CHAPTER 4

Kate Lethbridge-Stewart's black shoes stabbed stiletto holes into the moist grassy paddock as she ducked beneath the crime scene tape, morning dew dampening her trouser hem. The bitter morning breeze glazed over her hands as she slid off her black leather gloves. Feeling her blonde hair strands absorb a gust of icy air, Kate tucked the gloves into her black overcoat pockets, watching UNIT's forensic team move around a bloodied plastic sheet. Kate admired the gurgling of swallows in the surrounding treetops, seemingly unperturbed by the nearby atrocity. Their chirpy song was suddenly accompanied by a strained and tired spoken word vocalist, "You look as though you're paying respects."

Knowing who was addressing her, Kate remained fixed on the bodily shape beneath the sheet, "That's not so far from the truth, Commander Doyle," she spoke as her warm breath ghosted a faint vapour into the air. "As a mother, seeing the death of any child in my line of work sends shivers through my spine. I'm thankful for every moment that Gordon continues to be in my life. I'm blessed. To a mother's child torn from her like this is a dagger to my heart."

Doyle, of course, was referring to her black button-up cotton shirt paired with pleated black suit trousers. "I know something is off when you attend a crime scene without a morning coffee while dressed entirely in black."

"Like I said, it's a moment of mourning for me." Kate gazed sidewards, engaging in a sartorial appraisal, "You've been wearing that same suit and tie for days. They may as well be pyjamas at this point." A person dressed in a forensic uniform gestured for Doyle and Kate to approach the sheet. "Where's Madison?" Kate asked.

Doyle stepped forward, kneeling before the sheet, "Indisposed. I told her that this was likely connected to the interrogation from the other evening. Her duties are keeping her occupied."

He gently lowered the sheet to the victim's shoulders.

Kate knelt alongside Doyle with a grimaced expression, "How long has she been deceased?"

Doyle pulled the sheet down further, exposing her bare upper chest. "Twelve hours, so I'm told." He narrowed his eyes at her chest, his fingers hovering demonstratively over her body. "I'm sure this is who he saw. Even the scratch marks on her chest, the way they sprawl out into a v-shape."

"You recognise her?"

He breathed, looking to the sky with a nod, "It's Audrey James. It matches a sketch of an earlier sighting. This is consistent with how Deacon described her that night."

"Deacon?"

Doyle looked at Kate, "The pizza delivery man."

Kate stood, staring blankly at the paddock beneath the overcast charcoal sky,

"Where were the other sightings?"

Doyle replaced the sheet, standing with Kate, "Yes. All of which were in Hertfordshire."

Another uniformed forensic specialist approached Kate and Doyle, "I don't mean to interrupt, but I think this may be of interest."

He held out a sealed snap-lock plastic bag.

Doyle accepted it and held it up.

"Her personal items?"

"Affirmative," the forensic team member nodded.

"Thank you," Doyle replied.

Doyle turned his back to Kate while she looked on, hearing the faint clicking sound of a plastic snap lock being separated and re-sealed.

Doyle addressed Kate, "She lived at the precise address where Deacon was making his delivery that night. All she wanted to do was go home."

Kate breathed, "I'm just glad you could ascertain that without violating forensic procedure. Let's go."

HERTFORDSHIRE HOSPITAL

The Doctor was alone, away from patients and nurses, in a dimly lit reading alcove, perusing a shelf named 'General Information and Brochures'. He snatched a brochure labelled, 'Braxiatel.'

"So, this is your innovation, Professor?" He noted a professional portrait of a blonde woman named 'Angela Hirst' included on the brochure.

The Doctor then read its contents out loud. "Entering its second experimental phase, the procedure is still limited to those with AB negative blood, and must not have a history of terminal illness."

He returned to the corridor, where his eyes adjusted to brighter lighting. In passing, he glanced at a ward where a family had gathered around a patient blowing out candles on a birthday cake, serenaded with a harmonious rendition of 'Happy Birthday. He smiled faintly at the sentiment and continued on his way. Up ahead, he noticed an elderly lady relying on a walking frame for movement, incrementally dragging her feet toward a bench seat in the corridor. The Doctor approached her and gently guided her to the bench, helping her sit down. She squeezed his arm and smiled, thanking him warmly.

Returning to his ward, he noticed that his elderly neighbour was asleep. Approaching her bunk, he picked up her patient chart, which was affixed at the foot of her bed. He then read the patient chart, nodding. "She fits Braxiatel's bill, no question." He surreptitiously slid the patient chart into its holder and returned to his hospital bed.

HIRST's OFFICE

"Enter," a voice instructed from the office door's reverse side.

Dressed in her scrubs, Martha gently shouldered her way inside, cradling a large cardboard box. Hirst stood beside her desk, adjusting the neck of her black turtleneck jumper that was tucked into a black leather midi skirt with a thin red belt looped around her slender hips. The soft stomp of her leather knee-high red stiletto boots filled the silence as she walked toward Martha, her arms outstretched. Martha extended the box to Hirst, a subtle scent of Hirst's sandalwood-noted perfume perking her senses. "Apologies, Professor, it was just a busy morning."

Hirst's pursed lips softened into a slight smile, offering a modicum of warmth as she accepted the box, "Dispense with the formalities. I am just pleased to see you. To say you have me intrigued is something of an understatement."

She turned and gestured for Martha to follow her. Hirst set the box on her office coffee table and sat on a maroon Chesterfield leather couch while Martha sat on a matching couch opposite Hirst.

Hirst asked, "Do you care for a drink?"

Martha eyed a trail of bergamot-infused vapor emitting from a teapot on the coffee table between them, "No, thank you."

"Very well. So, you've been with us for nearly ten years. You're in your final year of study, aren't you?"

Martha nodded, "Nearly there, it's been a long time coming."

Hirst's steely blue eyes studied Martha as she stretched her slender arms along the firm material of her antique couch, "Regis has spoken fondly of you for some time. I'm told that you have an outstanding bedside manner."

"I've always had great mentors. Most have moved on. I've seen many come and go."

Hirst reminisced, "I've been in this profession since the nineties, dear, get used to it. When I was in my late twenties, much like yourself. Do you wish to comment on the other night? Are you familiar with Tina James? What Regis reported seems most unlike you."

"There's no excuse. I was impatient. I won't let it happen again."

Hirst considered Martha's answer, "Is everything ok?"

Martha shrugged, "Just dramas. Housemate issues, while my sister, Tish, is going through a bad breakup. Just stuff outside of work. I won't let it happen again."

"Is Sam ok?"

Martha laughed gently, "Yes. He's just fine. A brat, but I love him."

"He's a sweet boy. I still remember when you introduced us when you brought him to the Christmas party that one year. Gorgeous thing." She raised a teacup to her lips, sipping her Earl Grey before continuing. "But, down to business. Usually, when I am told about someone having two hearts, my immediate response is to ask whether they are single or schizophrenic. Can't have too much of a good thing."

Martha pressed her knees together, her left fingertips trailing along the studded detailing of the couch armrest as she nodded wordlessly.

"Darling, it's a joke. Relax."

Martha laughed politely.

Hirst crossed her right leg over her left, the gold stilettos of her boots gently tapping the carpeted floor, "Think of this as something far less formal and more a discussion of intrigue. When I first read your report, I wondered how that could have possibly been signed off. Given Regis' glowing review of your services to Hertfordshire, his report worried me. It read as a careless error of monumental proportions. I find that below your standard. Far beneath it. Two hearts. I thought you had lost the plot."

Martha laughed, "I felt I was losing it myself, especially once Regis sent your feedback."

Hirst laughed heartily, setting her teacup down, "No doubt you did. That is what brings you here today. It's not so much your initial evaluation but your second."

"Professor-"

Hirst raised her right index finger, "What did I say about formalities? There is no way a single heartbeat could pulsate at such a rate it sounds like two hearts. Once you eliminate that possibility, then only one remains. Your patient has two hearts."

"Yep."

Hirst's right leg swayed gently back and forth, the tip of her domineering designer boot tapping the edge of the coffee table, "What do we know about him?"

Martha collected her thoughts, "He seems to be suffering from amnesia. No recollection of his name, where he is from, or even where he is."

Hirst listened while staring at the box, "I take it these are his belongings?"

Martha leaned forward with widened legs, clasping her hands, "Everything he was carrying."

"Did he check himself in?"

Martha shook her head incredulously, "No! He was found in one of the gardens a few minutes away. He had collapsed after some kind of panic attack. A couple brought him in while on their evening walk."

"I see," Hirst commented as she set the box lid down. Focusing again on Martha, "I have an important task for you. Keep an eye on him. I want to know as soon as there are any changes. This is to be maintained with the strictest confidentiality. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you, Martha," Hirst stood with an extended right hand.

Martha adjusted her gaze from the box to Hirst, realizing only seconds later that Hirst had brought their meeting to a close.

A glint of surprise filled her eyes as she stood to shake Hirst's hand, holding it for a moment longer than usual.

Hirst maintained her grip, eyes piercing into Martha's, "Is something amiss?"

Martha's hand was still in Hirst's. Shaking her head awkwardly, Martha remarked, "Your hand is so smooth and supple for," she trailed off awkwardly. She shook her head, "Pardon me. I'm just used to it being more," she trailed off again.

Hirst cocked an eyebrow, "More? Compared to when you last shook it? An inference on my age, perhaps?"

Martha swallowed, sliding her hand away, "I really didn't mean it like that."

Hirst waved a hand, "Don't be silly. I appreciate the compliment. I'd tell you my secret, but I'd have to kill you."

Martha laughed, playing into what she interpreted as humour. "Maybe I'll learn it when I graduate."

Hirst stepped closer to Martha, "I'm a hybrid human being with advanced genetics who wants to elevate this pitiful excuse of a species to greater heights."

Her blue eyes bore into Martha like stalactites piercing cotton.

Martha's eyes widened, feeling her throat dry to a leathery tightness.

Hirst laughed with a theatrical cackle, brushing her hand along Martha's arm, "You should have seen your gorgeous face! You beautiful, young woman!"

Martha laughed awkwardly, nodding, "You had me going there for a second."

"So, I've been told," Hirst winked. "I was a real scream during improv nights at college. In fact, I banked on you screaming just then. Maybe some other time. Enjoy your day, Martha."

Martha turned, nearly tripping over her own feet.

Her hurried pace toward Hirst's door lacked her more relaxed grace from earlier.

Hirst watched Martha leave, running her hand through her hair before rifling through the box contents and sorting each item.

She removed the item on top, muttering, "Leather jacket."

Setting it aside on the couch, Hirst took out two lace-up combat boots and disregarded the folded pair of black trousers.

Hirst's eyes narrowed at the lower corner of the box where a pen-shaped device rested.

She snatched it and held it up with a shaky wrist. "Impossible."

A low, whirring humming emitted as soon as she pressed her thumb against the side button.

Her breath sharpened at the embossed inscriptions running along its shaft, "Gallifrey."

THE JAMES' RESIDENCE

Tina James walked down the corridor as a series of doorknocks echoed. "I'm coming!" She called, reaching for the doorknob.

Tina felt underdressed, barefoot, and wearing only an orange halter-neck top tucked into black jeans.

A blonde woman stood at the front door and introduced herself, "I am Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, this is Malcolm Doyle. We are part of a specialised task force and would like a moment of your time. Are you Tina James?"

Tina asked, "Is this about Audrey?"

"Audrey is your daughter?" Doyle replied.

Tina raised her hands to her mouth as tears swelled in her eyes. Kate stepped forward and gently embraced her into a hug, whispering to Doyle over her shoulder, "Give us a moment."

HERTFORDSHIRE HOSPITAL

The Doctor briskly walked toward a door, above which a sign read 'Staff Change Room', as he glanced up and down the busy corridor. Once he was sure nobody nearby would stop or question him, he pushed the door and entered a tiled locker area.

His surroundings were painted teal, and each wall was lined with grey lockers. He stripped off his patient gown, leaving him in just a pair of black underpants. Although he was alone in the locker room, the sound of a running shower nearby echoed, accompanied by a wispy trail of steam escaping from behind a curtain. He wasted no time in his search for an unlocked locker.

Eventually, he opened an unlocked locker and grabbed a pair of black leather pants hanging inside. He lowered the side zipper and pushed his legs into the pants, heaving them up over his thighs, buttons, and hips. Raising the side zip, he wriggled his hips and remarked, "Groovy."

The Doctor's eyes fixated on a pair of white Converse sneakers in the locker. He took one of the shoes and positioned it next to his right foot, tilting his head. "Nice fit."

Sitting shirtless on a nearby wooden bench, he pulled on both sneakers and tied each lace. The Doctor stood and set his sights on a wall hook where a long-sleeved blue-collar shirt hung. He pulled it off the hook, slipped it on, and buttoned it up. Turning sideways in the mirror, he tucked one side of the shirt into the leather trousers with a pout, "French tuck. Can't go wrong."

Another garment caught his attention on a nearby coat stand: a lab coat. The Doctor snatched it before leaving. He saw Martha up ahead, almost not recognizing her with untied hair pushed back by a red headband. She was dressed casually in an unbuttoned navy-blue blazer over a form-fitting white tank top, tucked into slim grey jeans and black crossover ballerina flats. The Doctor locked eyes and promptly darted for the nearest door.

Martha hissed under her breath as she stalked him, "What are you up to?"