Chapter 4

One body. Two bodies. Then, three! Casey had almost forgotten what other people looked like.

Upon walking through the bizarrely firm and quadruple locked door of the wayward house, Casey was greeted with a sensory overload. The surrounding fields had seemed so desolate and remote, she scarcely believed the throng of activity that greeted her within the battered and cold interior of the B-movie influenced structure she blundered into.

She wasn’t sure what she expected; a lowly log fire, a huge stuffed bear that followed her gaze, perhaps a boarded and chained-up door that led to untold horrors in a dank cellar? She certainly didn’t expect to be welcomed so warmly by smiling faces.

It was a hotel reception. Wood panelled walls fenced an ornate desk and several antique items, like grandfather clocks and mounted antlers. There was a pretty older woman behind the desk. Before her, a huge guestbook. A single page of names and accompanying details regarded the ceiling. The woman grinned at Casey.

“Good afternoon miss. Room and board or are you here for a tipple?”.

The slimmest query of alcohol almost set Casey’s stomach to “eject” again.

“She’ll have a seat in the bar. I’ll take a large glass of house red”, said the Doctor.

The receptionist’s face became a glum sight as the Doctor appeared behind Casey. The Doctor closed the door firmly behind her and treaded a familiar, well-worn path to the bar.

“Certainly, madam.”

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There were four people in the bar.

A tidy, youthful couple were tucked into a corner by a far window, steaming up the glass with quiet, but animated chat. The man regarded Casey with curiosity. He was good-looking with a close crop of dark hair. He wore a statement pinstriped suit with a knitted black tie. His wife, endowed with a huge wedding ring, was neatly made-up. Scarlet lips twined with a scarlet dress, caused her to stand out like a fire-engine against the brown and black of the room.

An old, white haired man propped up the bar at the far end of the room. His ale seemed to be his only source of conversation. An oversized sheepskin coat swam over his rake like figure, and his bobbled nose gave away how often he probably spent sinking pint after pint.

A warm young man stood behind the bar, and offered Casey a hearty smile, before it dropped at the appearance of her stern companion. He had a trimmed moustache, a gelled back fringe and a beer soaked handtowel shrugged over his shoulder.

The final guest was difficult to make out. He sat closest to the front door under a broken clock. His collars were turned up, covering the lower half of his face. Lank hair ran down to the nape of his neck, and Casey could make out large ears, which held the side of his dark mane against his head. Casey couldn’t make out his facial features. The light from the window and the smoke from patron’s cigarettes masked his eyes and nose from sight.

Wait, people were smoking in here? So this must be some remote speakeasy on the coast? A fancy dress party? A swingers hangout. God…

“What’s this all about?”, Casey demanded of her associate.

The Doctor balanced an elbow against the bar. “This is home for the time being.”

“No, home for me is my halls. Or with Mum. Who are you?”.

“They always ask questions, don’t they?”, sighed the Doctor. She didn’t seem to address anyone in particular, but there was a slight shuffle from the front door.

“You walked into my ship. You blundered into my home. You sent us here and this is where you’ll stay until you’ve learnt your lesson. But you won’t be here long.”

So Casey was being kept captive by a stranger in a remote building miles from anywhere? Fear stabbed into Casey’s stomach. Although this was the most she’d been surrounded by people for, perhaps an hour or two, she felt more alone than ever.

It was fight or flight. She had no idea where she could be, but she knew it was the English coast. Oh, God, maybe it was Wales? Another sting of terror.

The Doctor knew where they were. So, find out where I am, run like hell, find a signal, call the police, call Mum and get home. Sorted. In seconds, Casey had plotted her route out of the room and back outside.

“Where are we?”, said Casey, adopting a more accepting, quizzical tone, rather than out and out panic. She didn't want to let on her escape plan.

“1954”, said the Doctor, taking her first sip of wine.

Casey had heard the “Nineteen” bit, but her concentration fluttered over the second half.

“19…?, murmured Casey.

“1954. October the 4th at…”, the door glanced at a gold digital watch, “…3:28pm.”

The Doctor settled her eyes on Casey and didn’t blink as Casey’s jaw worked out if it needed to catch itself.

“But…it’s not though, is it?”.

The Doctor didn’t react.

“Yes. It is.”

Casey settled on flight.