LEGION

Chapter 10

 

Staring open-mouthed, almost dumb-struck, Donna didn't want to believe an old friend she'd met on her business course would shoot down her best friend. However, that appeared to be exactly what Violentia had in mind. Donna wasn't about to let that happen. Not to the Doctor, who'd saved her from becoming a human sacrifice in ancient Pompeii, from being shot down by clone soldiers and falling victim to a psychopathic alien roller coaster turned serial killer.

She knew she had to do something. But what?

“Actually, you were only about half right.” The Doctor said conversationally, trying to play for time. “What Sir Francis Bacon actually meant was, that while revenge may make you equal, letting go of your hatred and anger and moving on, that makes you so much better. And that's what you need to do, Violentia.” He said in a coaxing voice, “Let go. Think! Revenge blinds you, but reason opens the windows to your mind and heart.”

“No!” The distraught woman screamed, “I can't let you get away with this, Doctor!” Her finger pressed down on the trigger of the gun.

“Oi! Violentia! Head's up!” Donna shouted, simultaneously lobbing a Chinese vase at her, which had been sitting on a table next to the sofa.

The woman saw the vase coming at her, and instinctively ducked. The gun went off, as loud as the thunder crashing outside. The bullet went wild, putting a neat round hole into a large framed print of a Welsh landscape, which was hanging above the sofa. Its impact shattered the glass, and Donna threw her head aside, narrowly missing getting splinters in her face.

The Doctor had nimbly stepped out of the line of fire. Before Violentia had a chance to recover herself, he snatched the gun from her hand, casually using his best cricket pitch to toss it across the room, and through the shattered window.

“I hope that thing wasn't a rare antique or something. Wouldn't want to be stuck having to pay that nutjob compensation.” Donna told the Doctor, looking at the shattered bits of the white and blue coloured vase lying scattered on the floor.

“Are you alright, Donna?” He asked. Then smiled, “By the way, thank you.”

“Yeah, cheers. I'm fine.” She answered, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes.

“But, I don't think your friend is mad. Look at her.” The Doctor said quietly. He walked over to Violentia and put his hands on the woman's shoulders, peering into her eyes. She was standing there, white-faced and sweating, trembling and wide-eyed.

Donna's attitude immediately changed. “What's wrong with her?” she asked, sympathy in her voice.

...

Violentia indeed did not look well. Donna thought her friend looked like death warmed over. As she thought this, her friend simply keeled over, and, before the Doctor could quite catch her, she fell to the floor. Donna was appalled as she watched Violentia's face take on a white, waxy appearance. The woman's body went stiff with the first onset of rigor mortis. Her wide-open eyes seemed to hold a puzzled expression

“She's been dead for quite some time, I'm afraid.” The Doctor said sadly, kneeling beside the woman. He had his sonic out and it gave off its familiar high-pitched buzz as he played it up and down Violentia's prone body. He checked the readings. “More than a whole day, by the looks of it.”

“No, but,” Donna protested, shaking her head in confusion, “that's impossible, Doctor. She was very much alive when I arrived here earlier today. She certainly seemed alive when you found us in that secret passage, and in the kitchen. How could she possibly have been dead for all that time?”

Instead of answering her, the Doctor's face clouded over like the stormy night sky. He stood abruptly and charged into the middle of the room, head thrown back, eyes brittle with a deep-seated anger.

“Alright!” He shouted into thin air, “Now you've gone too far. No more games. I'm going to stop this, now. It ends tonight!”

As if in answer to the Doctor's challenge, all of the lights went out.

The room was black as pitch, only illuminated by occasional blue-white flashes of lightning. Then, there came the hoarse, grating whispering. Too low for Donna to make out what was being said. At first it sounded like nothing more than the scratching of hundreds of dry leaves on cobblestones. Then, the voice or voices came through a little clearer, and Donna suddenly wished she couldn't hear it.

Death comes....death comes....death comes....” It said, over and over, like a scratchy old record.

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