While Donna had been explaining the past history of the man in the painting, the Doctor had the distinct feeling that something wasn't quite right. He stared hard at the picture in its heavy gilt frame, trying to work out what was nagging at him. Then, he realized; something was missing. The horse was still there, the dog, the groom, but the slightly overweight, irascible looking man in the riding togs and top hat had utterly disappeared.

He was turning to tell Donna about it, when the Doctor felt two large, strong hands at his throat. His eyes traveled from the hands, up the arms, and finally to the face of the man in the painting. The man was standing there, large as life, glaring at him with open hostility.

The Doctor couldn't tell Donna anything though, because at that point, the two hands had begun to squeeze and cut off his air supply. The Doctor tried to prise the man's hands loose, they passed part-way through the flesh. The apparition before him was almost as if it had been half-formed of solid living tissue and some sort of ethereal gossamer.

As she turned around to talk to the Doctor, Donna boggled at the scene playing out in front of the fireplace. She realized that the strange noises the Doctor had been making were him being choked to death. Feeling guilty about not noticing that sooner, she dithered only a moment, trying to figure out how to save him. In his struggles, the Doctor's feet made a loud crunch, as he ground shards of the vase thrown at Violentia into the carpet. It gave Donna an idea.

“Meh--in for a penny, in for a pound. It's not like they're a matched pair anymore, are they?.” Donna said to herself, as she picked up an identical vase from another table. “Assuming this will even work on a blinking ghost.”

Creeping up behind the Doctor's strange assailant, Donna raised the vase over the man's head. The Doctor's eyes followed her, suddenly fearful for his friend. He tried to shake his head, tried to tell her not to try it, but the ghostly man held him in a death-grip. The Doctor could do nothing but look on helplessly, struggling for the air that was no longer entering his lungs.

Raising the vase high over her head, Donna brought it down on the man in the top hat. Unfortunately, the vase didn't do anything but go sluggishly through the man, almost as if it were passing through a vat of treacle. Donna watched in dismay as it crashed harmlessly to the floor. The man however, reacted rather violently to being disturbed from his deadly task. Still grasping the Doctor by the throat with one hand, the other hand swept back towards Donna.

In the second that the ghostly hand made contact with her head, Donna felt as if she'd been hit by a shovel. Her head was flung back and her body went flying across the room. She slumped against the sofa, limp and unmoving. Anger lent its fire to the Doctor's eyes, as his hand dived into his coat pocket. As the apparition reinstated its assault on the Doctor, he thumbed the sonic screwdriver into life.

The room was suddenly filled with a high pitched whine that drowned out the raging storm outside. A heavy vibration ran through the room, making even the walls themselves tremble. Knick-knacks and books began tumbling to the floor. With a terrible screech, the apparition of the man began to burn, his body slowly dissolving into smoke. The Doctor spared a quick, murderous glance at the painting above the fireplace. But, it was gone, replaced by a framed impressionist-style watercolour, depicting an old market town at sunrise. Running over to where Donna lay, he knelt beside her, holding her head in his lap, feeling a sudden emptiness in the pit of his stomach. What would he do without her?

“Donna?” He whispered hoarsely. Her name hung in a pregnant silence for almost a full minute, before her eyelids fluttered open. The Doctor closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. He helped her sit up on the sofa, running the sonic over her to check for injuries.

“Why are you bleeping me?” She complained, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I hate it when you bleep me.”

“Just want to make sure that you're alright, if that's OK with you, Donna.” The Doctor told her. He looked at the readings. “No sign of concussion this time, just knocked the wind out of you, apparently. That's one way to keep you quiet, I suppose.”

“If you're insulting me, that must mean I'm alright then.” She smiled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Feels like that bloke gave me a bit of whiplash, though. I feel like the wreck of the Hesperus. Too bad you can't sue a ghost for compensation.”

“Yeah,. Not on this planet, anyway.” The Doctor agreed, jumping up from the sofa. He held out his hand to Donna, and beckoned her. “Come on, Donna. Let's step into my private office, shall we?”

“You're what?” she questioned him. Then followed him to the broken window.

The rain was coming down in sheets, and the night was still punctuated by lightning, periodically illuminating the house and its surrounding moors like a giant flashbulb. The Doctor took off his coat and put it around Donna's shoulders. Then, he stepped through the window and held out his hand to her once more. Donna just stared at him like he'd gone off his head.

“I'm not flippin' goin' out there!” She spluttered. “I'll be soaked from head to foot!”

“You will be eventually, anyway. Might as well take the plunge and get it over with.” He said, as the rain began to plaster the Doctor's hair to his scalp, and soak through his blue suit. His burgundy trainers were slowly sinking into the mud of the flower bed. “Come on, what're you afraid of?” He chided her, “It's only water Donna, not corrosive acid. Put my coat over your head if you're worried about messing up your hairdo”

“I am not worried about my hair--oh, what's the use? Alright, I give.” Donna sighed, deciding further protest was going to get her nil. “But I swear, you are so going to owe me one after this. Forget Acapulco, I'm thinking two weeks on the French Riviera....with Johnny Depp...or at the very least,” she added, flashing him a cheeky grin, “one of those Chippendale dancers.”

Climbing though the broken window with the Doctor's assistance, Donna stood with his coat over her head, getting pelted by the rain. Standing close to her ear, the Doctor explained the need for privacy. He was well aware that Legion could understand their words, and he didn't want it to be eavesdropping on this particular discussion. In a low voice, he told Donna what he had in mind.

“No.” Donna protested, with a vehement shake of her head. “No way. I'm not leaving you to go traipsing about on your own in that house. Anything could happen!”

“Please, Donna.” The Doctor pleaded urgently. “I don't like asking you to do this, but, Time Lord genius that I am, I still can't be in two places at once. Well,” He conceded, “I can be if I call on one of my past or future selves. But, why bother them? They're probably off having the time of their lives, saving the universe from Yeti, Zygons, whatever the monster du jour is. Seriously though, Donna,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking at her intently, as she peered up at him from under the dripping coat, “I really do need you. I can't do it alone.”

“Oh, alright. Tell me what you need me to do.” She sighed. “I'm warning you though, if you get yourself killed, I'm so going to murder you.” The Doctor laughed and hugged her. Promising he'd do his best not to force her to that extreme, he thanked Donna and watched her run off into the stormy night.

Once back inside the house, the Doctor didn't waste time. He went back through the window into the library and snatched up a torch he'd found in the kitchen. While he'd sonicked the lamp back on in the library, the rest of the home was still in the dark. Once out the library door, he bounded upstairs as fast as his legs could carry him. The Doctor didn't stop until he reached the top floor. After a quick, frantic search, he finally found the door to the box room, which was located under the rafters of the home.

As the Doctor's hand clutched the door handle, however, he found that it came away sticky and wet. Shining the light on his hand, he saw it and the door handle were covered with blood. Shutting his eyes tight, the Doctor concentrated, putting a block on a certain part of his mind. Opening his eyes, he glanced down and saw that his hand and the door handle, were both now dry as a bone.

“Oh, nice try Legion ol' son. I'll give you four marks for effort, but afraid I'll have to tick you off for complete lack of originality. I'd think you'd know by now that your tricks won't work on me.” The Doctor said out loud. “Bit thick for a paranormal entity, aren't you?”

Slowly opening the door, the Doctor shone the torch around the room. Dust motes danced like midges in its beam, as he played it around the walls, floors and ceiling. There was nothing in there but a dust-covered dresser with one drawer missing, a few plastic storage crates stacked in one corner, and a forlorn looking artificial potted plant. Cobwebs hung from walls and rafters like Christmas tree icicles. He squinted against a sudden glare, temporarily blinded when a particularly close bolt of lightning hit nearby. The simultaneous crack of thunder shook the building.

The intense white flash of the lightning shone through the dormer window facing the home's drive, filling the small room with it's light for a fraction of a second. And, in that one tiny moment in which the Doctor couldn't see, he was unable to know that he was no longer alone in the room.