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Happy For Deep People	By : DJCo Category: 1 through F > Doctor Who Views: 3852 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are the property of the BBC. I am in no way associated with the owners or producers of "Doctor Who" and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 3
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- 5
Hannah emerged from the bathroom and found Larry sitting at the kitchen table, browsing away on his Laptop.
“Hey,” he said, turning away from the monitor to face her. His eyes almost popped out of his socket when he saw the small towel she was nearly wearing. “Um... welcome back,” he gulped.
“Hey yourself,” she replied. “Where's Sally?”
Larry inhaled deeply. “She's... gone shopping.”
Hannah looked at him incredulously. “Now?” she said.
“Yep,” Larry replied unconvincingly, cursing himself. “Big grocery shop. She was looking in the fridge and said; “Damn, we haven't got any...”” He thought for a moment. “...“Orange Juice”.” He winced.
“Where is she?” Hannah asked. Before he could fully draw breath to reply, she added; “The truth.”
Larry's shoulders deflated. “Gone to see a man about a dog.”
Hannah looked at him for a moment. “About me?”
He nodded, then added quickly; “Not that I'm calling you a dog!”
Hannah rolled her eyes wearily.
Larry cleared his throat. “We think there might be someone who can tell us what's going on. Sally's gone to meet them,” he said, hoping to allay her fears.
“Who?” she asked, looking more than a little worried.
He hesitated before admitting; “We don't know.” Before she could protest, he added. “Don't worry. Your sister knows what she's doing. She's gone to a public place.”
Hannah looked at him sceptically, then nodded.
Larry breathed a sigh of relief, then tried to change the subject. “You know, Sally's dressing gown's in the bathroom. You could've put that on.”
She shrugged. “It's hot,” she said, walking over to the sink.
Larry frowned. It wasn't that hot... “Is it?” he asked, a little concerned that perhaps she was beginning to display symptoms of whatever had been injected into her system. “Are you feeling OK?”
She nodded and reiterated; “Just a bit hot, that's all.” Leaning against the worktop, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
Larry gulped. The small towel she was wearing really left little to the imagination. “Why don't I find you a bigger towel?” he said.
“I shouldn't have let her go.” Hannah stared into space, her eyes far away.
Despite feeling a responsibility to maintain a positive attitude, Larry empathised with her fear. “She'll be okay,” he said, trying to convince himself.
Hannah nodded, then without warning suddenly placed both her hands down on the work surface behind her to support her body weight, and jumped up backwards to sit up next to the sink.
Larry turned away instinctively, embarrassed and unsure where to look, for the small towel didn't even reach past her knees. If she were to suddenly part or cross her legs, there would be nothing to stop him from getting a full view.
A few years ago, Larry mused, when he had been eighteen and no girl would look at him twice to see past his unfashionable mum-bought casual clothes and extreme geekiness, he would have welcomed an attractive girl like Hannah parading in front of him in nothing but a skimpy towel. But he wasn't eighteen any more, and this was his girlfriend's little sister.
“Sally did well when she found you,” Hannah said with a smile that seemed genuine.
He smiled back, a little taken aback by the unexpected compliment. “Thanks,” he replied.
“No worries,” she said.
That was something Sally said a lot. “You're so like her,” he observed.
“Thanks,” Hannah replied, taking her turn to be grateful for the compliment. “Well,” she added quickly, “in some ways, yeah. I mean, I don't hang around museums and art galleries and read antiquarian books and take photos of sad things.” Her tone carried a hint of mock disparagement, which only barely masked a deep affection for her sister. “Her idea of a good night is a cup of cocoa and a good book.”
“That's a bit unfair,” Larry countered. “You make her sound really boring.”
“Isn't she?” Hannah challenged, turning her head away from him. The remark was made under her breath, and as much to herself as to him.
Larry noted the subtle change in tone toward apparently genuine bitchiness. “What's that about?” he asked, surprised.
Hannah shook her head dismissively. “Sorry. Don't get me wrong, I love her to bits,” she qualified, “but... I don't know... maybe she could do with lightening up and letting her hair down a bit.”
Larry looked at her for a moment. Were they both thinking of the same person? Could it be that this young woman didn't really know her sister at all? True, Sally had her bookish side, but she was also an incredibly gutsy young woman with instincts bordering on recklessness; She was the woman who faced the Weeping Angels, the woman with more than a passing interest in urban exploration who risked entering an unsafe structure (and prosecution for trespassing, should she be caught) just to get a few photos... Or could that be classed as stupidity rather than bravery? For such an intelligent woman, Sally could be unbelievably reckless sometimes. That interesting duality was one of the things he loved her for, although he had to admit that right now, he resented her impulsiveness and wished that she were just sitting in the next room with her head in a book.
He considered that this particular streak might have been tempered by her having taken so much premature responsibility for her sister after their father's abrupt departure. That had certainly been the cause of Sally's bout of atypical depression during her late teens, which had impacted on her school and University work. She had only scraped the grades required for entry into University, and had later dropped out of her degree course entirely, despite her intellect. Sally was one of the cleverest people Larry had ever met, but he had to concede that she was wasted working in a DVD shop.
Now she had their relationship, and her photography, and she seemed happy despite the loss of her best friend, now that she bore less responsibility for her family, and Hannah in particular. “You might be surprised,” he said, “if you got to know her better now.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Maybe,” she conceded, “but she can be really overprotective sometimes. She still sees me as her kid sister.”
“You are,” he countered.
“Yeah, but I'm eighteen!” she spat. “I'm old enough to drink, drive and have sex!”
“Not at the same time though,” he quipped, “'cause that would be a bit dangerous.”
Hannah tried, and almost failed, to suppress a grin. “You know,” she began, thinking, “if she got back that spark she had a few years ago... I remember one time,” she laughed, “when I was being bullied by some older girls at school, Sally stuck up for me and ended up hitting one of them!” She chuckled at the memory. “I think that was the only time she ever got into trouble.”
Larry smiled. “There you go,” he said, happy that the Hannah he knew seemed to be back in the room after her ordeal.
Hannah's smile faded slowly, and she fixed him with a stare that seemed almost... pitying. “Look,” she said, “I don't want to be horrible, but...” she trailed off and took a deep breath.
“What?” he prodded.
“I'm not sure I should say this...”
“What?” he pressed again.
“Just that... well, hold onto her, Larry. I just mean that, if she's coming out of one of her “dark periods”,” she rolled her eyes, “then she might not want to settle for... well, the shop... for much longer.”
Larry blinked, taken aback and a little offended. “What's wrong with the shop?”
“Nothing,” Hannah replied. “I just meant... her life. She's smart, Larry. If she's getting back to her old self again then she might want a bit more than just... working in a shop.”
Larry stared at her for a moment, knowing exactly what she was getting at. “You mean me?” he said. “You mean she might not be quite as willing to settle for boring old me.”
“I didn't say that!” she protested, backtracking a little.
“You didn't need to...” he scolded. “You think I'm not good enough for her? You think she just settled for me because she was feeling down and no-one else would have her? Is that it?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I'm sorry, Larry. I didn't mean to be rude. You're a great guy. There's nothing wrong with you... I just meant that...” she clearly struggled to backtrack.
“I know what you meant,” he said. “You think she's going to dump me before long, right?”
Hannah closed her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly, keeping her head down, unable to look at him.
Larry let out a long sigh. “Don't be,” he said finally. “It's not like I haven't thought the same thing.”
She looked up at him then. “Huh? Really?”
He met her gaze, and nodded. “Yeah.” Then, looking at the floor, he added; “She's too good for me.”
Hannah's head lolled to one side in an expression of sympathy.
“We've not been as close lately,” he continued. “She keeps... shutting me out.”
A faint smile of recognition played across Hannah's face. “Yeah, she'll do that.” She picked up an unopened letter from a pile of mail next to her and began fanning herself with it. “So...” she began, unsure how to phrase the question on her mind. “It's been a while for you then?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You know...” she said, before making an obscene gesture by forming a circle with her left thumb and forefinger, and pushing her right index finger through it repeatedly to signify sexual intercourse.
Larry's eyes widened in undisguised shock. “I don't think that's any of your business!”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “You're right, I'm sorry.”
There was an awkward silence, before Larry spoke. “A little while, yeah,” he conceded.
Hannah looked at him, mischievously. “How long?”
He rolled his eyes and looked at her sheepishly. “A couple of months, maybe...”
Her eyes widened. “Wow...” she said. After a moment she added; “Me too.”
“You what?” he asked. “You've done it?”
She rolled her eyes. “I'm eighteen, Larry.”
“Right,” he said, remembering how mature and grown up he had thought himself to be at that age and humouring her. “I keep forgetting.”
“Mmm,” she nodded. “Well... I've only done it once, but keep that to yourself.” She winked mischievously.
He smiled thinly. “I will. That's nothing to be ashamed of, though. You're still young; plenty of time for that.”
“What if there isn't?” she asked, sounding genuinely fearful once again. “What if I've got some disease that means I'm going to die and I never get to do anything like that again?!”
“Hey,” he said, rising to his feet. “Don't think like that. We're going to sort this out, whatever's happened to you, Sally'll be back soon and we'll get to the bottom of it. You're going to be okay.”
He walked over to her and put his arms around her. She returned his embrace, and they held each other for a few moments. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck as she held onto him tightly, and the softness of her refreshed skin as her cheek brushed against his as she pulled away from him. She sniffled, fighting back tears.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded, and then screwed her eyes shut tightly. “I just feel so... hot,” she said.
“What, like you're gonna faint or something?” he said worriedly.
“A bit light-headed, yeah,” she replied.
“Hold on,” Larry said, “I'll get you some water.” He took a clean glass from the draining board – the one she had drunk from earlier – and ran it under some cold water from the tap. He handed it to her.
Hannah accepted it with both hands and sipped from it shakily.
“OK?” Larry asked.
She nodded again, saying nothing.
“Come and sit here,” he implored her, gesturing to the chair he had been sitting in at the table. He went to grab it, to move it closer to Hannah so that she may sit down, but as he turned his back he heard a smashing noise as she dropped the glass of water.
He jumped, as Hannah exclaimed; “Shit!”
“It's OK,” he assured her.
“I'm sorry! It just slipped...”
“Don't worry about it. Just stay there. Don't move.” Hannah was barefoot, and what was left of the glass now decorated the floor, along with its slippery contents, directly beneath where she would have to put her feet in order to jump down from the worktop.
Worse still, the dustpan-and-brush he needed to clear up the mess were in one of the cupboards under the sink... directly behind where Hannah's bare legs were dangling over the side of the worktop, just short of reaching the floor. There wasn't enough room between the sink and the wall for her to shift along to give him access.
“Um,” he said awkwardly, “I need to get to the cupboard under where you're sitting...”
She blushed. “Oh, right... OK. Um... Hold on,” she tried several ways to move her legs upward while holding onto the end of her towel with both hands, trying not to let it ride further up her legs. Larry averted his gaze, but couldn't help his eyes shifting back towards her.
“Stop looking!” she said.
“I wasn't!” he protested.
“Yes you were!” she giggled.
“Sorry...”
“OK,” she said. “How's that?”
When he turned his attention fully towards her once again, she had brought her legs together tightly, raised her knees to her chest, and planted her feet firmly on the worktop. To further hide her modesty, she had her hands under her legs and was holding the base of the towel against her thighs.
“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly as he opened the cupboard and retrieved what he needed as quickly as he could. Closing the door, he grabbed some kitchen roll and then knelt down and began to soak up the water, while brushing the broken glass into the dustpan. He noticed that she didn't put her legs down again, instead choosing to remain in her awkward position up on the worktop.
He glanced up, and his heart almost leapt out of his chest as he realised that she had in fact parted her legs slightly and stopped holding the towel, causing the bottom of it to drop to reveal... everything, if he looked for long enough.
In a heartbeat, Larry looked down again, feeling like a kid, wondering if she had caught him looking. He felt his cheeks begin to warm up and turn scarlet, and another, even more unwanted reaction begin to happen.
Shit.
He began to get to his feet, awkwardly, but she soon stopped him; “You missed a bit.”
There was a playfulness to her tone. Was she winding him up?
“Oh...” he said, chuckling nervously. “Where?”
“Right there!” she said, as if it were obvious.
He looked around but couldn't see any more shards of glass lying around. “Are you sure?”
“Well, if you look at me, you'll see where I'm pointing,” she said, perfectly logically.
Slowly, awkwardly, he looked up. Still, she seemed not to care that she was flashing him. He followed her finger to where she pointed to a tiny fragment of glass that had settled under the table, and was glistening in the dull sunlight from the window. “Oh.”
He knelt down again, this time with his back to her, and brushed it into the pan. He suddenly felt her foot touch his back, as if she were trying to play footsie with him.
He sighed. “Hannah,” he said, turning toward her direction but without rising to his feet. “What –” but before he could finish with, '...are you doing?', she pointedly opened her legs wide and crossed them, clearly flashing him deliberately, all the while looking at him with a lascivious look on her face. In a heartbeat, he caught a brief shadowed glimpse of her most intimate area and the delicate wet curls of the hair between her legs.
His jaw hit the floor. His heart was pounding, and he had to consciously remember to breathe.
“Wha-? What did you do that for?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.
“Do what?” she asked, playing the innocent.
“Don't give me that,” he said, as firmly as he could. “You just Sharon Stoned me.”
She looked at him quizzically, shaking her head. “I don't even know what that means.”
“Yes you do,” he said, taking no bullshit from her.
A small, seductive smile played across her girlish features. “Oh”, she said pointedly, making a play of it, as if she were just clocking on to what he was talking about. “Did you see something you shouldn't have? Maybe you shouldn't have been looking?”
“What are you doing?” he asked, genuinely confused. She had never shown any inclination toward being attracted to him before.
She was sweating, and looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Like what you saw?”
“Stop it!” he said, more firmly this time.
“Larry, I can't stand it!” she said, the façade slipping for a moment and revealing the frightened young girl beneath. “I need you.” Without further warning, and before he could protest, she unfastened the knot in her towel and let it drop onto the worktop. She sat, naked, her legs open invitingly, while Larry's mouth hung open.
"Oh. My. God,” he exclaimed.
“Please...” she breathed.
“No...” Despite his restraint, he couldn't deny the involuntary physical reaction to what he was seeing.
“Larry...”
“STOP IT!” he yelled. “Just stop it! Put the towel back on.”
“I know you want me,” she said, her voice sultry.
“I'm with Sally,” he asserted. “Your sister!”
“She's not here,” Hannah replied, seemingly without a care in the world.
This had to be the virus. It had to be. “This isn't you,” he said.
In response, Hannah parted her legs widely and reached down with her right hand and began to stroke herself lightly, letting her delicate fingers glide over her clitoris as she closed her eyes.
“Oh God!” Larry exclaimed quietly, feeling like Dustin Hoffman in some perverse age-reversal of The Graduate. He suddenly felt light-headed and a little queasy, while his arousal continued to overwhelm him. No, he realised, this wasn't The Graduate, this was Lolita.
The decision to acquiesce to her advances was not his own. Rather, as if some unseen force were taking over his body and controlling his actions, he wandered absently toward her, his heart beating rapidly.
Hannah, her eyes shut tightly, suddenly felt a pair of strong arms reach around her waist. Her eyes snapped open, and she smiled as she proceeded to unbutton his black jeans and pull them down along with his boxer shorts.
Hannah pulled him closer to her then, and gripped his penis tightly in her hand and guided him as he slowly, all other concerns suddenly forgotten, entered her.

* * * *
Sally's car screeched to a halt outside her flat. She had driven far too fast on the way home, and she considered that she was lucky not to have been pulled over. She sprinted to the front door and fumbled for her key. As she went to put it in the lock, she was surprised to find the door not only unlocked, but slightly ajar.
Feeling uneasy, she pushed open the door and called out; “Hello? Larry?! Hannah?!”
There was no answer.
She bounded up the stairs to the flat as quickly as she could, taking two steps at a time. Something was wrong, and she felt a knot in her stomach. She burst into the kitchen, and spotted broken glass on the floor, along with a discarded dustpan and brush that looked like they had been dropped.
“Hannah?!” she called again, more frantically this time. “Larry?!” She opened every door in the flat, starting with the front room. Where had they gone? Where would they have gone?
Sally flung open the door to the bedroom and froze. Larry lay on the bed, as naked as when she had first set eyes on him, his eyes fixed open in an almost petrified stare. His clothes were strewn about the floor, clearly discarded in a hurry.
“What...?” Sally began, in shock. She looked him up and down, churning over the information the scene presented to her. The bed was a mess, the covers halfway on the floor; it looked like it had been more than just slept in. To anyone looking at this scene who didn't know Larry, or Hannah, it would seem obvious what had happened.
But that just wasn't possible.
That scenario was just too awful to contemplate. There must be another explanation.
Right now, one question overrode all others. “Where's Hannah?” Her voice was small, tiny, as if it were coming from someone else. From what Dr. Shaw had told her, Hannah might have started to display symptoms of her infection by now. She had rushed home to warn Larry, and now she found him... like this. No, she told herself, he couldn't have.
“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “She... ” he faltered, “she threw herself at me.”
Sally let out a vocalised gasp, as every breath of air was knocked out of her body by the force of a thousand waves.
Her vision clouded as her eyes filled with tears. A thunderbolt shot down her spine, leaving an icy chill in its wake. In an instant, her world turned upside down and everything she thought she knew was proven wrong.
She tried to ignore the lump in her throat, to no avail, and a single tear escaped down her cheek. In a daze she turned and walked slowly toward the kitchen, her breathing laboured. The short distance felt like a marathon, every step a chore as if she were wading through a lake. She suddenly found herself at the kitchen sink, not remembering the journey there. Her hands were shaking, her heart was pounding, and it felt for all the world as if it had been ripped out, crushed and rammed back into her chest.
Larry came running into the kitchen behind her, tying up his dressing gown, tears streaming down his face. “Sally!” he cried. “I'm so sorry!” He caught his breath. “I don't know what...”
Without warning a surge of adrenaline pumped through her and, almost as if she were possessed, she picked up a plate from the draining board, wheeled around and launched it at him with every ounce of her strength. Channelling all her rage and pain into the action, she let out an almighty scream.
He moved quickly, dodging the plate, which hit the wall behind him and smashed into several pieces. “You fucking BASTARD!!!” she shouted, powered by her rage. All too suddenly, the adrenaline coursing through her body subsided and she deflated, feeling unable to summon the strength to even speak. Unable to help herself, she broke down into uncontrollable sobs, clasping her hand over her mouth and consciously forcing herself not to crumple to the floor.
“Sal-” he began through his own tears, but she cut him off.
“I feel sick!” she managed, the last word a barely audible harsh whisper as she choked back her sobs.
“I...” he threw up his hands in a gesture of despair. “I... I couldn't help...!”
“Oh, please!” she threw back. “What, you couldn't help yourself?! An eighteen-year-old girl throws herself at you and...” she choked on her words, “...and you just jump into bed with her?! What happened... I... I wasn't good enough for you, is that it?!”
“No...!”
“You... you were so... ecstatic that an attractive young woman was finally giving you the time of day?! You... the...” she struggled for an appropriate insult, “the nerdy, socially inept geek who couldn't get a date to save his life finally gets a bit of attention and he can't help himself?!!? Is that all I ever was to you?!”
“No! It wasn't like that!” he protested, crying.
“You're all the same aren't you!” she cried, the tears streaming now. “Lawrence Nightingale, you're just like every other man on the planet! Never do your thinking with your brains!!!” Her words trailed off as she caught her breath. “How...” she began, her breathing heavy. “How could you...?” Her legs felt weak, and as she began to hyperventilate, they gave way beneath her. She sank to the floor, cupping her hands together over her face and breathing into them, unable to speak any more, her chest heaving.
“Sally...” Larry began, still sobbing. “I'm sorry,” he said, “but she's gone.”
Sally forced herself to look vaguely in his general direction, and as her breathing calmed down she felt a tingling sensation throughout her body, concentrated in the tips of her fingers. Her blood ran cold and she trembled quietly from head to toe. “Gone?” she said eventually, the word barely more than a breath.
“She just left...” he said. “After we... I-I couldn't stop her...” he buried his head in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Sally gasped, and shut her eyes, screwing them up tightly. This wasn't happening. This had to be a nightmare. Any moment now, she would wake up with a start, shudder and thank goodness that it had all been a dream, then curl up and go back to sleep.
Except she wouldn't.
She knew she wouldn't. She ran her hands through her hair, covering her ears and shutting out all noise from the outside world as she retreated into the relative safety of her own fractured mind.
She was falling. Falling... falling... The wind rushed past as she plummeted into the depths of her psyche, the only sound the pounding of her heartbeat echoing through her body as though being heard inside a vast chamber. Slowly, a scream built in volume, getting louder and louder. She recognised the voice; it was her own. Her head was thumping now. Another voice struggled to be heard over the scream, a voice calling her name...
Sally... Sally...
“Sally!” came the muffled cry. The voice belonged to Larry.
Suddenly the scream, the heartbeat, the rush of the wind all stopped dead. Slowly she looked up.
“Sally, what are we going to do?” he pleaded. “We have to call the police or something?”
She inhaled sharply. “No...” she breathed. Sally remembered what Dr. Shaw had told her. As if they'd been administered a powerful aphrodisiac. She knew exactly where Hannah would be. She forced herself to her feet, supporting her weight by using the edge of the worktop to haul herself up slowly. Larry moved to help her up, but she flinched, recoiling from his touch. “Don't...” she spat, holding up her hand to stop him coming any closer. “Don't you dare touch me.”
He moved back, and sank into one of the dining chairs, utterly defeated.
Sally summoned all her strength to put one foot in front of the other and move out of her own way. She walked past Lawrence as if he weren't there and left the kitchen for the stairs to the front door.

* * * *
She slammed the car door and sat for a few moments, her hands clasped around the steering wheel and her head resting against it. She let out a long breath, channelling all the rage, pain and hatred into it. It felt as if the world wasn't real, as if the rest of humanity were going about their daily business without a care in the world; slowly she lifted her head and watched people laughing, talking, coming and going, all completely oblivious to the excruciating pain she was feeling.
Her hand trembled as she tried to place the key in the ignition, taking a few goes of missing the keyhole before she finally managed to fit it in. Turning the key, she started the engine, the familiar thrum seeming louder than usual as she grabbed her seatbelt and, again taking a few moments for her trembling hand to find the slot, clicked it into place.
She paused for a few moments to get her bearings. There was a bar called The White Room just a few streets away, where Sally had taken Hannah for a drink a few months ago after she had turned eighteen. Hannah had spent the evening eyeing up the barman and getting hit on by a couple of guys around her age. She had revelled in the attention, and had joked about going back there more often. As the closest bar, it was the likeliest place Sally could think of that Hannah might have gone to in her present state of mind.
She knew that Hannah wasn't thinking straight, that she was unwell and not herself. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault that her older sister's boyfriend was a scumbag who would take advantage of her in an insensible state.
She just wished she herself had been able to see through him sooner, before he would have had the opportunity to break her heart.
Sally slammed her palm down on the steering wheel in rage and frustration. Then, taking a long deep breath, she released the handbrake and set off to The White Room.

* * * *
It didn't take long to find Hannah.
After arriving at The White Room Sally entered the bar area and approached the barmaid, a blonde young girl of about 19 who had clearly been hired as much for how good she looked in a tight top than for any possible talent for pulling pints.
Sally happened to have a photo of Hannah on her person, a holiday snap taken a few years ago in Benidorm when her sister had been about 15; thankfully she hadn't changed too much in the interim. She withdrew the photo from her purse as she addressed the barmaid, who regarded her attentively. “Excuse me,” she said wearily, “I'm looking for this girl.” She held up the photo. “She's a few years older now but she looks pretty much the same. Have you seen her?”
If Sally's jaded expression, swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks caught the girl's attention, she didn't show it. Instead, the barmaid looked at the photo for a second and frowned. “You're in luck,” she said.
“You've seen her?” Sally said anxiously.
The barmaid nodded. “Yeah, she came in about five minutes ago and started talking to Matt.”
“Where is she now?” Sally asked, without bothering to ask who Matt was.
“They went out the back,” the barmaid answered with a slight roll of her eyes. “He's on his break. Is she alright? She looked a bit...”
Before the girl could finish, Sally bolted for the door without a further thought to her. She burst out into the small beer garden, drawing the attention of several punters, and made her way around to the alley between the bar and the Solicitors' offices next door. She heard raised voices coming from the far end of the narrow passageway. One was a young man's voice, the other was Hannah's.
Sally quickened her step. She reached the end of the alleyway, rounded the corner and found Hannah attempting to seduce a young man her own age, whom Sally recognised as the barman from their earlier visit a few months ago – Matt, she assumed. If Sally read the situation correctly, it appeared that despite his earlier attraction to Hannah, Matt was trying to push her away, either due to simply being unwilling or because he was supposed to be working.
“Hannah!” Sally called.
Hannah spun around upon hearing her name. “No!” she cried. “I can't come back! Don't make me come back!”
Sally gasped. Whatever it was, her condition seemed to have escalated into mania. Without warning, Hannah ran as fast as she could past Sally, pushing her sister aside and almost forcing her off her feet, leaving behind a shaken-up and extremely perplexed Matt.
Sally gave chase, sprinting along the pavement in the direction from which she had come. In the distance she saw Hannah turn a corner and run out into the open street... and into the arms of an unknown assailant.
“No!” Sally called as Hannah appeared to struggle valiantly.
It all happened in a flash. Hannah was pulled out of sight, and Sally skidded to a halt just in time to see her sister being bundled into the back of an Ambulance. Her assailant, and an accomplice who had been warding off passers-by, slammed the door and jumped into the front as quickly as they could.
Sally couldn't move. She stood rooted to the spot as the Ambulance sped away, its blue lights flashing and siren blaring. As she watched the vehicle recede into the distance, she turned frantically to the gaggle of people who had gathered around to watch the commotion. “Why didn't you stop them!?” she cried.
“Hey, easy love,” one of the crowd, a man in his fifties or sixties wearing a flat-cap, replied. “They said they were sectioning her for her own good.”
Sally ran back through the crowd, forcing a small cluster of people to part to let her through, and darted back in the direction of the pub to where her car was parked.
She knew who was responsible for this; the same people who had abducted Hannah's friends – UNIT.
She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper on which Liz Shaw had written the whereabouts of the underground base where Hannah was most likely to have been taken.
They'll be watching, Dr. Shaw had said. Through surveillance devices, Sally guessed. Right now, she didn't care. As long as she could get to them and get her sister back. A tiny part of her brain wondered how she was going to do that, but that small voice was overwhelmed by the need to help Hannah, despite her resentment towards her.
She jumped into the car and, after pulling away in the wrong gear, sped to the location that Shaw had provided, knowing exactly where it was; an old trading estate about five miles from the flat.
Her head was spinning. The journey seemed to take no time at all, and she arrived at the location without really remembering it. It was a wonder she hadn't caused an accident.
Still trembling, she turned off the engine, got out and closed the car door. The first time, it didn't shut properly, so she re-opened it and slammed it with all her might. She hadn't managed to find an actual parking space, but at that moment it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except her objective. She had pulled up on a patch of dying grass in what was now a deserted area of wasteland that looked like it hadn't been maintained for years. She central-locked the car, then gave it not a second thought before making her way toward the address on the slip of paper she now clutched tightly in her right hand.
Sally looked around for the Ambulance. There was no sign of it.
The landscape was desolate. Only the distant sound of traffic and the remote hustle and bustle of inner city life provided any evidence of civilisation. Her hands trembling, she clutched the paper tightly.
It was underground, the doctor had said. The address and directions she had provided pointed to another expanse of dead grass straight ahead, surrounded by an old rusted perimeter fence. Given that there wasn't a soul or anything of value in sight, no one would even think twice about there being anything beneath where she was standing. She looked around frantically for a gap in the fence. Clearly some building had once stood here, and she reasoned that since the fence was still standing there had to have been a way in for it to be demolished. She wondered why the fence had not been torn down also.
The fence itself was made out of single vertical metal bars connected at the top and bottom by a horizontal bar. Between each bar, string-like pieces of metal stretched across horizontally and vertically, creating a mesh of metal. It was only about six feet high; about the same height as the gates at Wester Drumlins, she considered. The only problem was that the fence sported several spikes running along the top to prevent climbing, theoretically.
That had never stopped her before.

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