PERILS

Chapter Fourteen

"I forgot to tell you," confessed the Doctor, to Lena, "he drugged me, too, and I don't know with what. He said it wasn't lethal and for some strange reason I believe him, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. That and the heat…. How is Denny?"

Doc Fitch ignored him and addressed Lena: "I know you don't want him to go to the hospital but it can't be helped."

Lena protested, "They won't let me see him. They won't share information. They do not acknowledge me as his wife. Hell, they don't acknowledge me as a person."

The Doctor asked, "What have you found?"

"Nothing," said Doc Fitch. "He is still unconscious and he can't give us a clue as to what happened to him. He will need an examination of the sort I am just not equipped to perform here. I'm sorry."

"If he woke up and told you what happened, would that help?"

Doc Fitch looked at the Doctor as if for the first time. "Well, yes, but that does not appear to be on Denny's agenda."

"It could be," murmured the Doctor, retrieving his coat from the back of the pink velvet chair and beginning to empty the pockets onto the chair's seat. Lena and Doc Fitch watched in amazement as he pulled out his rolled-up Panama hat, an autographed yo-yo, a pencil, a ball of string, a monogrammed handkerchief, the rope with which he had been bound, two crumbly jumbles (he apologized for shedding crumbs all over such a nice chair), a goose feather, a striped gardening glove wrapped around a pair of scissors, a ticket for the PATH train, a nail, a screw, a pebble from Sybil's Cave, the coins Claudine had given him, a scrap of paper with Claudine's phone number on it (also slipped to him on that bus stop bench), a cricket ball, two Alzarian coins and, at last, a small bottle of smelling salts, which he handed to Doc Fitch. Then he began to restuff his pockets.

"I was going to examine you after I got Denny off to the hospital…"

"… which we can't afford anyway," Lena added.

"… but maybe you don't need me, sir!" Doc Fitch opened the bottle of smelling salts, turned his head aside and held the bottle under Denny's nose; the man came to with a start and a series of grimaces, then looked up at Doc Fitch, then the Doctor, then Lena, at whom he managed a smile. Doc Fitch closed the bottle tightly and returned it to the Doctor, who pocketed it. "Denny. Welcome back to the land of the living. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Two guys on horseback, white sheets of course but I recognized the horses. Bob Burton and Freddie Koerner, unless they borrowed the horses. They stopped me, pulled me off of Blossom and the next thing I knew they were whacking me in the gut with fence posts. Cypress I think. I could smell it. Funny the stuff you notice when you're having the stuffing beaten out of you. But they only hit me in the one place. Not saying it wasn't bad. Just… I think they wanted it to look like an accident."

"Well half a glance at your stomach shows it was no accident."

"I never said they were very bright."

"For someone in shock," remarked the Doctor, "you're doing very well."

Doc Fitch cleared his throat. "All right, this is what we'll have you do. First, put your feet up. Yes, like that. Keep them above the level of your heart. Lena, make sure you ply him with liquids. He must stay hydrated. Keep him warm."

"I'll bring blankets."

"Good, good. Now while we wait for Lena," he continued, turning to the Doctor, "let's talk about you, young man."

"I'll be fine," the Doctor reassured him.

"You passed out. You said yourself you'd been drugged. That is not fine."

"No, you're right, but you see, here I am, not passed out anymore, and I'll be fine."

"I've already taken some blood from Denny here – you don't mind, Denny? I couldn't exactly ask your permission."

"Not at all, Doc."

"Good, good. Let's have some from you, Doctor, is it? - and a urine sample while we're at it. Ah, Lena, good, good. You call me if he gets worse, right?" He laughed. "I mean Denny, of course."

*0*0*0*

Denny and Lena had insisted that the Doctor stay the night, and the Doctor gratefully allowed them to insist. Denny had been helped upstairs to the bedroom and the Doctor had been made comfortable on the divan, which was slightly too short for his long legs, but he didn't mind at all and fell asleep almost immediately. He dreamed again of falling endlessly through dark nothingness and awoke screaming, convinced he had regenerated, after almost no sleep at all; he had always thought it odd how a dream that seemed to last an eternity could account for only a few seconds of measurable time. He realized where he was, and that he was still himself, before a second scream could escape, and the first one woke no one. All of this took mere seconds as well, and he fell quickly back into a fitful but dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Doc Fitch came by to check on Denny, who complained that he was sore and listless but who'd had a normal night's sleep and was fever-free. He awoke the Doctor with a gentle hand on his arm, which he then squeezed a bit and declared slightly puffy. He splinted the Doctor's right wrist as he listened to his recounting of his abduction (minus any mention of the Master's TARDIS) and all that had followed, then declared, with some confidence, "Methylpentynol. Possibly combined with some other barbiturate. The results won't be in for some time but it sure sounds like methylpentynol. A nice whopping dose of it, too. It does leave the system eventually."

"What if it was something different?"

"My boy, if it was something different it wasn't much different, and its effects, too, will be gone by and by."

"I'm awfully thirsty," said the Doctor, and Lena brought him a tall glass of water, which he drank, quickly and gratefully before asking for another. "How is Denny?"

"He will be sore for a while," said Doc Fitch, "but everything appears to be under control."

"Good, good," said the Doctor, unconsciously imitating the Doc. Lena giggled into her sleeve.

"Are you up to breakfast?" she asked the Doctor, adding, "and you're welcome to stay, too, Doc."

"I'd be delighted," said Doc Fitch.

"I am rather hungry," admitted the Doctor, beginning to sit up, then lying back down. He buried his face in his pillow and slept.