Chapter Three: Triple Execution

It was nearing the hour. Pennine still couldn't reach her son telepathically, even though he was out of the jail now. His mind was closed up. Still, she put up her own mental barriers as she hurried towards her goal, fearful of his crumbling when the hour came. She couldn't afford to feel what he felt.

The force field surrounding the jail that blocked out the senses was generated from a large device next to the Warden's office. Pennine, having known for a long time that she would need it one day, had visited often over the years. Although she had tried to keep her visits covert, Epsilon had once accused her of having an affair with the Warden. Still, the visits had served their purpose. She knew every wire and switch in the machine, knew exactly how to disable it—and how to turn its purpose to something quite different. Something that, if she managed to rig it in time, would provide the distraction Wilfred needed to save the Doctor.

"Begin."

The Doctor was forced to his knees onto the stone slab and chained down. One of the guards was injecting something into his neck.

Wilfred watched, never having felt so helpless. "Once it's all clear ... watch for the cue," Pennine had said. Well, he didn't have a clue what that meant. It certainly wasn't all clear right now, and he hadn't seen anything that might have been taken to be a cue.

He stayed where he was, trying not to wonder what they were doing to him. Wilf could only half-see what was going on, which he wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. Another injection. Wilfred's knuckles were white on the screwdriver.

And then he jumped out of his skin, from both shock and horror, at three more or less simultaneous sounds.

A crack, like from a whip. A sort of sizzling. And a scream that made his stomach turn inside-out.

The Doctor continued screaming long after the other sounds had stopped. Wilf still couldn't make out exactly what was going on, but he could see that the Doctor's shirt was suddenly drenched in blood. If he had eaten anything in the last few hours, Wilf would definitely have lost it then.

He wanted to run in, to stop them, but he knew he couldn't. He had to wait, he couldn't abandon the plan, he'd just make things worse.

For a long while, nothing else happened. Wilf had edged slightly more to the left, and could make out about half of who he guessed was the executioner. There was dead silence in the crowded room, everyone's eye on the dying Time Lord. Then, two minutes after the first crack, the executioner raised a whip and brought it cracking back down.

Wilf had turned his head away at the last moment, but couldn't shut out the screams as the whip made contact. Tears ran down Wilf's face as his heart broke; he hurried Pennine on in his mind, hoping against hope that he would be able to stop this. When could it stop, when could it stop?

He made himself look during the two-minute intervals, only turning his head when the lashes were dealt. At the fourth, he began to wonder if Pennine's plan had failed, if she had got caught, if ...

At the fifth, the Doctor stopped screaming, though he still looked conscious.

As the sixth made contact, the energy frazzling its victim as before, something finally happened. Every Time Lord in the room flickered, as if they were on a dodgy tape. Wilf held his breath.

A second later, they all disappeared, right where they were. He didn't need telling twice.

"DOCTOR!" Wilf ran as fast as he could towards the middle of the room.

The Doctor was heaving with coughs, spitting blood out of his mouth that joined the pool on the floor. His eyes were open but unfocused as Wilf reached him.

"Doctor, it's me, it's Wilfred. It's okay," Wilf said. He fumbled for the chains holding the Doctor down and held the sonic screwdriver to the locks. His hands were shaking but he managed to undo the shackles, trying to soothe the Doctor as he did so.

As he pulled the second arm free, the Doctor's eyes started focusing a bit more, now on him. "Wilf?"

"Yeah, it's okay, I got you." Wilf paused, wondering how he was supposed to get the Doctor to his feet in this condition. Or was he going to have to drag him? And where to? Where was Pennine?

The Doctor mumbled something about hallucinations, but Wilf let out a sigh of relief as Pennine reappeared, hurtling out of the antechamber towards them.

When she was still several feet away, the Time Lords reappeared, and there was a shout of anger. The executioner raised his whip towards Wilf, and he automatically went for his revolver, but Pennine reached them. She grabbed the Doctor's arm with one hand and Wilf's shoulder with the other, and before the whip could crack, they were gone.

The Doctor felt, as if from a distance, hands grab him, and the tug into space. The floor of the High Court was replaced with another floor, still cold and hard, this time covered in shattered glass. His face pressed up against it for the second time that day, he kept his eyes closed, concentrating only on keeping his hearts beating and trying to block out all else.

He had lost count of the lashes, the pain was too great, it had all blurred together. Or maybe it was partly the lingering effect of the prison. But it didn't matter, his brain was barely registering anything except the pain. His back was cut open, several bones were shattered, his head felt ready to implode, his hearts were burning, and every touch, every movement made it worse.

Every jolt as he was half-carried, half-dragged, added to the agony. He tried desperately to black out, but knew it was no use. He couldn't; the injection the Time Lords had given him saw to that. Instead he was becoming slightly more conscious of his surroundings.

"... said he'd put it a second out or something ..."

"... can fix that if you show me where."

He knew that voice.

They stopped, him still being supported by two pairs of arms. He heard the bleeping of his own screwdriver and a whirr from the TARDIS. Then they were moving again. He could hear the hum of his ship trying to soothe him, but not having much success.

Finally, he was laid on something soft; a bed. He felt what was left of the back of his shirt being peeled off his skin, and winced; heard noises of revulsion at the sight of his mangled flesh. The female voice spoke again, something about a box in a cupboard and a key. Then a hand took hold of the Doctor's, and another softly caressed his cheek. "Sweetheart?"

He opened his eyes, wincing slightly at the light. It took a moment to register her face.

"M-Mum?"

Seemingly relieved that he was lucid enough to recognise her, she smiled, albeit sadly. "I have to go." The Doctor involuntarily clasped her hand tightly, and a tear fell from her eye. "I'm sorry, I can only stay a few minutes at a time, I have to go back."

"No—please," the Doctor managed to choke out.

"I'm coming back, Sweetheart," she said firmly, planting a kiss on his head. "I promise."

And with that, she faded to nothing.

TBC …