Thanks so much for the lovely reviews guys! Thanks for the follows and favourites too!
Rumours had been spreading like flames among tinder since the angel statue's strange disappearance- both within and outside of the museum.
The museum's staff, in particular, had done nothing but gawk and gossip following the stone seraph's arrival. Murmurs of the statue being cursed were soon in full circulation. Security guards had been uncomfortable when standing near it. Janitorial staff had been too afraid to clean around it. Even the usually level-headed tour guides didn't like letting their groups linger in the room where it was on display.
People everywhere were claiming that the statue could move and walked around at night when there was no one in the museum.
Of course, this was nothing new.
The museum's front-of-house and behind-the-scenes work force were notorious for cooking up bizarre rumours about different artefacts. In fact, the museum boasted an array of "haunted" tapestries, "bewitched" stone talismans and a multitude of "living" statues.
The angel had just been the latest in a string of ghost stories used to brew some excitement for the lives of the workers and it too, was doomed to fade into banality just as the others had.
However, then events had taken a dark turn.
It had all begun with the security cameras glitching and turning off at random times. Then the museum had started getting notifications from the police about members of the public who were last seen in the museum before they were reported missing by worried friends and family.
It wasn't long before members of staff were missing too. First, Ernst Hewitt, then Sybil Darrow…
Then Louisa Fitzhugh, the receptionist, had collapsed one night, only to be pronounced dead just two hours later. It had been a tragedy that the whole museum had suffered from and that was only kept out of the media, mainly due to Louisa's parents not wanting to deal with any more hardship that what they were forced to endure although partly due to Curator Stanford not wanting to draw any further negative attention to the museum.
Following a long mourning period, for a while, things had almost returned back to complete normality.
Then the security cameras stopped working entirely.
Then the angel statue was stolen from the museum.
And now, Cassidy Albright- the archaeologist who had actually first found the angel statue- wasn't turning up for work.
Rumour had it that she was missing too.
A favourite theory often heard being whispered around the staff-room was that Cassidy had become so obsessed with the statue that after being suspended from her work at the museum, she had stolen the statue for herself and bolted.
"Rubbish," a custodian argued, pouring himself some coffee. "Albright may have been an aloof girl but there's no way she'd actually go insane enough to steal it."
"I don't know," an intern pointed out, resting her feet on a vacant chair near her seat. "I heard she was pretty fixated on that statue. Like she used to talk to it and stuff…weird…"
"Also," one of her fellow interns decided to comment. "I heard she tried to make a move on Leon on the night of the opening of the angel exhibit. Apparently he turned her down flat on her face. If that isn't enough to drive an already unhinged girl to doing something crazy, I don't know what is…"
"Ok, maybe," another sceptic began, putting down her magazine. "But how the Hell would she have pulled it off? I mean that statue is huge and someone would have seen her."
"That's just it, isn't it?" a security guard joined in, dropping his voice slightly. "The security cameras were all off and Albright hung around enough nights to know when we were all on our breaks…" He looked around before continuing whispering to the interested party. "Stanford and the police think that it was an inside job. Something to make money on the art black market. They think that Hewitt, Darrow and Albright were in it together. Darrow rigged the cameras to start glitching and eventually disabled them completely and Hewitt arranged to have help sent to Albright to help her lift the statue from the museum." He took a gulp from his mug. "But Louisa must have found out about the plan so the three of them had her killed somehow. It makes perfect sense if you think about it. That's why Albright was so obsessed with the statue: she was preparing it to be sold and trying to figure out the easiest way to remove it from the museum. Measuring it and weighing it and stuff…"
After a thin, shocked silence, the custodian finally said. "Well, it would explain why the three of them are missing along with the statue…"
"But it does nothing to explain why the statue is back in the preparation room again, does it?" Leon said loudly and bluntly, striding past the huddled group as he came in to collect his bag.
"It's back? Seriously?"
"What the fuck?"
"Well…there go all of your theories, Richard. Better stop watching Criminal Minds so often."
"…this is just getting weirder and weirder."
Just before he left, one of the interns stood up to tap Leon's shoulder.
"Hey Leon. Have they managed to contact Cassidy yet?"
Leon sighed, not turning to look at the intern and lowering his gaze. "No. They haven't."
And without another word, he left the staff-room.
Meanwhile in the museum curator's office, Omar Ramokadi, the two other security guards who were there on the night that Louisa died, two police officers and Curator Stanford himself, were deep in debate following the statue's recent return.
Stanford's hairless brow was creased, huge worry lines starting to pucker and roll across his wide pink forehead. "Well, this certainly destroys any former leads regarding Albright's involvement in the statue's disappearance."
"Not necessarily, Mr Stanford," Inspector Parson said, standing up. "We can't rule out her involvement just yet. At the moment, she's the only central figure to all the unusual events that have been occurring in the museum. Locating her is what's paramount to the investigation at the moment."
"Oh for God's sake!" Omar suddenly exclaimed. "Why the Hell would Cassidy do something like this? Do you all really believe that someone her is capable of this? You need to start treating the fact that we can't reach her as a potential disappearance- just like the others- not as a potential getaway! And besides, if she took the statue in the first place, why would she bother to bring it back?"
Stanford cocked an eyebrow. "Mr Ramokadi. Please lower your voice."
Inspector Parson turned to face him, speaking calmly and diplomatically. "Look, lad. We understand your concerns but there are a lot of factors to consider here. There are plenty of reasons why she could have brought of back. Her contacts on the outside could have abandoned her, she could have panicked and wanted to avoid drawing attention to herself, she could have obsessive compulsive issues regarding work and realised that she couldn't return to the museum if she was under suspicion..." The man shrugged. "There are plenty of reasons for this kind of behaviour. Now, we're going to find Cassidy regardless but we do have to treat her case as an absent potential suspect…" He looked uncomfortable for a moment before saying. "Her behaviour with the statue before its disappearance was reported to be quite abnormal."
"Oh that is such bullshit!" Omar insisted. "Can you all even do your bloody jobs right? Aren't you supposed to be psychologically "profiling" her or whatever? Well, tell me this. If Cass was so obsessed with the statue, why would she let it be that damaged? If you all haven't noticed because you've been too fucking busy writing scripts for CSI: Miami, the statue has three huge cracks in its chest. Cass, wouldn't have let the statue come to that much harm…"
"Mr Ramokadi!" Stanford said suddenly. "If you cannot speak either rationally or with respect, please leave my office at once!"
Omar glowered at the Curator for a moment before standing and pulling the door open. "With pleasure."
He was sick of listening to their tripe anyway.
"As if Stanford even gives a toss about what really happened," Omar thought, frowning as he walked through the lobby once more. "He just wants to close up this case before it gives the museum any more bad press…"
He was just about to head back to the staff-room when he noticed Leon's little sister standing outside the door of the preparation room.
She was standing on tiptoe, desperately trying to look into the miniature glass window in the panel of the door. The little girl sighed and whimpered after failing in her latest attempt, putting her hands on her head in frustration.
"Hey Abbie," Omar greeted her, walking over. "What's the matter? Where's Leon at?"
The little girl looked up at him, smiling a little. "Hiya Omar. Leon is gone to call Eddie. He said to wait in the staff-room."
Omar raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's not the staff-room, kiddo. C'mon. I'll take you there. We can get a juice-box from the vending machine on the way there…"
Abbie shook her head. "No. I know that this door isn't the door to the staff room. It's just that the Angel is in there and I need to talk to him." That said, the little girl resumed her attempts to look in the window.
Omar blinked, confused for a moment. "You…want to talk to the angel statue? Abbie, the angel statue can't ta-…" He paused, remembering that he was talking to child. Kids gave life to the lifeless all the time- he was used to that from his nieces and nephews. He bit his lip, suddenly very unwilling to shatter the little girl's imagined reality. "Ok, alright. Why do you want to talk to the angel statue?"
"I have to ask him something."
"Like what, Abbie?"
"I have to ask him where he was."
"What do you mean, where he was? Like where he was when he was missing?"
"Yep. He's going to tell me."
Omar tilted his head with interest. "What makes you think that, Abbie?"
"He talked to me before."
"…he talked to you…before? When?"
"In my sleep," Abbie said, completely unaware of the strangeness of her words. "He talked to me in my dreams."
The security guard chuckled, shaking his head; he had almost forgot what wide, vivid imaginations that children could have. "Oh really? What did you and the Angel talk about?"
"Cassy."
"Cassy?" Omar's smile dropped. "Cassidy? Cassidy Albright? That Cassidy?"
"Yep, Cassy who found him and cleaned him up and takes care of him," Abbie went on. "I think the Angel might know where Cassy is."
The tall young man swallowed, unsure how to respond to this for a second. His stomach was suddenly in knots. Where on earth was Abbie getting these ideas from? Had she actually seen something? Like Cassidy with the Angel before they both disappeared?
He slowly fingered the keys on his security guard's belt.
"Why would the Angel know where Cassidy is?"
"He likes Cassy."
Omar's eyebrows shot up into his full, black fringe. "He…likes Cassy?"
"Yep, he likes Cassy a lot," Abbie confirmed, looking up at Omar with a terrible kind of worry in her young, innocent eyes. "But he doesn't like it when other people are with her. He said that he was going to take Cassy away with him so that it could just be her and him."
Completely taken aback, Omar blinked in confusion, somehow pulled into a place where the line between what was real and what was imagination had been so blurred that he was almost ready to believe what Abbie had just said.
"And…if you talk to him…you think he can tell you where he took Cassidy?"
"Yep, Omar. I think so."
After a moment of consideration, he reached for the keys on his belt and unlocked the door to the preparation room. Even if there was no way what she was saying could be true, Abbie was clearly determined to talk to the Angel either way.
Also, she and Cassidy had been close.
If talking to the Angel statue was going to help the little girl, he would only feel heartless denying her the right to do so.
"There you go, Abbie," Omar said, opening the door for her. " Go and do whatever you feel like you need to do."
He couldn't help but smile as he watched the little girl excitedly run inside, despite the sudden feeling of coldness that washed over him.
Cassidy had paced the room- every wall, every corner and every alcove- for the hundred and forty sixth time. Every time that she did another lap of the room, she felt as though the room had gotten smaller- as though the walls were slowly closing in on her.
She walked the room's breadth, putting one foot directly in front of the other.
Heel to toe.
Heel to toe.
Heel to toe.
She reached the other wall, pressing a flat palm and her forehead against the wallpaper. "Nineteen feet across," she mumbled aloud. "Is that smaller than when I measured it last time? Or is that the same size?"
She couldn't remember.
She couldn't remember and it mentally destroyed her to think that her brain was slowly rotting inside her skull from being in that godforsaken hotel room.
The fact that she was trapped between those walls with nowhere to go, terrified her. The very thought often sent uncontrollable shivers through her body and unless she lay down immediately, she was quickly unable to breathe.
"Is this what claustrophobia feels like?" she thought, running a fingernail down the wallpaper, scratching out a long, wavy line. "Have I become a claustrophobe?"
Being a prisoner was finally starting to take its toll on her.
She hadn't slept the night before.
Michael had not returned and after her nightmarish confrontation with "Angel Emily", slumber seemed like a foolhardy past-time.
"She said that she was going to hurt me," Cassidy muttered. "She definitely is. She's just biding her time. She's going to follow through were threat any time now. Is she just going to send me back in time? Is that what I should wish for? Or else she's going to kill me…or just maim me…maybe that'll make Michael stop being so fixated on me, like she said…or maybe then he'll kill me? Where is he? What's he doing now?"
Her head was starting to hurt and her heart was starting to thump uncontrollably in a sporadic, uneven rhythm. "No, no. Stupid girl. Stop thinking about that. Distract yourself. Do something. Anything."
She dropped to her knees and for the thirteenth time that day, took the plastic comb from her pocket of her shorts and started to carve a little picture into the skirting boards and wallpaper.
Cassidy had originally cursed the fact that when Michael had abducted her, she had been wearing next to nothing. Now she was grateful beyond reason for it.
The heat in her room was absolutely killing.
Sunlight glowered through the single window every hour of every day. The vents in the room were evidently too small to let in a sufficient amount of air at once and unable to open the window, Cassidy's room was prone to becoming a small, sweltering greenhouse.
Her skin, having been cultivated and raised in foggy, old London town, was completely unused to the glare of L.A.'s sunshine. One of shoulders had already been burnt raw red from her falling asleep during the day
"Falling asleep" was actually a particularly nice euphemism.
In actual fact, "passing out" might have been a better word for her.
Overheated and practically suffocated, Cassidy had gone from being bored during the day to being unable to do anything but lie down on the carpet, in the shadows, alone with her own thoughts.
She had taken to sleeping in her underwear.
Not just because the heat was so intense but because she hadn't changed her clothes in such a long time.
She felt filthy.
She would often wake up, her entire body slick with sweat from the intense heat.
Thankfully the water system worked just fine so cold showers and a long gulp of metallic-tasting water from the taps were still available as a welcome salvation. She had taken to ritually showering three times every day. Two cold showers during the day and then one hot shower at night.
Cassidy would linger in the shower, even after turning off the head, watching the water run down the drain and wishing that she could just melt into liquid and escape from that place with it.
She wanted to feel a natural wind draw across her.
She wanted to feel rain against her skin again.
She wanted to feel sunlight again without being afraid that it would one day kill her.
While water was a plentiful resource, the hunger pains in Cassidy's stomach often gave her another reason to hate the Angels who acted as her prison wardens. They engorged themselves every day on the potential life energy of all those in their captivity while she was slowly starving.
The food that Michael had brought her had quickly run out and with no way to get out and no way for Stan to sneak food into her, complete starvation was suddenly a frightening reality for her.
Where was Michael? She hated that stone beast but he truly was her only link to the outside world and her only way of procuring food.
"At least on a positive note," Cassidy murmured to herself, finishing the little daisy that she had been carving. "The damn growling in my stomach has died down to a hollow ache. No more annoying slurping sounds when I'm trying to think…"
Her mind was fractured.
She threw herself on to the bed, wiping sweat from her brow and curling her legs into her chest.
Where was Michael?
She tried to tell herself that the only reason why she worried so much was because he was the one who brought her food but in the pit of her empty stomach, she knew that wasn't true.
"Where are you?" she whispered, eyeing the wilting rose in the glass tumbler at her bedside. "Have you forgotten me? Have you abandoned me? Lost interest in me? Are you going to leave me here to die?" She shut her eyes tight, still whispering aloud. "Or has something happened to you? Those fissures in your chest were deep. Did they get worse?"
Her heart started to pound harder, anxiety engulfing her at the thought of her beautiful statue crumbling to pieces. "You're stronger than that, aren't you?"
He had been gone for a whole day now.
Over twenty four hours.
Or was it?
With no clock and only a few random time checks from Stan every day, Cassidy's body clock had soon deteriorated from a twenty four hour day to five basic time periods:
Sunrise. Daytime. Evening. Sunset. Night-time.
"How many sunsets has it been since he took me here?" Cassidy suddenly asked aloud, as though talking to someone who wasn't there. "Have I been here for longer than a week yet? Yes…has it almost been two weeks?"
She couldn't remember at all. Her eyes opened and she grabbed her head in agony, curling completely into the foetal position. "Mum will be so worried…"
She wanted to see her mum again.
She needed to know that her mum was alright.
Sometimes, when she spent entire days without sleeping, she imagined that her mother was sitting in the room with her. This image of her mother seemed so real that it felt as though she could reach out and touch her.
"Cassy," she'd say, looking over to her daughter. "I was so worried. Why didn't you call? Where have you been? Did you run away?"
"No," Cassidy would tell her mother frantically. "No, Mum! I didn't run away! I wouldn't abandon you like Dad did! No! That Angel! He took me here! He took me away! It's alright though…I can come home now! You can take me ho-…"
But then she'd reach out to touch her mother's wrinkled hand and feel nothing but the softness of a duvet cover, reminding herself that it was all in her head.
And the doctor.
Where was the doctor?
He said he'd find her soon.
Had he given up on her already?
Despite Michael having broken it, Cassidy still knelt by the phone sometimes, praying to God that the doctor would call again to tell her that he knew where she was and that he was coming for her.
Cassidy sniffed where she lay, trying to sit up again.
Her skin still hurt in the places where it had been burned, bitten, bruised and broken. She winced, leaning over the edge of the bed and wanting to cry.
The acrid pains of intense emotion burned behind her eyes and crept through her facial features but all that she could manage was a few dry sobs.
No tears.
She had cried so often- had she finally cried her eyes dry?
Or was it just that she had finally had enough of crying?
"They may have given up on me," Cassidy said aloud, dragging herself to her feet. "But I haven't given up on myself yet."
She paced the room for the hundred and sixty fifth time, her mind racing again with thoughts of escape. "Even if I do get out- there's a hundred of those damn Weeping Angels patrolling the corridor outside this room and the whole hotel itself…and if what Stan says is true, they only let the other people outside before sunset. They know I'm with him though. They know I'm different." She frowned. "What that stone bitch said was proof enough of tha-…"
Her eyes widened with realisation as she realised something.
Angel Emily had tampered with the chains and locks on the door to allow Cassidy to let her in.
But had she replaced the locks again?
Her heart in her mouth, Cassidy walked over to the door and gingerly put her hand on the handle, murmuring silent prayers.
She slowly pushed downward and the handle moved!
Part of Cassidy's soul suddenly leapt and a genuine smile spread across her face for the first time in a long time.
She could get outside.
She slowly opened the door a fraction but upon seeing a blur of grey at the end of the corridor, quickly closed it again. Stan had told her that the Angels weren't always patrolling that corridor- that sometimes they moved around in the evening time when there were no humans walking around. They certainly weren't expecting her of all people to leave her room anyway, either. She chewed on her lower lip, thinking deeply.
She could wait until the evening and sneak out of the door, find some kind of fire escape and head down to the lobby. She would have to be fast and have few hesitations too.
The risk was sky-high but the promise of getting away- of complete escape- was enough to tantalise Cassidy.
"I'm sorry, Doctor," she said aloud, looking at the phone. "I know that you told me to stay here, but if I do, I'll die. You found me here once, you can find me again."
With no more time to spare, Cassidy ran to the bathroom, taking a piece of toilet paper and scrunching it up. With the greatest of care, Cassidy opened the door just a crack and stuffed the tiny knot of tissue paper into the main bolt of the lock before closing it again. That way, even if someone noticed that the door was unlocked and decided to lock it again, she could still prise it open.
She looked to the window.
The sun was lowering in the sky.
It wouldn't be gone until the blazing azure of day had given way to the cool violet skies of night. Stan would be back from his usual walk to the Speakeasy at any time now. She swallowed and walked back to the bathroom, disrobing with the intention of taking one final shower before attempting her escape.
Cassidy ended up sitting under the hot jets of water, her back pressed to the porcelain tiles and her head resting upon her bare knees.
There had been something that was weighing upon her mind for a long time now.
Something that superseded just about everything else that was being tossed about in the inner maelstrom of her psyche.
Why had that Angel cared so much about what Michael thought about her?
The Angel almost seemed jealous that Michael seemed to fuss over her so much.
"That's obsession," Cassidy told herself. "And what I'm feeling right now is Stockholm Syndrome. Nothing more."
That said, if what the Angel had said was true- it meant that Michael had made it public knowledge that he thought she was different to the other humans.
That she was special.
She thought back to what Stan had said about Michael giving her the necklace and the constant gifts of roses.
Was that really his intention?
Cassidy shuddered despite the warmth of the water, shaking her head and starting to feel sick again.
"No, no, no, no…it can't be. He couldn't really feel that way but treat me like this."
Yet beneath her many layers of fear and disgust at the very thought of Michael having any kind of affection for her, Cassidy couldn't deny feeling a ripple of something different.
Something warm.
A pulsing, whirring sound rang out through the air of an enclosed British estate and a blue police-box materialised in front of the large old Victorian house.
The door swung open and wiry, young-looking Time Lord popped his head out.
"It worked!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Ha-ha! It worked! Here we are!" He stepped out, grinning. "Number fourteen, Oakside…and we're in the present day!"
Clara followed the doctor out, cautiously examining their surroundings before stepping out and shaking her head with a chortle. "Finally! I told you that we should have taken a left after that last huge bump in the time-stream. We probably would have gotten here faster."
The doctor raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at the young woman. "No one likes a backseat driver, Clara."
Edmund stumbled out of the TARDIS, his face as white and wet as vanilla ice-cream and his once-neat hair now tousled out of shape.
He looked around, wide eyed and coughing, clinging to the door frame for dear life.
"W-We're actually here this time…?" He stepped out, tripping slightly. "Ah!"
The archaeologist brushed his hands down his suit, desperately trying to regain his composure. "Well it's about time!"
"Exactly," the doctor grinned, cheerily. "Clever boy. That's exactly what time travel is about. Time."
Edmund glowered at the taller man, replacing his glasses and wincing. "My stomach is in bits. Is there a cure for that kind of motion sickness?"
The doctor rolled his eyes, giving Clara a nudge and dropping his voice to mutter. "Time travel virgins."
His pretty companion couldn't conceal a smile but all the same, dropped her voice to scold him. "Leave him alone."
Clara turned to Edmund, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat. "Don't worry. You'll get used to that."
"Rightly so," the doctor chimed in, studying the house's outer walls. "Now, how do we get in here?"
Edmund frowned, beckoning the other two to follow him. "I can't believe you're both so breezy about this. We ended up in four different places before we got here. Two of which were in the past and two of which were not even on this planet…" The young man's eyes widened, still in shock after all he had seen. "You act as if this happens every day."
"Well," shrugged Clara. "Maybe not for you."
"Plus it's not as though we got waylaid on purpose. Those directions that you gave me were rather complicated," the doctor pointed out, spotting the front gate and trotting up the path to the front door.
"Complicated?!" Edmund repeated in disbelief, following him. "If you had followed the instructions exactly as I had given them, we wouldn't have had to-…"
"What is it about people who work in museums that makes them think that they know better than everyone else?" the doctor interjected, springing up on to the front porch of Cassidy's house. Before a disgruntled Edmund had a chance to reply, the doctor was already hunting around the porch, sonic screwdriver in hand.
"What is that?" the male of the two humans asked, eyeing the object with both curiosity and suspicions.
"It opens doors," the doctor said simply, holding it to the front door's keyhole for a moment before pushing the door open. "And this whole doorway is teeming with the Angel's time signature. He was definitely here. Definitely on the hunt…" And with that, the doctor scurried inside.
Edmund squirmed a little. "This is technically breaking and entering," he stated, looking to Clara. "Isn't it?"
Clara chuckled. "Well, he didn't actually break anything. Did he?" She followed the doctor inside, gesturing for Edmund to follow. "And don't worry. You'll get used to his rules too."
"Yoo-hoo!" the doctor shouted, listening to his own voice rattling through the house. "Hmm…nobody home. I suppose it's better off that way…"
Edmund caught up with the doctor, watching him as he traced various objects of furniture with the strange gadget in his grip. "S-So…how do we know that the Angel isn't here?"
The doctor shook his head dismissively. "I would have picked that up in the doorway. No need to get your pants in a bunch, Ed, my lad."
Despite this quick reassurance, all three of the self-made investigators jumped a little when the phone on the hall table started to ring.
Almost automatically, Edmund moved over to lift the receiver but Clara held out a hand to stop him. He looked to her quizzically but she only shook her head. "One of the most important rules. Don't get too involved in someone else's business."
The phone rang out and the answering machine sounded out through the house.
"Hello!" a cheerful, elderly woman's voice warbled on the line. "This is the residence of Maria and Cassidy Albright. We're probably not here at the moment but if you'd like to leave your name, number and a short message, we'll get back to you soon…BEEP…"
"Cassidy? Cassidy, are you there?" a younger woman's voice demanded to know, sounding both frantic and confused. "Cassidy, seriously? Where are you? Your mother's condition is only getting worse and they can't bring her home. She really needs you right now. Where are you?" She sighed. "Look, whenever you get this, please, please, please call me and get to the hospital right away. Goddamn it Cassidy, this really isn't funny…your mum really wants to see you right now and I can't keep telling her that you're working…BEEP."
There was a moment of silence before the doctor murmured quietly with a frown, his head bending a little. "Oh dear…that doesn't sound good."
Clara shook her head, sighing. "There's just another reason why we need to track her down as quickly as possible."
As if he had suddenly been struck by an energising bolt of electricity, the doctor suddenly sprang to life once more. "Too right, Miss Oswald! Now! Onward!"
He pulled out his screwdriver again, making a beeline towards the kitchen. "Hmm…the signal is really picking up in here…I'm guessing this is where he took her…"
The doctor studied the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner. "Right, no obvious signs of forced entry. Angels aren't exactly famed for their subtlety…"
"So maybe he got in the back door?" suggested Clara, walking over to the door and giving it a rattle in its hinges. She turned back to the doctor. "Maybe this is where he cornered her?"
Edmund opened his mouth to speak was silenced by his mobile phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out, grimacing slightly. "Do you mind if I take this?"
The doctor was too busy running the sonic screwdriver around the door frame to answer so it was upon Clara to shake her head politely.
Not waiting for a second opinion, Edmund left the room with the phone to his ear.
The doctor straightened up, his brow furrowed, betraying the deep thinking process that he was currently engaged in. "Hmpf…this is definitely the spot where she was taken…I'd bet the TARDIS on it…"
"So we can use whatever readings you've come up with to track Cassidy down?" Clara questioned hopefully, only to lift an eyebrow at the Time Lord's new expression. "Wait, I know that look. What's the matter? Can't you track the signature?"
"I can," the doctor said finally. "Or at least the TARDIS can. But the problem is that it's fragmented…"
"Fragmented?" Clara echoed. "So what, like the time signature has been…broken?"
"When a time signature is left to sit for a long time, it slowly starts to decay and to fracture," the doctor explained, rubbing his chin. "It's like a painting suddenly turning into a jigsaw puzzle. They pieces are there, sure, but it's going to take the TARDIS quite a while to turn these pieces into co-ordinates that she can actually follow."
Clara frowned. "Oh no. How long will it take? Like on the basis of a rough estimate?"
"Rough estimate?" the doctor pondered aloud, striding around the table and bending down to pick up the withered red rose that lay on the kitchen floor. "A few days. Maybe a week…" He gritted his teeth, starting to become visibly antagonised. "This isn't fair. She doesn't have that long."
"Ok," Clara said, running her fingers back through her hair. "Ok. Say we can't find her at the moment. Could we go back in time? Maybe stop him from abducting her in the first place?"
"It can't be done," the doctor responded sharply and quickly, crushing the head of the rose in his hand. "It…it just can't be done."
Clara walked over to him, inspecting the rose before looking up at him. "Why not?"
The doctor sighed and after a long pause, looked down at Clara. "There are certain events in history that cannot be undone because they have to happen. For other reasons. Greater reasons."
Clara's brows knitted at this and her eyes scanned the doctor's face, searching for the answer to the question that had been weighing on her mind. "You said that you knew Cassidy in her future," she said slowly, lowering her voice. "What do you know about Cassidy Albright that you're not telling me? What has to happen? What's going to happen to her?"
The doctor opened his mouth- either to reply, to deny or to change the subject completely.
However whatever he was going to say was rendered redundant by Edmund suddenly running back into the kitchen- his expression both shocked and incredulous.
"What is it?"
"It's the statue," Edmund said breathlessly. "The alien angel statue thing. It's back."
"What?" Clara exclaimed, promptly forgetting about her impromptu interrogation. "Back? Back where?"
"Back to the museum! That was Leon Drake from the tour guide's department. The angel statue was found outside the preparation room this afternoon. It's a bit damaged but it's being kept in the museum right now!"
The doctor's eyes widened. "He won't be there for long. There's no way he'd leave her alone for too long."
Edmund looked to the doctor. "Do you think we could catch him before he leaves?"
Clara followed Edmund's stare. "We could at least get a stronger, fresher time signature from him, right?"
A sudden grin spread across the doctor's face, stretching from ear to ear. "Ha-ha! This is fantastic! Quickly!" He looked to his full-time and part-time companions. "We have to get to the museum now! Let's go!"
He made a dash for the front door, Clara quickly bolting after him.
Edmund sighed, reluctantly jogging in their shadows and calling out: "Is there any chance that we could just call a taxi this time?"
"A taxi?" the doctor laughed, opening the door of the TARDIS. "Oh Ed, you crack me up."
For the second time that day, Edmund climbed back into the blue police box- however this time, he was making extreme mental notes regarding bracing himself for an imminent rough take-off.
Clara looked to him, standing on the TARDIS' glossy main deck once again. "A taxi? Really?"
Edmund sighed. "I thought it was worth a shot."
Thankfully, they managed to hit their target on the first try and within minutes, the trio were spilling into the lobby of the museum- only to be stopped by a burly security guard.
"No access to visitors today, mate," he growled. "By order of the police. There's been an art theft."
"I work here," Edmund pointed out, annoyed and indignant as he held up his identification card. "Edmund Potter. Department of Archaeology…bloody Hell…"
He pushed past the security guard and into the main hall.
The guard turned to the remaining two and the doctor, undeterred, quickly flashed his psychic papers.
"Yeah, we're with him. Archaeology and history and all that jazz. Have a nice day."
"What do you mean it's gone again?!" Curator Stanford was shouting at a rather shaken-looking security guard, as the three ran past. "It must be in the building somewhere! Someone couldn't have just taken it in broad daylight and statues don't just walk away! This is killing the museum's business."
"Don't worry, sir," a police officer quickly assured him. "The quarantine is just in place so that we can find the statue. The perpetrator couldn't have left the museum without being spotted so more than likely he or she is still here…we'll find them soon…"
The doctor was about to stop to talk to Stanford but Edmund quickly grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away.
"Oi! I begrudgingly respect what you do! Let me do my work!"
Edmund shook his head. "There's no point in talking to Stanford. He's way too frazzled with the police presence to hear and if you mention the word "alien" in front of him- he'll have all three of us hurled out of here…"
"Ok," Clara said, uniformly taking the doctor's other arm. "Right so, who can we talk to?"
Edmund looked around for a moment, quickly glancing over the crowds of people in the lobby before dragging them over to a red-haired security guard.
"Hey Leon…"
"Hey Edmund," he returned, looking from the doctor to Clara with raised eyebrows. "And hello to?"
"This is Clara and this is…the doctor. They're both archaeologists too. From abroad," he introduced, not giving Leon a chance to ask any questions. "So what happened here? I thought you said that the statue was back?"
"Well it was here," Leon explained, folding his arms. "Abbie just found it this morning in the middle of a corridor. We put it in the preparation room to be held until we could sort things out but when we came back later to check on it, it was gone. Just vanished! No one saw it leave the room and no one saw anyone go in aside from Abbie but Omar said that she was just looking at the statue and trying to talk to it…" He rolled his eyes a little. "You know what kids were like."
Clara frowned. "Kids can say some pretty important things sometimes. It really is good to take them seriously once in a wh-…"
"Ignore her," the doctor said, hurriedly. "She's a nanny by profession. Has kids on the brain. Anyway, where is this preparation room exactly?"
Leon blinked, slightly taken aback by the man's brashness. "Uh…well Edmund knows where it is. It's on the-…"
"Excellent! Ed! Make yourself useful and show us there!"
Without a further glance to Leon and taking no heed of Edmund's protests, the doctor was already dragging the young man away.
Clara turned to Leon, forcing a smile and shrugging. "He's a huge art crime enthusiast…really loves a good mystery…"
She caught up with Edmund and the doctor, looking deeply offended as she gave the doctor a firm slap on the arm. "Kids on the brain?"
The doctor winced but managed a breezy shrug, all the same. "I had to hush you up. Time is of the essence here." He pulled the sonic screwdriver from the inner folds of his coat once again. "Quite literally, I'm afraid."
He paused for a moment before pouting and running a hand over his forearm. "And don't hit me like that again."
"Here we are," Edmund announced, now rather out of breath from trying to keep up with the doctor's jaunty, brisk galloping. "This is the preparation room."
Without waiting for Edmund to pull out his keys, the doctor opened the door, hurrying inside and quickly scanning the surroundings.
"Yes…yes…beautiful…beautiful!" he exclaimed. "This time signature is fresh right out of the oven! Perfect!"
As the doctor pranced around the preparation room, examining the empty spot where the Lonely Assassin had once been captive, Clara and Edmund found themselves idle.
"So, was Cassidy a very good friend of yours?" Clara asked, wishing to break the silence.
Edmund nodded. "In a way. We've been working together for three years. I'm Dr Hewitt's assistant and she's his apprentice. She's fine on her own though. She really only took the apprenticeship to make some important contacts." He frowned, shrugging. "I guess I always kind of saw her as a rival. Makes me feel bad to think that I was pretty nasty to her sometimes because of that."
Clara smiled faintly. "I'm sure she saw past the rivalry…and a little bit of competition always spices up a workplace friendship, right?"
"Maybe," Edmund responded, managing to return the smile. "We used to have a lot of fun on the digs too…and working here in the prep room…Cass really loves her work too so she's never hard to get on with…" His smile faded slightly. "Clara…the doctor keeps talking as if we're on a time limit and that something bad is going to happen to Cassidy if we don't get to her before the time runs out...what's going to happen to Cassidy?"
Clara's smile vanished just as quickly and despite seeing how much Edmund Potter cared for his friend, all she could do was take a deep breath and very honestly reply: "I wish I knew, Edmund. I really wish I knew."
"Hello?"
A buoyant little girl's voice called out from behind them and turning around, Clara and Edmund watched as the owner of the voice peeped around the door-frame.
"Oh hello there," said Clara with another quick smile. "Are you lost?"
Edmund smiled too. "No, she's not. Are you, Abbie? Abbie is here all the time." He beckoned her over, giving her a high five. "Clara, this is Abigail Drake. Abbie, this is Clara…" He paused for a moment before pointing to the man who was now practically crawling across a row of shelves. "…and that is the doctor."
"Hiya," Abbie chirped, smiling up at Clara before looking over at the doctor with interest. "Is he looking for something?"
"He's looking for the angel statue," Edmund told her. "He was here earlier, wasn't he?" He tilted his head, his eyes widening slightly with realisation. "Leon told me that you were in here with him…is that true?"
"Yep," Abbie said, still watching the doctor. "We was talking for a while."
Clara crouched down so that she was at eye-level with Abbie, her face creasing with concern. "What did you talk about?"
"He wanted to know where some tools and stuff were so I showed him."
"Tools and stuff?"
"Yep. From in here."
Edmund immediately walked over to the work-bench starting to sift through various apparatus and taking a brief, quick inventory. Clara looked back to Abbie.
"After you showed him where the tools were, Abbie, what did the Angel say?"
"He didn't say nothing. He just stayed there and didn't do anything. I had to go to lunch with my brother so Omar locked the door. When we got back, he was disappear-ded."
Clara straightened up. "So the Angel didn't say anything about where he was going, did he?"
"He is prolly going back to where Cassy is. I think he took Cassy away…but my brother Leon didn't believeded me…" The little girl hung her head, looking a little disappointed.
Clara put a hand on her shoulder, smiling brightly. "Hey, don't worry, Abbie. We believe you. Me, the doctor and Edmund. We believe you completely."
"Really?" Abbie squealed, brightening up.
"Yes, definitely," Clara told her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "And we're going to find out where the Angel took Cassidy so that we can bring her home." She couldn't help but smile even wider at the little girl's sudden look of pure joy. "Why don't you go and find your brother Leon again? I'm sure he's super worried without you to look after him."
Abbie nodded, before scurrying out of the door once more.
Edmund return to Clara's side. "Well, she was right. Several of the varnishing and plaster filling tools are missing. Not to mention, Cassidy's tool kit." He frowned. "What he want with all of those things?"
"To be repaired," the doctor said, walking back over to his two human sidekicks. "You mentioned earlier that the statue was damaged? The Angels heal better when they're in their stone form. This one must have stolen the resources in order to coerce Cassidy into fixing him up."
"Did you get any good results from the…?" Edmund's voice trailed off and he gestured to the sonic screwdriver. "…scan-thingie?"
The doctor resisted the urge to make a scornful remark following his use of the phrase "scan-thingie" and nodded instead. "The screwdriver is processing the results now. Any minute now, we'll know exactly where Cassidy is in 1923."
"Doctor," Clara questioned. "I thought the Weeping Angels are supposed to be psychopaths. This one was alone with that little girl for quite a while and he didn't make a move. Why wouldn't he just kill her as a witness or send her back in time or something? I mean, she knows that he's alive…"
The doctor shrugged, smiling. "He's obviously well nourished- so he has no need to feed off of her. He either didn't kill her because he has some kind of use for her in mind or better still, he's got other things pulling his attention…"
"Is that a good thing?" Edmund felt the need to question.
"It's a very good thing, Ed. It means that Cassidy is still alive and well. He was eager to return to her…" A small wave of some kind of emotion- somewhere between disgusted and concerned- briefly rippled across the doctor's face but before either of his companions could question this, the sonic screwdriver let out a loud beeping sound.
"Aha!" the doctor whooped. "We've got her!" He studied the screen. "Let's see…June, 23rd, 1923…" His eyes briefly widened and a more intrigued smile passed over his lips. "Perfect…very fitting I must say…"
"What? What is it?"
"Where is she?"
"Our dear Cassidy is in Los Angeles. The city of Angels."
She knew that telling Stan about her plans would have been pointless.
He would only try to talk her out of doing what she needed to and in her current fragile mental state, he'd more than likely succeed in doing just that.
As such, Cassidy chose not to breathe a word about her escape attempt to Stanley P. Quinn. Instead, she made a point of telling him what an amazing friend he was and how thankful she was to have him to talk to, just before bidding him goodnight.
Keeping the lights in her room off and instead, relying on the light of the moon that spilled across the carpet in pale white rays- Cassidy padded over to the door. A light touch upon the handle told her that it was still unlocked and ready to be opened.
She took a few long, deep breaths to calm herself before opening the door just a slither- enough to see the end of the corridor.
Her heavy heart felt a little lighter when she noticed that there was no Angel standing there and a quick glance in the opposite direction confirmed that the corridor was empty. Cassidy closed the door again, taking a moment to console herself, looking up at the ceiling.
This was it.
She felt the intense acidic burn of the kind of anxiety that she had never felt before. This wasn't like taking University exams, talking to an employer or awaiting the next episode of a favourite television programme.
The choices that she would make within the next few minutes would determine whether she earned her freedom or met her death.
"Alright," she murmured to herself. "You can do this. If you see any of the Angels, just keep looking at them and when you turn a corner- run. You escaped a Weeping Angel before. You can do it again."
She was about to leave when a sudden thought occurred to her. Cassidy ran to her bedside table, opened the drawer and took out necklace that Michael had given her. She looked at it for a moment, running her thumb delicately over the intricate silver tendrils and sparkling diamonds.
"I don't know whether you really care about me or not," she whispered. "And I don't know what your intentions for me ever really were…but I'll die if I stay here. Whether my blood is on your hands or not."
Cassidy lightly laid a kiss upon the largest diamond, revisiting that hazy, champagne soaked memory of placing a kiss on Michael's stone lips when she was back at the museum. If she never saw him again, that was how she wanted to remember him.
Not as a monster.
She slipped the necklace into her pocket and crept back to the door, swallowing her fear and stealing out into the hallway.
The hallway was dimly lit and every now and then, the lights above Cassidy's head would flicker. She could truly care less about that though; as long as the long corridor was deserted.
Deciding that the lift would be too much of a risk, Cassidy ran along the right-side wall until she found a single, grubby, wood-panel door that seemed to stand out among the rest.
Upon opening it, she discovered that it was the stairs and quickly slipped out of the corridor. It truly amazed her that there were no Angels anywhere to be seen.
Perhaps they were out hunting? Or maybe changing the guards?
A thousand theories ran through Cassidy's mind but she did not pause for a second to ponder any of them.
She followed the stairs at each turn until she finally reached the familiar darkened lobby. It was exactly as she had remembered it only now, the sight of the abandoned luggage filled her with an overwhelming sense of fear: now she knew what had become of the people who had once owned it.
Her heart soared at the sight of the doors.
Freedom was finally within her reach. Promptly abandoning her "creep quietly" strategy, Cassidy broke into a run, her eyes locked firmly on the revolving doors in front of her. She was so close that she could already feel cool air pouring through the doors and brushing against her face…
Suddenly Cassidy felt a searing pain in the back of her head as long, cold fingers grabbed her by the hair and tore her backwards, flinging her on to the ground.
"Ahh…" she groaned, sitting up and suddenly freezing when a long shadow was cast over her. She looked up slowly, her eyes widening as they traced up and along a glaring female Weeping Angel. This Lonely Assassin was standing right over her, one long, lithe arm extended and reaching down to her.
When she saw the smirk on the Angel's face, she knew exactly who had her cornered. It was the stone seraph who had confronted her the night before.
"You…"
"Yes," Angel Emily replied lightly, her stone visage unmoving but her voice quickly dropping into a sinister chord. "It's me." The sneering Angel giggled. "Surprised, Cassidy?"
Cassidy did not reply, instead she focused on keeping her eyes as wide open as possible and slowly started to crawl backwards.
"This just illustrates how utterly predictable and pathetic you humans are," she went on, her sweet young lady's voice completely unfitting for her terrifying monologue. "You walked right into my little ruse, didn't you? You see, if I had decided to do away with you last night- I would have gotten into tremendous trouble with my superior Angels…"
Cassidy's eyes began to water but she refused to blink, stubbornly staring up at Angel Emily. Her heart was thumping so hard that she was certain that the frightened cardiac muscle would soon splinter the bones of her rib-cage. Her head hit against something wooden and she realised that she had backed herself up against the counter.
"Your owner and dearest "guardian" made us all agree not to harm you, provided that you did not breach our rules. However, I knew that if I left your door unlocked, it would only be a matter of time until you would take the bait and try to escape." She gave another high-pitched snigger. "And guess what? Trying to leave the feeding grounds at night is in direct violation of our rules. The punishment? Immediate execution." Her voice dropped another octave to what was little more than a growl. "You cannot resist blinking forever, human and when you do blink, I will destroy you. I was going to send you back in time…but I have decided that it is more of a credit to him if I just slaughter you like the mewling lamb that you are."
Cassidy shook her head, still refusing to blink despite the fact that her eyes were now streaming. She was not going to cry, scream or show fear before this Angel, even if she knew that she had no chance of saving herself.
"Oh, look," the Angel sneered coyly. "The human wishes to put on a courageous front. Well, if she will not blink…I can always turn off the lights…" She began to laugh, the small lamp on the counter top suddenly flickering. All of a sudden, the Angel's laughing stopped and she let out a furious, almost metallic-sounding screech. "What is that? That thing on your person?"
It took Cassidy all but a second to realise that she was talking about the necklace now dangling out of her pocket.
"Th-This?" she managed to stammer, pulling it from her pocket and holding it tightly in her hand.
"He…he gave it to you…didn't he? As a gift?" the Angel said, her voice now a bare whisper and twitching ever so slightly.
Cassidy nodded. "Yes. Yes he did."
"Well, then," Angel Emily said, her voice slowly rising to a phantom-like screech. "His obsession has clearly gone too far! For his sake, I must kill you now!"
The lamp above Cassidy's head slowly went out and as the darkness descended, her body seized up- awaiting the worst.
Awaiting her death.
But nothing touched her.
A horrific shriek rang out through the air and it was quickly drowned out by a deafeningly loud roar. In the darkness before her, she heard ripping, tearing, smashing- all accompanied by a cacophony of screeches and a macabre symphony of snarls and growls.
The floor beneath her seemed to rattle with the impact of something being smashed against it and a repulsive, skin-crawling melody of something fleshy being pulled apart and cracked brought the terrifying piece to a crescendo.
Then there was a silence.
Cassidy swallowed, slowly regaining her ability to breathe as the desk-lamp flickered back on.
She couldn't suppress as gasp of shock at what she saw when the dust cleared. There were fragments of stone everywhere strewn across the tiled floor and among the large pieces of serrated debris, Cassidy could make out the outline of an Angel's wings.
And an arm.
And what was left of a head.
Angel Emily had been completely mutilated and torn asunder, almost beyond recognition.
Cassidy lifted a hand to her mouth, shaking all over as she looked up fully and saw him.
Amidst the stone carnage, Michael stood, staring down at her. The pale yellow light cast shadows over his body, outlining his Goliath-like muscles, his mighty wings, his strong, defined features.
And his eyes.
Cassidy was already in complete shock from her near-death experience.
Though, nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.
She suddenly heard a voice.
A low, deep, masculine voice that rippled through her ears.
"Why did you try to escape me?"
For a split second, Cassidy honestly believed that there was another person in the room. Then she realised that it was Michael.
Speaking to her.
"Why did you try to escape me?"
Thanks for reading everybody :D
I hope that you enjoyed this. Let me know what you thought.