, like a hive full of angry bees, she considered starting to run.

Suddenly she heard a single, clear voice above all of the others..
A male voice.

"Hello? Cassidy Albright? Are you there? Are you awake?"
"Hello. Yes, I'm right here. I can't see you though. Who are you?"
"I have come for you, Cassidy."
"Are you…are you the doctor?"
"No. I am not the doctor."
"…then who are you, exactly?"
"You know who I am."

It was then that Cassidy could see his outline among the shadows, slowly emerging from the drapes of darkness all around them. She still had no idea where the pale light above her head was coming from but it was not long before the Weeping Angel who served as her captor was fully bathed in the glow. He was staring down at her with that same handsome smile from before that seemed to invade her.
It set fear seeping into her skin yet a frightening kind of warmth permeated her chest, making her feel light and dizzy.

"What do you want now?" she demanded to know, trembling.
To her own terror, the pale light above her head suddenly flickered on and off and in that split second of blindness, Michael moved forward and grabbed her forearm.

"Don't touch me!" Cassidy shouted, desperately trying to pull her arm away. "Let me go! Let me go!"
Suddenly Michael seemed to dissolve into the blackness around her. The shadows melted away like ink on a waxen canvas and soon, she was standing in the museum again.
She found herself facing the painting that Leon had showed her.

"What was it called?" she asked herself numbly. "La Belle et le Bête? The Beauty and the Beast?"
The huge hulking monster's arms were fast tight around the young maiden's body. Was he restraining her or embracing her? Did it depict an awful abduction or an act of love?

Cassidy found her mind briefly wandering to the tale of Hades and Persephone: another of her favourite Greek myths.
Her eyes traced the painting, the colours seeming to swirl, glow and blend before her very eyes.
A jolt of shock ran through her body when the painted damsel's head suddenly turned to look at her. The girl's eyes were wide with fear and her body was twitching all over as she pushed against the chest of the beast.

"Don't let him!" she shrieked in an unearthly, almost inhuman voice. "Don't let him!"

Then the paint started to run, the two figures melting into each other as the colours dripped from the canvas. The paint leaked over the edges of the frame and started to pool on the ground at her feet.
It was then that Cassidy realised that she was in the cave again. In the dark.

The light grew weaker and weaker until she could no longer see the painting at all.
She could just hear the paint dripping into a puddle on the stone floor.
And the dripping grew fainter.
And fainter.
And fainter.

But still, the painted woman's voice echoed in her ears.
"Don't let him! Don't let him! Don't let him!"
With each repeat of the cryptic warning, the shrill, inhuman voice became more and more like her mother's voice.
"Don't let him! Don't let him! Don't let him! Don't let him!"

Cassidy's eyes suddenly snapped open and she awoke with a start, shuddering. The room was bright- golden sunlight blazing through the white linen curtains. The air was also warm and stuffy; she could feel that her skin was slick with sweat, her hair clinging to her neck and the sheets starting to stick to her legs.

Despite all of that, she felt cold enough to shiver.
A hollow feeling formed in her heart, perhaps with the realisation that even if her current situation was just a crazy nightmare, it was one that she would not wake up from anytime soon.
She tried to sit up in vain, only to fall back into the pillows with a groan. Her head felt like a lead balloon, her temples throbbing and her eyelids aching.
She rolled over in the bed, grunting and squirming as she felt something leafy and twisted press against her cheek.

Mustering her strength, Cassidy propped herself up on one elbow to inspect the foreign object in her bed.

It was a single, wild red rose.
And it wasn't from Louisa.
It wasn't from Leon.

It was from the monster who had kidnapped her.

Cassidy gritted her teeth as a feeling of betrayal overcame her, permeating her skin and taking over her entire body. She snatched up the rose, not caring as the thorns bit into the skin of her palm and flung the bed-covers back.
With anger fuelling her actions, she stormed over to the bathroom- her heart and mind set on flushing the rose straight down the toilet so that she wouldn't have to look at her captor's humiliating, patronising pseudo-token-of-affection.

But it was when her hand was hovering over the porcelain bowl, her fingers limp around the rose's delicate stem that she was suddenly unable to drop it.
She gazed at the flower that she held for a moment, slowly retracting her arm. It really was a flawless rose. The petals were the deepest natural crimson and the velvet folds were fanned in the peak of a perfect bloom. The slender, verdant stem may have been lined with small, curved thorns and asymmetric leaves but that was only because it was a wild rose.
Unlike the cheap Valentine's roses from the local supermarket and the chemically enhanced, almost artificial roses that the florist's often stocked, this one was a natural beauty.

Changing her mind as she fingered the soft petals, Cassidy tucked the rose into the waistband of her shorts.
Her war was with Michael, she decided and their war needed no casualties.
"Not even flowers," she told herself. "Especially not flowers."

Almost automatically, Cassidy wandered over the sink and filled one of the glass tumblers next to the sink with water. She placed the flower into the glass of water and carefully carried it back into the room, setting it down on the bedside table.

"Very nice," she observed aloud, partly worried at the normality of her own thoughts. "The room could use some brightening up anyway."

Using the plastic comb in the bathroom, a wad of tissues, a cake of soap and some hot water, Cassidy managed to tame her tangled hair into submission and to blot the sweat from her skin.
She hadn't a clue why she was even bothering to make herself presentable but she had always been taught to live by the phrase "organise your appearance and your mind will follow", so that seemed like a good starting point.
"That's rich," she thought, studying herself in the mirror. "Considering that you, Cassidy Albright, would happily go gallivanting down the High Street in nothing but a band t-shirt, baggy jeans and converse."

She made another attempt at escape, pacing the room. She tried the door but it was still locked.
Her attempt on the window was twofold, not only was she testing to see if it would open but the room was also far too warm for her liking.
A cool breeze would be more than welcome at that very moment in time.
But her efforts were to be wasted for the window still wouldn't budge. Looking out the window, she could see the river across the street and the sunlight, gleaming on the rise of each wave.
Where was she? The doctor had said that the Weeping Angels sent their victims back in time. Was she really in the past? And if so, was she still even in England?

It brought a bittersweet smile to her lips.
She could vividly remember having a long conversation with Louisa about the merits of time-travel and what she would do if she had access to Hermione Granger's time-turner from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
She had spent most of her life just dreaming about that kind of magic.
She never thought for a second that she would one day become a victim of such magic.

On edge, agitated, bored and sweltering from the heat, Cassidy found herself resorting to making the bed to entertain/distract herself. It wasn't long before she was singing to herself, knowing that it would calm her.
True, her voice was flat, low and prone to going completely out of tune but she didn't care. Just having some kind of melody to break the silence helped to ease her mind.

"Sometimes I feel, I've got to run away," she crooned lightly, pulling the sheets across the mattress. "I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me. The love we share seems to go nowhere. Now I've lost my light for I toss and turn, I can't sleep at night." She crawled across the crisp sheets to fluff one of the pillows. "Once I ran to you. Now I run from you. This tainted love you've given, gave you all a girl could give you. Take my tears and that's not nearly all…"

She jumped, her voice warbling on the final note when she suddenly heard something thump against the back wall.

"Hello? Ma'am?"

Cassidy reeled back from the wall for a moment before kneeling up against the headboard, realising that the voice was coming from the next room.
It was the asthmatic man.

"Oh, hello…" She paused, a little apprehensive after the way he had spoken to her the day before. "…um…are you feeling any better?"

"Yes ma'am. A lot better," he said, his voice much softer than the night before. "I just heard you singing there and I figured I'd better apologise for the way I acted last night. I really am thankful for you helping me out. I guess, last night, I just wasn't myself…"
"It's fine," Cassidy told her fellow prisoner. "It's fine. I won't hold it against you." She smiled faintly, happy to be talking to another human being.

"I'm seriously sorry, ma'am," he continued. "You just…you just get a little crazy after being here for so long."
"I can only imagine," she murmured in return, a cruel voice in the back of her mind reminding her that very soon she wouldn't have to imagine. She spoke quickly to quell the rise of those uncomfortable thoughts. "You needn't call me "ma'am" either. My name is Cassidy. My friends call me Cass, though."

"Cass, huh? I like it," the man chuckled. "Is that a Brit I hear? I'd recognise an accent from across the pond from a mile away. You from jolly old England?"
"Yeah, I am," she told him, starting to smile involuntarily. "Have you ever been, Mr-? Uh..."

"Stanley P. Quinn," the man said, introducing himself. "Just Stan to my friends. And nah, I've never been to England before but from what my Grandpa used to tell me, it sounds pretty nice."
"Stan," she murmured, testing it on her tongue before smiling and saying aloud. "I like that too…and yeah, England is a pretty nice place I guess. Where are you from, Stan?"
"I was born in North Carolina in the great U S of A, on the twenty seventh of July, 1944."

Cassidy's eyes widened and her heart suddenly jolted in her chest.
"1944…Stan…how old are you?"
"I'm twenty five, Cass. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two…"
"Ah, you're not too much younger than me, eh? You're so little though. You looked like a teeny-bopper last night. Though, I could have been a little oxygen deprived." He chuckled but Cassidy's head was spinning.

"1944…Stan you're a lot older than me." She gave a soft bark of laughter, shaking her head. "I was born in London on the fourth of March, 1991."

Stan was quiet for a moment before suddenly chuckling and whistling. "Wow, I guess I am a lot older than you. So you're from the future, huh? I've met a few different people around the hotel who aren't from my time but I think 1991 is the furthest into the future that I've ever met…"
Cassidy smiled, sitting down on to her haunches and pressing her forehead against the wall. "Well, I've certainly never met anyone born in 1944 before."

She heard him give a dry chuckle.
"In that case, I'm proud to be your first." His fingers drummed against the wall in a sporadic little riff before he asked her in a softened tone. "Wow, a gal from the London of the future…"

Cassidy's heart started to sink a little. "Yes. I think I'm starting to miss it already."
Stan gave a long sigh. "The homesickness can get pretty terrible here and I'm gonna be honest with ya, Cass: it only gets worse after today."

"I could go a year without seeing Big Ben or Buckingham Palace, if I'm honest," Cassidy told him. "But my mum is very sick at the moment. Well, she's been sick for as long as I can remember but now she's gotten really, really bad. I…" The young woman took a deep breath, trying to swallow back the tears that were slowly flooding her eyes. "I really should be with her right now."

"That's rough, Cass. I'm really sorry to hear that…if it's any consolation, I know how you feel."

"Oh, is your mum unwell too?"
"Nah, momma is fine and healthy. She'll just be missing my pops something terrible. He ended up being drafted a few months before I left and now he's gone to war. I was in University at the time so I dodged the draft…I was lucky…Pops wasn't. I just really hope he's alright…" His voice faltered a little and when he spoke again, it was filled with vigour. "You're from the future, right Cass? The war? It ends, right? Sometimes it just feels like it's never going to end…"

Cassidy didn't know whether he was talking about the war in Vietnam or Korea but she replied with the truth that she could hold dear.
"Yes, Stan. Yes, the war ends very soon."

His voice sounded so relieved that Cassidy felt an instant rush of joy run through her. "Thank the Lord. I guess all of our prayers all paid off after all." He exhaled. "So then, Miss Cassidy, I was thinking about heading out for a bite to eat? Will you join me?"

"Out?" Cassidy blinked. "How did you get out?"
"I just walked right out of the door. Haven't you noticed that you can't lock yours? It's how they get in so easily…"
"My door is locked. I can't get out at all."
"Weird. They usually let us out during the day."
"…really? Aren't they worried that you'll escape?"
"There are over fifty people in the hotel. If we don't return before nightfall, the angels come out and they bring us back. Trust me: they don't take too kindly to runaways at all…"
"Haven't you ever tried going to the police?"
"The cops? I've tried telling 'em but they just thought I was crazy. They wouldn't even come with me to the hotel to see for themselves." He snorted. "I reckon they know all about what's going on and they're just too afraid to intervene. Damn angels. Then again, it's 1923 and pops used to say that all the cops were corrupt back then anyway…"

Cassidy's hand fell limply to her side and she froze. "1923? That's how far back into the past I am?"
"Yep," Stan confirmed. "That's what the daily newspaper says. So you really can't get out? That's pretty strange."

"I've been trying the door since I got here. It's locked tight. The handle won't even turn."

Stan paused for a moment. "What about your window? If you climbed out, you could hop across to my window sill, I could let you in and you could get out my door with me."

"I can't open the window either."

"Shitbucket," Stan grunted unceremoniously. "Awh, that kills. 'Specially cause there's a real nice view of the Hollywood sign at night if you stick your head out and look over at the-…"

"The Hollywood sign!?" Cassidy exclaimed, suddenly realising the implications of this statement. She really had travelled through space and time. "You mean, this hotel is in Hollywood? In Los Angeles?"
"That's right, Cass. We're currently in L.A., California."

"Jesus Christ…"
"Yeah, I was pretty shocked too when I realised it too. That said, I had to figure it out for myself, walking around the city. It's really bizarre that the stone bastards have you locked up."

The cogs in Cassidy's mind were already whirring, her brow creasing and her fists clenching with realisation. "I think I know the reason why."
"Oh?"
"Michael."
"Michael? Who the heck is Michael?"
"The male angel. The one who was with me yesterday."
"Huh, that guy showed up a few weeks ago. It was weird to see a man-angel…I thought that they were all just ladies but he proved me wrong. I'll admit that our jailers started to act a little strange when he got here…like they were preparing for something…So this "Michael", how do you know him exactly? And why's he got it in for you?"

Cassidy sighed. "I think I'm the one who set him free and as for why he's after me…I'm not quite sure yet." She swallowed. "And I'm not sure whether or not I even want to know."
Stan rapped his knuckles against the wall. "You set him free? How did you manage to do that?"
"It's kind of a long story."
"Not to be rude or anything, Miss Cassidy but if you haven't noticed, you and I have a lot of time on our hands…"

She sat back on the bed, crossing her legs, her eyes slowly running over the floral wallpaper. Her mind had been nothing but tumultuous since this whole ordeal with the angel had begun and the promise of being able to share her story with someone at long last, seemed like a welcome prospect.

"Alright. I'll tell you." Cassidy exhaled. "I'm an archaeologist with the London Museum. I had been doing an apprenticeship under a man called Ernst Hewitt in order to go further in the field. My coll-…my friend, Edmund, had to co-ordinate a dig in Sherwood Forest, Nottingham. That was where I found him…he was chained into the ground..."

The preparation room was eerily quiet.

Edmund stared at the two individuals who sat before him, his eyes wide with numb disbelief.
The doctor sat back in his seat, perfectly calm and still smiling blithely as if nothing remotely strange was happening.
Clara crossed her legs, leaning forward into her lap and silently praying that their newfound museum contact wasn't about to call for security.

"So, you're telling me…that Cassidy has been abducted…by aliens?"
The doctor nodded, resting his chin on his laced fingers. "Exactly."
"These Weeping Angel things? They're living statues that send people back in time?"
Now it was Clara's turn to nod, trying her hardest to keep smiling encouragingly. "Yes, that's right."

Edmund very slowly raised an eyebrow, sitting up and leaning forward.

"Right…"

Another thin silence passed between them before the archaeologist suddenly snapped.

"Are you two having a bloody laugh?!"

Clara flinched but the doctor remained completely calm, still grinning where he sat. "Well, I personally wouldn't describe this situation as funny. Not even slightly funny. In fact, your friend is in terrible danger and I find very little humour in that…but everyone has a different sense of humour, so if you think this is funny and you want to laugh- Miss Oswald here and I won't judge you."

"Are you mad?!" Edmund returned, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Ok, ok, I may not know where Cassidy is right now and as much as it kills me to think about it, I would accept that she's missing and maybe we should go to the police. But you're telling me that she was abducted by aliens…?"

"Uhm, just one alien," Clara somewhat hesitantly corrected. "The angel statue that you brought into the museum."

"You expect me to actually believe this Weeping Angel fairytale you're after telling me?!" Edmund barked, shaking his head. "Seriously? What are you two on? This is crazy…"

"It's not a fairytale," the doctor said simply, sliding the diary that he had managed to acquire from River across the table and into the young man's hands. "It's all right there. That's Raston Jovovich's journal. An expert, eye-witness document to attest to the existence and handling of the Weeping Angels."

"You can use it as part of an exhibit, if you'd like," Clara piped up. "It's a valuable resource and even if the museum helps to create an urban myth of sorts about the Weeping Angels, it'll prompt clients to be more wary of the angel if he tries to return."

Edmund sifted through the pages, his eyebrows knitting. "This? This is a book of scribbles! Why should I believe anything that either of you two have told me?"

The doctor's smile finally slipped and he stood up, leaning across the table to meet Edmund Potter's stare.
"Because, Mr Potter, your friend Cassidy Albright is in unimaginable danger." The doctor's voice became gravely low. "She has been kidnapped by a monster with malicious intentions who will kill her, torture her or much, much worse if we do not find her and take her as far away from him as possible. You cannot imagine the kind of turmoil that she is going through right now and if you consider yourself a good friend and have a single inch of your heart that cares about Cassidy, so help me, you will do everything you can to help us put an end to her suffering…"

Clara felt herself smiling slightly: she had always admired the doctor's determination when it came to helping someone and it had always fascinated her how he always seemed to know just what to say to motivate someone to do what they had to.

Edmund sat back in his seat, having been rendered slightly speechless by this sudden, emotion-driven monologue. His eyes lowered and he pushed the bridge of his glasses further up his nose, sighing. "I…look, look…don't get me wrong. I do care. I do want to help Cassidy. I believe you that something is wrong…that she's missing. I mean, there have been rumours about people disappearing from the museum for the past two months and now with the statue missing…something doesn't feel right…" He looked up at the doctor and Clara. "But aliens? Really? This all sounds pretty damn far-fetched. Now, I'll go with you to the police if you want but-…"

The doctor waved a hand. "Forget that. The police are useless. They won't be able to help Cassidy in the slightest. But you, Edmund Potter, you can help her."
Edmund sighed. "How?"
The doctor rose from his seat. "By trusting us."
Clara followed suit, standing up and giving the doctor a nudge accompanied by a slight smile. "Doctor…I think it's time we brought out the big guns…"

The doctor looked down at her, arching an eyebrow. "I thought we agreed that we weren't going to do this violently…"
Clara rolled her eyes. "I mean if he wants to call the police, perhaps we should take him to the police call box?"
The doctor's eyes brightened up and he clapped his hands, suddenly a lot happier. "Ah, a very good idea, Clara."

Edmund looked between the two of them, looking rather confused.
"What…is going on?"

Before anything else could be said, Edmund found himself being grabbed by both of his arms and hauled from his seat, out of the preparation room, down the hall, out of the museum and across a busy London street- his protests being ignored all the way.

"Good God," he panted, adjusting his jacket when he was finally released. "You know, I'm starting to think that neither of you are actually employed by any kind of historical department."
Clara cocked an eyebrow, unable to disguise a small smirk. "What was your first clue?"
The doctor unlocked the door of the blue police box before them, offhandedly remarking. "We are rather interested in history though...my career involves me getting quite involved in historical affairs…"

He pulled the door open, waving an arm. "In we go."
"Oh, after Mr Potter, of course," Clara chuckled, stepping aside to allow the sceptic to go first.
Edmund shook his head, exasperated as he walked into the seemingly normal call-box. "What on earth are you two planning? The three of us are scarcely going to fit into this box, let alon-...oh…" His voice trailed off and his eyes grew wide as he took in the wonder of the TARDIS in all of her glory. "I…I…It's bigger on the inside…"

The doctor laughed, following him inside with Clara in tow. "Impressed, Edmund?"

"This place is...is…what is this place?" Edmund spluttered out. "There's no way that this is a normal police call box."
"It's not. Far from it actually," the doctor told him. "This is the ever-loyal and the very sexy Time And Relative Dimension In Space, otherwise known as the TARDIS."
Clara led him over to the dashboard and console, gesturing up to the screen where an image of a huge, hulking stone seraph had suddenly appeared. "Recognise anyone?"

"That's the statue from the museum. The "Michael" exhibit," Edmund said incredulously, pointing at the holographic image, (having finally managed to tear his eyes away from the glorious innards of the TARDIS).

"Oh, I know him well," the doctor said, a rather grim look flashing across his eyes.
"You…know…him?" Edmund repeated, turning to look at the doctor. "Where did you… "meet" him?"
"I had the displeasure of encountering him in my past or in the case of the current time-stream, in Cassidy's future. I just didn't put two and two together when I heard about the museum exhibit because I couldn't remember where I had met Cassidy before…"

"In Cassidy's future?" Edmund interjected, his brow furrowing. "What are you, like, a time traveller or something?"
Clara patted his shoulder. "A time lord actually but we'll explain that later."

"Yes," the doctor said, clicking his fingers and pacing around the console until he was practically nose to nose with Edmund. "First we have to deal with what's important. Finding Cassidy. Now, the angel has taken her into the past. What's slightly frightening is that usually, Weeping Angels don't go with their victims into the past. So it's firmly important that we track her down as soon as possible. The TARDIS can place her signature somewhere near and around 1923 but we can't tell exactly where she is."
He stepped back, running his fingers over the TARDIS console and watching her come to life around him. "To track her properly, we need to find out where she was when he abducted her…so when was the last time that you saw Cassidy?"

Edmund stared at the doctor, his eyes wide and his lip twitching.
Clara put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Believe me, I know this is a lot to take in but for Cassidy's sake, you've really got to just roll with the punches here…"

The archaeologist nodded. "Right, yesterday…I…I had coffee with Cassidy…she was really upset…she said that the angel was chasing her…" His brows furrowed. "Fuck…why didn't I believe her?" He knuckled his forehead. "I went back to the museum after that…the statue went missing that evening when we were locking up…and…and I called Cassidy! She wasn't picking up her mobile phone so I rang her house number at 10 or so to let her know that the statue was gone. She picked up the house-phone and answered but she hung up pretty quickly…" He swallowed. "Do you think that was when he…got her?"

The doctor nodded. "It very well may be. Do you have Cassidy's address, Edmund?"

Edmund pulled out his phone. "Yes, I've got it. I've only ever been to her house once before to drop off some files and she had to text me on the directions."
The doctor examined the message over Edmund's shoulder. "Perfect. Perfect!"

"Shall I call a taxi?" Edmund offered, running for the door, only to be stopped by a laughing Clara.

"A taxi? Really? Doctor, he has no idea."

The doctor chuckled, watching Edmund's eyes pop at the sight of the TARDIS starting to move.

"Mr Potter, that's a very nice offer but we like to travel in style…"
The floor started to vibrate and Edmund just about fell over in shock. "Wh-what's going on?"

"Get ready for the ride of a lifetime, Edmund."

"So you can listen to music from a tiny, thin piece of metal?"
"Yes, that's exactly it!"
"And it's called an i-poz?"
"No, no…an iPod, Stan."
"That's so crazy. I can't even imagine it!"
"Weird…I can't imagine living without my iPod…"

Then they were laughing again.
She and Stan had talked for most of the day and Cassidy couldn't remember the last time that she'd felt this much comfort from talking to a wall.
In fact, talking to another human being, finally unloading all of the grief that she'd felt in the last few weeks and listening to worries and concerns that weren't her own, almost made her completely forget where she was and what was happening to her.

Cassidy knew deep down that he was still watching her though.
It had unnerved her enough when the doctor hadn't called again today but as Stan had pointed out, it was better to have some kind of rescue mission in the works than none at all so she consoled herself with that thought.

She had no way of telling the time but it was dark outside and she had switched on every light in the room when the banging started on her door.
She let out a shrill gasp of surprise, turning on the bed and staring intently in the direction of the door.

"What is it, Cass? You ok in there?"

"It's…it's him. He's here."

Stan said something in return but Cassidy could no longer hear him.
All she could here was the blood pounding in her ears.

The pounding on her door continued but Michael didn't seem to be trying to break it down. It was more like he was just knocking loudly.
Announcing his presence.

It wasn't as though she could open the door for him anyway.

The inevitable happened and Cassidy was forced to blink.
Within that blink, Michael was in the room, standing at the foot of the bed.

His huge, towering form stared down at her, watching her where she sat.
She shuddered at his posture. His arm was outstretched, one single clawed index finger pointing straight ahead and his lips were curled in a hateful sneer.

"Wh-what is it?" Cassidy stuttered, trying to keep her eyes on him without looking directly into his glowering, slate grey eyes. "What do you want?"

It took her a few seconds to realise that the Weeping Archangel was not pointing at her but rather at the wall behind her- and that was exactly where his leer was focused.

"What's going on, Cass?" Stan called out. "Are you alright?"
"I…I'm fine," she replied, turning her head in a heated moment of panic and completely forgetting the most important rule that the doctor had pressed upon her. When she turned back again, Michael's face had contorted with petrified rage, his lips parted to reveal his jagged teeth- open in a silent growl. His wings were also spread and his fists were clenched at his sides, the muscles of his biceps taut with confrontational anger.

And he was looking straight at the wall over her head.
At the target of his anger.
At Stan.

Cassidy's heart started to race.

"We're just talking," she told Michael, quietly but firmly. "Don't get angry with him. It's me that you're trying to deal with. Remember?"
Just when Cassidy was starting to feel a little braver when speaking to her captor, Michael's actions became more sporadic.

Try as she might, she couldn't stop herself from blinking and with her next blink, Michael was right beside her, standing at the bedside. Much to her relief, his growl and glower were gone but they had been replaced by a frighteningly sadistic-looking smirk.
His hand was outstretched and Cassidy was surprised and confused to see something dangling from his fingers. It was a kind of black strap that grew thicker in the centre before tapering into two slender ribbons on each side.

A blindfold.

He wanted her to wear a blindfold.

"N-No," Cassidy stammered automatically, shaking her head frantically. "No, no! I'm not putting that on!"
Depriving her of her sight would rob her of her very last defence against him. She would be completely at his mercy.

Cassidy was suddenly prepared to fight him off, regardless of what he tried to do to her. She was determined not to let him touch her.
Staring at him both intently and defiantly, there was a brief moment when Cassidy actually felt as though she could oppose him.
As though she was the one in power.

Then Stan spoke.

"Cass! Cass! Don't do anything that stone bastard wants you to do! I hope he can damn well hear me right now! Leave Cassidy alone, you concrete ogre!"

In any other situation, Cassidy would have admired Stan's courage and chivalry but not right now.
"Stan!" she called out. "Please! Be quiet! Don't get him angry, he'll-!"

But with her next blink, Michael was gone.

"He'll what, Cass? What's he doing now?"
"I…I d-don't know," Cassidy told him shakily, her lips trembling as she started to panic. "He's left…I don't know where he's gone…"

"Look, don't worry, Cass," Stan attempted to soothe her, obviously hearing the terrified waver in her tone. "Hey, maybe we scared him off. Maybe he's not coming ba-…what the?! Shit!"

Cassidy's eyes widened and she turned to the wall, pressing her ear to it. "What's the matter, Stan?! What's going on?!"

"The lights in my room have gone out. I can't see a thing, I…I…Oh God! Ahh! Ahhhh! Cassidy! He's here! He's here! Ahhh!"
His agonised screams sent bolts of icy terror through her and soon she was frantically pounding on the wall, tears spilling down her face.

"No! No! Michael! Michael! Stop! Please listen to me! Stop it!" she shrieked, begging him. "Don't hurt him! Please! Stop! I'll do whatever you want!"
Suddenly Stan's screams started to dull, his pain seemingly lessening.

"I'll do whatever you want," Cassidy repeated, afraid of her own promise but more afraid of what Michael would do to Stan if she refused to comply again. "I'll do whatever you want! Please leave him alone!" Her voice completely deteriorated to soft sobs. "I'll do whatever you want…"

Stan's room suddenly fell silent but after a few, frightened seconds, Cassidy was relieved to hear a few ragged breaths from her newfound friend.
He was still alive.

"Stan, are you alright?!" she called out.
She heard him grunt and murmur something but it was too faint for her to make out properly. Before she could pursue what he had said, she heard the door to her room suddenly slam shut and her entire body went rigid.

Cassidy whipped her head around, only to see Michael standing at the end of the bed, staring right at her with that same, macabre jester's smirk and the blindfold in his outstretched hand.
She hated it with every fibre of her being but he had now bound her into a diabolical, unspoken contract.
Do what I want and I won't hurt the boy next door.

"O…Ok…."
Shivering uncontrollably, Cassidy got to her feet and walked shakily towards her captor. Reluctantly, each movement laced with terror of the unknown, she reached forward and pulled the blindfold from Michael's stone fingers.
Swallowing against her dry throat, she tied the blindfold around her eyes, plunging herself into darkness.

There was a brief few moments when nothing happened and Cassidy was left standing and shivering at the foot of the bed.
"Wh-what are you going to do to me?"
Then suddenly she felt a cool palm press against her face and she let out an involuntary whimper. It was surreal to feel flesh where she expected to feel stone, but somehow his skin was still just as cold as solid stone would be. She felt his finger pressing against her lips to command her silence and hating her own vulnerability, she complied.
Then his hands were on her bare shoulders. She could feel the bare sting of his claws and his coldness seemed to permeate her skin.
He slowly ran his hands down her arms, cupping her elbows and rather forcefully pushing her arms down to her sides.

His hands travelled all over her body- wrapping around her neck, skimming her collar-bone, tracing her chest and back, glancing over her stomach and slowly travelling down both legs. Cassidy shivered all the while, her head becoming light and her palms starting to sweat.
His movements were erratic and commanding and she flinched at even the lightest of his touches- but she couldn't feel any pain anymore.
What was he doing?
It sickened her to even consider it but his actions weren't particularly…sexual either. It was as though he was checking her for something.
Inspecting her.

Seemingly satisfied with whatever he was trying to do, Michael's hands suddenly left her body. Cassidy moved to take off the blindfold but she was instantly stopped by two strong hands painfully grabbing her thin wrists.

"Ah!"
He pushed her downwards, forcing her to crouch until her backside met the soft mattress of the bed. She felt the springs beside her sag downwards, indicating more weight and realised that he was sitting beside her on the bed.
Then one of his hands was on her neck, forcing her to crane it.
One of his palms came to rest against her cheek and remembering what had happened the day before, Cassidy swallowed, squeezing her eyes tight and preparing for the worst.

But no.
His palm lightly grazed her cheek before slipping over her hair and then repeating the action again and again.
He was stroking her?

Following a period of uninterrupted, content, seemingly-consented petting, Michael took her head in both hands and guided her head to rest against his chest before he resumed his stroking. His chest was unflawed and firm but just as cold as his hands were and eerily, Cassidy could not hear anything that resembled a heartbeat.

It made her physically sick to have him touch her in such a way but she had no choice. If she tried to run away or struggle, not only would he catch her with ease but he would return to tormenting Stan.
She desperately tried to still her breathing.
To allow her mind to leave that room.
To imagine that she was somewhere else.

After just a few minutes, the stroking action felt almost…calming?

"No, this isn't right," she thought, frantically. "No. This thing touching you is a monster. Don't you remember what he's done to you? Don't forget what the doctor told you."

But being frightened and being wary suddenly seemed so difficult.
Weary, lethargic, weak and emotionally drained, Cassidy soon found it much easier to just relax against him. To give in.
To allow her limbs to fall limp and her heart to slow down to a steady, uncaring beat.
To just surrender herself.

Her skin was tingling all over, in the wake of his touch.
Michael kept her there for what felt like an hour.
If she squirmed, shuddered or tried to move in any way, he would administer a hard slap to her shoulder so it wasn't long before she was as still as a doll in his arms.
It was ironic, she thought, it was like she had become his statue.

Occasionally, she would feel something soft brush against her bare arms and after a while, she came to realise that it was the feathers of his wings.
He truly was no longer a statue when free from her gaze and despite the hatred of him that burned in the pit of her stomach, part of Cassidy still ached to know what he looked like when his skin was flesh and not stone.

At one point, he ceased his stroking, allowing one of his hands to become entangled with her unruly, pale blonde hair. His other hand grabbed one of her aching wrists, causing her to wince with pain and guided it to his face.

It took her a few moments to catch on to what he wanted her to do but soon, Cassidy found herself stroking his face as she had when he was a stone statue in the museum.
It truly haunted and reviled her to remember how she had once fawned over him and it further repulsed her to realise just how well she knew every inch of his skin.

Her fingers ran down his face tentatively, obediently stroking the strong jawbone as the Angel's fingers continued to toy with her hair, pulling it and playing with it with crude curiosity.

Cassidy's eyebrows furrowed beneath the blindfold as she suddenly felt his hands leave her hair and face. The mattress beside her rose and squeaked again, signalling that he had left the bed.
She kept still, unsure as to what he was doing.
It was only when she heard the door of the room slam shut that she allowed herself to lift the blindfold.

He had gone.
Before she had sufficient time to even reflect on what he had just subjected her to, her attention was drawn by what Michael had left at her feet.

There was a large basket, filled with a mixture of fruits and a few chunks of bread. It was only then and there that Cassidy realised how hungry she was.
Anxiety had stolen her appetite for the past few hours but now, with food within her reach, her stomach was screaming to be filled.

She dropped to her knees and took an apple, breaking the papery skin with zeal and savouring each bite of the astringent, whitish flesh.
Never in her life had she thought that she'd ever be so happy to eat an apple.

Cassidy also noticed a second object next to the basket.
It was a small black box with a note resting atop its lid.

Warily, she took up the note and unfolded it. In the same typewriter print that had been used to create the name-plates, a message had been written:

Cassidy Albright,

Thank you for your years.

You have pleased me.

-Michael

"Thank you for your years," she repeated aloud, feeling nothing but contempt for the Angel and his patronizing behaviour once more. She gritted her teeth, crumpling the note in her fist and massaging her sore wrists before taking up the small, black box.

Gingerly, she lifted the lid to see what he had left her.

Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened.

Thanks for reading! Sorry if this chapter is a little sub-standard. I wasn't sure whether or not I was completely happy with it but hopefully you guys will like it! (^_^') What do you folks make of Cassy and Mikey's current situation?
Keep Calm. Stay Whovian. And don't blink!