The Doctor looked down at the scorched corpse of Varrillo, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. He looked away from her, at the crowd before her. Some showed looks of shock, or disgust, while others were blank. He could tell nothing from them; neither guilt nor innocence.
He stepped up, just as he always did, the first to examine the body. He had seen so much death in over two-thousand years... yet it still bothered him.
Guilt gnawed at him. He could have saved her. Somehow, someway, he could have stopped this. If he had just been in her room, instead of rifling through Pierce's office, or if he had found a way out of this. He knew deep down that was a lie; there was no way out. That was the point. That didn't mean it was any less preventable.
Or any less his fault. People always came out with the tired clichés; "You couldn't have known," or "You can't save everyone." Perhaps not, but maybe if he were more vigilant, or he was less consumed with hunting a robot, or finding a clue, or motive.
Varrillo did not deserve this. That bothered him. It was always the undeserving that died, while the monsters walked on. Was she guiltless? Of course not.
The rumors were clear, and probably true; she was a con artist of the highest skill. A health guru ripping off the extravagantly rich with Cracker Jack box wisdom, and quack medicine that would make doctors of the early twentieth century blush. Pierce had fallen into that trap it seemed, as so many of society's elite did.
From how it sounded, there was some sort of affair with Pierce's brother. That was not uncommon. Families were messy. However, it seemed that Ricard held animosity for the Ouron. Her sudden demise supported Drucille's accusation in a way. Only people who's death would benefit him had been killed thus far. Perhaps it was him, or his doing after all. Or perhaps The Doctor was off the mark.
None of these things made her deserving of a hole in the chest. There were very few who The Doctor considered deserving of such; those who commit genocide, torturers, and serial murderers perhaps. Whomever decided a perfectly good fruit like a pear should dribble off the chin, certainly deserved it. But a con artist who slept with the wrong man? Murder was too severe a punishment.
Her death, however, would not be in vain. He watched as the wisps of smoke dissipated from the melted chest wound. She could not have been dead for more than a minute, or two. Plasma smoke disappeared quickly. This allowed him to rule out one suspect; Drucille. She had been speaking with him at the time of the killing. The time frame did not allow her to kill Varrillo, and then speak to he, and Sarah Jane.
He would not divulge that information of course, as a tactical move. He did not need to let the killer know he was narrowing his field. Varrillo wasn't the killer, as she was now gone, and neither was Drucille. He was down to six options. The shoe could fit any of them.
As Genevieve kneeled on the floor, her face still in her hands, The Doctor watched as Sarah Jane knelt down beside her. She wrapped her arms around her, placing a comforting hand on the back of her head, like a mother cradling a hurt child. She was uncommonly kind...
His eyes drifted back to Varrillo's body, and he reached out two fingers, closing her eye lids.
"Oh please, give me a break," Ricard slurred, his intoxication evident, "we all know she did it. Cough up the gun sweetheart, party's over,"
"Have some decency you wretch!" Sarah Jane abruptly defended, "not everyone here copes with their problems in the bottom of a bottle."
"As disgusting as I find him, he has a point. She was the first one here, and the closest one to Pierce when he died. People just seem to die when she's around," Barlow added.
"Your one to talk. How many men have you put in the ground, in the name of war, or pleasure?" Silas bit, "maybe its you! Maybe you've been metal all along. Maybe that's why your so cold."
"And your hands are bloodless I suppose? You only sold the weapons, right? You never pulled the trigger yourself, you coward!" Barlow spat.
"You're all monsters, you know that? All of you!" Felicia shouted, turning the heads of everyone, "don't you see it? This is what it wants! Us to turn against each other, so it can kill us all!"
"Funny, isn't it?" The Doctor snorted, "the least educated amongst you, is the only one who actually understands what's happening."
"If you're so smart, why haven't you figured it out yet? All you seem to be good at is talking down to people!" Barlow fired back.
"He's doing more than you are! You're content to just sit here, while we all get shot to death!" Drucille spat.
"There's an easy solution to all of this..." growled Ricard, his eyes leveled at Genevieve, "we crack that girl open, and see if theirs a robot inside!"
With that final word, Pierce's nephew lunged grabbing at her, his mad, drunken, gaze frenzied. Sarah Jane was, of course, right in his path, the only thing standing between him, and the girl she comforted.
Winston grabbed at Ricard's waist, being shoved off by his waving hands, while Falicia was pushed aside in the commotion, falling roughly to her bottom.
The Doctor had seen enough, and reacted like lighting, bolting to his companions side. Just as Ricard's hand clawed at Sarah Jane's arm, The Doctor caught him. One wrinkled hand gripped his forearm, while the other clamped under his chin. He used Ricard's momentum against him, pushing him to the left, flat into the wall.
Silas was suddenly at his side, pinning Ricard's arm to the wall, while his left hand pushed on his chest. The Doctor handled his right arm, keeping his other hand on Ricard's throat. He gave just enough pressure to hold him in place, but not enough to choke or hurt him.
His ancient eyes glared into his, straight, and steady. Ricard's dark orbs revealed bloodshot fear; primal instinct to survive, but that ability was hindered by rum. There was something human in that, that amygdala reaction. Nothing, not even the most sophisticated robots, could fake that. Five choices.
"This is not how this is going to happen," The Doctor whispered calmly. The edge to his voice made his unsaid threat clear. "There has already been enough bloodshed tonight, and their will be more, I have no doubt. We don't need to shed it ourselves. We don't need to do it's job for it. I'm not about to let you hurt a possibly innocent woman out of fear."
"But what if she's...," he started to argue.
"What if she's not...," he answered back, "now I am going to let you go, and you're not going to act like a Cro-magnon. Do you understand?" Ricard only nodded.
"Good... and if you ever touch Sarah Jane like that again, you're going to wish the homicidal robot had gotten to you, clear?" Ricard nodded again. The Scotsman let go, as did Silas. Ricard rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, before slinking between the two. The Doctor gave Sarah Jane a concerned look, who nodded to him appreciatingly in return. He gave her a roguish wink in return.
"So... what do you suggest we do, instead of resorting to barbarism, that is," Silas finally asked, half joking. The Doctor did not quite see the humor.
"You all have people who know you are here, yes? I mean, supposedly important people such as yourselves, usually flaunt going to expensive parties like these don't you?" The Doctor asked, walking away from Ricard, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his pointer, and middle finger. He was getting a headache. Too much stupidity in one room.
"My assistant knows I'm here," Silas answered.
"I told my lawyer I was coming. He advised against it of course." Drucille replied.
"My adviser knows I showed up here. I sent him message when I arrived to come up with, an excuse why I could leave," Barlow shrugged.
"My... my... father knows I'm here," Genevieve stammered, her voice shaking.
"Where are you going with this? You said it yourself, we can't contact anyone," Barlow asked, condescendingly. His attitudes were standoffish at best, and outwardly disrespectful all other times. The more he was around him, the less he liked him. But what could he expect from an arms dealer?
"People know you're here. It isn't like you just dropped off the face of the Earth. If your as important as you pretend to be..." The Doctor let that hang in the air for a bit.
"Then, eventually someone will come looking for you," Sarah Jane finished, nodding. She caught on so quick, not like the pudding brains in this room.
"This is a waiting game. A battle of attrition. If we can wait the killer out, then we can make it out of here alive," reasoned The Doctor. Not his best plan but... it was a means to an end. He had a diffrent plan brewing in his head.
"And if the killer decides to just murder us all before them, like its already doing?" Drucille questioned, lighting another cigarette.
"Have you noticed it's only attacking us one at a time? That begs the question, why would it do that? Why not just show itself, whichever one of you it is, and kill all of us, in one shot? No fuss, no muss, no coconuts?" The Doctor proposed.
"It's outnumbered, simple strategy," Barlow answered. The Doctor pointed at him, with a smirk.
"That's a good arms dealer. Now, question; what does that tell us about it?"
"It's afraid of us?" Falicia asked timidly.
"Close! Along that line," The Time Lord goaded.
"It's not something particularly strong, not like a Cyberman, or a Dalek," Sarah Jane answered.
"Ding ding, give the lady a prize!" He shouted, forcing a smile from her, and strange looks from everyone else, "we can overpower it, that's why it hasn't attacked us in a group. When it did, the light's were out, and we couldn't see."
"So, your saying strength in numbers, until we ride this out?" Winston piped in, "isn't that a bit unlikely given that these people are already almost killing one another?"
"What do you mean, "these people?" Ricard sneered, breaking his blissful silence.
"My apologies Master Killcrest," his stuffy tone clarified, "perhaps I was too vague. Silver spoon fed imbeciles who would rather attempt to kill one another, instead of attempt a proactive activity, such as escape, or investigation."
"How dare you speak to me that way, your my servant!" Ricard answered caustically. Winston snorted.
"I was Pierce's butler, not yours, sir. You are not him, nor will you ever be."
"Your fired Winston. If we survive this, I want you out of this house."
"It will be my pleasure sir," Winston obliged.
"More to the point," The Doctor continued through gritted teeth, shooting Ricard a deadly glare, "if we stay together through the night, we may survive until dawn."
"What do you mean through the night? We can't stay here all night!" Drucille exclaimed.
"Unless you have keys to the door, or a way to break through it stuffed in that fur coat, then we don't have much of a choice." He knew she didn't have either, but she probably knew where one was; that safe. He still believed that she had the code. She was too odd when he spoke of it; and not his sort of odd. Suspicious odd.
Either say, they had no choice but to wait it out. He on the other hand, had a plan. While they gathered together for the night, he, and Sarah Jane were going to tear this house apart for those keys.
The night drug ever onward, as another pair of hours passed. Everyone had holed in one of the dens. The living quarters were just as lavishly furnished as the rest of the home, with oaken coffee tables, and paintings of landscapes, once again showing off Pierce's considerable wealth. A single, floor to ceiling window adorned one wall, overlooking the the walkway leading to the front door. From here, one could also see the majestic woods in the distance, the dark trees swaying in front of the moonlit backing.
The room had originally been furnished with only a couch, and two loveseats, but everyone had moved more seats into here. A second couch had been moved into the room, positioned by the loveseat, and a pair of chairs by the table.
As Sarah Jane stared out the window, down at the entry way, she couldn't help but see the irony. This beautiful house had become a prison for them. Escape was well in sight; if she looked hard enough, she could even see the outline of the TARDIS. She could see the way out, but couldn't actually reach it. She could see how it would be maddening to others.
That was not what consumed her thoughts. Instead, her mind was full of killers, and murderers. She looked around the room briefly. Ricard lay on a couch, probably trying to sober up. Barlow sat next to him, looking at him in disgust. Genevieve was in a chair near by. She had finally calmed down, and she was more intent on the window Sarah stared out of, than anything else. Perhaps, she too pondered their irony.
Drucille sat on one of the love seats, having a quiet conversation with Silas. The pair obviously knew Pierce well, and they had some common ground there, at least. Winston walked around, a tray in his hands, champagne atop it. He asked the guests if they wanted any, finding no takers. Felicia did the same with a platter of hor'dervs. Everyone was equally full, evidently.
They had set up at watch schedule for when they went to sleep, and they had locked the doors. No one had managed to rest yet however. She would be surprised if anyone would.
The Doctor stood, staring at the pair of double doors. His hand was over his mouth, resting on his chin. His eyes moved here, and there, and he squinted every so often. Her old friend was obviously in deep thought. She wondered what was going on in that head of his. What was he thinking about? Planning something perhaps?
She didn't know, and she turned her attention back outside. This killer, it could be any of them. The only one she truly trusted was The Doctor. For all she knew, a few hours ago, she had sat on the floor, comforting a robot assassin.
She doubted it. That kind of emotion, how raw, and visceral it was... that was hard to fake, even for something programmed to do so. She doubted the heiress was their killer.
Ricard on the other hand, was proven to have a violent streak. She had almost been subjected to it, were it not for The Doctor's intervention. He was not a nice man to be sure; spoiled, petty, and generally possessed all of the qualities Sarah hated. That did not, necessarily make him secretly an assassin.
There was, however, one possibility The Doctor did not seem to be considering. Their assassin was likely a robot, she agreed with that. Just the weapon of choice alluded to that. However, who was to say that someone here was one of them?
Yes, Pierce was killed with everyone in the room together, and everyone had a reason. But it was pitch dark when it happened. Who was to say that their killer hadn't been hiding somewhere, and struck at the most opportune moment. Who was to say it didn't have a cloaking device, or moved too fast to see.
Perhaps , he saw something she didn't. He was very clever, and highly intelligent. But she felt he may have jumped to conclusions.
She also wasn't convinced it was Pierce that had trapped them here. With an assassin who had infiltrated his life, who was to say it couldn't have put countermeasures into place, to keep them here? There were too many unknowns here. The Doctor was only following one course, when the possibilities were many.
She knew how he thought however, and she understood. He was following the idea that made the most sense to him, that he could put together the best. He could build on these ideas he had come with, while the others were tenuous at best.
"How are you feeling Sarah?" His Scottish voice suddenly asked from beside her. She hadnt even heard him walk up. He put her arm around her, and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.
"I'm alright, just trying to think this through," she replied.
"How is that going?"
"It doesn't paint an optimistic picture," she answered.
"Murder rarely does," he sighed. The look on his face changed after a second, his head whipping back to the door. His hands suddenly went to his forehead with a loud smack.
"I'm an idiot! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He shouted, drawing everyone's attention.
"What? What is it Doctor?" She asked frantically. He whirled around, grabbing her shoulders, looking her in the face, his eyes electric , and wild.
"Paintings Sarah! Paintings! I've seen them, and one of them is a fake. Pierce brought me to the dining room for a reason! And that was it!" He hollered. She had no clue what he was talking about, but she went with it.
"Come on!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hand, and running for the door. She trailed behind him.
"Hey!" Barlow shouted, as the pair reached the door, "I thought we decided we were staying together! What happened to strength in numbers?"
"You people are staying together. I'm not the killer, and when I leave, lock me out, because when I come back, I might have a way out of here," he replied, opening the double doors, and stepping through. He turned about, grabbing both handles, with a wide grin.
"Besides, I don't want to be locked in with a killer, I'm not crazy like the rest of you," he shouted, and slammed the doors behind him.