Doctor Who: Bad Therapy (19 page)

He screamed as a hand broke the surface of the muddy trench floor, pushing its way up into the air. Chris watched in horror as a young man pulled himself out of the floor of the battle-trodden trench and collapsed, naked as a newborn, beside him.

‘Is it. . . It is time.’ The young man’s voice was soft and full of wonder. His eyes lit up, innocent and the purest blue.

‘No!’ Chris yelled, pushing the young man away, wanting to push him back into the ground where he had come from. ‘No, it isn’t time. Bring him back.

Do you hear me? Bring him back!’

The light above the trench flickered once and then failed. The sky went out like a light bulb.

A long silver spear flashed in the darkness.

Chris woke up sweating and disorientated. He was in the carriage on the train. The blank-faced mannequin which had attacked him in the wood was standing over the sleepers. Absurdly, it was wearing a ticket inspector’s uniform.

A long silver spear flashed in the darkness.

Julia Mannheim sat, resting her head in her hands, at one of the functional tables in the deserted staff refectory of the Petruska Psychiatric Research Institute. She watched as the Doctor busied himself in the kitchen; he seemed to be taking an awfully long time making two cups of coffee.

There had to be a rational explanation for what had happened. A reasonable explanation. One that didn’t involve body-snatching. The details of the Doctor’s story weren’t clear: Julia still wasn’t sure who had been driving the taxi, but the idea that the ‘human material’ came from the streets of London horrified her.

She would have dismissed the Doctor’s tale out of hand, except she couldn’t find a more convincing explanation for the boy. Compared to their American counterparts, British hospitals were quite disorganized and Julia had never had much faith in them, but even they didn’t make basic mistakes like that.

If only she could find the director: Moriah would be able to sort this situation out. It was his responsibility after all. But the director wasn’t in his office, and there was no answer from the telephone in his private quarters.

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The Doctor pottered over from the kitchen, wearing the striped pyjamas which Julia had hunted out from one of the empty wards. He was carrying two cups of frothing coffee in his hands.

‘Cappuccino!’ he declared proudly. ‘Not easy with only a battered saucepan, an egg whisk and sterilized milk. We’ll have to manage without powdered chocolate, I’m afraid. Now, how are you feeling, Doctor Mannheim?’

‘Julia, call me Julia please. Doctor Mannheim always makes me think of my father. I’m a little shocked to be honest. It’s not everyday that I share morning coffee with the dead.’

‘Or discover that someone in your organization is kidnapping people, perhaps killing them. I rather suspect that Jack and I weren’t supposed to survive the trip from London.’

‘Jesus H Christ,’ she breathed, and closed her eyes. ‘I’m still having a lot of difficulty believing that, I’m afraid.’ Julia opened her eyes to see the Doctor staring thoughtfully at her. Evaluating her. Did he think that she had something to do with this?

‘Look, you need to speak to Professor Moriah,’ she began, detesting the de-fensiveness in her voice. ‘He’s responsible for liaison with the other hospitals.

I just can’t believe that this is happening. This is supposed to be a hospital for Christsakes!’ She rooted through her labcoat pockets until she found her cigarettes. Her hands were shaking as she tried to light one.

‘I imagine it was easier when you thought that I was delusional.’

Julia giggled nervously, something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. She was embarrassed at how quick she’d been to diagnose the Doctor.

‘I’m sorry about that. You’ve got to admit that you’re pretty eccentric.’

If the Doctor was offended by her remark, he didn’t show it. ‘I should like to know about this. . . Institute. How did a nice American psychiatrist like you come to be working in an English asylum?’

‘I was working with Carl Rogers in Wisconsin. Moriah poached me, offering a great salary and my own research team. It was only when I arrived in England that I learnt the full extent of his work.’

‘Oh yes?’ The suspicion in the Doctor’s voice was evident.

Julia shook her head impatiently. ‘No, nothing like that. Quite the reverse.

He had only just started on his work then, but what he’d developed was astonishing.’

The Doctor leant forward, clearly interested. ‘What? What had he developed?’

Caught up in her own enthusiasm, Julia stood up and nodded at the door.

‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

∗ ∗ ∗

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Chris was wide awake in a second, instinctively leaping into action. He pushed himself off the bench, knocking Patsy on to the floor as he did so, causing her to swear loudly. He made a clumsy leap at the blank-faced creature who stood straddling the sleepers.

Chris caught the side of the bloody spear as it came down for the second time, knocking it out of the creature’s hand. He had a second to act before it was going to pummel him to death with those impossibly powerful fists.

Keeping low, Chris rammed his shoulder into its stomach and succeeded in knocking it over backwards on to the far bench in the carriage. A cry escaped from it. Primal and furious, like a half-made child. It made Chris shudder.

He stole a glance at the other occupants of the carriage. The oldest sleeper –

the woman – was writhing on the floor, her back arching and her arms flailing wildly around her. Blood poured from the spear wounds on either side of her throat. She appeared to be only vaguely conscious. Her eyes were closed. She was going to die and there was nothing Chris could do to save her. Now he needed a plan to keep the rest of them alive.

He was surprised to see that Patsy had already gathered the young boy up in her arms and was heading for the door. Her face was stern; she looked frightened but determined. Like an Adjudicator.

‘Quick,’ she snapped, ‘stay behind me and for Goddess’ sake keep it away from the child.’

The faceless creature was already clambering to its feet. Chris slammed the carriage door behind them and headed off after Patsy and the boy. Running along the tight corridors of the train felt like running through a fun house, the movement of the train kept undermining his attempts to stay firmly balanced.

That would be a serious problem if it came to hand-to-hand combat.

The train was almost deserted. Just a few people scattered throughout its winding length. Chris hoped that they had the good sense to keep out of the creature’s way or else things were going to get very messy. He called to them, telling them to close the blinds that looked on to the long corridor, and to keep quiet.

Patsy was opening the door to the last carriage when they heard some passengers start screaming behind them. ‘Guess who,’ she said, grimacing.

‘Are we just running blindly or do you have a plan?’

‘You’re the policeman. Don’t you have one?’

Chris shook his head. ‘No. I mean apart from just generally staying alive.’

‘Fine. We’ll use my plan then.’

Summer sunlight streamed into the ward from the large Victorian windows through which the ornate gardens of the Institute could be glimpsed. The room resounded with laughter and the sound of children playing, happily and 107

unselfconsciously. The ward was full of couples. Mothers and sons, lovers, brothers and sisters – everywhere the Doctor looked people were paired off.

No one in the room was alone.

Two young girls ran up to him, all pigtails and giggles. He raised his hat, but they ignored him, haring off suddenly in the direction of a playhouse.

‘You don’t have to be polite to them, Doctor,’ Julia Mannheim said, standing next to him. ‘They’re not real.’

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply but changed his mind. He meekly followed Julia over to a bed at the far side of the room.

The occupant was a boy of no more than twelve, dark-haired and fast asleep. His elfin face looked troubled even in sleep; his brow was furrowed and his lower lip protruded slightly. ‘Benjamin,’ Julia said, indicating the boy.

To the Doctor, her voice sounded artificially neutral, as if she were trying to prevent herself expressing strong feelings.

In a high-backed orthopaedic chair next to the bed, someone had placed a life-size doll. It was blank-faced, like a giant artist’s mannequin. It made an absurd hospital visitor. The Doctor moved forward to investigate it, but Julia held him back.

‘Watch,’ she said.

The boy’s face twitched as he began to stir. The mannequin jerked into life as if struck by a bolt of electricity. Moving more slowly, it leant forward and began to stroke Benjamin’s hair.

‘Ben was a manic depressive who suffered intense panic attacks,’ Julia said, quietly.

‘Was?’ the Doctor asked.

Julia didn’t respond to this remark.

As the boy woke, the mannequin by his side began to develop the features of a young human male. The blank-faced doll was now a fresh-faced, care-free teenager; perhaps two years older than the boy in the bed.

‘Hi Ben,’ the newly made teenage boy said. ‘I’m Ned. Let’s be mates.’

‘I’m impressed,’ the Doctor murmured.

‘Don’t be,’ Julia said quietly, taking a small device from her labcoat pocket.

It was the remote control unit the Doctor had seen her use to activate the three-dimensional hologram. All movement in the room ceased. One of the girls whom the Doctor had encountered earlier had been in the act of jumping from the roof of the playhouse when Julia put the whole scene on pause. Now the little girl hung motionlessly in the air, three feet above the ground – her knees tucked up beneath her and an expression of wild glee frozen upon her face. The child was a ball of energy just waiting to burst back into life.

The Doctor took in the rest of the frozen faces and bodies in the room. It was as if someone had stopped time, stealing all the noise and activity from 108

the room. The Doctor took the small device from Julia and peered at it.

‘This could take all the fun out of musical statues.’

‘Don’t worry, it couldn’t affect a real person. I’ve only frozen a pre-recorded three-dimensional image. The scene you’ve just witnessed was recorded here last summer.’

The Doctor coughed, politely. ‘I was joking. I know exactly what this machine does. I also know that it is far beyond the technology of even the great-est Earth scientists. And I should know, I’ve thrown together a few of these myself. I suppose the person who made this is also responsible for those chameleon mannequins?’

Julia nodded. ‘This is all Moriah’s work. He’d already begun developing the Toys before I joined the Institute.’

‘Toys?’

Julia smiled, and looked a little embarrassed. ‘Our nickname for the mannequins. They’re genetically engineered therapy instruments. Our aim was to create an artificial yet responsive individual who would facilitate therapeutic relationships with the mentally ill.’

The Doctor considered this. ‘Therapy without therapists. Very clever.’

‘It was a medical revolution!’ Julia exclaimed, the pride evident in her voice.

‘My work with Carl Rogers in the States had been focused on the qualities a therapist needs to engender positive therapeutic change in their patients.

Rogers discovered that those conditions were empathy, unconditional positive regard and genuineness on the part of the therapist. Moriah was able to sew those qualities into the genetic fabric of the Toys. We built our own therapists.’

The Doctor went to put this hands in his pockets, realizing too late that he wasn’t wearing his jacket. Feeling awkward, he locked his fingers behind his back instead. ‘This is different to psychotherapy though, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is. Much more. The Toys can empathically sense who the patient needs around them and actually
become
that person. If a patient is severely emotionally and developmentally damaged and needs to be reparented, the Toy will respond by becoming a mother or father. We had our best successes with patients whose illnesses were triggered by a bereavement. With the Toys, we’ve been able to bring the lost person back in order for the patient to work through their unresolved issues.’

The Doctor closed his eyes, unable to prevent himself imagining Roslyn Forrester’s features appearing on the face of one of the Toys. His throat became dry and he swallowed uncomfortably. ‘I see,’ he whispered hoarsely. It was all he could manage.

Julia didn’t appear to have noticed his discomfort. ‘The Toys have also provided physical care for their patients,’ she said, ‘releasing friends and family of the mentally ill from any caring responsibilities. It was this aspect of their 109

design which assured that the Institute was able to secure major government funding.’

‘I can see that would be politically attractive,’ the Doctor murmured, recovering his composure. ‘So what went wrong?’

‘Some of the Toys became. . . unreliable. Anti-therapeutic.’

‘Anti-therapeutic?’

Taking the remote control from the Doctor, Julia pressed a button and said,

‘Watch.’

The whole ward fast-forwarded crazily around them as Julia searched through the hologrammatic recording. As night spiralled into day and back again, half-glimpsed images flickered across the Doctor’s vision – it felt as if he had fallen into a video recorder.

Julia slowed the recording to show scenes of Benjamin and Ned playing football, building a den and watching movies together. The last image was of Ben and Ned in the ward, where they were teasing some of the other patients and Toys. The boys were being aggressive and rude; Ben hovered slightly behind Ned, looking pleased to be getting into trouble.

The hologram froze – the words FILE 786: JONES, BENJAMIN. FILE STATUS: CLOSED appeared floating in the air in front of them. Julia deactivated the device and the hologrammatic scene faded to reveal the now silent ward. The beds and equipment had all been removed, only the blank-faced mannequins remained, littered throughout the room. A forest of dormant Toys. Some were slumped in chairs, others stood with their heads resting on their chests, several had collapsed on to the floor. The summer sunshine had disappeared with the hologram, in the cold grey of the early October morning the flesh of the mannequins looked loose, pale and stained.